There are many things Scott has given you in a short period of time: migraines, high blood pressure, and a son you would do anything for. A son he doesn’t know exists. Cutting him off was hard enough — welcoming him home might be worse.
▸ PAIRING: Ex-FWB!Scott Miller x F!Reader
▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, former situationship to baby daddy to lovers (all at the same time tbh), fingering, slight degradation and dumbification, oral (f!receiving), pussy pronouns, bickering is their foreplay, breeding kink, mean in bed!scott, grumpy scott in general, hurt/comfort, emotionally avoidant!reader, miscommunication (my favorite, of course)
▸ WORD COUNT: 14.1K
▸ A/N: wowowow this is the second and final part of this story!!!! thank you so much for all the love in the first one <3 i'm glad we're all hyperfixated on this man who has no screen time together. i wrote this over a month ago but i've been rereading it aggressively to make sure it's good to free into the world. one of my fave things i've written and i fucking love scott my angsty husband <33 i hope you enjoy. if you do, please comment and reblog, i'd love to hear your thoughts!!!!
↤ main masterlist | part one
“I extended my trip.”
It’s the first thing you hear when Scott shoulders past you in the evening. You’re still standing, shell-shocked by the door, trying to comprehend how this man is in your apartment hours past his supposed flight time. He comes in bearing paper bags with your local fancy grocery store stamped onto the front.
Scott has never grocery shopped a day in his life.
“Why?” You question slowly. Your eyes briefly fly to Ben who’s scribbling on the coffee table, he looks up curiously when he sees the familiar face.
“Uncle Scott,” he beams in greeting.
Scott matches that expression, the sweetest he’s ever looked, as he comes over and ruffles his hair. “Hey, big man, what’re you working on?”
“Me, mom, and dog.”
“Dog, huh?” he chuckles, “I’m sure we can arrange that.”
Ben brightens, hopeful eyes turning to you. You’re going to strangle this man. “Let’s talk about it after dinner, bud.” Your narrowed eyes switch over to Scott. “A word?”
He confidently strolls back over to you, disregarding your glare as he begins to pull out all sorts of things. Mushrooms, vegetables, packs and packs of meat. USDA Prime. Jesus Christ— “What are you doing?”
“Unpacking groceries.”
You pinch his side. He’s built like a brick wall, he doesn’t even flinch. “Scott.”
He says your name in response. A teasing lilt hanging to each letter.
“Why are you here? What is all this?”
“Groceries.”
“Don’t be an ass. Why did you extend your trip?”
“To spend time with you.” He begins to organize your fridge. Worst part? He knows exactly how you like your fridge arranged so he’s putting all the things in all the right places.
“I’m serious,” you hiss.
“What makes you think I’m not?”
You swallow, gaze flying to Ben again who’s back to drawing out his dream dog. It looks more like a deformed puppy but you get the gist of it. “We can’t—” you take a deep breath, “Listen, Ben is young. He’s going to latch onto you if you keep coming around.”
“Would that be so bad?”
The question infuriates you. You scowl, “Are you fucking kidding me? That would be a nightmare. What happens when you leave? He’s going to be asking around for Uncle Scott who will never come around again. There’s a reason why I don’t bring around just anyone to meet him.”
Scott’s eyes tighten almost imperceptibly, but you know him better than that. “You bring others around to meet him?”
“I— no, that’s not what I meant. Jenna’s really the only person who comes over other than my mom. The staff at the hospital know because he pops by time to time. I don’t— I’m careful about who I expose him to. I don’t want to have to answer questions about where someone went or pick up the pieces of a boy who shouldn’t have his heart broken because people disappear on him.”
He seems to mull over this for a moment. His next question sends a shock through your system.
“Who says I’m leaving again?”
Your heart slams against your ribs. Traitorous little thing is getting excited for nothing. “What’re you talking about?”
“Storm Par is set up and running. We have a good team down in Oklahoma always collecting data. I’ve been managing mostly strategy and investor relations.” He looks a little too pleased when he says, “I need to be closer to potential funders anyway, a lot of them are in the northeast.”
“You’re not—” Your breath hitches in your throat, “you’re not considering moving back, are you?”
A proud look settles on his face. “Just signed for a sublet for the next couple of months while I look for a more permanent apartment. How’s this neighborhood? I don’t remember it being particularly nice, but it seems good. How do you feel about moving?”
“Scott,” you snap. “That’s insane. You can’t just— that’s crazy. You were literally supposed to leave today. Suddenly, you’re deciding to stay here? On a whim? What’s wrong with you?”
“Not a whim, I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve… just decided it’s the right move.”
“In one night?”
“I don’t need more time than that.”
You give him a look. “That’s stupid.”
“It’s efficient decision-making.”
“Scott.”
“What’s for dinner? Does he have any allergies?”
“Scott.”
He takes a deep breath, sapphire eyes dulled out as he looks up at the ceiling, praying for some lord almighty to save him. “We can spend all night arguing about this but it’s a done deal. I like Boston, I’ve decided to come back. Is that so hard to believe?” Before you can say yes, absolutely, Scott continues, “I’ve thought about this for a while. Trust me when I say I am not doing this impulsively and I’m not just going to change my mind.”
The two of you are locked in a stare-down, neither budging. Two stupidly stubborn fools.
Scott’s eyes are jagged when they first land on yours, sharp in a way that could cut. But the longer he looks at you, the more they thaw, like ice melting in the changing of seasons. It’s a soft transition that warms your frozen heart.
However, then his gaze trails to your mouth, the way they’re parted, teeth peeking out in aggravation, tongue pressing against your teeth as your jaw is clenched. His eyes go molten, scorching as they sear into your skin, tracing your bare shoulders, the length of your neck, exposed collarbones.
“Should put more on you,” he mutters.
“What?” You jerk back, confused.
“Nothing. Dinner? I don’t know how to cook.”
“Then get your own damn dinner, I’m not cooking for you.”
He challenges you with a raise of his eyebrow. “But I bought groceries.”
“That I didn’t ask for.”
“I fuckin’ forgot how bull-headed you are sometimes. Arguing for the sake of arguing.” He huffs a laugh through his nose, hip leaning against your counter, eyes sparkling. “If you wanted to fuck, just say so.”
His voice is low, low enough that you know Ben doesn’t catch it over the sound of the television, but it still puts you on high alert. “Can you not say insane things when my son is around?”
“Always picked a fight when you wanted a fuck,” he smirks.
Your lips part, ready to tell him off, but he turns to the sink instead, beginning to wash his hands.
“Now, what do you need help with?”
Scott’s reappearance has thrown your life for a loop, adding this new, uncontrolled variable that you’re not sure how to handle. He drops you off and picks you up from work. The moment he heard that you’ve been taking the train an hour each way to work, he made that call with no room for argument. He refuses to even drop you off a block away from the hospital so you end up with your coworkers’ curious eyes on you when you’re pulling up every morning in Scott’s stupidly shiny car.
“Have a good day at work, honey,” he would call out obnoxiously through the open window.
The furious glare you throw his way does nothing to deter this behavior. Now, you’re bombarded with questions about him every time you have a moment to yourself, which means you no longer have a shred of peace at work.
He comes by nearly every evening; you say nearly because you had to cut him off, tell him that he cannot show up every single day.
“Why not?”
“Scott. You can’t just come here everyday, he’s going to get confused. You are not family.”
“Yet.”
“What?”
“Fine. Every other day, but full weekends.”
It’s a compromise that you tried to negotiate down, but he refuses to budge on.
The worst part is that Scott is terrific with Ben.
He’s smart and answers all of Ben’s questions with tact. The moment your son learns that Scott works with tornadoes, chasing after them and being smack dab in the middle of the action, he’s absolutely enthralled. You have to emphasize to Scott that you will murder him if Ben ever tells him that he wants to be a tornado chaser.
“I’ll protect him, don’t worry,” is all he says.
You still worry.
Beyond that, Ben seems to enjoy his company, has started asking when Uncle Scott would be coming around again so he could show him the progress he’s made on the massive Superman LEGO set that Scott had gotten him.
“You can’t spoil him too much,” you frown when he pops by on his assigned day, a gift box in hand. It’s the fourth in two weeks.
“He’s a kid. He likes toys.”
“You can’t spoil him,” you mutter.
Your worry is partially rooted in the fact that you can’t just give Ben whatever he wants, whenever he wants, but it also stems from your guilt for not being able to provide all this. It’s not as if you’re not making money; you save enough from your salary, but Boston is an expensive city.
Scott seems to understand this. He dials it back, but you know that he’s itching every time Ben mentions something new he’s curious about. He just picks and prioritizes what he gets him.
Otherwise, he’s good. Too good even. That seems to be a pattern when it comes to him.
You tell yourself it’s because he doesn’t know he’s the father. It’s less commitment, less pressure. He plays the role of a cool uncle who showers Ben with gifts and attention.
Scott has pressed again, of course — who’s the father, when did this happen, do I need to have a conversation, you could fight for child support — to which you answer no repeatedly. An easy denial to give him none of the answers he’s looking for. It never stops him from asking again; he thinks he’ll wear you down eventually.
Truth be told, you think that Scott will bore himself soon. He can’t possibly be serious about permanently moving back to Boston. You’re convinced that in the next couple of weeks, he’ll realize that this pretend domesticity isn’t the life he wants, and he’ll pack up his bags again and leave. When that day comes, you won’t be disappointed.
As long as he never finds out Ben is his son, you’ll be fine.
(Maybe if you repeat it enough times, you’ll actually believe your own words.)
However, you seem to have a knack for putting your foot in your mouth and speaking too soon, because your worst nightmare comes to fruition one day when you let your guard down. Usually, you do a pretty good job of keeping track of their conversations, making sure they stay on safe territory that gives away nothing. Ben has zero clue about his father anyway, so there’s nothing really to give away.
Or so you think.
You’re caught up trying to balance sending work emails and batting away your mother’s efforts to inquire more about Scott. She’s been badgering you nonstop to learn more about your history, prodding Scott whenever she’s here to share more, even going as far as to drop the most obvious hints.
“You know, she is very single. Incredibly single.”
“Mother!”
“I’m aware,” Scott smirks. “Refuses to let me change that.”
You don’t appreciate the way he’s looking at you now, how your body is tingling all over from the memories. The press of his fingers on your hip, how his mouth feels mapping out the curve of your breasts, the burn between your legs when he pushes himself in with a hungry groan.
Heat unfurls across your face and you’re quick to turn away, missing how your mother and Scott share knowing looks.
But now that she’s not here, she’s still torturing you with incessant, inane questions about him. The only thing you manage to catch in the midst of your stress is Scott saying, “Your birthday’s in Decem—”
You don’t think much of it. Not for a moment. Until it hits you.
By the time you look up, Scott’s already directing his eyes towards you. Your blood runs cold.
It’s not a question. He knows. He’s not a fool.
Born the December in the year that you graduated college, it’s not difficult to do the math on when Ben was conceived. If you retrace your steps, it’s not difficult to know who had done the conceiving.
The two of you don’t address it, not out loud. Not yet. Your brain is short-circuiting, trying to configure an excuse or a lie that would work in this instance. You’re running on empty, especially when your heart is beating straight out of your chest. Everything feels hot, your body can’t seem to handle this stress very well.
You have maybe an hour left before Ben’s due for bed and you’re half tempted to keep him awake because that means keeping Scott’s anger at bay. You can feel it roll off him in waves, crackling energy that zaps you even from this distance.
The minutes tick down much too quickly and, before you know it, Ben is yawning on cue and you’re getting him ready for bed. You spend a little longer than necessary tucking him in, reading him his story, all the while Scott is standing in the doorway watching the two of you.
He’s being considerate of Ben, maintaining his distance before he probably rips you a new one. You appreciate it, but you press an extra kiss or two onto your son’s face before you exit the room — for good luck.
When the two of you are back in the living room, Ben completely out cold to the world, Scott doesn’t ask. He simply states the irrefutable truth.
“He’s mine.”
You clear your throat. “Technically, he’s mine.”
“Don’t fucking act cute with me right now,” he snarls, jabbing his finger in the direction of the hallway both of you just left. “That’s my kid in there. Are you fucking kidding me?”
Wincing, you take a step away from him. “Can we not do this?”
“Like hell I’m letting this slide. You’ve got to be shittin’ me. That’s my kid. Ben is mine.”
The pulsing in your head only worsens the harder he glares, the more he seethes. “You’re the father. Doesn’t make him yours.”
You hear the sharp intake of breath. The confirmation landing firm in his chest. “Why the fuck wouldn’t you tell me?”
“Why does it matter?” You snap, throwing his irritated look right back at him.
“You’ve got to be on another fucking level of insane to think it doesn’t matter.”
“I was going to,” you begin, “tell you, I mean, but the timing never felt right.”
Scott looks at you, completely aghast. “Timing never felt right? You knew. You knew before I left, before we graduated. All those times you didn’t want to drink, didn’t want to eat sushi, this was why. You had all the fucking time in the world to tell me.”
“Would it have changed anything?”
“It would’ve changed everything!”
Your lungs feel devoid of oxygen as you look at Scott, his frustration palpable. Fury is carved into the lines of his face, eyes blazing with the sort of anger you’ve never seen on him. However, in between the twist of his lips and the fire in his gaze, you see a flicker of something warmer. Softer.
Hurt.
The kind of hurt that comes with a betrayal that you cannot take back.
Scott breathes out. “I would’ve been here for you.”
“I never asked you to.”
“You never asked,” he spits out, “you never let me make that decision for myself. Instead, you let me believe that I had fucked up something between us. You cut me off and I didn’t even know why.”
“It would’ve been selfish,” you argue.
“It would’ve been fair,” he insists. “You should’ve trusted me to make my own judgment call.”
Your fingers wring together in front of you. Is this it then? The point of no return. You can’t seem to find the words to say to remedy the situation.
“I didn’t want you to have to choose,” you murmur. “Between me and your dream.” The unsaid words being I didn’t want to watch you choose your dream over me.
Scott has always been larger than life. He is meant for greater things, to innovate and create. He has gone so far since you first met him. He’s become an even bigger person than you could’ve imagined.
What right did you have to hold him back from all that?
“Again, that’s not for you to decide,” he sighs, “Have you ever considered they’re one and the same?” Your gaze flies up to meet his weary one. “You’re an idiot,” Scott mutters. “So fuckin’ stupid.”
You press your lips together into a thin line. “Thanks a lot, asshole.”
“Does he know?”
With a shake of your head, you lean back. “No, he’s been… pretty good at not asking too many questions about who his dad is. It’s only a matter of time before that curiosity grows though, especially once he starts school and the other kids will undoubtedly ask him.”
“I can help you with all that, you know. I am his father after all.”
Wincing, you swallow thickly. “You don’t have to, Scott. It was my decision to go through with the pregnancy. You don’t have to feel like you have to participate.”
“Why do you keep saying it like that?” He lets out an exasperated sound. You frown in question. “Like I don’t want to be here. For him. For you.”
“I— I just don’t want you to feel pressured to—”
“Sweetheart,” he begins and your heart feels like it’s been dipped in syrup, “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. I’ve been present, haven’t I? And that was before I even knew he was mine. What makes you think I’m going to change my mind?”
“It’s different! Being here to support me as a friend and being here as— as his dad! As a parent.”
Scott looks up to the ceiling again, inhaling deep through his nostrils. “Tell me how it’s different.”
“A fun uncle is not a co-parent.”
“So I want to co-parent.”
“You don’t know what that means.”
“It means being here for you, for him. It means having equal responsibility and stakes in raising him. It means you’re not doing this alone.”
A lump grows in your throat as you look at him. His determination is evident.
“So I’m going to need you to get it through that thick skull of yours that I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to piss you off, you’re going to piss me off, but we’ll make it work.”
You laugh, tears pricking the corner of your eye. “Maybe if we don’t kill each other first.”
His lips curve into a smirk. “You can’t kill me. I’m your baby daddy after all. Fucked you so hard that your birth control didn’t work.”
You almost choke on your own spit. “You’re such a piece of shit.”
He laughs. “Don’t forget the father of your child.”
Your fingers are itching to make contact with his cheek. He really can be such an asshole sometimes. He knows exactly which buttons to push. Repeating the fact that he’s Ben’s father, reminding you again that he knows your big secret now. The worst part is you know that he’s doing it intentionally; the more irritated he gets you, the better the sex. He likes it when you fight back, when you push him.
He likes it when he can put you in your place.
“Some friend you are,” you grunt.
Scott’s rising to his feet, moving towards you. With every step he takes forward, he backs you up until your lower spine lands against the kitchen counter.
“Let’s get one thing clear,” Scott says low, coming up to press you against the solid surface. With both hands planted on either side of you, he leans towards you. Your breath catches. “We’re not friends. We haven’t been for a while.”
“That’s… mean,” you whimper.
“The things I want to do with you — to you — they’re not things friends do.”
There’s a promise in his gaze that has your heart fluttering, your stomach curling with desire as heat builds between your legs.
It’s hard to breathe when he’s this close. Hard to even think. Your palm flattens against his firm, broad chest, applying pressure in a feeble attempt to put some distance. Except now you can’t help but feel the way his pecs feel underneath your fingers and you can picture yourself on top of him, sinking down on his cock while your hands are planted on his skin.
Heaven have mercy.
“Things are different now,” you gulp.
“You think I still can’t make you cum three times in a night?”
Your lips part. “That’s not—” Heat climbs up your throat. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Scott chuckles. “I hope you know that this only makes me want you even more. You’re stupid if you think I’m ever letting you out of my sight again.”
“Just because you want to be here and be a father does not mean that it changes anything between us.”
His joy quickly morphs into irritation again. “Why not?”
“Because Ben will always come first and we can’t… just keep fucking.”
“Again, why not?”
Because I’m in love with you. Because I’m going to get my heart broken again.
“I want to maintain some boundaries. It’ll be better for us that way.”
Scott is quiet, thoughtful as he regards you, before he straightens. “Okay then. You do that. You maintain your boundaries.”
“Thank you.”
“Doesn’t mean I’ll be helpin’ you do that,” he laughs, bitter as he smiles at you. A threat laced into his expression. “Better prepare yourself, sweetheart. I’m not here to protect your walls. I’m here to break them down.”
“We should go out.”
Your gaze lifts from your laptop, eyes instinctively wandering down the hall to Ben’s room where he’s safe and sound asleep, then back to Scott who’s on his own laptop on the dining table. “Like to get groceries?”
“No, for dinner.”
You look over your shoulder, to the take-out menus stuck to the fridge with a mismatched set of magnets. “There’s a pizza place Ben likes down the street. We could go tomorrow.”
“Finally letting me in two days in a row?” Scott cocks an eyebrow.
A glare is all he gets in return.
“I meant us. Just the two of us.”
Your fingers stop, hovering over the keyboard. “Why?”
“So I can take you out.”
“Why?”
“To spend some time together. You know, outside of parenting.”
Parenting still sounds foreign on his tongue, at least to you. Scott seems to have settled in comfortably with the title, taking on the mantle even without the official acknowledgment. The two of you agreed to ease Ben into it; he seems to have taken a liking towards Scott so at least telling him may be easier than you initially anticipated.
However, considering the situation at hand, you can only ask, “Why?”
“How old are you?” Scott snaps.
“I don’t think we need to do anything together outside of parenting.”
“Why not?”
It’s your turn to give him a look. “We are two people who happen to be raising a child together. Somewhat.”
“But we’re friends first.”
“I think co-parenting supersedes the friend label now, which means I can’t be doing that with you. Not alone.”
He knows you’re being obstinate for the sake of it, pissing him off just because you can. However, he doesn’t take the bait.
“You know what, you’re right, sweetheart. Let me rethink this.”
Scott was never one to give up easily. On the contrary, when presented with a challenge, he rises to the occasion. He goes above and beyond.
It starts off innocuous enough, subtle that you nearly think that all of it is accidental. When he’s trying to help around the kitchen and he reaches across you, arm brushing your breasts. Your nipples perk up on instinct, seeking the familiar warmth of his touch like you’ve been trained. He doesn’t say a thing so you brush it off as inconsequential. His hand on your hip when he’s excusing himself behind you. His eyes on you when he licks his thumb clean off the brownie batter you’re making.
