Hank finds something in your nightstand that isn’t Advil. It’s not a big deal. Women have these. He knows that. It’s just that it’s yours. He should put it back. He knows he should put it back. He doesn’t.
Word Count: 3.6k
Masterlist
@dailydoseofaustinbutler
Hank’s looking for Advil in your nightstand, pushing aside the hand cream and the hair ties and the half-empty pack of Camels you keep telling yourself you’ve quit, when his hand hits something that is definitely not Advil.
He pulls it out before he thinks about it. Purple. Smooth. A dial on the bottom. His brain catches up about two seconds after his hand does and he just — holds it there, looking at it, feeling kind of like he opened a door in your apartment and found a whole room he didn’t know existed.
It’s not a big deal. He knows it’s not a big deal. Women have these. Of course they do. He’s not an idiot and he’s not nineteen and he’s tended bar long enough to have overheard every possible conversation about every possible thing people do when they’re alone. He knows this.
It’s just that it’s yours.
That’s the part his brain snags on. Not the object — the fact that you use it. That you lie in this bed, the same bed he sleeps in half the week, and you do — things. Without him. That there are sounds you make that he hasn’t heard yet.
He should put it back. He knows he should put it back.
He’s still holding it when you walk in.
You freeze in the doorway. Your eyes go to his hand, to the vibrator, back to his face, and the colour that floods your cheeks is immediate and — he feels like a dick for noticing — really fucking cute.
“That’s not Advil,” you say.
“No,” he agrees. He turns it over in his hand, runs his thumb across the dial. “No, it is not.”
“Put it back.”
He should. He really should. “How long have you had this?”
“Oh my god.”
“It’s just a question.”
“Why does it matter?”
He doesn’t have a good answer for that. Or he does, but the good answer is because I can’t stop picturing you using it and that feels like a lot right now. So he just shrugs and keeps turning it in his hand.
“I don’t know. A while. Can we talk about literally anything else?”
He grins. Can’t help it. You’re flustered in a way he doesn’t get to see very often — you’re usually the one who has her shit together, the one giving him a look when he’s done something stupid — and watching the tables turn is doing something warm and selfish in his chest.
“We could,” he says. “But I don’t want to.”
“Hank.”
“What?”
“Can you stop looking at it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like it’s interesting.”
He glances up. His mouth twitches. “It is interesting.”
“It’s really not.”
“It’s a little interesting.” He holds it up, examining the base.
“Can you please put it down now?”
“Yeah.” He doesn’t put it down. He clicks the dial and it buzzes to life in his hand — the vibration runs up his wrist and into his forearm and something in the back of his brain goes oh. He flinches, just slightly, and you laugh before you can stop yourself. He looks at you over the top of it with his eyebrows up, half-offended, half-delighted that he made you laugh, and clicks it off.
“So,” he says.
“So.”
“Do you think about me?”
Your mouth opens. Closes.
“When you use it,” he says. His heart is doing something stupid and fast behind his ribs and he keeps his voice casual because that’s what he does, that’s the only play he’s got — stay easy, stay light, even when the answer matters more than it should. “Do you think about me?”
Your eyes hold his for a long second. Something shifts in your expression — the embarrassment is still there but something else is moving underneath it. Something warmer. He feels it in his stomach.
“Sometimes,” you say quietly.
Sometimes. Okay. He can work with sometimes. Sometimes means he’s in the rotation, which means there’s a rotation, which means—
“What about the other times?”
You roll your eyes but there’s no real irritation in it. “God, you’re not gonna let this go, are you?”
“Absolutely not.”
You push off the doorframe, cross the room, sit down on the bed next to him. Your knee bumps his. You smell like the coconut lotion you put on after showers and your hair is still slightly damp and he is very aware that he is holding your vibrator while your bare thigh is pressed against his jeans.
“Sometimes I watch stuff,” you say.
A beat.
“Stuff,” he says.
“Tapes.”
He blinks. Just once, slow, processing. “Like — pornos?”
“Yeah.” You glance at him sideways, checking his reaction. “I have a couple.”