It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. These tiny touches, interactions that shouldn’t mean anything. You shouldn’t be reacting this way. You tell yourself it’s because it’s been a while since you got laid last — unfortunately, by none other than the source of your frustrations.
But then the touches become firmer, intentional in a way that you can’t miss. He’s slipping an arm around your waist when he picks you up at the hospital, head ducking to press a kiss to the side of your head, all the while you’re mid-conversation with a coworker who then scurries away under Scott’s glare. In the car, he’s sliding a possessive hand over your thigh, squeezing when he asks you about your day. He has a hand pressed against your lower back at all times, practically manhandling you when you move around different spaces.
And god do you fucking love it. Maybe it’s because you’ve been deprived of physical touch for so long, you haven’t had anyone in your corner reminding you that they’re there. But you also know yourself better than that and the only reason all of this works is because it’s Scott and you were in love with Scott.
You tell yourself it’s all in the past. This is the remnants of your feelings long forgotten from your more youthful self.
But then it all disappears. The touches. The fleeting glances. The flirty smiles. The difference is jarring and you can’t help but notice the extra space he puts between the two of you when you’re walking with Ben, keeping him in between you two. Or how he moves away from the kitchen when you enter it, and again when you move into the living room. Or how his question actually sounds polite when he asks you how work went.
How he doesn’t even blink twice when you tell him a colleague — that same one that he had scared away — had asked you out to dinner.
The frustration builds inside of you, like he’s crafting a wall with the distance brick by brick. You find yourself leaning towards him only for him to shift in his seat and away from you. The inches between you on the couch feel like they stretch for miles, his arm extended on the other side instead of behind your back.
You feel like an addict seeking a fix, constantly chasing after him — subtly, not enough for it to be obvious, but certainly enough for him to notice.
So, by the time he suggests it again, he’s Pavlov’d you to seek his attention. Fucker.
“Do you want to spend the day together?”
You grit your teeth. Somehow, Scott has conspired with your mother that she whisked Ben away early this morning for a trip to the zoo and you end up with this asshole at your front door with a smirk on his face, shoulders squared, chin tilted up like he’s done something good.
“You did this on purpose.”
“What did I do?”
He knows exactly what he did. “All of it.”
“Come on. Get dressed.”
“You haven’t even told me where we’re going,” you snap.
“Nowhere you need anything fancy,” he says before steering you by the elbow out the door.
You allow yourself to be pushed into the car, he even straps your seatbelt in for you, before he’s driving. Destination still unknown. You try to ask and Scott tells you to just relax, tells you that you’re wrung up too tight.
Then he stops and you look quizzically out the window.
“I got you a massage appointment.”
You nearly break your neck at the speed you whip around to look at him. “What? Why?”
“Thought it would be a nice thing to do. You used to gather knots like you were starting a collection and I had to press all of that out for you. Figured, with all the years of build up and I highly doubt you’ve been smoothing those out, a professional could do a better job.”
At a loss, you find yourself only staring at him. He looks cocky, so damn proud that he’s done something right — that he knew exactly what you needed.
“Now get going, they’re not gonna find another timeslot for you.”
With your mind in a blur, you exit the vehicle. The spa is nice, a mix of lavender and eucalyptus in the air that has you relaxing almost instantly. The experience is… divine to say the least. For once, you have not a single thought in your mind and you find yourself melting into the table during your two-hour long session.
By the time you step back outside, after the people inside tell you that it’s been paid for, Scott is waiting out front. In a daze, you slip back into the car.
“Good?” is all he asks.
You nod slowly.
“Good,” he smiles, “now, let’s get you ready for dinner.”
Scott tells you that he’s taking you somewhere casual, but nice. Nice enough that you end up spending a bit of time washing your hair, doing your makeup, even fixing your hair a little bit. When you spritz on perfume, you tell yourself that it’s for your sake.
But you can’t deny that when you see Scott drink you in — how his blue eyes go ten shades darker, how his lips part when he gets a whiff of the florals clinging onto your skin — that it might’ve been for him too.
You would think a man like Scott would take you somewhere nice, somewhere you’re going to be gawking at the prices all night, wondering if you should even be in a place like that. But when he pulls up to a quiet corner in Cambridge, an Italian restaurant that seems all too familiar, you find yourself caught off guard.
“What? You would’ve preferred steak and fries at Del Frisco’s?” He’s chuckling quietly to himself, knowing full well what your answer would be.
Before you can reach for your door, Scott’s rounding the car and pulling it open, even going as far as to offer a hand.
He’s a perfect gentleman the entire night. When you hesitate on ordering because of the prices, Scott — the condescending prick that he is — orders for you, except he orders right. You’ve been eyeing that dish but you couldn’t do the math fast enough to figure out your budget for the month. He orders a bottle of red, your favorite — it’s nothing fancy, but it had been a step up when you felt like splurging in college. The food is delicious, reminiscent of the old days when he would treat you to a meal to make you feel better, right after he fucked you seven ways to Sunday.
You’re warm, body buzzing with your fill of food and wine. For the first time in a while, you feel a little lighter, like the world isn’t weighing down on your shoulders. Scott drives you back home and he stops right in front of your apartment building.
You know what’s coming. A proposition — as always. You’re going to say yes — as always. He’s always been a snake charmer, saying and doing all the right things to get one into bed with him. It worked on you for months. It used to work on all the ladies before he stopped using it on them.
It still works on you, considering you’re feeling that warmth between your legs. That anticipation humming in your veins. You can practically taste his mouth on you, the tartness from the wine mixed with the gelato you ordered for dessert. You take a breath in eager hopefulness.
However, when he walks you to the apartment entrance, he only kisses the back of your hand. “Have a good night, sweetheart.” Then he’s slowly making his way down the steps, leaving you completely gobsmacked.
You find yourself saying, “Wait,” before you can even think twice.
Scott halts, turns, a knowing smile dancing on his lips.
You should have more self-restraint. But when he’s looking at you with those bright blue eyes and an expression that promises you a good time, you’re only human.
“What is it?”
You fidget with the handle of your purse. “Where are you going?”
“Home,” he drawls, tilting his head like he’s waiting to see your next move.
“You’re not gonna stay?”
Scott’s lips quirk up, shfiting into a look too cocky for your liking. “Do you want me to stay?”
“Don’t be a dick.”
“Doesn’t sound like you do,” he makes a face, raising his shoulders in a shrug as he pretends to slowly turn back around.
You should let him go. You hope he has fucking blue balls tonight. However, that also means you’ll be left alone with your thoughts in an empty apartment and your vibrator on a Saturday night, and that sounds a heck of a lot less fun than getting your brains scrambled by the one man who knows exactly how to do that.
“Do you want to come up?”
It’s comical how quickly he whirls around to say, “Don’t mind if I do.”
The ride up the elevator is weighed down by tense silence. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears in time with the numbers that climb, a beep in rhythm to each floor. Scott stands next to you, hands planted on the railing casually, but you hear the impatient tapping of his shoe. When the elevator finally dings, he lets you leave first and you feel the burn of his gaze on your back, trailing the length of you down to the curve of your ass where the silk of your dress rests.
Your fingers are barely functional as you clumsily dig through your purse to open the door. It’s one thing to have someone watching you, it’s another to have Scott staring at you. The hungry look in his eyes, the way you can practically feel the heat radiate off him.
You don’t even get a chance to properly set aside your bag before Scott is pressing you up against the wall. He drinks in your surprised little gasp, your instinct to move away from him only has him backing you up against your kitchen counter. With you half-seated on it, Scott’s hands slide around your neck, cupping your cheeks so he can lick into your mouth. He takes the chance to slip his tongue in between your little gasps, tasting that sugar on your tongue.
“Fuck, sweetheart, been waiting to do that all night,” he groans as his mouth travels towards your neck instead, sucking on the delicate skin until you feel the sting spark every nerve inside your body. He does it over again, like he’s zapping you with electricity every time he leaves a new mark on your body.
You’re no better, your hands immediately crawling up his chest to find his buttons and fumble with them, slipping them out one at a time until you can shove his shirt off his shoulders. God, how is it possible that he seems even broader than before? Your palms explore his biceps, feeling the way they flex beneath your fingertips, muscles tensing into a firm surface for you to hold onto.
“You got… bigger,” you note in a daze. It’s ridiculous how drunk you feel right now and it’s certainly not from the wine. It’s his scent — masculine and clean. Like rain on freshly mowed grass, earthy in a way that grounds you. You can’t help but breathe him in, making a mental note that he still uses the same shampoo.
“A lot of time lugging around equipment out there,” he mutters. As if to prove a point, he lifts you up to the counter and wraps your legs around his waist. “Always getting drenched in the storms.”
Fuck. Terrible visual. You imagine him in a white short-sleeve shirt, the fabric soaking up all that rain and clinging to every inch of his muscles and leaving nothing to the imagination. His dusky nipples poking through the fabric. Curly brunette hair with droplets, that one stray hair on his forehead whenever it gets too humid. You can practically see the light smattering of hair on his chest, a path leading down to his navel.
God forbid that the women in Oklahoma have seen him like that. That’s a visual you’d rather keep to yourself.
Scott distracts you again when he brings his face back to kiss you. He kisses like he’s inhaling you, stealing every hitched breath from your lungs. His mouth is ravenous as it moves against you, teeth grazing your bottom lip lightly in a tantalizing threat. He finally nips and you let out a little whine that he laughs lightly at as he kisses you harder. Firmer. Soft lips, only slightly chapped, as they relearn what it is exactly that makes you moan down his throat.
“Love kissing you,” he mutters, “missed doing this. I want to do this everyday.”
You’re about to tell him why that would be a bad idea but you sigh dreamily instead, tipping your head back when he begins trailing wet kisses along your jawline again.
His hands wander to your back, dragging the zipper down quietly until your dress pools on the floor. His thumb brushes over your nipples peaking through the lace. “Missed these pretty tits too. Couldn’t get enough of them last time.” He ducks his head and tugs one free from your bra, lips closing in around your nipple in a wet heat. His groan reverberates straight through you, tongue laving around your pert nipple like he’s trying to coax it out.
As he does so, his other hand reaches for the clasp of your bra until you hear the little sound before it slides down your shoulders.
“Hands on the counter.”
“Bossy,” you murmur, but do so anyway.
Scott looks mildly surprised at your obedience and you can’t even bring yourself to care. You lean back slightly and spread your legs wider to let him step in between them, his mouth warm and sweet on your tits. He mouths hungrily at your breasts, biting, squeezing, until you’re a moaning mess arching into his touch. One of his hand slides down to your lower spine to yank you closer to him, pressing your core against the thickness in his pants.
“I’ve been hard all night lookin’ at you in that pretty dress,” Scott growls, “knew exactly what you looked like underneath it, couldn’t wait to take it off you.”
You appear to have lost your entire vocabulary when he slips that hand from your back to the space between you, two fingers against the panties that’s quickly gathering moisture. The whine that is pulled from your lips is instinctual. Pure primal need.
“Imagining you stretched out on that massage bed, naked, slicked up in oil. Fuck, I had to drive around and keep myself busy for two hours so I didn’t go back and do the job myself,” he huffs a laugh as he begins rubbing your clit over the material, arousal easing the slick of his fingers even with one layer between the two of you.
A gasp is wrenched from your throat as you stare at him, wide-eyed. “That’s— that’s ridiculous.”
Scott hums, shaking his head, pressing harder, pulling out another needy sound. “Stop bein’ so tense. You’re undoing all of that woman’s hard work.” Your eyes light up briefly. “I wasn’t going to let some other man touch you. I’m not an idiot.”
“You’re such a possessive asshole,” you let out a breathless laugh, “it’s just a massage.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m going to be the only one that gets to touch these pretty tits. Not to mention, this—” he slides his fingers under your panties, gathering up the arousal from you slick folds on his fingertips and listening to the lewd squelch as he dips his fingers in just a tad. “You’re so goddamn wet.”
Instead of clamping your legs shut, embarrassed like you always have been, you can’t help but let your thighs fall apart further, giving him room to give you the pleasure that you so badly needed.
“You’re so much easier when you’re not stressed.”
That snaps you awake. “Oh, fuck you.”
Scott pushes two fingers in, the slide is swift and wet. “Just like that,” he grins as he slowly drags his fingers out only to shove them back in. He’s rough and he’s messy, you can hear how wet you are as he watches you come undone, thumb against your clit like he has something to prove. “Shit, sweetheart, you’re dripping all over the counter. You’re so messy, pretty girl.”
“S-Scott,” you moan, fingers wrapping around his wrist. “I c-can’t, mmm, please.”
“I know, I know, still so tight, aren’t you? I don’t want to hurt you,” he says as he slowly sinks to his knees. You look down to find him with his starry eyes looking right up at you as he sticks his fingers in his mouth. You can see the moment his eyes flutter shut as he tastes you, tongue lecherously poking out to lick his fingers clean. “Better than dessert.”
“You’re so corny—” your words split off into a choked gasp when Scott dives in between your legs. His tongue drags all the way up to your clit until you’re bucking against his mouth. He licks and devours, the roughness of his tongue sliding up your slick folds, lips closing in around your core, your clit, to suck until you’re shuddering against him. “Fuck, Scott, wait, slow down.”
Scott leans away, giving you a brief moment of reprieve — except, when you look down at him, his bottom half is glistening in the moonlight that spills across your floors. His eyes return to your pussy, just beneath your stomach that’s rising and falling with your labored breaths.
His index and middle fingers rest on each of your lips as he slowly pries them apart, your pussy pulses and there’s no doubt that he catches that movement. The slight tensing, squeezing, inside of you. “Look at this pussy spreading so wet and easy for me. She’s droolin’, sweetheart.”
As if he can sense another argument on your lips, Scott leans forward again to press kisses onto your inner thigh, blooming warmth with every spot he touches. He kisses up and up until he’s back with his face between your legs, your thighs closing in around his head until he’s practically suffocating in your cunt.
It’s the way he likes it though. His hands on your ass to drag you forward so he can tongue-fuck you faster, knowing full well you’re enjoying it when you’re grinding against his face with tears leaking from your eyes and his name said in prayer.
That pleasure coils humiliatingly fast in your stomach. You can feel your climax, long abandoned, surfacing quickly. God, it feels so good, his mouth — it’s only gotten better. You hate to think if he fucked anyone else while he was away, because — of course he did, he was a hot young bachelor in bumfuck Oklahoma. He was probably the hottest shit down there.
Scott scowls up at you, “You’re tensing up again, what are you thinking about?”
“Nothing,” you blurt out, pressing your lips together.
He rises to his feet, fingers catching your chin. “Tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” you snap irritably. Great, now you’re thinking about some cute girl in a cowboy hat he’s probably fucked the same way he did you.
“You just stiffened up again. Either you tell me, or I won’t fuck you.”
You roll your eyes, “Holding sex hostage? Real mature.” Well, two can play that game. “If you won’t fuck me, I’m sure I’ve got a few people on my dating apps that have been begging to.”
Scott’s eyes flash, your heart palpitates a little too aggressively. “Yeah? You wanna try that again with me?” Your mouth dries. “Sweetheart, you’re cute if you think I’m letting anyone else near this pretty pussy of yours. You think anyone can get you off?”
Your teeth sink into your bottom lip.
“You’re mine,” he breathes out, catching your lips again. You can taste yourself on him, his moan vibrating against your mouth.
But you can’t deny his words. Instead, you let him pick you up and carry you all the way to the bedroom. He doesn’t stop kissing you the entire way, stealing your breath every chance he gets. Your back lands on the mattress, Scott climbing over you and pressing your legs into your chest.
“Love fucking you just like this,” he murmurs, applying just a little more pressure. “Maybe I can put another baby in you.”
“Scott!” You gasp.
“Fuck, I wasn’t even around when you were pregnant. I’d do it right this time. Make sure you’re taken care of — however that may be. Heard the first trimester’s roughest, probably needed a cock to fill you up, hm? Fill you up and get you so stupidly cockdrunk you won’t have the mouth to talk back to me.”
Another protest sits on your tongue but then Scott’s unzipping his pants and his cock, thick and throbbing, is in his hands, tip sitting at your entrance. You can feel your pussy dripping onto him, a trail of slick that slides down the length of him.
“I could fuck you, cum in you as much as I want — not like I didn’t already,” he chuckles, “no more risk of getting you pregnant twice. God, I could do that to you, sweetheart. Want another kid with me?”
“You’re— fuck, you’re insane.”
Scott only grunts as he begins pushing into you. “So fuckin’ tight. I need to teach your pussy how to take me again. You were so sweet and loose for me back then, we fucked so much, your cunt was shaped to my cock. Can’t wait to do that again.”
The ache burns between your legs as Scott stretches you out, your pussy opening up painfully slowly for him. You hold your breath, tensing up as he whispers for you to relax, to just keep your legs open and let him take what he needs. Your eyes roll when he finally buries himself all the way, the head kissing the deepest parts of you.
“S-shit, fuck, that feels so good. You feel like heaven.”
“Please, please just move,” you whine.
“I know, baby, but I can’t fuck you too fast, gonna hurt you. My cock barely fits in this tight pussy of yours,” Scott coos, dragging back his hips and slowly coaxing you open with a push of his cock. “I gotta go easy on her. She’s not used to being filled up, is she?”
You call him an asshole in your head, because you don’t trust your voice not to break in the haze of your pleasure.
“Pretty girl hasn’t had anyone taking care of her in a while.”
“I can take care of myself just fine,” you defend with a snap.
“Yeah? What? Those vibrators I see you hiding? Doesn’t feel the same, does it? You needed someone to fuck you properly.” Scott smirks, “Maybe I should’ve given you a dildo shaped to my cock. That way you could fuck yourself on it whenever you missed me. I’d make you call me when you do that, wanna hear you beg for my cock while you push it inside you. Better yet, I want to see you while you ride it and realize it ain’t the same as the real thing.”
“You’re so fucking gross,” you hiss and, sure enough, it melts into a moan when Scott drives into you again, and again, and again.
“What does it say about you when I can feel you chokin’ out my cock at the thought of it?” He laughs, taunting. “You’re as fucked up as I am, sweetheart. How do you think we made a baby in the first place?”
Oh fuck, Scott feels you open up to him, mold around him. That pain dulls into a throb that only serves to weave desire between your legs. You clench around him, pussy pulsing with his every word, as he fucks deep inside of you. He pushes you back into this mating press, groaning when he feels himself reach deeper inside you.
“Shit, baby, this pussy is fucking unbelievable. I can’t believe I gave this up for years. Missed fucking this gorgeous cunt so bad,” he swallows. That vein on his neck goes taut as he tries to stop himself. “You still on the pill?”
You nod weakly, fingers digging into his biceps as he pounds into you, his hips jerking faster and harder.
Then he laughs and it sounds mean and your stomach twists. “Didn’t do us much good last time though, huh? It’s alright, sweetheart. If you get knocked up again, I’ll be here. I’ll be here to fuck all that stress out of you, give you all the massages that’ll end with my head between your legs. Get you all your cravings so you can show your appreciation with your mouth on my cock.”
It’s disgusting, The thought of returning favors when he’s the one who gets you pregnant, but something about it has you tightening, punched in the stomach with a level of arousal that you can’t seem to contain.
“Don’t need to use this pretty brain of yours, baby. Just gonna have you barefooted waddling around and you can let me take real good care of you,” he pants, sweat beading his forehead as he fucks into you faster, holding himself back harder. “Make sure you and our baby are good. Don’t you worry.”
“F-fuck you,” you stutter as he drives back into you.
The bed creaks under the pressure of his thrusts, you’re getting fucked into the mattress that you can feel your body imprinting onto the bed. “That’s right. Good girl. Gonna make you a mommy again, sweetheart. Gonna put another baby into you. You’re already so cockdrunk, you won’t even know. I’m not letting you out of here until it takes.”
That knocks all the oxygen from your chest. “Shit, Scott— hold on.”
“Can’t do that,” he grunts, “pussy feels too good. Can’t get enough of this hole. I’m going to fill you up, baby. You’re gonna be leakin’ my cum for days. Maybe I’ll send you to get another massage and they’ll see you dripping my cream.”
Scott pounds into you, each word filthier than the next. He’s driving himself and you into a frenzy as his thrusts get sloppier, wetter, squelching bouncing off your four walls.
“I’m gonna print my cock in your pussy so nobody else can touch you.”
“Breed this pussy so good, keep you plugged up with my cum for days.”
“This pussy was meant to be fucked, sweetheart. You don’t need princess treatment, just need to be fucked like you need another baby in you.”
It’s filthy. It’s demeaning. It’s a fucking turn-on.
“Yeah, you wanna cum, pretty girl? You wanna cum around my cock?”
You can only nod in your haze, desperate, eager.
“Cum around me, sweetheart. I wanna feel that cream coating my cock. I wanna feel that stickiness, feel what it’s like to have my girl feel so good because of me.”
Scott pounds into you faster, deeper as he fucks you harder into the mattress. He presses you further in this position, tilting your hips up until you’re climbing and climbing and falling apart around him with a loud whine. Your body trembles with the force of your orgasm, legs quaking around him as he drags out your climax with every thrust until he himself is spilling warmth inside you. You can feel the mess in your insides, feel it slosh around, feel it leak from where you two are joined.
“Fuck,” he groans, “cumming so much, sweetheart. Fillin’ her right up.”
Your heart slams against your chest as you feel exactly that.
Scott’s hips are still jerking with his cum spurting right into you. He refuses to budge, staying there until he’s sure everything’s out. Even then, he nudges his hips a little deeper, like he’s making sure his cum stays in there.
He eases out of you slowly, but he doesn’t let go of the pressure on your legs, keeping your hips up as he watches his cum ooze out of you. His brows pucker in annoyance as he uses two fingers to push it back into you.
You wince, pussy sensitive from the friction earlier. “Gross.”
“You like it.”
You do. It’s stupid but you do. Something about him staking his claim, leaving a part of him inside you, it’s just the kind of thing that has you squeezing around his fingers again.
Scott smirks. “Do you want me to clean you up?”
Your stupid, traitorous, dysfunctional brain says no. For some reason, you really like feeling his cum inside you. But you know that the correct answer is— “Yes.” It’s the only reason Scott asks – because he knows.
His eyes scan you for a moment, as if he’s trying to decide whether you’re telling the truth. Then he sighs and lets your legs down gently as he disappears, coming back only when he has a damp cloth in hand. It’s so strange for him to be so familiar with your place to know where things are.
At the same time — so right.
He wipes you clean, murmuring to himself about how pretty you look with his cum inside you. You try not to let your lips stretch too wide with the heat rolling across your face.
When he’s done, Scott slides himself in next to you, pulling you close.
That’s when you freeze because — what is this? What are you? The panic sinks in fast and you feel fear claw at your chest. You have a son. You can’t be doing — whatever the fuck this is — with his dad, who he doesn’t even know is his dad.
“Scott—”
“Sleep.”
“Go home.”
“No.”
“Are you shitting me?” You hiss, “You can’t be here when Ben comes home tomorrow morning.”
Scott exhales long and hard, like he’s had enough of your shit. “Why not? I get full weekends, don’t I? That includes mornings. Now sleep.”
“Sleep in your own home! You can come back tomorrow.”
Before you know it, you’re back on your back and Scott’s on top of you, pinning you down with a glare. “Sweetheart, it seems like I didn’t fuck you hard enough. If I did, then you wouldn’t be thinkin’ whatever the fuck is going through that big head of yours right now. So, I’m going to fuck you again, and I’m going to keep fucking you until you stop treatin’ me like I’m some shameful one-night stand. I’m the father of your child — our child. So take your pick — do you want me to fuck you again until your head’s too full of cock to argue, or do you want to sleep?”
You open your mouth. Sleep is on the tip of your tongue, but then you feel him and his gaze warm on you and your legs press together on instinct.
He chuckles, dipping his head to press a chaste kiss onto your lips. “Good answer.”
Sure enough, he keeps his promise and you only find yourself falling asleep when he gives you your third orgasm of the night.
There is no monumental shift. Scott acts the same way he always has — at least around Ben.
He tries to maintain some level of distance but you can tell that he’s getting a little antsy about his own son not knowing who he is. Every time he asks you, you have to shoot it down, mainly for Ben’s sake.
But you also know that you raised a good, smart kid, which means it’s not surprising when Ben asks, “Who’s Uncle Scott really?”
“He is—” you pause, “—a friend.”
“Boyfriend?”
Fuck.
“No, he’s just a friend — like the kind you’ll meet in school.”
Ben looks at the television where there’s an interview of Scott playing, the one from a local station talking about his startup. “You love him?”
Your heart slams against your ribs. Warmth creeps up on you and Ben must notice it because he’s smiling softly, patting your hand.
“I like him,” Ben gives his nod of approval before turning back to the LEGOs in front of him.
A four-year-old just reassured you that he likes his dad. His dad that he still doesn’t know about. You know it isn’t fair and you will tell him at some point, you’re just not sure how to have that conversation yet — not when Scott’s time here is uncertain, despite what he says.
Still, while Scott keeps things steady with Ben, he switches tactics with you. His hand is always touching you — your hip, your back, your shoulders. Subtle touches like a reminder that he’s here. It’s oddly comforting and you find yourself seeking his touch more than before.
Around your son, he still maintains some distance, even when you can tell he’s itching to get closer. The two of you are at the grocery store, you’re driving the cart while Ben runs ahead, giggling and pointing at everything he wants — which is really anything with at least twenty grams of added sugar.
Scott has an amused smile on his lips as he watches him.
“Think he could be a runner someday. Has the makings of an athlete. Maybe football,” he says, almost proudly with his chest puffed up.
You roll your eyes, “I’d rather avoid my son getting his head knocked around.”
“Or entrepreneur, he has a way with making you do things, you know. Smart. Manipulative.”
“Where do you think he got that from?”
Scott only smirks.
You’re scanning through your list when you realize, “Shit, I forgot to grab butter and it’s up the aisle.”
“I’ll grab it,” he says, squeezing your hip, “just get what you need here.”
Ben insists on getting chocolate milk, mainly because he’s convinced the chocolate cow on the box is real. You tell him that you could get the smaller version and that you’ll take him to a farm one day and realize that there are no cows that produce chocolate milk.
“With Uncle Scott? In Oka— Okla—” He struggles, frowning when he can’t remember.
Oh. “Oklahoma,” you add, “maybe. I’m sure there are closer farms.”
His mouth opens in a bright grin.
When you finally cave and put both the chocolate milk and the regular milk in the cart, you look back down the aisle to see Scott standing there.
Talking to a woman.
A woman who was very much his type before he met you.
Your chest pinches with an unfamiliar feeling. It’s understandable that Scott has seen and is probably still seeing other women. The two of you don’t have a label on things, nothing you can tape to his forehead that says off limits.
She looks young, sweet, dressed like she has a life. She’s smiling up at him, giggling at something he’s saying in a way where you know it’s not because he’s funny. She reaches up to touch his arm and he takes a step back, a polite smile in place, then he’s saying something and looking at you. And then she’s looking at you too, face souring.
Alright then.
You turn away again, continuing to push the cart as Ben sets his mind on cereal next. He’s been on a Lucky Charms kick and you desperately need to move him off it. It’s all sugar and food coloring.
Scott appears next to you, a hand on your lower back as he puts the butter box in the cart. He peeks at your list. “Cereal next?”
“Um, yeah,” you say, eyes going over your shoulder to catch another glimpse of that woman. “She was cute.”
“Yeah, she was.”
Your lips immediately curl and Scott catches it before you can school your expression. “Didn’t get her number?”
“Told her I’m with my wife and kid,” he smirks.
Wife and kid— you’re not even sure how to respond to that, so you resort to clearing your throat with a deadpan look. “Glad to hear we can be used to avoid women you don’t like.”
“Well, I was only half lying, wasn’t I?” He huffs as the two of you turn the corner, finding Ben already with a box of Lucky Charms in hand. You sigh as Scott mutters under his breath, “Not too late to make it all completely true though.”
You try to convince Ben that cornflakes are much more fun, which is the least convincing argument you can make, until Scott steps in and says that cornflakes make him super strong like the rooster on the cover. So Ben swaps out his pick for a box of Froot Loops and declares that he wants to be strong like this bird instead.
It isn’t until the two of you are unloading groceries into his car that it hits you, and the bag nearly slips from his fingers.
Make it all completely true. Wife and kid.
“Took you long enough,” Scott chuckles smugly. “Give it some thought. Maybe we can stop by the jewelers on the way back.”
Scott is relentless to say the least. He has increased the frequency of touching, has made it all the more obvious in front of everyone. Your coworkers all know him by name, chatting with him when you wrap up work late. Sometimes, he’s the one who picks Ben up from your mom’s and brings him to meet you at the hospital.
Your mom, of course, is over the moon. She can’t stop gushing over him, telling you how he helped her fix her leaky faucet, how he’s always on time to pick up Ben even when he’s still in the middle of work, and “Did you know he was featured in Forbes?”
He finally invites you and Ben over for dinner in his new apartment. It’s much more spacious, a two-bedroom that’s twice the size of yours — one of which he has set up for Ben. So Ben is also over the moon when he sees how massive his bedroom is. He asks if the two of you can stay and you only manage a tight-lipped smile before you redirect your glare towards Scott.
“Your place too,” Scott says casually, handing you an extra set of keys. “In case you ever need some more space.”
Later, he also shows you that he’s left most of the closet empty in the master bedroom. “In case you need to stay over.”
It’s sweet. It’s thoughtful.
It’s too much.
You don’t even know where you stand with him. He takes you out again and then another time; you tell yourself that this is just friends hanging out, but you know it’s different when you end up in his bed at the end of the evening. The first time you slept with him at his and tried to leave after, you realize that your shoes are nowhere to be found.
“Where are my shoes?”
“I knew you were going to pull some stupid shit like this. So I hid them.”
“What the fuck? Are you four?”
“No, but our son is. Now get your ass back into bed.” You cross your arms over your chest, planting your foot down in protest. Scott regards you coolly. “You either come here on your own accord or I’m throwing you over my shoulder.”
He doesn’t make threats lightly, so you stomp all the way back to his bedroom where Scott proceeds to fuck you over again and makes sure that you have no energy left to move.
Things are… good.
For the first time in years, you feel almost at peace. Ben’s a good kid, raised right, adored by all around him. He’ll start school next year with a stronger support system, what with Scott vowing to attend every parent-teacher conference and other events that require his presence. The two of you agree to tell Ben in a month — a month to prepare for the conversation.
You can’t even imagine what it’s like — living four years of your life never seeing your father and then suddenly dropping one in his lap. Well, you suppose it isn’t very sudden considering Scott’s been around more often than not. Part of you hopes that Ben is hopeful about Scott, it’ll make the conversation easier.
That being said, your work schedule has been atrocious which means you haven’t had the chance to really sit down with him and have a conversation on how to broach the topic with your son. The one time you finally manage to get off work early, you decide to swing by Scott’s; he works from home and you figured all three of you could do dinner together at that pizza place.
The key rests between your fingers, pinched tight as you stare at it.
You should just ring the doorbell. Right? It isn’t your home. But Scott gave you a key and what if he’s still in the middle of something? What if he has someone else in there? No, you shouldn’t use the key. Then again, he shouldn’t have given you a key if he would be doing anything he wouldn’t want you to see.
The internal debate persists until you decide fuck it and push the key into the lock. You open the door slowly, quietly, nothing like your own creaky one. Scott’s nowhere to be found in his giant living room with his giant television. You look at that giant screen with envy, thinking about how wonderful movie nights would be with that setup. Scott has already insisted on doing movie nights at his instead, stocking up on popcorn and sugar, and you’re tempted to agree.
Muffled voices carry down the hall. He’s probably in the bedroom so you silently make your way over in case he’s on a call.
“Yeah, I’ll be back next week, alright,” Scott says, sounding agitated. You get a peek through the bedroom door and find him pacing.
An open suitcase in front of him.
Your heart drops. The scene is all too familiar. It’s like you’re twenty-two again, left behind in this town while he goes off to chase his dreams — only this time, he had promised you he would stay. Only this time, it won’t only be your heart he’ll break.
“I know it’s takin’ me a while,” he grunts, scrounging his hand through his hair, “no, I still need to pick up my shit.”
You can’t hear the person on the other end of the line but it’s clear that he doesn’t seem very pleased. A sigh heaves from his chest as he looks out the window, a mournful expression painted onto his face.
“I have to tie up some loose ends.”
Loose ends? You swallow thickly. That’s— is he talking about you? About Ben? He’s supposed to be back in Oklahoma next week. No doubt whoever is on the other side is someone at work. But he had promised you he would stay — right? He had said that he would be sticking around. Why else would he get an apartment? Why would he set the bedroom up for Ben otherwise?
But your mind has spiraled beyond the point of reason. Your survival instincts kick in again; you never want to be the person left behind. Not again. Not after that first time. So you should leave first. It’ll make it easier for the both of you.
Scott won’t have to break the news and you — you can let that hope quietly slip away.
All you can do now is… leave.
So you do. You take one step back then another and another until you’re in his kitchen. You open one of the drawers and tuck the extra set of keys he gave you inside; after all, you won’t be needing those anymore. Then you’re out the door.
You’re functioning numb as you get home. Ben greets you with a big smile and so does your mom. You force yourself to smile too and ask if the two of them want pizza for dinner. Your mom looks at you with a silent question asking where Scott is. You only shake your head.
When Scott calls you as you’re getting ready to leave for the restaurant, you don’t pick up.
Not feeling so hot.
His face appears on your screen as your phone vibrates with the incoming call. You curse yourself for texting so quickly.
“Hey,” you try to rasp.
“What is it? A cold? A fever? I can grab medicine and dinner on the way there. Maybe that wonton noodle soup from—”
“No, don’t,” you blurt out, “I, uh, don’t want to get you sick.”
“I don’t give a shit about that.” You can practically imagine his annoyed scowl. He’s probably shrugging on his jacket, you can hear the jingle of his keys as he heads to the door. “What do you want to eat? You like that wonton soup right? It’s on the way to yours.”
“Scott, please.”
“Sweetheart,” he sighs.
“I’ll be fine,” you insist, “just give me a few days to recover and I’ll text you, okay.”
Silence on the other end means that he’s giving it actual thought. Then you hear the long exhale. “Fine. Call or text me if you need anything. Seriously.” He clears his throat, “You know, your mom could also take Ben for a few days. I’ll come take care of you.”
You bite your tongue, blinking away the tears as you stare up at the ceiling. You can’t get used to this, can’t get used to someone checking in on you, putting you first. This isn’t the kind of thing that lasts.
“No, I promise I’ll be okay.”
You call in sick for work, which shocks your entire team because you’re the type to drag yourself out of your deathbed to make sure you don’t miss a day. You’re not sure you like this reputation.
Jenna calls your bullshit out immediately. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” you mutter, picking on the lint on your pajama pants. You’re waiting for Ben to wake up so the two of you can spend the day together. He’s a little confused why you’re at home for a few days, but he certainly isn’t complaining.
“Does it have something to do with hottie Scottie?”
You wince, “That’s a gross nickname. Never say that again.”
“So it does, what did he do?”
It’s not what he did. It’s what he’s about to do. “It’s not a big deal. I just needed a break. Gonna spend some time with Ben.”
“Well, Ben loves her cool Aunt Jenna so I’ll swing by after with fried chicken?”
Your lips twitch. She always knows the right things to say. “Sounds good.”
On the other hand, you spend the rest of the week dodging Scott’s every attempt to come visit. You tell him that your cold has only gotten worse (you’re fresher than a spring chicken), that your mom is taking Ben for a few days (he’s sitting at the dining table), and that you are doing fine otherwise (your heart is splintering in your chest).
He sounds frustrated over the phone and, when he does visit, you pretend that you’re too sick to see him, refusing to let him through the door.
“This is fucking ridiculous. You have a cold. I’ll be fine,” he snaps through the front door. “Will you just let me in?”
Once again, you emphasize that that’s not good practice and colds are highly contagious. You can hear Scott’s feet shuffling outside, his annoyed grunts.
“Can you just let me in?” He breathes out deeply, “Please. I haven’t seen you in days and I really want to. I just want to make sure you’re good.”
Your forehead presses against the cool door. You tell yourself to stay strong. Don’t give in so easily. So again, you deny him entry and he finally leaves.
On Sunday, he calls and you at least pick that up. “I have to fly out to Oklahoma for a few days,” he mutters, “I’ll be back. Call me, text me, fucking email me if you need to — if you need anything at all, alright.”
“I’ll be fine,” you whisper.
You’re tying up those loose ends for him.
Scott goes radio silent for the first half of the week. You think this is finally it. He’s finally cutting you loose and maybe he’s simply going to fade into a distant memory. You’re back at work when he leaves Boston, your coworkers peppering you with questions about your absence. Jenna keeps the wolves at bay, telling all of them to give you some space.
“You need to talk to me at some point,” she gives you a look.
You lick your lips, mouth trembling as you finally say the words you’ve been too afraid to say. Because it’s one thing to think it, it’s another to admit it aloud. “Scott’s gone.”
“What?” She jerks back, “What do you mean he’s gone?”
Pushing around your peas, you sigh. “He’s in Oklahoma.”
“Temporarily right?”
You shrug. “Feel like it might be for good.”
“Did he tell you that?”
No, but you heard his conversation and it’s all about the words that are said behind your back that matter, right?
“Hon, listen to me. I’ve never seen a man more obsessed in my life. That guy’s in love with you.”
To that, you laugh, heart a little lighter for some odd reason. “He’s just being a good friend. He probably felt guilty after — you know — finding out that he knocked me up.”
She gives you a look. “If you seriously believe that, I’m going to have to take you up to neuro to get your head checked.”
On Thursday, you’re finally settling with the possibility that this really is it. You’ll be okay; you survived once without him, you can do it again. Instead, you focus strictly on work, drowning in the mountains of paperwork and unfinished studies. While you’re doing all that, your phone lights up with Scott’s name.
You don’t pick up. The last thing you need while you’re stressed out of your mind is to hear him apologize, hear him tell you that he’s changed in his mind. You can have your heart ripped out of your chest later.
Blissful ignorance is better than blatant rejection, that’s always been your motto.
You’re ready for a night of full decompression, which means you’re going to cuddle up with your baby and maybe fall asleep on the couch after a filling dinner of grease. “I’m home,” you call out.
The sight before you has you freezing. Scott’s on the couch — your couch — with Ben on his lap. They’re reading one of Ben’s favorite books and your son is giggling uncontrollably. Now, he is facing the front which means he can’t see Scott’s expression.
And that is a look that has your entire body stiffening in the doorway. You’re almost tempted to run again, but how could you abandon your son? So you try to ignore your buzzing nerves.
“Mom!”
“Hey, buddy,” you smile weakly, closing the door behind you. “Where’s, uh, my mom?”
“She left earlier, said I should spend some time with Ben and you,” he smiles. It’s sweet. It’s a sickeningly sweet smile, which means you know better than to trust it. “Ben here was just telling me about all the fun you had last week. All week in fact. Said you weren’t going to work so you two could spend all day together. Outside.”
Well.
“We watched a baseball game and then got ice cream!” Ben announces cheerily. Then he begins to list down everything you did last week — everything — and he is completely unaware that he’s digging a deeper grave for his own mother.
“That so?” Scott chuckles, patting his head. “Your mom’s a real miracle worker, isn’t she? Real healthy and spry to be doing all those things.”
The evening is tense, mostly for you. Your back is ramrod straight as Scott insists on cooking dinner and you have to keep a close eye to make sure he doesn’t add anything to your food. There are smarter ways to take you out, none of them ideal for you. Ben seems to sense the thickness of the air, eyes darting between the two of you.
Of course, neither of you show a thing but the anger that rolls off Scott is nothing short of obvious. So Ben then proceeds to declare that he wants to sleep early.
He never sleeps early. He’s just hit you with a second strike.
You busy yourself with getting him ready for bed, staying for as long as you can. You’re glued at the hip while he brushes his teeth, while he picks out his pajamas at an alarmingly fast speed. He doesn’t even want a bedtime story, telling you that he’s knackered from the long day.
And he goes straight to sleep. Traitor.