Something hot drops through his stomach. He wasn’t expecting that. He doesn’t know what he was expecting — fantasies, maybe, imaginary scenarios — but not tapes. Not you watching actual porn alone in this apartment. The image rearranges something in his head, shifts you into a light he hadn’t seen before. He likes it. He likes it a lot.
“Okay,” he says. His voice is steady. The rest of him is not. His cock stirs in his jeans and he shifts his weight, hoping you don’t notice.
You notice. Your eyes flick down to his lap and back up and the corner of your mouth twitches. The flush on your cheeks isn’t just embarrassment anymore — it’s something warmer, something that knows exactly what it’s doing.
“Don’t make it weird,” you say, but your voice has dropped, gone softer.
“Not weird.” His voice isn’t much better. “What kind of stuff?”
“Normal stuff. Nothing kinky, if that’s what you’re hoping.” Your cheeks are still flushed. “Just, like, regular.”
“That’s three ways of saying the same thing, so I’m gonna go ahead and guess there’s a specific thing you’re not saying.”
You bite the inside of your cheek. He watches the fight play out on your face — wanting to tell him, not wanting to tell him. The tension between those two things is filling the room with something thick and warm that he can feel on his skin.
He doesn’t push. He can see you’re right at the edge of something and if he presses too hard you’ll close the door, so he just lets it sit. Lets the quiet do the work.
“Show me,” he says instead. He holds the vibrator out to you, handle first. “I wanna watch you use it.”
And you smile. Not the embarrassed one, not the one you’ve been hiding behind for the last five minutes. A different smile — slow, private, a little wicked. It changes your whole face. It’s the smile of a person who has a secret that just became relevant.
“What?” he says.
“Nothing.”
“That’s not a nothing smile. What?”
You bite your lip. “It’s just — I like watching, too.”
Something in his brain stutters. “Watching what?”
“My favourite thing on those tapes,” you say, not quite looking at him, your voice low and careful, “is watching a guy get himself off.”
Everything in Hank’s body goes still.
He stares at you. You stare back. Your chin is up slightly, defiant, daring him to make it weird, and he is not going to make it weird because his entire body just went hot and tight and his cock is hardening in his jeans and his hand is gripping your vibrator so firmly his knuckles ache.
You like watching guys jerk off.
You lie in this bed and watch tapes of men touching themselves and you come to it. That’s the thing that does it for you. His mouth is dry. He swallows. “That’s your thing?”
“That’s my thing.”
Neither of you looks away. The vibrator is in his hand between you and the apartment is very quiet. He can hear you breathing. Can hear the pace of it changing.
He holds the vibrator out again. Doesn’t say anything this time. Doesn’t need to — you look at it, look at his face, and the question and answer happen without a word.
You take it from him. Your fingers brush his and he lets go slowly, deliberately, and there’s a whole conversation in that transfer — in the way he opens his hand, the way you close yours. The touch sparks up his arm and settles somewhere behind his navel.
You move back against the headboard and he moves to the foot of the bed, one leg folded under him. You pull your shirt off over your head and shimmy out of your shorts, your underwear with them, and settle back against the pillows. Naked while he’s fully dressed, and the imbalance makes the whole thing feel illicit, charged, like something that’s happening in secret even though it’s just the two of you.
You’re nervous. He can see it in the way you adjust the pillow behind your back, the way you won’t quite look at him. You click the vibrator on and the buzz fills the room. You press it between your legs and your eyes close and your lips part and something leaves your throat — barely a sound, more like a sigh — and Hank stops breathing.
Your head tips back. Your hips rock up. Your free hand grips the sheet and your thighs fall open and he can see everything — the way your stomach tenses, the vibrator moving in small tight circles, the slickness on your inner thighs that tells him you were wet before you even turned it on.
He’s hard. Fully, achingly hard, straining against his jeans. He presses the heel of his hand against himself because the pressure is unbearable and the friction makes him hiss through his teeth.
Your eyes crack open. You look at him — flushed, heavy-lidded — and you look at his hand pressed against the front of his jeans and your hips jerk. The sound you make goes straight to the base of his spine.