You were hoping Ben could buy you more time to come up with some sort of explanation for your behavior, or at least figure out a way to turn the conversation back to him because — what’s he doing back here? Isn’t he supposed to be in Oklahoma?
When you finally step out of Ben’s room, Scott looks noticeably ticked off.
His jaw is squared tight, dimples that are usually so endearing appearing more menacing in this light. “You wanna tell me why you lied about bein’ sick?”
You shift back on the heels of your feet. “I just needed some me time.”
“Bullshit,” he spits out, “you know I would’ve given you that if that’s what you wanted. Try again.”
While you’re usually better at thinking on your feet, the glare he’s pinned you with has your brain completely scrambled. You’re coming up with nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nothing even remotely close to being sufficient for your lie.
“Can’t think of anything, can you? Now that I’ve caught you.”
“Scott…”
“What was it?” He grunts, “What fucking spooked you?”
You press your lips together. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve never been good at commitment, sweetheart. Been runnin’ since the day I met you. So tell me, what fucking scared you?”
A protest sits on the tip of your tongue, ready to fall from your lips. Defensive. But Scott’s looking at you wearily, a five o’clock shadow that’s rarely ever there dusted across his face.
“You were going to leave,” you murmur.
He frowns at that. “When the hell did I say I was gonna do that?”
“You didn’t have to tell me,” you sigh, “I heard you on the phone.”
His eyebrows jump, surprise coloring his expression. If that isn’t confirmation, you don’t know what is. “What’re you talking about?”
It’s your turn to look irritated. How is he going to play dumb when he’s been caught red-handed?
“I heard you — you were going to head back Oklahoma, that you needed to pack your stuff and—” the last part has your throat constricting, you’re blinking back tears as you look at him. “—that you needed to tie up loose ends.”
Scott looks far from appeased from your explanation. “Yeah, and?”
“Are you shitting me?” You hiss, “If you were going to leave again, were you ever going to tell me? Were you just going to disappear? Leave me here alone again.”
“That’s not fucking fair,” he snaps right back, “I reached out to you. Multiple times. I called and texted and you disappeared. So don’t turn this shit around on me like I intentionally left you.”
“How was I ever supposed to tell you, Scott? I’m pregnant, can you stay here with me instead?”
“Yes! Exactly like that,” he snarls, “it’s as simple as that. But instead, you stopped responding to me. You left me.” That shuts you up, your breath catching in your throat. “So don’t be a hypocrite.”
“It would’ve been selfish of me — to tell you,” you gulp, chest tight, “you would’ve stayed because that’s who you are. That stupid sense of responsibility despite you being irresponsible enough to go out there and chase goddamn tornadoes. I couldn’t do that to you.”
“I know, because that’s who you are,” he mutters, “you think you gotta do everything on your own. You think I don’t hear things? Your mom and Jenna told me plenty about how tough things were for you. How do you think that makes me feel? I’m the asshole that left you.”
“You didn’t know,” you breathe in shakily.
“Doesn’t change the circumstances, does it?” He snips. His face softens then, melting slightly as he sees you curling into yourself. “But I really need you to get your head checked. Something ain’t right up there if you think for a second I could really ever leave you again.”
You look up at him and he’s already taken a step towards you. His hand slides up your neck to cup your cheek, his warm blue eyes on you.
“I was wrapping things up in Oklahoma so I can move here for good. I needed to deal with some paperwork and all the transition for the fieldwork. We’re not short-handed but, you know how it is with leadership.” He pauses, searching your face for any reaction. “I couldn’t just leave my team hanging out to dry so I had to finalize everything before I officially moved here.”
Well. Your voice is quiet when you ask, “So you weren’t going back to Oklahoma for good?”
The aggravation returns to his face. “You’re shittin’ me right? Have I not been telling you for weeks that I’m here to stay?”
“I just thought you meant temporarily,” you sputter, “who picks up their entire life on a fucking whim?”
“It’s not a whim! I was planning to move back here, focus more on raising funds with investors. That was, if I managed to find you!” That has you jolting back in surprise. “I came here to look for you. Properly this time. Fuck, and I told myself that, if I found you, I wasn’t gonna get you walk away from me again.”
“You— really?”
He rolls his eyes, lips tugging up. “Yeah, really. Let go the love of my life once, ain’t doin’ that again.”
“Love of your life?” You squeak.
Scott looks up at the ceiling, praying to some almighty up there to lend him some patience. “Thought that was fuckin’ obvious,” he mutters, “for someone so fuckin’ smart, you can be real stupid.”
“That’s so rude,” you frown.
“Apparently, I have to be if I need you to get your head out of your ass.”
You lick your lips, face flushing with heat. “So, uh, love of your life? Can I get some clarity on that?”
“How can I be any clearer?” He snaps, “If you’re gonna ask me since when, you really think I’d keep fucking you back then if I wasn’t in love with you?” Your jaw practically drops. “You’re the idiot that didn’t want anything real.”
“You were fucking everything that moved!”
“Until I met you!” He shakes his head. “Jesus, you really— I don’t know how you got me wrapped around your finger all this time.”
You huff, “Are you gonna keep insulting me all night?”
“Are you not gonna tell me you love me?”
A laugh bubbles up your throat. “What makes you think I love you?”
“I don’t think, I know, sweetheart,” Scott grins, arm stretching to pull you towards him. He tucks you in close, your breasts against his chest as your palms land on his shoulders, fingers scratching the hair at the nape of his neck. He lets out a quiet little moan. “Come on, say it. I know you’ve been dyin’ to for years now.”
With a roll of your eyes, you puff out, “I love you.”
He grunts, leaning down to tease you. “Don’t think I heard you.”
“I love you, Scott Miller. Now will you shut up and kiss me?”
“Never could say no to you, sweetheart.”
+ sam: thank you so much if you've made it this far!!! you've finally seen the inner workings of my mind when i'm truly hyperfixating. please know that i appreciate every single piece of engagement but i especially love to hear what you think of the story, your fave parts, etc.!!! <3
i’m literally BEGGING you, PLEASEEEEE write another scott miller fic!!!!! i just finished reading the one you have right now and it was fucking amazing!!!!! perhaps a series as well??? idc what it is i am just so obsessed and need more
Matters of orgasm quota
Pairing: Scott Miller x Storm Par partner!reader
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-181938
PSA: I’ve been informed by the lovely @davidcoresnwet that someone has used an excerpt of Lessons on sex to create an AI bot. It's not me and I do NOT consent to my work being used or adapted in AI tools in any form. If anyone is able to, please report it and request its removal, the link will be at the bottom of this post.
Summary: By convincing Scott you were a one-orgasm girl, despite what your one-night stand proved, you thought you'd be letting him down gently. What you didn't expect was how eagerly he'd call your claim "insufficient data" and just how determined he'd be to run the numbers himself...Care to play a game?
Classification: Smut +18 | coworkers to friends with benefits, inappropriate workplace behavior with sexual banter, voyeuristic risk and exhibitionism kink, power dynamics at work, emotionally repressed idiots in love, several smut scenes, rude/arrogant Scott Miller, mention of a breeding kink, protected rough sex, oral sex, mild jealousy, guided (?) fingering, orgasm control, overstimulation and multiple orgasms, dirty talk and condescending praise, groping/nipple play, dom/sub dynamics in bed and mild manhandling.
Word count: 10,7k
You'd been struggling at work lately…just a little and it certainly, definitely, wasn't because you'd finally gotten fucked.
Being dickmatized wasn't a real thing…you were about eighty-six percent sure of that, though the number seemed to drop every morning you woke up thinking about Scott before your alarm even went off.
Your lack of focus had absolutely nothing to do with the way he'd ruined your standards a few nights ago…the problem simply was the men around you. You were back at the office now, which meant instead of dealing with one irritating man, you were surrounded by twenty.
None of them understood the concept of an inside voice, half of them apparently thought deodorant was optional and for reasons beyond your comprehension, at least one of them always felt compelled to announce that his balls itched to whoever happened to be standing nearby. You'd abandoned your desk before lunch and barricaded yourself inside one of the glass meeting rooms, the thicker walls muting the chaos outside without cutting you off completely.
You could still see everyone moving through the office and they could still see you buried behind your laptop, which was enough to keep people from accusing you of hiding, which you were definitely NOT doing. Unfortunately, the spreadsheet glowing on your screen had long since blurred into meaningless numbers. Instead, you sat staring at it while trying to figure out how to fix yourself before weather alerts put you and Scott back on the road together.
Maybe celibacy deserved another shot and maybe one incredible night was enough for another long while. You'd had great sex, you'd been thoroughly fucked and that could be the perfect place to stop, before it got so good it stopped fitting anywhere on your stupid little scale.
You pressed your hands over your face and groaned into your palms. “This can't be that fucking hard,” you muttered, the words muffled against your skin. “Let's not be greedy,” you sighed then, forcing yourself to sit up straighter and look back at your laptop.
The spreadsheet waiting on the screen might as well have been written in another language because every time you tried to focus, Scott found his way back into your head. It had been days and your brain refused to let it go…his hands, his voice, his touch and the way he'd looked at you afterward. The memories barged into your thoughts whenever they pleased, leaving you staring blankly ahead instead of working.
Your eyes weren't even seeing the numbers anymore, they were vaguely fixed on Javier outside the meeting room enthusiastically demonstrating what looked like an attempted backflip to someone unfortunate enough to be watching as a knock against the glass wall snapped you out of it and your head turned so fast your neck almost protested.
Scott stood on the other side, dressed in his usual Storm Par shirt and cap, one hand already wrapped around the handle. He didn't wait for permission before pushing the door open and letting himself in, softly closing it behind him.
You let out a slow breath through your nose and immediately looked back at your laptop, pretending you'd been deeply invested in your work instead of daydreaming about being folded like a Samsung all over his apartment.
“What’s up?” you asked as casually as you could manage, clicking through random tabs and typing complete nonsense onto the keyboard with sufficient confidence to sell the act.
Scott pulled out the chair across from you and sat down. “Nothing.” He shrugged, resting his forearms on the table like this was the most normal visit in the world. “Just checking in.”
Your eyes flicked toward the glass wall briefly as you hummed softly. “You could've done that from outside.”
“I could've,” he agreed easily. “Just wanted to make sure you understood that hiding from me isn't gonna solve your problem.” He motioned lazily toward the floor-to-ceiling windows surrounding the room. “Especially when you pick the fishbowl office.”
You let out a quiet huff of laughter before catching yourself, disguising it with a small clearing of your throat as your fingers kept tapping aimlessly at the keyboard.
“Where are you hiding then?” you asked, finally sparing him a glance. Scott hadn't been around much the last few days, at least not anywhere the rest of the team could bother him, though that wasn't exactly unusual, given the choice, he'd avoid every person in the building.
“My office,” he replied flatly.
“Your office?” You frowned. “Since when do you have an office?”
Scott leaned back in his chair. “Turns out when enough people complain about how snarky you are and the company likes your results too much to fire you, they stick you in your own office.”
You stared at him for a second before giving up on the performance entirely. The laptop clicked shut beneath your hands and for the first time in seventy-two hours, you looked directly into his eyes without immediately finding an excuse to look away.
“You done pretending?” he asked.
“I wasn't pretending.”
“No?” His voice stayed soft, almost conversational but the corner of his mouth twitched with the beginning of a grin. He tilted his head to watch your reaction. “'Cause you've barely been able to argue with me for three days…Doesn't seem to be a problem right now.”
Your eye twitched, God, he was trying to bait you. You refused to give him the satisfaction of reacting the way he wanted, especially not to a man who wore a baseball cap indoors like the sun might suddenly appear over the conference table.
“Those great results you're so proud of benefiting from have another name next to yours at the bottom of every report,” you shot back evenly. “Last I checked, you're not out there watching your own back, no matter how self-centered you happen to be.”
You would've sworn you saw the very corner of his mouth twitch upward again. Damn it.
“My point exactly,” he said quietly, settling deeper into his chair with the smug confidence of a man who knew he'd gotten exactly the reaction he wanted. The same confidence he'd had a few nights ago when he'd been ordering you around his apartment, rewarding you every time you listened.
The memory flashed through your head before you could stop it. Was he thinking about it too? You blinked hard and shoved the thought aside, straightening your shoulders.
“What exactly are we talking about?” you asked.
“My office and your smart mouth. What else?” He paused long enough to let the words hang. “If I started casually talking about how good it felt to fuck you silent, you'd probably throw that laptop at me.”
Your heart lurched so violently it genuinely annoyed you. Your eyes darted to the glass walls surrounding the room to make sure nobody outside could somehow hear him before snapping back to his face. He looked completely unbothered, sitting there like he'd commented on the weather.
“What do you want, Scott?”
“Besides your pussy in my mouth?...” He tipped his head back, lazily rocking his chair as he seemed to remember why he'd actually come in. “Right.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a key and slid it across the table until it stopped between you. “The key to our office.”
You looked down at it, then back at him, narrowing your eyes. “I think I'll pass.”
“It's at the end of the hall, far from the elevators,” he continued as though you hadn't spoken. “Big windows...private bathroom…and its own Wi-Fi router. We could probably fit a couch in there for those midday naps you keep pretending you don't need.”
You let out a quiet scoff and leaned back in your own chair, mirroring his position. “I think all of that thunder finally got to you, Scotty,” you teased, genuinely wondering if the man had started losing his hearing along with his common sense from being exposed to such weather.
“No, but your moaning probably did,” Scott replied without missing a beat. “It echoed pretty well.”
You stared at him for a second before sighing long and steady. “Blame your complete lack of furniture, playboy.” you muttered. “Your apartment needs a rug…It might actually absorb some of the noise and save you the trip to the ear doctor.”
“I can get a rug,” he nodded thoughtfully. “Just need someone to test how effective it is–”
You leaned across the table before he could finish, eyes widening in warning as you pointed a finger at him. “Stop…just stop.” Your voice dropped instinctively as you glanced through the glass wall, checking that nobody outside was paying enough attention to lip-read the conversation.
A few people walked past carrying laptops while Javi argued with someone over a radar image, nobody seemed interested in the meeting room.
You looked back at Scott. “We're at work…You can't say shit like that in front of everyone.”
“You're right,” he admitted with a slow nod, looking almost disappointed in himself for all of half a second, then he tapped the key sitting between you. “Take that and follow me.”
A laugh escaped you immediately as you shook your head. “Scott, I'm not going to a second location with you…We both know how that ends.”
“First time I've heard you complain,” he said, completely unfazed. “Usually ends pretty well. Sure, there's quite a bit of cleaning after and being sore doesn't help…but it’s a small price to pay.”
You snorted and pushed the key back across the table with one finger until it stopped in front of him. “Yeah and unsurprisingly I don't need the whole office hearing about it.”
“So you admit you're loud.”
“I'm not admitting to anything during work hours,” you clarified. “I'm trying to work so we can keep our numbers up. Unlike you...” You leaned forward again, lowering your voice until he had to do the same. “...who's trying to lure me into some dark office so you can fill me up like a fucking Twinkie.”
Scott's eyebrows lifted noticeably. “A breeding kink?” He hummed thoughtfully, rubbing his jaw like you'd presented him with a serious research topic. “Interesting...” He nodded once. “I'll get tested. Can't say I've ever wanted to skip the condom step before but I'd consider making an exception for you.” His fingers slid the key back toward you again. “In the meantime…don't knock it until you've seen it…Big windows, no vis-à-vis and if you're good and quiet, we could have a remake of–”
“I’m not letting you fuck me again, Scott,” you disputed. You weren't entirely sure whether you'd made that decision before he walked into the meeting room or only after he'd spent the last five minutes trying to talk you into following him somewhere with a lock on the door but it was the right one…it had to be.
Scott blinked once, let out a slow breath through his nose, then stood already facing the exit. “Get up.”
Another laugh slipped out as you leaned farther back in your chair, folding your arms across your chest. “No.”
“No?” He turned fully toward you, giving a small, thoughtful nod. “You know, I like to think we've got this communication thing figured out but I feel like I'm missing a few pieces here.”
You nodded as if his confusion was perfectly reasonable. “Sure...uh...” You shrugged innocently. “We're incompatible.”
“Incompatible,” he repeated flatly with enough sarcasm packed into the word to make you roll your eyes. He'd spent the last three days replaying every second of that afternoon in his apartment and there hadn't been a single thing incompatible about it. You two fit like pieces of the same puzzle, one he intended to keep building. “And you know this how?”
“Once is a mistake, twice is a coincidence…third time is a pattern.” You counted each point off on your fingers before pointing at yourself. “Celibacy is a choice and it's the one I'm making.”
Scott stared at you for a long second before pulling off his cap and dragging a hand through his hair, looking toward the ceiling like he was asking for patience. The cap went right back on.
“Okay,” he sighed. “Now give me the no-bullshit answer.”
You shrugged again. “That is the no-bullshit answer…but if you'd like, I can make you a graph…maybe throw in a pie chart, some percentages...” You gestured toward the hallway. “It's gonna take a while though, so you should probably wait in your office.”
“Our office,” he corrected automatically, then he looked around the meeting room, motioning toward your laptop, the scattered papers beside it and the whiteboard behind you. “I’m sorry, I figured you already had the presentation ready...I assumed that's what all this was.” He stepped closer and planted both hands on the table, leaning toward you. It forced you to lift your chin to keep eye contact. “Explain it to me like I'm stupid, it’ll save you some time.”
You leaned forward until both forearms rested on the desk, making sure he had nowhere to look except your face. If Scott wanted to play games, then he could deal with the consequences.
“The sex we had was absolutely...” Your voice softened into something dreamy, bait wrapped in honey.
Scott took it immediately. His shoulders loosened, the tension he'd walked in with bleeding out of him as he leaned closer over the desk, one brow lifting. The corner of his mouth almost curled into a smug grin, convinced he knew exactly where you were going.
“Mhm,” he hummed quietly.
“...interminable,” you finished flatly. “Too many rounds for me.”
The grin died before it had the chance to fully appear. His shoulders deflated, followed by a slow blink as the realization settled in that he'd fallen for it. His jaw twitched, eyes narrowing at you with the familiar look of a man who'd just been expertly baited.
“And that matters because...” he asked after a beat, his voice noticeably flatter now. “...you're a numbers person?”
“I don't need to run the numbers to know I'm a one-orgasm girl,” you replied with a careless shrug. “Always have been.”
Scott shook his head slowly. “So the extra two you had...”
“Were just excessive,” you nodded, grinning when his expression darkened further. “See? I knew you'd understand…You're a smart guy, Scott. I've never actually believed your mother dropped you as a child.” You shook your head and flipped your laptop open like the conversation was already over. “Whoever started that awful, tasteless but admittedly very funny rumor around the office should go get fucked.”
“So...you.” he noted immediately. He wasn't stupid, the only person in the building with enough nerve to insult him to his face and behind his back was the same woman he'd spent three days blaming for every inconvenient hard-on he'd had since the storm. “Which is exactly what I've been trying to do.”
You gave another innocent shrug. “It’s just not my thing.”
Scott pushed off the table and straightened to his full height again, looking down at you with that infuriating conviction that usually preceded a terrible idea. “You just haven't been with the right man.”
You couldn't help laughing, even though a small part of you hated that he was probably right. It wasn't the multiple orgasms that bothered you, it was the thought of getting used to someone like him. What happened if this became your new normal? What if nobody else ever measured up afterward? You refused to let some man permanently recalibrate your sex scale.
“Is that you insinuating you've got a magical dick?” you asked, resting your chin on your hand.
“You've seen it...you've felt it...” Scott replied with a maddening grin, his voice dropped, making your stomach tighten. “You tell me.”
You nodded thoughtfully. “Okay...I'm telling you it was a one-time thing. It can't...” You caught yourself, deciding you owed him at least one honest sentence. “Statistically speaking, I hadn't had sex in a very long time, so it was a direct consequence of that. You just happened to cash in on it.” You shrugged and turned back to your laptop, fingers returning to the keyboard. “Should be used to lucky strikes by now, considering your track record at work before we partnered up.”
Scott didn't answer immediately. He simply watched you, piecing your logic together with the same concentration he used to read weather models. “So...” he said after a few seconds. “You're leaving me because you don't think I can consistently make you orgasm more than three times.”
Your hands stopped typing as you genuinely considered it. “If I say yes, will you leave me alone?”