You’re close already. He can see it building — the way your rhythm goes unsteady, your breathing turning ragged, your thighs starting to tense. Your back arches and your mouth drops open and something crosses your face that’s raw and unguarded and—
You come. Fast. Your whole body tightens and a choked gasp punches out of you and your hips grind up hard against the vibrator. He watches it happen — the flush spreading down your chest, your face twisting, your hand white-knuckling the sheet — and his cock throbs so hard behind his zipper that his vision blurs.
It’s been maybe four minutes.
You slump back against the pillows, breathing hard, the vibrator still buzzing between your legs. Your eyes are closed, your skin glowing, and you look dazed and undone and his heart is hammering against his ribs.
“Already?” The word comes out rough. Wondering.
You open one eye. “Don’t.”
“No, I — that was—” He doesn’t have the sentence. His brain isn’t working right. “Fuck.”
A lazy, satisfied smile tugs at your mouth. You look loose, warm, the embarrassment burned off entirely. You look like a completely different version of yourself than the one who couldn’t look at him two minutes ago.
He wants the vibrator.
Not in a way he could have predicted or explained. He just wants it. Wants to be the one holding it. Wants to know what it feels like to press it against you and watch your face while he controls it.
He takes it from your hand. You let him — your fingers open, your eyes track his face.
“Can I?” he asks.
You nod.
He moves between your thighs. Kneeling, settling in close, one hand on your knee. He can feel the heat coming off your skin. He clicks the vibrator down to low — instinct, some understanding that you just came and your body is still lit up — and presses it against you.
Too hard, wrong spot. He feels you flinch, your body pulling away.
“Here.” Your hand covers his, guides him. A little to the left, lighter pressure, and when you let go he holds it exactly where you put him. Your breath stutters and your hips tip up.
He watches your face for every signal — the furrow between your brows, the way your lips part, the hitch in your breathing when he presses a fraction firmer. You’re more sensitive now, your body still humming from the first orgasm, and every small adjustment he makes ripples through you visibly.
He wants more. He lowers himself onto his stomach between your legs. Settles in, his weight on his elbows, his face level with your hips. He keeps the vibrator steady with one hand and turns his head and presses his mouth to the inside of your thigh.
Your hand flies to his hair.
He kisses you there — slow, open-mouthed, his lips dragging against the soft skin. He can feel your thigh trembling under his mouth. Can feel the heat radiating off you, smell you, and his cock is pressed against the mattress and the pressure is exquisite and nowhere near enough. He kisses higher, closer, his stubble grazing the crease where your thigh meets your hip, and you make a sound that he wants to hear every day for the rest of his life.
He hooks his arm under your thigh and over the top of it, settling in, anchoring himself. The vibrator is steady on your clit from that angle and his other hand slides up between your legs. His fingers trace through the slick heat of you — so much of it, soaking, and the feel of it makes his hips grind helplessly against the mattress.
He slides two fingers inside you. Slow.
You moan. Loud. Your walls grip him immediately, tight and hot, and he curls his fingers forward, pressing up. When he finds the spot your whole body jolts.
He works his fingers in a slow, firm rhythm, curling into that spot, over and over, the vibrator holding steady on your clit. He mouths at the inside of your thigh between strokes, presses his lips to the soft skin there, drags his tongue along the crease, and the dual sensation is taking you apart. He can see it happening — your body going taut, your breathing going sharp, your fingers twisting in his hair.
He’s rutting against the mattress now. Can’t help it. Can’t stop the slow grind of his hips, the friction against his cock through his jeans that’s keeping him sane and driving him crazy at the same time. His mouth is on your thigh and his fingers are inside you and the vibrator is on your clit and he can feel you tightening around him, feel the flutter that means you’re close—
“Oh god, oh fuck—”
He stays. Doesn’t change anything. Same angle, same pressure, same steady rhythm. You break — harder than the first time, with your whole body, your walls clamping down on his fingers in hard rhythmic pulses, a sound tearing out of you that starts as his name and ends as something shapeless. He feels the orgasm in his hand, feels the waves of it. Keeps his fingers moving gently until you push his wrist away, gasping, oversensitive.