He looked like he was weighing the offer for a solid twenty seconds before quietly stepping around the desk. Without warning, he pushed your laptop shut, stopping your hands beneath your own surprised stare, then picked it up before you could protest. “We work with probabilities and success rates,” he said matter-of-factly. “I'll just have to prove you wrong.”
“That's...not what I said.”
“Then maybe my parents really did drop me.” He tucked the laptop in front of himself as he headed for the door, conveniently hiding the growing outline in his jeans. “I know just how much you like being right…enjoy it while it lasts.”
You pointed after him, biting back another smile. “Keep rubbing my laptop against your boner and you won't hear the end of it.”
A quiet laugh rumbled in Scott's chest as he kept walking. “Come get it then. Might still be early enough for you to get the upcoming flood under wraps.”
He glanced back over his shoulder, the grin he wore making you roll your eyes before you could stop yourself. You shook your head, laughing under your breath as you reached for the key he'd left on the table. Your chair scraped softly against the floor as you stood, pocketing the key before following him to the door.
“You're actually deranged.”
“You liked it once,” he replied without missing a beat, stepping aside to hold the door open for you. “I'm confident you will again.”
You clicked your tongue as you brushed past him, your shoulder bumping his on purpose. “You smug prick... Are we keeping count now?” you asked, looking up at him just long enough to catch the satisfaction on his face before heading into the hallway.
Scott waited until you were ahead of him before letting the smile spread properly across his face. He wasn't unprofessional enough to put his hands on you in the office, no matter how private it was. If he started, neither of you would stop and he wasn't about to deprive himself of the sounds that had been replaying in his head for three straight days. Your question, though, lodged itself somewhere in the back of his mind.
Keeping count...now that was an idea worth exploring.
The sexual tension around your shared office had become something you were going to have to live with sooner rather than later.
The door stayed wide open from the moment you walked in until the moment you left, partly for appearances and mostly to keep either of you from acting on a bad idea. Your desks sat at opposite ends of the room, separated as much as the space allowed and every time you stood at the whiteboard scribbling down data or arguing over storm paths, you caught yourself turning your whole body whenever you heard footsteps behind you.
More often than not, it was Scott wandering over to look at what you were doing and the sharp look you'd throw over your shoulder was enough to stop him a few feet away, one corner of his mouth twitching before he'd silently retreat.
All that tension had to go somewhere and unsurprisingly, it ended up back at your house, though not for any reason either of you would've admitted to. You sat cross-legged on your bed in an oversized t-shirt that barely covered the tops of your thighs, wearing nothing underneath but panties because there was no point pretending modesty around a man who had already seen every inch of you.
Across the room, the television you'd impulsively bought to fill the quiet evenings and keep your hands from wandering under the covers to thoughts of him, leaned against the wall while Scott fixed the crooked mount you'd spent an hour unsuccessfully fighting with the day before. He worked with the same concentration he gave everything else, drill humming steadily in his hand as he checked measurements twice before sinking another screw into the wall.
The room was quiet but not uncomfortably so. Ever since his apartment, conversations between you had become strangely careful. The morning after, you'd simply asked him to drive you home, thanked him with a kiss that tried far too hard to be casual and climbed out of his truck like nothing had changed. Since then, your texts had stayed light, mostly work-related, occasional teasing and both of you acknowledging that neither of you regretted a second of it.
The silence stretching between you now felt heavier than any conversation.
“You know I can feel you staring, right?” Scott asked without looking over, the low whir of the drill cutting through the room before he released the trigger and tightened the bracket with one hand.
“Is it only okay when you do it?” you shot back immediately.
"Given it took you two years to realize I was looking at you in the first place...yeah," he replied without hesitation. He straightened, checking the level one last time before wiping his hands down the front of his jeans. Satisfied, he lifted the television with ease, the muscles in his forearms tightening as he guided it onto the bracket until it clicked into place.
Only then did he turn to face you, that infuriating grin tugging at one corner of his mouth. "You also could've called me for this," he pointed out. "Or texted me sometime between telling me how thoroughly satisfied you were and dodging every question about when I was seeing you outside of work again." His eyes flicked briefly toward the mounted TV before settling back on you. "I'm exceptionally good at screwing stuff."
"I'd rather you weren't," you answered before you could stop yourself, the words escaping so naturally they made you sigh the moment they landed.
Scott caught it immediately. You tried to keep your attention on the television but your eyes betrayed you, drifting back to his arms as he gave the screen a firm shake to make sure it was secure, his veins stood out beneath tanned skin, reaching very capable hands...you looked away a second too late.
He folded his arms across his chest, studying you with the same calm expression he'd worn for the past few days. He still hadn't let the conversation from the office go and judging by the look on his face, he wasn't planning to. "You're not a one-orgasm woman," he said matter-of-factly. "If you think you are, you're only fooling yourself."
You leaned farther back against the pillows, drawing one knee up lazily as you looked at him. "Are you saying you could've gone longer?" you asked. "The living room, the kitchen and then the shower wasn't enough?"
Scott walked to the foot of the bed without answering right away. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he planted both hands against it and leaned toward you. "I've been in a truck with you long enough to know when to quit," he said quietly, his eyes moving over your face before settling back on yours. "We were both exhausted." A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. "That's not the same thing as being sated."
"Isn't it?" you asked, your gaze slipping almost involuntarily from his face to the veined length of his forearms braced against the mattress before climbing back to meet his eyes.
Before you could say anything more, one of his hands wrapped around your ankle and pulled you smoothly to the very edge of the bed, your legs parting naturally to make room for him standing between them. He wasn’t even that close yet but you could already feel yourself growing wet, the slow throb of arousal building low in your belly from nothing more than the way he looked at you. "Weather models aren’t the only thing I read well," he rasped, his voice dropping lower.
"What are you reading now, Scotty?" You teased, fingernails trailing lightly up and down his forearms as you looked up at him.
“That you have more than one…or three meek orgasms in you.” He assured, hands trailing slowly up your legs, the rough warmth of his palms sliding over your skin as he held eye contact. “I just need you to let me show you.”
Your eyes narrowed at his unshakable confidence. “And how are you gonna do that?”
“We’re gonna play a game.” He grinned as he let one finger hook into the waistband of your panties, yanking them down slowly. “Numbers excite you,” he started, eyes lifting to yours for any sign that he should stop but when he found none, he continued pulling the fabric lower, sliding it down your thighs until your glistening pussy was fully exposed to the cool air of the room.
You chuckled under your breath, the sound barely cutting through the charged space between you. “They don’t excite me, Scott. They are part of my job.”
“I’ll put you to work then.” His mouth curved into something faintly amused as he leaned in closer, hands easing the panties off the rest of the way and letting them fall aside onto the mattress. “Condoms?”
You held eye contact with him for as long as you could, whether it was an attempt at challenging him or calling his bluff, it didn’t work. “Bedside table,” you replied, chin tipping slightly in its direction.
The mattress dipped as he moved away and you followed him with your eyes, watching the way his shoulders moved under the fabric of his shirt, every motion unhurried as he reached the bedside drawer and slid it open.
A low chuckle slipped from him as he pulled out the brand new box of condoms, turning it between his fingers. You had bought it after that night in his apartment, unsure if anything would happen again but wanting to be ready. “I don’t know if this is wishful thinking,” he murmured, glancing at you over the edge of the box, “or if I should be worried about competition.”
“Focus on your little game before I dry up,” you shot back with a grin, chin tilting slightly as you held his gaze without blinking.
That earned a short, amused huff from him. Scott walked back toward the end of the bed, the condom foil caught lightly between his teeth as he worked his belt loose with ease, the sound of metal sliding through leather punctuating the silence. He kept his eyes locked on you the entire time, moving with unhurried confidence as he pushed his jeans down and let his heavy cock spring free.
“I am not in the business of droughts, sweetheart,” he said, voice edged with amusement as he straightened above you, tearing the wrapper open and finally discarding it to the side.
“There is a first time for everything,” you replied, watching him with a calm that didn’t quite match the pace of your heart.
He knelt on the mattress between your parted legs as he rolled the condom on with unbroken focus and you moved back a little to give him more space, which he took gladly.
He hovered over you, warmth pressing into your skin before he even fully touched you. “Listen to me,” he started, one hand sliding down between your bodies, thumb beginning to circle slowly over your clit, drawing a sharp inhale out of your lungs as your shoulders loosened against the mattress.
His voice stayed authoritative yet gentle, one hand braced beside your head. “I want you to count every thrust and when I ask you, I want a clear answer…”
Your lashes fluttered as your focus wavered between his words and the way your body reacted against them. “What kind of game is that?” you asked, though it came out uneven, breath catching mid-sentence as your hips shifted slightly beneath him, instinctively chasing the pressure he was already controlling.
He didn’t react to the question beyond a faint shake of his head, like the answer didn’t matter as much as obedience to the structure he was setting. His thumb continued its firm, steady movements over your clit, each pass measured enough to keep you suspended between anticipation and release. “Then you'll count the orgasms too.”
“What happens if I lose count?” you whispered, chest heaving as warmth began spreading through your core, fingers flexing lightly against the sheets as your body started to respond more openly to him.
“Don’t and you won’t have to find out.” When your hips started to roll up into his hand, searching for more friction, he tsked softly, refusing to let you set the rhythm. “Can we start or do you have any questions?”
“Make this quick, my date will be here soon,” you teased, though it barely held its edge anymore, breath catching around the words as your focus kept slipping.
“Never had an audience but it’s not too late to start,” he grinned, eyes drinking in the way your chest heaved beneath the thin fabric of your oversized shirt. Your nipples had hardened into tight, sensitive peaks that poked prominently against the material with every quick, shallow breath you drew. Your lips parted on a soft sigh as your eyes fluttered shut, lashes casting faint shadows on your cheeks while you gave yourself over completely to the steady, knowing movements of his thumb.
The pressure against your clit was exquisite, firm circles that never faltered, gliding smoothly over the swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves with just the right amount of slick friction. Each rotation sent fresh sparks of pleasure racing up your spine and down through your core, making your inner muscles clench with need.
You could feel yourself growing wetter with every passing second, the warm arousal leaking steadily from your entrance and coating his fingers as they worked you loose. Your legs fell farther apart around his body, thighs quivering with the effort to stay open for him as the tension deep inside you coiled tighter and tighter, like a spring being wound to its limit.
Scott never looked away, his gaze locked on your face and then drifted lower to watch the way your cunt responded to his touch while his free hand rested heavily on your inner thigh now, holding you steady and spread wide so he could see everything. He varied the rhythm to keep you on edge, alternating between those perfect, consistent circles and broader strokes that dragged over your clit before returning to focused pressure right at the apex. The wet, obscene sounds of his thumb sliding through your increasing slickness mixed with your growing moans, filling the bedroom and making the air feel thicker, hotter.
Your breaths came faster, turning into soft pants that bordered on whimpers. The heat in your belly expanded rapidly, spreading outward in heavy, pulsing waves that made your toes curl against the sheets and your back arch clean off the mattress. Every muscle in your body seemed to draw tight as the pleasure mounted higher until it finally broke over you in a devastating rush.
The orgasm crashed through you with breathtaking intensity, starting deep in your core and radiating outward in rhythmic contractions. Your cunt fluttered and squeezed hard around nothing while your moans turned raw and unrestrained, echoing softly in the room while your entire body shook and trembled beneath him, thighs clamping around his hand as the pleasure rolled on and on, leaving you gasping for air and dizzy with satisfaction.
Even as the peak began to fade into warm, lingering aftershocks, Scott kept his thumb moving in gentler strokes, drawing out every last bit of sensation until you were left panting on the bed.
“That’s one,” he announced, using the slick in his hand to lubricate the condom further before fisting his cock and adjusting to push in slowly, the thick head stretching your entrance as you gasped at the sudden fullness. “Isn’t this what you’ve been thinking about?” He teased, giving a tentative thrust out and then back in, letting you feel every inch of him sliding home.
“You’re so full of yourself,” you moaned, the words breaking apart on the way out, breathless and uneven as your body adjusted to the depths he reached.
“Not the one being stuffed at the moment,” he answered with a low grin you could feel more than see as he bent down to press a slow kiss against your jaw and then lower along the sensitive skin of your neck. Against your ear he mumbled, “Focus…start counting.”
His hips began to move then, rolling into a steady rhythm that stole what little composure you had left. His shaft dragged heavily against your still pulsating walls, the thick length stroking every sensitive spot inside you with wet, filthy sounds that filled the room and made the mattress rock beneath you with every impact.
“Count,” he reminded you again, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he maintained that same unbroken rhythm.
You counted under your breath each time his pelvis collided with yours, though you didn’t truly believe there would be any substantial consequence if you didn’t. The steady slap of skin on skin mixed with the slick glide of his dick pumping into your drenched folds, every thrust pushing deep, stretching you open and rubbing perfectly against that spot that made your toes curl. Your inner walls clenched around him rhythmically, still fluttering from the first orgasm as he fucked you through the lingering sensitivity.
The wet sounds grew louder with each movement, your arousal coating his cock and dripping down to soak the covers beneath you.
“I still think about the first time I made you cum,” he grunted between thrusts, voice roughened by effort. “Do you?”
Your breath caught on a sharp whimper as your fingers curled into the front of his shirt, knuckles tightening. “Not a good time…”you managed. He huffed a low laugh at that, the sound rolling through his chest and into you where you were already pressed too close to think clearly.
“Good time as any,” he murmured, breath warm against your skin. “You’re good at multitasking.”
“Uh…it doesn’t–” you started, though the thought trailed off completely as you lost it to the deep, relentless thrusts. His hips snapped forward with controlled force, driving his cock into you over and over rhythmically. You could feel every vein and ridge as he filled you completely, pulling out just enough for the head to catch at your entrance before plunging back in and making your pussy squelch wetly around him.
“Doesn’t what?” He asked, gaze fixed on your face as he noticed the way your thighs tensed tighter around his waist and the way your grip on him changed from holding to clinging.
“Apply to sex,” you blurted out, breath coming fast now, words clipped between shallow inhales. “‘m gonna cum.”
“Mhm,” he hummed condescendingly. “Nobody’s surprised.”
He kept going at the same pace, cock plunging deep and pelvis grinding against your clit with every forward motion until your breath hitched sharply and the second orgasm crashed over you even harder than the first.
Your entire body seized as a guttural cry tore from your throat. Every nerve ending lit up at once with a white-hot surge that radiated outward in concentric pulls. Your cunt clamped around his cock with a strength that surprised even you, muscles attempting to milk him in rapid, involuntary contractions that made his thick ridge drag against your swollen walls with each desperate squeeze.
The moment it hit its peak, he spoke again. “How many was that?” He asked, hips still rolling smoothly to prolong the orgasm, drawing out every shudder as your walls continued to flutter and squeeze him. The wet sounds of his thrusts turned obscenely louder as your slick flooded around his shaft in a gush of warm fluid that coated his pelvis and dribbled down your ass crack onto the mattress. You could feel the way your inner walls fluttered and gripped, the textures of your own flesh squeezing every vein and bump of his length while your thighs locked tighter around his hips, heels digging into his lower back as if to trap him inside you forever.
Your vision swam, the ceiling light blurring into streaks of gold. A sharp, keening moan spilled from your lips, broken by gasps as his unrelenting rhythm continued, even as your peak made your whole body tremble like a plucked string.
“Mmm, twenty seven,” you moaned, hand digging into his forearm as the orgasm slowly subsided, leaving you trembling and breathless. “Second orgasm.”
“Smart and attentive,” he grinned, slowing his pace to allow you to breathe.
You nodded against the mattress, trying to catch your breath as the warm aftershocks of your orgasm continued to pulse through you. “Attentive enough to remember you said–” you swallowed hard, voice still shaky as your chest rose and fell rapidly. “And I quote ‘leaving me’ during our conversation at the office…I thought you of all people would understand what casual sex is,” you grinned, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “Can’t leave you if we’re not together.”
“Oh, I am aware…If we were together you wouldn’t doubt your ability to cum more than three times,” he said, immediately thrusting into you with one long, measured stroke. His cock pushed through your still-sensitive walls, making them flutter and grip around him as you gasped in surprise at the sudden overwhelm. “It’d be a shame for that box of condoms to go unused though.”
You grinned despite the way your entire body trembled, your breasts bouncing freely with each thrust as he picked up an uninterrupted rhythm again. The length of his cock stretched you so perfectly, sliding through your soaked pussy with maddening precision.
“It’s okay…my suitors don’t always use them,” you managed to tease, the words breaking into a breathy moan as he drove in particularly deep and ground his hips in a slow circle.
“Funny…” he replied dryly, dark eyes locked on your face as he watched every reaction closely. “Have any favorites?” He asked then, never once slowing the pounding of his cock into your dripping cunt.
You shook your head, trying desperately to keep your voice steady even as intense pleasure sparked through you with every single thrust. “I know you don’t make the list though…you haven’t been–uh…fuck,” you moaned loudly, pelvis tilting back for him to effectively hit target. “Performing particularly well.”
He hummed low and amused right against your ear in response, breath hot and ragged on your skin. “One data point from each category doesn't make for a reliable average…Can’t base a whole hypothesis off two results, you know that.”
“Scott–”
“I’m serious. You called me a pervert just to cum all over my dick? What the hell does that make you?” His hips didn’t slow for even a second. If anything, they found a devastating new pace that made your next protest die somewhere deep in your throat. His cock plunged into you again and again, the heavy drag of his length rubbing relentlessly against every sensitive inch of your walls while the wet slap of his pelvis meeting your soaked pussy echoed through the room.
The pressure inside you built rapidly once more, that familiar heavy warmth spreading through your core as your walls fluttered and squeezed greedily around him.
“This isn’t–” you gasped sharply as he changed his angle slightly, driving even deeper to fill you entirely. “...science. Far from it.”
“Everything is science.” He caught your jaw firmly in his hand, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to look directly at him. His expression remained cocky and unbothered, jaw clenched with concentration as sweat glistened on his forehead and along the strong line of his neck. His eyes burned with raw lust and focus as if he could keep fucking you exactly like this for hours without tiring. “If you want accurate data on my performance, you’re gonna need way more trials than this…statistically speaking.”
“You’re an ass–”
“I’m thorough.” His mouth dropped to your neck and you felt him smile against your overheated skin as he continued pounding into you without mercy. His cock slid in and out with slick, filthy ease, your abundant arousal coating every inch of him and dripping messily with every powerful thrust. “Guess I’ll just have to keep coming back…purely for research purposes.” He turned his mouth toward your ear, voice dropping into a low, teasing growl. “Twenty nine condoms left in that box and with the ones at my apartment we should have enough margin for trial, don't you think?” He grinned, hips snapping forward sharply to emphasize his words. “When we run out I’ll just cum inside of you.”
You gasped sharply, your entire body tensing and seizing as another orgasm ripped through you without warning. The pleasure hit hard and deep, making your pussy clamp down around his thick cock in strong pulses as your thighs quivered violently, mouth falling open in a long, broken moan as the overwhelming sensation consumed you completely, leaving your mind hazy and your body pulsing with need.
“That breeding kink of yours is gonna do miracles,” he marveled, voice rough and strained with arousal as he kept moving through your climax.
“Don’t have one,” you whimpered, the words barely forming as the orgasm continued to crash over you.
“Then why does the thought of it make you cum? Might need to notify the rest of your body of that,” he groaned, looking down between your bodies to watch intently as his cock pistoned in and out of you. The sight of his thick, slicked shaft plunging in and out of your swollen, dripping pussy was obscene, your lips stretched around him, plump and glistening, your hole gripping him with every withdrawal, trying to keep him inside.
“Trying to milk me dry…fuck.” He kept thrusting steadily, prolonging the pleasure until your body tensed firmly beneath him. “Number?”
You could barely form words, your head shaking weakly from side to side as you remained lost in the overwhelming haze of pleasure. Your chest heaved with each ragged inhale, your skin flushed hot all over as your pussy continued to flutter and squeeze around his thick cock even as the peak of your orgasm slowly began to fade.
“Irrelevant,” you managed to reply, your voice hoarse and breathless.
He shook his head, pulling out of you with a wet pop. The sudden emptiness devastated you, you moaned loudly at the loss, your hand instinctively shooting down between your legs to cover your sore pussy. Your fingers pressed against your puffy, sensitive folds as if trying to hold in the overwhelming ache, walls clenching desperately around nothing while slick arousal continued to leak out against your palm.
“Think,” he said, voice rough.
You grabbed onto his shirt desperately with your free hand, tugging him closer as you tried to collect your scattered thoughts through the lingering fog of pleasure. At the same time, Scott wrapped his hand around his own cock, giving it a few firm pumps as he hovered over you.
The wet, glistening length looked painfully hard, flushed dark at the tip but after only a few strokes he hissed sharply through his teeth and abandoned the motion. His chest heaved with heavy breaths, rising and falling visibly as he looked down at you with dark and hungry eyes.
The sight of you lying there needy and trembling, one hand cupping your dripping pussy while you stared up at him, seemed to affect him just as badly.
“I want a total,” he pressed, still breathing hard.
“Third orgasm,” you breathed, fingers absentmindedly pressing a little firmer against your sensitive folds for relief.
“Mhm…I’ll congratulate you when we reach double digits. What else?”
Your eyes widened as you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, staring at him in disbelief while your body still buzzed and trembled. “Double digits? Scott–”
“I want a number,” he repeated firmly, his voice low and commanding, chest still rising and falling heavily.
“Or what?” You challenged, still trying to catch your breath, hand remaining protectively over your aching pussy.
“It’s basic math,” he tried again, his tone teasing but unwavering as he looked down at you with that heated, predatory focus.
You sighed heavily and dropped back onto the mattress, your limbs feeling heavy and your pussy still throbbing with sensitivity as you tried to gather your thoughts. “Forty…two?”
“Is that a guess?” He asked, tilting his head as he grabbed the back of both your legs and pushed them closer to your chest, folding you nearly in half beneath him and exposing you completely.
“Am I wrong?” You asked, eyes drifting from his face down to his heavy, glistening cock dangling between your bodies. You gasped sharply as he pushed back inside in one smooth, devastatingly selfish stroke.
“Close enough,” he groaned as he began thrusting again, hips snapping forward with renewed purpose. The new angle allowed him to drive deeper, thick cock stretching your sensitive pussy wide open and rubbing relentlessly against every nook and cranny inside you repeatedly. The filthy sounds of him fucking into your dripping heat grew louder, your arousal coating his shaft completely and leaking out around him in messy rivulets with each thrust. The overwhelming fullness and friction left you moaning helplessly, body rocking beneath him as pleasure built rapidly once more.
You laughed breathlessly between your own broken moans. “You’re so full of shit, Miller…You can’t even admit the fact that you don’t know the rules to your own fucking game.”
“I know what the outcome should be,” he confessed, face twitching with pleasure as every deep thrust pulled fresh, uncontrollable noises from your throat. His cock plunged in and out of you steadily, the heavy drag of his length filling you completely and making your soaked pussy squelch obscenely around him with every movement. “Keep count. If we’re gonna do this more often, I can’t be responsible for our success rate decreasing…I need to know you can function after being thoroughly fucked.”
“I realize now…” you paused, swallowing hard as you tried to focus through the overwhelming haze of pleasure clouding your mind, the erotic sounds of sex making it nearly impossible to string thoughts together. “That you think very highly of your dick.”
“If it’s anything like your…glorious pussy, you will soon too,” he replied, voice low and rough with the effort of holding back while buried inside your tight heat.
“Glorious?” You giggled, the sound dissolving quickly into a breathy moan as he angled his hips just right and dragged the thick head of his cock across your g-spot.
“Never been good with words that aren’t insults…I’ll get back to you on that,” he groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through his chest. “I’ll understand if you want to gatekeep it from me…I’m turning into a fucking addict and I’m not above begging if you keep it to yourself,” he leaned down to press his lips firmly to yours because he knew that if he heard that breathy-moan hybrid once more, he would probably cum right then and there.
You kissed him back to the best of your abilities, one hand pushing off his baseball cap so you could run your fingers through his hair and grip the strands tightly. Your tongues danced messily together, tasting and exploring as his thrusts refused to slow or stop. Each stroke stretched you open wider, filling you completely and rubbing against every sensitive inch of your walls. The slick glide of his thick cock pumping in and out of your dripping pussy created constant wet sounds that mixed with your muffled moans into his mouth. The overwhelming fullness, the heat of his body pressed against yours and the taste of him on your tongue all blended into a storm of sensation that left you dizzy and desperate for more.
Eventually, your doorbell rang loudly through the house, the sound cutting cleanly through the heavy breathing and slick sounds of sex. Scott pulled back from your lips to look at you, eyes widening in brief surprise, yet his hips kept moving, driving his cock deep into you with relentless thrusts as if the interruption barely registered. You laughed breathlessly, both hands flying up to hide your face before he could see just how completely undone you had become, your expression wrecked every time he snapped his hips forward just right and ground against your clit. Between your splayed fingers, you watched his eyes flick toward the bedside table, lingering briefly on the box of condoms before returning to you. His brows pulled together, confusion settling across his face as he searched yours for an explanation.
“Were you serious?” He asked. Had sleeping with you that first night somehow triggered some carefully planned rotation of men? He wouldn't be angry and he wasn't exactly hurt, but the reality of someone else showing up at your door while still buried balls deep inside you was unfamiliar territory. Between your hands, your breathy laughter only deepened the crease between his brows, doing absolutely nothing to ease the knot forming in his stomach.
You suddenly gasped sharply, your hands flying away from your face to dig into his arms for support. “Fuck…fuck–fuck!”
“Yeah, I’d rather do it uninterrupted,” he muttered, breathing still uneven as he rested his forehead briefly against yours and kept thrusting into your soaked, clenching heat without missing a beat. “Who’s at the door?”
“Dinner…oh!” You whispered, the words cutting off as another orgasm hit you hard and fast. The pleasure exploded through your body with a heavy throb that made your cunt pulse and squeeze tightly around his cock, as fresh slick gushed out around him and you moaned loudly, the sound echoing through the room so intensely that you began doubting just how soundproof your house really was. You'd ordered pizza earlier as a simple thank-you for helping mount the television, a gesture that had seemed perfectly reasonable at the time but now, as the doorbell rang again, you couldn't help wondering whether it had ever been necessary. Judging by where the evening had ended up, you probably would've let him fuck you either way.
“Should have asked,” he started, voice strained as he forcefully pulled out of you with a loud, wet pop that left your empty pussy clenching and fluttering around nothing. He dropped to one knee, then the other, settling quickly on the floor at the foot of the bed and put his face right between your spread legs, staring hungrily at the sight of your puffy, glistening folds still twitching from the recent orgasm. “Usually like to start off with a sweet drink,” he said with a wicked grin before diving in without hesitation.
You moaned loudly, spine bowing off the mattress as his hot mouth offered sudden, intense relief and new pleasure after the constant stretch of his cock. Your shaky thighs rested heavily on his broad shoulders while his big, veiny hands wrapped firmly around them, massaging the trembling skin there and pulling you even closer against his face. His nose pressed and rubbed deliciously against your swollen clit with every movement, sending sharp sparks of overwhelming sensation shooting through your already sensitive body.
The first stroke of that wet muscle against your oversensitive flesh made you jolt, a high, keening whine escaping your throat as he peppered your soaked slit with slow kisses and gentle, exploratory licks, savoring the taste of your abundant arousal as it coated his lips and tongue. He licked broad stripes from your entrance up to your clit before circling the swollen bud with focused attention, the wet sounds of his mouth working you over filled the room alongside your ragged moans. The warmth of his breath, the wet heat of his tongue and the firm grip of his hands all combined to keep you right on the edge.
His lips sealed around your clit, sucking it hard momentarily before withdrawing solely to speak.
“I am all ears,” he prompted between kisses and licks, looking up at you with dark, hungry eyes while you still tried desperately to catch your breath but the longer you failed to answer him, the more indifferent he became, knowing he was gradually losing you to the pleasure again. One of his hands reached up your body, pinching your nipple between two fingers and rolling it firmly, making you gasp sharply at the sudden sting of pleasure. Your hand moved up instinctively to cover his, holding him there as he massaged the sensitive peak and soothed the sting away with slow but firm handfuls.
“Four,” you swallowed hard, voice coming out hoarse after the intensity of your previous orgasms. One hand fisted the sheets, knuckles light, as he alternated between deep, probing licks inside you and teasing, featherlight touches on your swollen nub.
“Mhm…almost half way there. That it?” he prompted, warm breath ghosting over your slick, swollen folds as he remained positioned between your spread thighs.
“Lost count,” you slurred, the words barely coherent as jolts of lingering pleasure made it difficult to focus on anything else.
He hummed in clear disappointment, slowly shaking his head while his eyes stayed fixed on your dripping pussy. This whole thing had become a test of restraint for him, he needed to know he could keep his composure at work, that he could sit across from you in a meeting room, argue over data and not immediately think about getting you in bed. What better way to prove it than by denying you while forcing himself to watch?
He released your breast, fingers trailing lightly down your side before pulling away, expression calm despite the battle he was clearly fighting with himself. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
Your lips curled into a tired but undeniably sultry smile, your tone teasing despite how thoroughly spent your body felt. “You’re already down there…and it’s clear we aren’t getting any pizza…so get to licking. I would hate for such a big man like you to go hungry.”
“I’ll stay down here…but you’re gonna put those pretty hands to use. Give me something to look at,” he replied, darkened eyes gleaming with hunger as he watched you intently from his position between your legs.
“You must not want to reach double digits that badly,” you teased, trying to maintain some semblance of control even as your core throbbed with fresh need. You stretched across the mattress with a quiet moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing just how much the denial had gotten to you.
“No, I do…just want you to want it too,” he admitted, gaze dropping down to your glistening, puffy pussy before lifting back to your face. He could see the subtle flicker of disappointment cross your features when he held back from giving you exactly what you craved. “If you saw how I cleaned a yogurt lid, you’d stop playing hard to get,” he grinned, voice dropping into that low, teasing register you were starting to love. “I know you’ve been thinking about it…that night, on your dining table…”
“You could just remind me,” you shrugged, attempting to sound indifferent while your body betrayed you completely.
“You could just earn it,” he shot back, refusing to give an inch.
Once again, you held challenging eye contact with him, the tension crackling between you as neither seemed willing to fold first, though the insistent, needy pulsing of your greedy pussy eventually won out.
Your hand moved lower with shaky determination, fingers inching across your lower belly until they reached your wet and puffy clit, while Scott’s eyes followed every movement hungrily, watching as your fingertips made contact with the glistening bud. Your cunt looked thoroughly used and beautifully plump, the outer lips engorged and parted to reveal the slick, shiny inner folds that still fluttered slightly from your release as clear arousal continued to leak slowly from your entrance, trailing down toward your ass and making everything look obscenely wet and inviting under the bedroom light.
You began rolling your clit gently under your fingertips, the direct stimulation sending sharp sparks of pleasure shooting through your tightly coiled body. A shaky huff escaped your lips as you threw your head back against the pillows, thighs trembling around his shoulders while he drank in the sight greedily, specifically the way your fingers moved in small, unsteady circles over your clit, occasionally dipping lower to spread your abundant wetness back up and make the entire area glisten even more.
Your pussy clenched visibly at the touch, the tight entrance winking and pushing out another bead of slick that slowly dripped down as your breasts rose and fell rapidly with each breath, nipples still hard and flushed from his earlier attention. The visual was almost too much for him, your body laid out open and responsive, fingers working your most sensitive spot while he watched from mere inches away.
He breathed a stream of cool air directly onto your heated flesh as he continued to observe every detail. “That’s it…you won’t have to do this much often, if you agree to just call me every time your fantasies aren’t cutting it,” he murmured, blowing another gentle puff of cool air across your clit that made your fingers falter for a moment and your hips bucked. “Let’s just remember to skip this part during our quarterly partner reviews.”
His eyes stayed locked on every movement of your hand, intense focus fraying as he failed not to lick his lips. This was the last time he'd let himself acknowledge how unprofessional this was. It was purely selfish now, the thought dissolving until it barely qualified as one.
“There you go,” he murmured, voice low and condescending in the most delicious way. “Look at you playing with that pretty pussy just because I told you to. I knew you could do it…and you almost didn’t complain.” He leaned in and puffed another stream of cool air directly onto your heated clit, making a shiver run through your thighs. “Keep those fingers moving…nice and slow just like that. I want to see exactly how you touch yourself when you’re thinking of me.”
Your breath hitched as you obeyed, rolling your clit a little firmer under your fingertips. You could feel his gaze burning into you, watching as your pussy fluttered and leaked more arousal with every circle. Your other hand moved up to squeeze one of your breasts, pinching your nipple as your hips started to rock subtly against your own hand.
“Attagirl,” he praised, the words dripping with smug satisfaction, watching with dark eyes as your entrance clenched hard in response and more slick dripped out. “So fucking greedy. Don’t you worry, I’ll stuff you right after, I promise…I’ll fill you up nice and deep once you cum for me like this. You know I’m a man of my word.”
The combination of his words, his watchful stare and the occasional bursts of cool air had you trembling. Your fingers moved faster, sliding easily over your slick clit as the pressure built heavier in your core, muscles tensing as you chased the frantic crescendo.
Scott’s hands stayed firmly on your thighs, holding you open wide so he could see everything.
“You’re getting close already, aren't you?” he teased, cocky and unbothered. “I can see it, your pussy’s clenching like it’s begging for my cock…but you’re going to cum on your own fingers first, huh?” He puffed more cool air directly onto your clit right as your fingers pressed firmer, the sudden sensation making you moan loudly and arch your back. “Look at that pretty pussy dripping everywhere. Such a good, messy girl for me…I’ll fuck you so deep you’ll feel me for days…just cum for me and it’s all yours.”
Your fingers moved desperately now, circling and rubbing your clit with increasing urgency as the pleasure coiled tighter in your belly. The slick sounds grew louder with a squelching noise that swallowed the room while your arousal dripped down in messy uncontrollable rivulets.
Scott kept watching intently, occasionally blowing cool air directly onto your hypersensitive folds to tease you, each breath made your hips jerk and your pussy flutter visibly while his praises never stopped, they were a continuous stream of condescending encouragement that pushed you closer to the edge, reminding you exactly who you were coming for.
He blew one final, longer stream of cool air right against your opening just as the tension snapped. Your spine curved like a drawn bow as molten heat spread through your entire body, making your cunt clench and flutter wildly as the internal muscles squeezed tight.
Your hard and engorged clit pulsed rhythmically under your fingers, sending fresh spasms to your nerves that kept the climax rolling. Loud moans spilled from your lips unrestrained as you lost all composure, you weren't just peaking, you were drowning in it, leaving you shaking, chest heaving and gasping for air.
Scott stayed right where he was, eyes fixed on every twitch and contraction of your soaked pussy, watching the way your walls continued to ripple and clamp down even as the intensity began to fade and ensuring he didn't miss a single second of you coming completely undone for him.
He pushed your thighs gently off his shoulders and moved up your body again, keeping his eyes locked on your face as you gasped, still trembling from the intense oblivion. His lips glistened with your arousal and the sight of him crawling back over you, cock heavy and painfully hard between his legs, sent another shiver through your exhausted body. “If I’d known a few orgasms would shut you up,” he said, voice rough with amusement, “I would’ve bent you over the back of the truck the first week.”
You grinned tiredly, chest still rising and falling rapidly as you watched him wrap a fist around his thick cock and pump it slowly over you. The sight was mesmerizing, veined hand sliding along the glistening length as the head flushed dark and leaked into the condom. “You wouldn’t have…otherwise you wouldn’t have discovered arguing turns you on.”
“Not something I’d advertise,” his voice had gone rough, any pretense of composure slipping..
“Too many names on the roster?” you asked absentmindedly, eyes following every stroke of his fist along his cock, mesmerized by the way the muscles in his forearm flexed with each movement.
“None you need to keep count of,” he grinned, positioning himself at your entrance and slowly sinking back into your pussy. The thick head stretched you open once more, sliding deep with a wet, smooth glide that made you moan loudly at the overwhelming fullness. Your walls fluttered and clenched around him, still sensitive and slick from everything he had already put you through. “Except for yourself.”
“That made five orgasms…” you started, smile deceptively soft as you ran your nails slowly up the nape of his neck, threading them through his hair. You took a firm handful and pulled back sharply, your smile turning razor-sharp as he groaned deep in his throat, cock twitching hard inside you. “Every time you make me work for an orgasm is a day I won’t spend in that office of yours…So start earning your quota, Miller.”
He let out a deep chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest as his hips began moving again, driving into you with renewed intent.
Numbers had never been Scott’s favorite part of the job, he was far more a man of action, preferring tornado chases and results over spreadsheets and tallies but if his tasks now included counting your orgasms and hunting something far more thrilling than any cloudburst, all while naked in your bed, he could definitely get behind it…or rather, on top.
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A/N: If you enjoyed this story, feel free to explore the archive for more! Liking and reblogging helps others discover my writing and comments always make my day, they’re a huge encouragement for me to keep creating. Thank you so much for reading!
TAG LIST (currently includes people who requested a part 2 in the comments of "Lessons on sex" I’m open to having a tag list for Scott!): @thinchampagne @mxbluess22 @appreciatefics @girlwithbluehairrr
a/n: Here’s my little “get well soon” gift for @kryptidfiles !! Imagine this wrapped in a huge bow with flowers sticking out from every side. EVERYONE GO FOLLOW HER BLOG and I hope you enjoy!!
☆ Here's part 2!
Summary: You made the mistake of turning sex into casual conversation with your coworker and accidentally start the worst HR violation of your life.
Classification: Smut +18 | coworkers to lovers, several smut scenes, alcohol consumption, rude/arrogant Scott Miller, oral sex, fingering, dirty talk, rough sex, rough groping, protected and unprotected sex, doggy style, missionary, squirting, ass smacking, marking/bruising, praise, dom/sub dynamics, workplace boundary issues and emotionally repressed idiots in love.
Word count: 9,2k
There was a difference between good sex and great sex, the same way there was a difference between getting fucked and being made love to...
Good sex was what you expected from anybody decent enough to make it that far with you. It was the kind people talked about casually with their friends, the kind that came up over drinks after someone asked, “So, was he good?” Good sex happened on Tuesdays after work with the guy from Hinge who insisted on taking you out somewhere too expensive for a second date. You split a basket of fries, drank half a beer because you still had work in the morning, drove home with exhaustion sitting heavy behind your eyes, then let him fuck you well enough to sleep for four uninterrupted hours.
Good sex was practical and predictable. It convinced your body you were living a normal life.
Great sex was different. Great sex happened after work parties when your mascara was already smudged and your heels were in your hand by midnight. It happened on weekends with nowhere to be the next morning. You never talked about great sex because it sounded exaggerated the second you said it out loud, like you were overselling a man nobody else would understand. Great sex made you cum or at least brought you close enough that your stomach tightened every time you remembered it afterward. You thought about great sex while driving long stretches of empty highway, your hands steady on the wheel while your mind wandered somewhere warmer.
Great sex stayed in your body for days. You caught yourself replaying parts of it absentmindedly while standing in line for coffee or brushing your teeth before bed.
Then there was getting fucked…
There was no cleaner way to define it. It lived somewhere between fantasy and urban legend, passed around between women in half-serious conversations that always dissolved into laughter. Everybody claimed to know someone who’d experienced it but nobody could explain it properly. Getting fucked was the kind of sex that distracted you in the middle of the day badly enough to make you stop what you were doing and change your underwear. It sat dangerously close to the limits of what sex could actually be before the whole thing collapsed under its own weight.
If a guy treated you too much like an object, it fell apart immediately.
If you didn’t orgasm, it didn’t count.
If you weren’t still thinking about him six months later at red lights and in grocery store aisles and during lonely hotel nights, then it wasn’t that either.
Getting fucked sat at the very top of the scale, lit up like something obvious and somehow most men still missed it completely.
Being made love to was worse and more dangerous, honestly.