He slides his fingers out slowly. Puts the vibrator down. Presses one last kiss to the inside of your thigh and lifts his head.
You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his life, breathing in shudders, body limp, eyes glazed. His cock is straining against his jeans, neglected, he hasn’t been touched all night and he can’t wait anymore.
He stands up. Pulls his shirt over his head, undoes his belt, shoves his jeans and boxers down and kicks them off. His cock is hard and flushed and the head is wet, and your eyes — still heavy, still dazed — drop to it and sharpen.
Something crosses your face. That recognition. The thing you told him about.
He wraps his hand around himself and the relief hits him like a punch. A groan pulls out of him, low and ragged, and his eyes nearly close but he keeps them open because you’re watching. You’re propped against the pillows, naked and glowing and destroyed, and your eyes are fixed on his hand. This is the thing you told him you like and he’s giving it to you.
He strokes himself slow. Full strokes, base to tip, his thumb dragging over the head, spreading the wetness there. His stomach tenses. His breathing gets heavier and he lets it — lets you hear the roughness in his exhale, the hitch when he tightens his grip. He’s standing at the foot of the bed and you’re looking at him like he’s the only thing in the world and it makes him feel — christ. He doesn’t have the word. Wanted. Seen. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time.
He tightens his grip. Strokes faster. His hips push forward into his fist and his thighs tense and the pleasure is building at the base of his spine, a slow hot coil getting tighter with every stroke. He watches your face while you watch his hand.
Your gaze is fixed on his fist. On the slide and pull of it, the way his cock disappears into his grip and emerges shining, the way his hips push forward on the upstroke. Your mouth is open, your eyes dark. One of your hands drifts lazily between your legs, fingers moving slowly over yourself while you watch him. The sight of it makes his cock pulse and a low, rough sound tears out of his throat.
“Fuck,” he breathes. He can feel it building. Getting close. His hand speeds up, his abs clench, his head tips back—
You sit up. Move fast, and your hand wraps around his wrist and stops him. Your mouth is on his and you’re pulling him down onto the bed and the kiss is desperate and messy and you’re saying it against his lips — “I need you, I can’t, I need you now—”
The want in your voice snaps something in him.
He’s on top of you and between your legs. You grab his cock and guide him and he pushes in hard and fast and deep and the sound that comes out of both of you is raw and loud.
The vibrator gets knocked somewhere — off the bed, onto the floor. He hears it buzzing against the hardwood like an angry insect and neither of you reach for it.
You’re so wet. Soaked from coming twice, swollen and hot and tight around him, and the feeling of you is so intense his arms nearly buckle. You lock your legs around his waist and dig your heels into his ass and he fucks you hard — deep fast strokes that make the headboard crack against the wall in a rhythm your neighbours are definitely going to hear.
“Harder,” you gasp, and he gives you harder, bracing one hand on the headboard and driving into you with everything he’s got. The bed is creaking, protesting, and your body is jolting with every thrust and you’re making these sharp, punched-out sounds that are driving him out of his mind.
He shifts his angle. Tilts his hips and the next thrust hits deep and you gasp, your hands grabbing his face and pulling him into a kiss that’s more teeth than lips. You’re clenching around him, and he can feel you getting close again — the flutter of your walls around his cock.
You break. You come around him, tight, pulsing, your face buried in his neck, a sound against his skin that vibrates through his whole body. He fucks you through it and the clench of you is almost too much and the pressure at the base of his spine is screaming and he’s right there, right on the edge—
“I’m gonna come,” he rasps as he pulls out.
You whimper at the loss, your hips chasing him. He wraps his hand around himself, slick with you, and strokes hard and fast, his cock pressed against your lower stomach. You look down between your bodies and watch his hand, your eyes black, your lips parted, and that’s what does it — your face, watching him, wanting this.