For somebody like you, it could become embarrassing fast. Storm season kept you on the road for months at a time, bouncing between states, sleeping in motels with stiff sheets and weak air conditioning. Off-season meant office buildings, weather models glowing across multiple monitors, long meetings about funding, new equipment and data collection. Your life moved constantly and men liked that at first. A woman who was smart, busy, gone half the year, financially stable and difficult to pin down.
Men loved the idea of you because it excused the fact they never had to give very much. Most of them thought they were in love but really, they just liked access to somebody they found impressive.
Before all of that, you used to think being made love to meant passion…intimacy. That it was slow sex with somebody who knew your body so well they could pull an orgasm out of you patiently and confidently, like it mattered to them as much as breathing did. You imagined hands lingering at your waist, sleepy conversation afterward, somebody brushing your hair away from your face before kissing you again.
Instead, you ended up underneath men who mistook enthusiasm for intimacy. You stared at ceilings while they grunted above you, listened to them breathe your name like they were performing something instead of feeling it. Sometimes you felt your stomach turn from the boredom alone, your body rocking mechanically with theirs while your mind drifted somewhere else entirely to storm reports, grocery lists and whether you needed to change your oil before the next drive west.
You never let them finish once you realized you hated it, that was the one thing you refused to fake. You pushed them off, sat up and reached for your clothes while they blinked at you in confusion. You told them it wasn’t going to work, sometimes you said it gently and other times you just didn’t bother. Either way, you watched realization settle over them while they sat there flushed and humiliated, their ego bruised worse than their feelings ever were but somehow your harsh words still made them cum…
Needless to say, after a while, you stopped having sex altogether.
You were in your rental house after a long day spent staring at storm data and listening to Javi ramble about whatever breakthrough he thought he’d made this time. It was late, the entire house felt heavy and warm, every light dimmer than usual and lately, you weren’t alone nearly as often as you used to be.
Scott sat at your dining table with your laptop open, shoulders slightly hunched, completely absorbed in columns of numbers and radar models. You’d known him for two years and he’d been your partner for one of them.
People were right about him. He was direct to the point of rudeness, arrogant enough to make most people defensive within five minutes and mean when he thought someone deserved it but unlike most men in your field, Scott had learned how to admit when he was wrong, far from gracefully or happily but still, he did it.
The two of you were impossibly stubborn in almost identical ways, so sharing space with him sometimes felt like being trapped in a room with a sharper version of yourself. Separately, you were both good at what you did but together, you were nearly impossible to beat.
You couldn’t pinpoint when “coworkers” had turned into Scott walking into your house without knocking, helping himself to your fridge and sitting at your table like he paid rent.
“Best orgasm you’ve had during sex?” His voice came from across the room, casual and flat, like he’d asked you about rainfall percentages. He didn’t even look away from the laptop while he said it.
You’d forgotten he was meeting you there before the two of you drove to the bar together, which was why you were still walking around in sleep shorts and a bra, trying to find something decent enough to wear without looking like you’d spent an hour trying.
You took a sip from the beer he’d already pulled out of your fridge and nearly snorted into the bottle. “You think men do that?” you asked as you disappeared into your bedroom.
“To you?” Scott finally looked up. His eyes tracked your movement automatically while he reached for the beer the two of you were apparently sharing now. “I hope so.”
He took a drink as his eyes followed your movement.
You walked back into view holding two dresses on mismatched hangers. “You’re a fucking idiot,” you said plainly. “And maybe a pervert.”
Scott pointed at you immediately. “You’re changing in front of me. I could probably keep count of your bras at this point and I don’t. That actually makes me less of a pervert.”
You disappeared back into your room. He could hear hangers scraping against the closet rod while you searched through clothes with growing irritation.
“Just because it doesn’t make you hard doesn’t make you not a pervert,” you called back, your voice muffled through the wall.
“How do you know I’m not?” he shot back instantly, sounding almost offended by the assumption.
Silence followed but about a minute later, you walked back out wearing a dress he’d never seen before. It was simple, fitted enough to make his eyes stop for a second before continuing downward automatically. You crossed the room toward him, letting your heels drop onto the hardwood before slipping them on one at a time.
“You’re not attracted to me, Scott,” you said flatly.
He looked up slowly then, his eyes dragging over the length of the dress with enough attention to make most people nervous. On you, it just made you impatient.
“You seem awfully confident about that.”
“I am.” You adjusted the strap on your shoulder before glancing toward his laptop screen. “So don’t say shit that makes me sound stupid.”
Scott looked back at the laptop fast enough to make the movement obvious. He pretended to scroll through data he’d stopped reading the second you started undressing in the next room.
“I’m ready,” you said. “Good to go?”
“Need five minutes,” he muttered.
You walked behind him toward the front door, tapping his shoulder as you passed. “The data will still be there tomorrow. C’mon, Scotty.”
The teasing grin in your voice made something in his jaw tighten. You disappeared outside before he could even think of an answer.
Scott closed the laptop harder than necessary and stood, quietly adjusting himself through his jeans with the irritation of a man betrayed by his own body. He shut off the lights one by one and grabbed your keys from the counter before locking the door behind him.
The porch light was off so you couldn’t see the tent in his jeans. Thank fuck for that.
“Scotty was an eight-year-old with chubby cheeks,” he muttered while locking the deadbolt. He glanced over at you waiting by the passenger side of his truck. “It’s Scott.”
“It’s whatever I decide it is,” you replied easily.
He rolled his eyes and walked down the porch steps, unlocking the truck with a sharp click.
“Come open my door.”
“Since when do you need me to do that?” he complained, already circling the hood anyway.
“Since you got comfortable commenting on my bras.”
Scott stopped in front of you to stare before reaching around your waist to pull the handle open. The movement brought him close enough to smell your perfume underneath detergent and beer.
You smiled to yourself while climbing into the passenger seat because for once, Scott didn’t have anything smart to say.
Talking about sex with your coworkers was probably the least professional habit you could develop but professionalism stopped mattering after twelve-hour drives, shared motel rooms, gas station dinners at midnight and enough close calls together to make normal boundaries feel unnecessary. There were barely any women in the field to begin with, which meant the few of you that existed clung together fast and Scott, despite being deeply irritating most of the time, was easier to talk to than most people.
Brutally honest people usually were.
At some point, conversations that started as jokes during long drives turned into real discussions about relationships, sex, exes and every disappointing person either of you had ever slept with. It happened slowly enough neither of you noticed the line moving until it was already somewhere far behind you.
HR would’ve had a heart attack.
That night, you learned Scott Miller did not do good sex. If good sex existed to him at all, it involved two people fully clothed and standing on opposite ends of a room.
The bar was more crowded than you expected, packed wall to wall with storm chasers, meteorologists, researchers and people who somehow always smelled faintly like dust and gasoline no matter how clean they looked. Whenever women in the field found each other, there was an unspoken tendency to group together immediately, so you spent most of the night at the bar talking with another researcher from Oklahoma while music pounded so loud you felt it vibrate through the floor beneath your heels.
Eventually Javi appeared beside you carrying drinks you absolutely weren’t going to refuse. He handed one over before leaning closer, lowering his voice.
“What’s wrong with Scott?”
You blinked at him. The question caught you off guard enough to make your brows pull together immediately because nobody ever asked about Scott. People either tolerated him, argued with him or avoided him entirely. Whatever problem Scott had, he usually fixed it himself before anyone could notice it existed.
Your eyes scanned the crowd automatically until you found him near the back corner of the bar with a soda in his hand. Of course he wasn’t drinking, he stood half-shadowed against the wall looking deeply unimpressed by the concept of social interaction…and staring directly at you.
Your eyes narrowed slightly until Scott finally got the message and looked away first.
You turned back to Javi. “Do you mean tonight or in general?” you asked dryly. “Because I’m pretty sure he was dropped as a child, but you’d have to ask his mother for confirmation.”
Javi frowned harder. “I mean tonight. He looks tense and it’s making me uneasy.”
“It’s Scott. He always looks tense.”
“More than usual.” Javi glanced over his shoulder carefully. “Tell him to relax for once…and to make some friends. That’s literally why we came here.”
You pointed at yourself immediately. “Why am I responsible for that?”
Javi shrugged like the answer was obvious. “Because you speak ‘Scott’ fluently. Translate what I just said into something he’ll actually understand.”
Your gaze dropped to the drink in your hand. “You’re bribing me.”
“And that drink cost me twenty-five dollars,” he replied. “So yes. Go.”
You snorted into the rim of your glass. “Pretty sure stress is what’s making you bald, by the way…not Scott’s burning gaze.”
Javi adjusted his baseball cap defensively. “Just go talk to him.”
You shook your head, already grinning despite yourself and pushed through the crowd toward the back of the bar, which Scott noticed immediately.
The music got louder the closer you got to him, voices bleeding together into useless noise, so instead of trying to shout over it, you reached forward and hooked one finger through the belt loop of his jeans.
“Outside,” you said simply, tugging once as you moved toward the exit.
Scott followed without argument, that alone should’ve concerned you more than it did.
The plan was for him to ask what you wanted once you got outside. Instead, somewhere between the crowded bar and the exit door, he got distracted watching you walk ahead of him. Your dress moved against your hips every few steps, exposing flashes of leg skin under the low bar lights and the muscles in your bare back moved subtly every time you pushed through another cluster of people.
Inevitably, Scott’s eyes dropped lower before he caught himself.
By the time the two of you stepped outside into the cooler night air, he still hadn’t said a word.
You finally let go of his belt loop once the two of you were far enough from the entrance that the music had dulled into muffled bass behind you. You turned to face him properly, folding your arms across your chest as you looked up at him.
“What’s your current issue?” you asked.
“Current?” Scott repeated, brows pulling together.
You nodded once like the question made perfect sense.
“When’s the last time you had sex?”
A startled laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Excuse me?”
He shrugged carelessly, shoving one hand into the pocket of his jeans. “What? Are you the only one allowed to ask those questions?”
You laughed again, this time shaking your head as you pointed at him. “Yes. Obviously.”
Scott snorted.
“And those are long-drive questions,” you continued, motioning vaguely toward his truck behind you before pointing back toward the crowded bar. “Not ‘parking lot outside a packed bar’ questions.”
“You still need to answer.” He shrugged again. “Those are the rules.”
“Have I ever told you how stupid those rules are?”
“First time I’m hearing complaints since you’re the one who made them,” he replied with a grin.
“You’re insufferable,” you muttered under your breath before taking another sip of your drink.
Scott stayed quiet as he just watched you over the rim of his own soda, patient and expectant in a way that immediately irritated you because he clearly thought he was getting an answer eventually.
“Are you seriously gonna make me answer?”
“I can’t make you do anything,” he said calmly. “But I can wait. I still have to drive you home.”
You looked up toward the entrance of the bar. Through the windows you could still see people packed together under neon lights, laughing too loud, talking over each other about work, storm patterns and equipment failures. You’d already reached the point of the night where conversations started blending together into white noise.
“Can we leave now?” you asked.
Scott didn’t answer verbally. He just pulled his keys from his pocket, unlocked the truck with a click, then held his hand out toward your drink.
“Get in and lock the doors,” he said as he took the glass from you and turned back toward the bar to return it.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” you called after him while walking directly to the passenger side and doing exactly that.
Honestly, you didn’t mind answering the question. The problem was that once you actually thought about it, you realized you weren’t entirely sure how long it had been. It had been long enough that you had to start considering technicalities and long enough that the answer became embarrassing and unfortunately, thinking about sex while sitting alone in Scott’s truck immediately led your brain somewhere unhelpful…
Scott eventually climbed back into the truck and shut the door behind him. He didn’t start driving right away, he just sat there in the dark, one hand resting on the wheel while the dashboard lights cut sharp shadows across his face…waiting, because the thing about car questions was that silence usually came first.
“A year and a half,” you blurted out finally. “Give or take.”
Scott’s head turned toward you so fast it almost looked painful. “No,” he said immediately. “I don’t believe that.”
You laughed in disbelief and looked toward him. “Believe whatever you want, Scott. I answered the fucking question. That’s the game.”
“A year and a half?” he repeated, staring at you like you’d confessed to murder. “What the hell do you even do on weekends?”
“Currently?” you replied dryly. “Sit in your truck while you annoy me.”
“No,” he said, already turning the key in the ignition. “You’re irritated because you’re sexually frustrated.”
You barked out another incredulous laugh.
“And you’ve been sexually frustrated since I met you,” he continued as he shifted the truck into reverse. “Which explains why you piss me off every single fucking day.”
“Excuse you?” You turned toward him fully now, half laughing from sheer disbelief. “First the bra comments and now this? What’s next? Are you gonna set me up with one of your friends so he can fix me?”
“Put your seatbelt on.” The command came out flat and automatic.
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do, Scott. I’m not drunk enough to–”
The words died in your throat the second he reached across you.
His arm slid in front of your chest while the truck reversed smoothly with his other hand still turning the wheel. His forearm brushed against the underside of your breasts accidentally…or maybe not so accidentally and your breath caught hard at the sudden closeness. Scott grabbed the seatbelt beside your shoulder, pulled it across your body in one sharp movement, then clicked it into place at your hip without looking away from the rear window once.
You drove home in complete silence.
No radio or conversation, just the steady sound of tires against asphalt and the occasional flick of the blinker while Scott kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. You’d heard every version of his voice over the last two years, sarcastic, irritated or sharp enough to make grown men defensive in meetings but hearing him tell you to put your seatbelt on while his arm pressed across your breasts had done something deeply unfortunate to your brain.
This was entirely your fault. You were the one who made sex an acceptable topic between the two of you, you were the one who turned it into a game, into background conversation during long drives and late nights. Somewhere along the way home, your definition of good sex had rewritten itself around that precise moment.
For most people, that probably counted as foreplay, but for you? It counted as a serious fucking problem.
By the time Scott parked outside your house, your thoughts had spiraled so badly that you barely registered the truck stopping. You stayed seated even after he cut the engine, staring forward blankly while the silence settled heavier around you.
Scott got out first without saying anything and walked around the front of the truck toward your side.
The passenger door opened. You looked up just in time to feel him lean in and reach across you again, fingers brushing lightly against the fabric stretched over your waist as he unclipped the seatbelt. The contact lasted maybe a second but that was already too long.
Only then did you finally move. You climbed out quickly, making an effort to keep close to the truck instead of brushing against him, then headed straight for your front door while digging through your purse for your keys even if it was practically empty and somehow that made it worse. You found lip balm…receipts…some loose cash, everything except what you actually needed.
Scott followed behind you quietly.
You still hadn’t found the keys when his arm appeared beside you, reaching around your body with frustrating familiarity. He’d had your keys the entire night, he usually did whenever the two of you went out together because you constantly lost track of them.
The metal clicked softly as he unlocked the door for you.
Your breath stalled as Scott stood so close behind you that you could feel the heat coming off him through the thin fabric of your dress. His chest nearly touched your back, one arm still braced near your shoulder while he turned the lock. It boxed you in completely, your body caught between the door and him and the worst part was that it felt good.
The sharp heat low in your stomach made that painfully obvious.
Good sex, apparently, was standing fully clothed on your own porch while your coworker unlocked your front door…all while standing right behind you.
The lock finally clicked open. You pushed the door open and stepped inside fast to put distance between you before turning back toward him.
Determination sat stiffly in your chest now…You were staying dressed. Whatever this weird tension was had to be alcohol-fueled, temporary, deeply stupid or preferably all three and gone by morning.
Unfortunately, Scott looked unfairly good standing on your porch under weak yellow light.
At some point he’d taken off his cap, you didn’t know when and hadn’t realized until now. Why did he look dreamy!? His hair was messy from running his hands through it all night and the expression on his face had settled back into that unreadable calm that somehow made things worse.
“Night, Scott,” you said quickly, then shut the door directly in his face…very determined to remain dressed.
“Are you gonna set me up with one of your friends so he can fix me?” That sentence replayed in your head later for one humiliating reason: Scott Miller had never been the kind of man to hand off work he could do himself.
You’d been wrong earlier, completely wrong.
Great sex didn’t happen on weekends or after parties or during long-awaited moments with somebody you trusted. Sometimes it happened five minutes after you slammed your front door in a man’s face and tried convincing yourself you still had common sense.
You stayed standing by the door after closing it, palms warm against the wood, waiting to hear his truck start. You expected the familiar sound of the driver’s side door opening, shutting and the low rumble of the engine before he pulled away but nothing happened.
At first you told yourself you were imagining the silence because you were still too aware of him…then a full minute passed…followed by another and then three more.
Five long, miserable minutes where your brain refused to focus on anything except the fact Scott was still outside your house.
You opened the door expecting embarrassment or maybe annoyance, maybe him realizing he forgot something. Instead, he was still standing there in the same position with that same unreadable expression, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans like you hadn’t just shut the door on him…five minutes ago.
You stared at each other for a second too long.
You never figured out what exactly snapped first. Pride, self-control or curiosity…maybe all of it at once again.
One second he was standing on your porch and the next you were grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pulling him forward hard enough to make him stumble into you as your mouth crashed against his.
The moment the door clicked shut behind you, the fragile determination to stay dressed shattered. You didn't just invite Scott in, you practically hauled him across the threshold, pulling him into a kiss that tasted of alcohol and months of suppressed frustration. It was messy and desperate, a collision of teeth and tongues that left you both breathless.
You stumbled backward, the friction of your bodies fueling a fire that had been simmering for far too long. As you navigated the space, your heels clicked erratically against the floor until you kicked them off with frantic movements, one flying toward the wall and the other sliding away as you backed into the dining area.
You hit the edge of the heavy wooden table and Scott didn't miss a beat. He gripped your waist with bruising force and hoisted you up, the sudden elevation making you gasp into his mouth. He didn't stop kissing you but his path shifted, lips sliding down your jawline to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. His hands were everywhere, frantic and demanding, sliding up the fabric of your dress and bunching it up around your waist until your thighs were bare and shivering against the cool wood.
You felt his fingers hook into the elastic of your panties, tugging them down with a sharp, decisive motion until you could kick them off, exposing you to the air. As he lowered himself, his mouth found the swell of your breasts through your dress, biting lightly against the fabric on his way down between your legs.
"You don't need to do that," you managed to moan, your voice trembling as he moved your weight, sliding you toward the edge of the table until you were perched precariously, your legs naturally falling open.
"Shut up," Scott muttered against your skin, his voice a low, arrogant growl that sent a jolt of electricity straight to your clit as he finally settled himself firmly between your thighs, the heat of his body radiating against your wetness.
Then, he dipped his head. The first touch of his tongue was a shock of heat, it was wet and precise. He dove right in, tongue licking upward from your perineum to your clit in one long, sweeping stroke. You arched your back as a loud moan escaped you since it had been so long since you’d felt anything this raw, this focused. You were starving for it and Scott was feeding off of you with a primal intensity that blurred everything else out.
He used his hands to grip your hips, pulling you closer to the edge so he could bury his face in you as he kneeled. He began to lap at you with a rhythmic, punishing speed, his tongue flattening out to cover as much surface area as possible before narrowing into a sharp point to flick relentlessly against your clit.
The sensation was overwhelming. You began to squirm, hips jerking instinctively against his mouth as your fingernails clawed at the tabletop. You weren't just enjoying it, you were unraveling.
"Fuck…Scott...please," you whimpered, though you didn't know what you were asking for.
He responded by changing your position. He pushed you flat onto your back on the table, the hard wood pressing into your spine and hauled your legs up, draping them over his broad shoulders. The position left you completely exposed, your pussy flared open and glistening in the dark room.
He didn't stop the oral but added more by sliding two fingers deep inside you, stretching you open while his tongue continued to hammer away at your clit. The combination of the internal pressure and the external friction was too much. You were shaking, breath coming in short, jagged gasps as your feet drummed against his back.
He could tell you were close, encouraging him to increase the pressure, fingers curling inside you to hit your G-spot while his tongue sucked your clit into his mouth, creating a vacuum of pleasure that felt like it was pulling your entire soul out through your cunt.
“Holy s-shit!” Your head thrashed from side to side, a loud, unrestrained scream tearing from your throat as the orgasm hit you like a freight train. It was violent and all-consuming, your internal muscles clamping down hard on his fingers as waves of intense pleasure crashed over you, leaving you whimpering and twitching on the table.
As the peak slowly subsided, Scott didn't pull away immediately. He stayed there, his breath hot against your sensitive skin, slowly lapping the remaining juices from your pussy. He cleaned you thoroughly, his tongue lingering on every inch of your swollen cunt until you were completely spent, lying limp and shivering on the table, finally satisfied.
He straightened slowly from between your legs, chest rising hard with uneven breaths that matched your own. His mouth was swollen and wet when he licked across his lips absentmindedly, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made heat crawl back under your skin even while your body still twitched from the orgasm.
From your place sprawled across the dining table, you stared up at him in stunned silence. Your thighs were still trembling now against his sides and you were almost certain your expression looked ridiculous, wide-eyed and dazed in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to look around another person in years.
Scott held a hand out toward you and you took it automatically.
He helped you sit up first before guiding you carefully off the table, one hand steady on your waist while your legs struggled to cooperate beneath you. The second your feet touched the floor, your knees nearly gave out entirely.
Scott wiped his mouth with his palm. “Goodnight,” he said and the gentleness of it caught you off guard more than anything else that night had.
His hand slipped away from your waist and the two of you just stood there for a second, staring at each other while trying and failing to breathe normally again.
Then Scott turned and walked toward the front door.
You stayed frozen in place while he opened it and left your house without another word. A few seconds later you finally heard the sounds you’d been waiting for earlier, the truck door opening, shutting and the engine starting before he drove off into the night.
You tried walking toward your bedroom afterward and immediately realized your legs barely worked. You ended up half stumbling down the hallway, one hand dragging along the wall for balance because your entire lower body still felt weak and oversensitive.
Great sex…that had been unbelievably, painfully great sex.
You thought about it constantly afterward. In the shower, during calls and meetings, while sitting in traffic or lying awake at night staring at the ceiling with your thighs pressed together. You didn’t mention it to your friends or talked to Scott about it, even during the long stretches of silence that filled the truck during drives. The two of you understood what happened without discussing it directly, you’d crossed a line and both of you seemed aware that talking about it too much would probably drag you over it again.
The following mornings, you waited for him outside on your porch instead of letting him walk into your house like usual. Mostly because you’d spent the entire week masturbating to the memory of him between your legs on your dining table before getting ready for the day and you didn’t trust yourself to survive seeing him inside your kitchen before sunrise.
For one solid week, you slept perfectly. No insomnia or late-night work spirals, no pacing around rooms or answering emails at one in the morning just to keep your brain occupied. Whatever tension usually sat under your skin had disappeared completely and now it sat between you both instead.
Every drive felt heavier, the silence stretched longer and every sharp inhale from him made your stomach tighten unexpectedly until eventually you got sick of pretending neither of you noticed it.
“We don’t have to talk about it,” you interrupted suddenly.
Scott glanced toward you briefly, eyes leaving the road for barely a second before returning forward. “Do you want to?” he asked.
“I don’t,” you admitted. “I feel like you do though.”
“You’re right.”
You snorted quietly and looked back down at the laptop balanced across your knees.
“I thought you liked being right.” Scott added.
“Fucking love it,” you replied automatically before grimacing. “Usually.”
Silence settled again until you broke it. “Okay,” you sighed eventually. “Maybe one thing.” You turned to him properly this time. “I wasn’t that drunk that night. Actually, I wasn’t drunk at all. I had that one beer before we left my place and the rest were mocktails.”
Scott turned his head enough to study your face for a second. “I wouldn’t have touched you if you were drunk,” he said flatly. “I’m an asshole, not fucking stupid.”
You leaned back against the seat slowly. “Even that’s changed.”
His brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”
“The coffee for starters,” you said. “The lunches, too. You stopped buying disgusting gas station sandwiches and now we actually eat dinner out like normal people.” You gestured vaguely toward him. “You used to hand me coffee with five sugar packets on the side because you couldn’t remember how I took it. Now it’s magically perfect every fucking morning.”
Scott adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.
“I thought eating around other people would make this less weird,” he admitted. “And I got tired of sugar packets all over my truck.”
“Our truck,” you corrected automatically before pointing at him accusingly. “And nothing about this is normal, Scott! You ate me out on my dining table!”
“Stop yelling at me.” His tone stayed frustratingly calm.
“Why?” you shot back. “Is it making you hard?”
Scott shifted in his seat hard enough that you noticed instantly. Both his hands locked tighter around the steering wheel while he stared straight ahead at the road. The tension in his jaw became visible because unfortunately for him, you weren’t wrong.
The last week had changed things. You looked less exhausted and less tightly wound. You hadn’t snapped at him once during work and he hadn’t gotten a single unhinged one a.m. email from you all week because for the first time since he’d met you, you were actually sleeping.
“So when are we doing it again?” he asked finally, against every ounce of common sense he had left.
NEVER…that should’ve been the answer. It was the logical answer, the responsible one, the answer two coworkers with already questionable boundaries should’ve landed on immediately.
It just wasn’t the truth.
You had always maintained that getting fucked couldn’t happen in motel rooms. It didn't matter how good the sex was, the second cheap carpet, bad lighting and a rattling air conditioner got involved, the whole thing dropped several levels automatically.
Motel sex could be great, sometimes even memorable but it couldn’t be that, so the next time it happened definitely wasn’t in a motel room.
The weather that day had turned bad enough to keep everyone grounded but not dangerous enough to send your team chasing storms through three different counties. There was heavy rain, low visibility and too much lightning for comfort but not enough rotation to justify going out.
At some point, without either of you actually saying it outright, waiting the storm out in Scott’s apartment became the plan instead of sitting cramped inside the truck for hours pretending the tension between you didn’t exist.
You still couldn’t pinpoint who made the first move once the elevator doors closed behind you.
One second you were standing beside him soaked at the edges from the rain, listening to distant thunder through the concrete parking garage and the next, Scott’s hand was inside your pants like it belonged there.
You gasped hard into his mouth as his fingers slid against you immediately, already somewhat familiar with exactly what made your hips jerk forward. The kiss that came after barely counted as one, it was messy and distracted, interrupted constantly by your breathing and the quiet sounds you kept failing to swallow down.
The elevator ride lasted less than a minute but by the time the doors opened onto his floor, your orgasm was already hitting you in sharp waves around his fingers while your forehead pressed against his shoulder to keep yourself standing.
If you weren’t already fucked, you were about to be.
You’d been inside Scott’s apartment before. A handful of times after late nights working or when weather reports needed reviewing somewhere quieter than a crowded diner. You remembered the big windows first, stretching across the living room area with a full view of the skyline in the distance. Tonight they framed heavy gray clouds and rain pouring so hard that it blurred the city lights into smears of white and yellow.
Scott barely gave you time to look around because the second the apartment door shut behind you, his hands were on you again. He walked you toward the living room with rough impatience, pulling your pants down from behind while you stumbled against the edge of an armchair. Your underwear followed immediately after, dragged down together in one quick motion before pooling around your ankles.
The air in Scott’s apartment was heavy, charged with the static of the storm raging outside. The gray light of the overcast sky filtered through the windows but the atmosphere inside was scorching.
"Kneel," he commanded as he pointed toward the armchair, his voice a low, authoritative rumble.
You didn't hesitate. The tension that had been building between you for weeks, the unspoken glances and lingering touches, had finally snapped. You sank to your knees on the plush seat, your heart hammering against your ribs. You leaned forward, gripping the headrest with both hands, body already trembling in anticipation. You were completely exposed to him, your ass tilted back and waiting.
Scott disappeared for a moment, leaving you in a silence broken only by the distant roll of thunder. When he returned, the sound of a foil packet tearing echoed in the room. You heard the metallic click of his belt unbuckling and the slide of a zipper.
The anticipation was agonizing. You heard him roll the condom on, followed by the wet sound of him spitting on the head of his cock to make the entry smoother.
He stepped up behind you, heat radiating against your backside. He lined himself up and then, with one powerful, decisive surge, he thrust deep inside you.
You let out a sharp, strangled whine, your fingers digging into the fabric of the headrest. It had been so long since you’d felt a man inside you and Scott was massive. The initial stretch was borderline painful, a blunt force that filled every millimeter of your tight, starving pussy. You blinked rapidly, tears pricking your eyes as your body struggled to accommodate his size, your breath hitching in your throat.
Scott didn't give you time to adjust. He reached forward, his large hands clamping onto your hips with bruising force and yanked you backward, pulling you deeper onto his cock until there was no space left between you.
"I wanna see you," you moaned, your voice broken and desperate, trying to twist your torso around to look at him.
He didn't let you. Instead, he leaned in and sank his teeth into the skin of your shoulder, a sharp bite that made you moan despite your best efforts. His hand moved from your hip to your jaw, gripping it firmly to keep your head pinned forward.
"Just focus," he rasped calmly against your skin, the contrast of his steady voice and his firm grip sending a shiver of submission down your spine.
He let go of your jaw and began to thrust. He didn't start slowly, he hit you with a rhythmic, punishing intensity. The apartment was suddenly filled with the sound of your sudden, loud moans and frantic curses. You collapsed forward, your chest pressed against the headrest, your body jarring with every hit.
As he hammered into you, Scott reached around, his hands finding your breasts. He didn't bother undressing you further, he grabbed your boobs firmly over your clothes, squeezing and kneading them with a rough, possessive grip that matched the violence of his hips.
"I'm gonna fuck you on every surface of this apartment," he growled. "You'll be seeing a lot of me."
The sex quickly became raw and primal and so, so fucking good. The sound of skin slapping against skin, mixed with the wet, rhythmic thud of his pelvis hitting your ass filled the room, competing with the roar of the thunder outside. Every thrust shook your entire frame, quaking your body from your head to your toes. You were whimpering loudly now, the pain of the initial stretch having completely melted into an overwhelming, white-hot pleasure you never thought you could feel.
Your eyes watered, staring out into the distance of the room, the world blurring as the friction built. It was fast, harsh and so perfect that you found yourself wanting to bite the armchair, your teeth sinking into the fabric as your back arched violently. You were unraveling, the long period of abstinence making you hypersensitive to every inch of him.
"I'm right there, keep going! Scott, please! Don’t fuckin’ stop." you whined, voice echoing through the apartment.
He didn't, he instead increased the pace, his thrusts becoming shorter and more frantic, drilling into you with an obsession that felt like he wanted to merge his body with yours. The thunder peaked with a deafening crash that seemed to trigger something inside you.
Suddenly, your internal muscles spasmed. A wave of heat exploded from your core and you felt a sudden, uncontrollable gush of fluid. You were squirting, something that had never happened to you before, the hot spray soaking the armchair and your own thighs. You began to shake uncontrollably, your legs giving out as you sobbed out of pure pleasure into the headrest.
Scott let out a guttural groan, the feeling of you flooding around him driving him over the edge. He loved it, hell, he was obsessed with the way you were falling apart under him. He kept going, ignoring your tremors, continuously driving himself into you as you peaked into a mind-blowing, screaming orgasm that left you completely breathless.
With a final, deep thrust, he groaned loudly, coming hard into the condom.
The momentum stopped abruptly. He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, both of you frozen, chests heaving in unison.
Slowly, he withdrew, the wet sound of his exit punctuating the silence with an obscene pop.
You both watch the rain lash against the glass, the gray light illuminating the wreckage of your passion. You took a long, shuddering breath, body still twitching from the aftershocks as your pussy twitched around nothing, back arching further needily, earning a smack from him.
"Holy fuck," you both breathed simultaneously, the weight of the encounter settling over you in the heavy, humid air.
There was no going back after that day, not to abstinence, disappointing hookups or to pretending sex was something casual and forgettable that fit neatly between work schedules and storm reports.
Once Scott got his hands on you, everything else lost appeal embarrassingly fast.
What started as isolated incidents quickly turned into a pattern neither of you seriously attempted to stop. It was a terrible idea professionally, obviously, but somehow the two of you functioned better afterward. Meetings became easier, long drives felt lighter and you argued less viciously because the tension always had somewhere to go now instead of festering under your skin for weeks.
You started going home together most nights under the excuse of saving gas money. Then showering together afterward became another practical decision because apparently water bills mattered too now. Somewhere between shared coffee in the mornings and him keeping spare clothes for you at his apartment, things moved quietly into something neither of you had planned for and the worst part was that it worked.
The sex stayed incredible. Sometimes rough enough to leave hickeys along your skin and fingerprints fading across your thighs and hips by morning, or other times slow enough that you ended up tangled together for hours afterward while thunderstorms rolled outside the windows. Every now and then he fucked you hard enough to leave you shaking afterward, staring blankly at the ceiling while he stood in the kitchen making you food like that was a normal sequence of events but eventually you realized it wasn’t just about that anymore.
You started having actual dates without calling them dates, it was dinner after work that lasted until restaurants closed around you. You went grocery shopping together because both of you were too exhausted to go separately and you began falling asleep on opposite ends of his couch while weather models played quietly on television screens neither of you were really watching.
Off-season made it worse.
Without constant travel, motel rooms and adrenaline keeping you both distracted, there was finally time to explore whatever this thing between you had become. You drifted naturally between your house and his apartment depending on whose place seemed closer to the office that day. Half your belongings somehow ended up at his place and vice versa. You texted each other constantly during meetings despite sitting twenty feet apart, phones hidden beneath desks while coworkers talked around you.
Scott started bringing your coffee to your desk already made exactly how you liked it before you even decided you needed one. You started buying his preferred cereal without asking if he wanted any. He slept better with you in his bed and you stopped grinding your teeth in your sleep when he stayed over.
So naturally, being made love to finally happened exactly the way you once thought it would and it wasn’t some exaggerated version of romance men convinced themselves they were capable of after two drinks and mediocre conversation.
It sort of snuck up on you. It was Scott pulling you into his lap while both of you were exhausted after work, kissing your shoulder absentmindedly while you read through data on his laptop. It was him waking you up slowly on Sunday mornings with his hand sliding under your shirt and nowhere either of you needed to be. It was sex that lasted forever because he knew your body well enough to take his time with it, knew exactly what made you gasp, what made your legs tense and what made you hide your face against his neck when the pleasure became too much.
He paid attention and it made all of the difference. Scott learned your body like he learned storm patterns, thoroughly and obsessively, until touching you became instinct to him and it showed…
The morning light filtered through the curtains of your bedroom in soft, golden slats, painting the sheets in hues of amber and cream. The house was silent, save for the rhythmic sound of your shared breathing and the distant chirp of birds welcoming the dawn. You were tangled together, skin on skin, the warmth of the duvet trapping the heat of your bodies in a private, humid cocoon.
There was no rush, no storm to outrun and no urgency born of desperation. There was only the heavy, sweet weight of Scott pressing you into the mattress. You were both fully naked, your limbs entwined in a lazy, possessive knot.
Scott began slowly, his lips tracing a path of fire across your collarbone. He wasn't just kissing you, he was tasting you, tongue swirling against your skin in slow circles that made you shiver. He moved lower, mouth finding the sensitive curve of your breast as you let out a soft, airy moan. He took your nipple into his mouth, sucking firmly while his thumb and forefinger pinched the other peak, twisting it just enough to send a jolt of electricity straight to your core.
You arched your back, your fingers sliding into the thick hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. The friction of his chest against your breasts was intoxicating, the rough hair of his torso grazing your sensitive skin.
He shifted, sliding his body up so he could look into your eyes. His gaze was dark, filled with an intensity that felt more overwhelming than any of the rougher encounters you'd had. He didn't move to flip you or push you into a different position, instead, he settled between your thighs in a classic missionary stance and pushed inside. There was no latex barrier this time, no clinical snap of a condom. It was raw, wet and absolute.
The sensation of his bare skin sliding against yours was a revelation. You gasped, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt the full, throbbing heat of him filling you completely. It felt different, more intimate and permanent. The lack of a barrier made every ridge of his cock feel amplified, every pulse of his blood echoing against your own internal walls.
He didn't start with the punishing pace of the past. Instead, he began to rock, his movements slow and agonizingly deep. He pressed his palm flat against your stomach, pushing down firmly to tilt your pelvis, ensuring that every thrust hit the deepest part of you.
"Gripping me like a fucking vise…so perfect." he groaned, his voice a gravelly morning rumble that vibrated through your chest.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles to pull him even deeper. You were lost in the rhythm, the slow, sliding friction creating a build-up of tension that felt like a tightening coil in your belly. You ran your hands through his hair, your nails lightly scratching his scalp as you moaned into the first rays of the morning sun.
The intimacy was suffocating in the best way possible. As he continued to rock, his movements grew slightly more urgent, the slow glide turning into a passionate, driving force. He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours, tasting the salt and sweetness of your skin while he continued to pinch and tease your nipples, hand roaming your curves with a familiarity that spoke of a deep, obsessive knowledge of your body.
It didn’t take long for your breath to become shallow, chest heaving as the pleasure began to peak. You could feel the walls of your pussy clenching around him, milking him with every deep stroke. Your body tensed, toes curling into the sheets as a wave of heat crashed over you. You cried out, a long, melodic sound of surrender, as your orgasm ripped through you in slow, pulsing waves that left you shaking beneath him.
Scott didn’t slow his pace as his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing heavily. He continued moving, the intimacy of the connection almost too much to bear.
"Want to be done?" he whispered, his voice strained, muscles trembling with the effort of holding back.
You looked up at him, eyes hazy with pleasure and affection. The thought of him pulling away felt wrong because you wanted everything. You wanted the weight, the heat and the mark of him.
You shook your head with an escaped whimper, pulling his face down to yours. "Don’t you dare pull out…’want you to come inside." You breathed.
The request broke the last of his restraint. Scott let out a guttural sound, a mix of a groan and a sob and began to drive into you with a renewed, primal intensity. It was a desperate, loving hunger. He hammered into you, movements strong and deep, each thrust a claim and a promise.
As he reached his limit, his grip on your hip tightened, fingers digging into your skin. He thrust one last time, burying himself as deep as physically possible and you felt the hot, thick bursts of his cum flooding into you. The sensation of him filling you from the inside out was the most intense feeling you had ever experienced, a physical manifestation of the bond that had grown between you.
In the height of his release, as his body shuddered violently against yours, he gasped out the words he had been holding back.
"I love you," he choked out, the confession raw and unplanned.
The world seemed to stop for a heartbeat. You felt a surge of emotion that rivaled the intensity of the orgasm, a warmth that started in your chest and radiated to your fingertips. You tightened your hold on him, pulling him down for a deep, searing kiss.
"I love you too," you whispered against his lips.
He collapsed onto you, heart drumming a frantic rhythm against your own, both of you spent and glowing in the morning light, finally and completely entwined.
A few years ago, you would’ve hated the idea that Scott Miller of all people would end up teaching you everything worth knowing about sex. It would’ve bruised your ego badly, especially considering how seriously you once took those stupid categories and scales in your head before Scott showed up and ruined all of them completely.
Good sex stopped mattering.
Great sex became expected.
Getting fucked became routine enough that you lost count somewhere along the line, usually around the third orgasm of the day and definitely before he started dragging you into his lap halfway through work calls just because he felt like bothering you…with his hands and dick.
But somehow, even after all the rough sex and ruined schedules, Scott still managed to make love to you exactly the way you once imagined it should feel.
So if somebody offered you the chance to go back and do it all over again, you would without hesitation.
You were an absolute HR nightmare now and what a fucking delight that was!
☆ Here's part 2!
A/N: If you enjoyed this story, feel free to explore the archive for more! Liking and reblogging helps others discover my writing and comments always make my day, they’re a huge encouragement for me to keep creating. Thank you so much for reading!
Look at him just chewing the FAWK out of that gum 😭 (wait chew me next)
Some gentler passion slide into my mind,
For I am soft and made of melting snow;
Or be more cruel, Love, and so be kind.
Let me or float or sink, be high or low;
Or let me live with some more sweet content,
Or die, and so forget what love e'er meant.
"Elizabeth’s relationship with Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, was perhaps the most important in her life. The savage possessiveness with which she wrote of him - ‘a creature of our own’, as she described him, with all the imperiousness of the royal ‘we’ - in no way diminished his importance in her eyes. For a woman so short of surviving blood relations, he was the nearest thing she had to family."
— Sarah Gristwood, Elizabeth and Leicester: The Truth about the Virgin Queen and the Man She Loved.
prguitarman
discoholicmusic
gummygunk
yousharknotpass
blakekathryn