He comes hard. Spills across your stomach in hot pulses, his hips jerking, his hand working himself through it, a groan wrenching out of him that he feels in his whole chest. Your hand slides over his on his cock and holds it there while the last shudders roll through him. His forehead drops against yours. He can’t breathe. He can’t think. Your breath is warm on his mouth and your fingers are threaded through his.
He collapses. Half on you, half beside you, one arm thrown across your ribs. Your stomach is a mess and neither of you cares. Your hand finds his hair, scratching lightly through it, and he presses his face into your neck and breathes you in.
“Fuck,” he says against your throat.
“Mmhm.”
“Fuck.”
You laugh. Soft, breathless. He lifts his head and looks at you — flushed and glowing — and wants to say something but doesn’t have any words left.
You’re lying tangled together and the apartment is quiet except for the buzz.
The fucking buzz.
The vibrator is still going on the floor somewhere, loyal and relentless, vibrating against the hardwood in its persistent little death rattle.
He reaches over the side of the bed. Fumbles blindly. Finds it and clicks it off. The silence is enormous.
“Still need Advil?” you murmur, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on the back of his neck.
“I need a fucking paramedic,” he says against your skin, and your laugh shakes through both of you.
He should get up. Get a towel. Clean you both off. He should do a lot of things.
Omg I just saw the recent post about Austin’s long hair and I so need a fix about the reader tangling her hand in his hair at every chance she gets 🫠. Like on a date, sex, even on a sofa???
Word Count: 2.6k
Masterlist
You have absolutely no chill about his hair, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to pretend otherwise.
It doesn’t start in a dramatic way. There’s no big moment where you clock it and think, ah yes, this is my personality now. It starts with a glance — a passing look in the hallway mirror as you’re walking by — and there he is behind you, bent over tying his shoes, completely minding his own business.
His hair, unfortunately, is not.
The sides are starting to misbehave around his ears, the back brushing his collar in a way that feels like a direct provocation. It’s not long-long. It’s just… enough.
Enough that it never quite sits right.
Enough that it always looks like he’s just run his hands through it.
Enough that you want to be the one doing it.
You slow down. He doesn’t look up, still focused on the laces, but you can tell he knows. He always knows. It’s in the pause, that tiny, resigned stillness that says he’s already accepted his fate.
You step in behind him and slide your hand into his hair at the back of his head.
Yep. That’s the stuff.
Your fingers sink into the thicker part at the nape, soft in a way that feels deeply unfair given how little effort he puts into it. His shoulders drop.
His eyes close for half a second. “Babe.”
You don’t stop. “What?”
He exhales through his nose, already smiling. “Never mind.”
You lean down, press a kiss to the top of his head, leaving your hand exactly where it is, like it’s claimed squatter’s rights. “I’m just saying hello.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s not my fault,” you add, dragging your fingers lightly through it, “that you’re currently walking around with the most touchable hair I’ve ever seen.”
He finally looks up at you, eyebrows raised. “Currently?”
You give him an innocent shrug. “You know. Because you’re growing it out.”
He rolls his eyes like this conversation hasn’t already happened a dozen times. “For work.”
“I know.”
“For a role.”
“I know.”
“And you’re still acting like this is a personal gift.”
You tilt your head, considering. “Is it not?”
He laughs, quick and helpless, and finishes tying his shoes. When he stands, you stay close, your hand still very much in his hair. He doesn’t move away. If anything, he angles slightly, like he’s making sure you’ve got a good grip before he reaches for his jacket.
“You’re obsessed,” he says, like it’s a complaint.
It’s not. Not really. The way he says it is almost proud.
“You’re lucky it’s you,” you tell him. “Anyone else would’ve been tackled by now.”
He snorts. “Tackled.”
“Pinned down. Harassed. Thoroughly investigated.”
He turns fully then, steps into you and drops a kiss to your mouth — quick, warm, the kind that doesn’t need anything said around it. Your hand tightens in his hair without thinking, and the kiss goes a fraction slower, a fraction deeper. He laughs softly into your mouth, like he expected nothing less.
When you pull back, he’s looking at you with that familiar mix of amusement and something softer underneath it. “We’re going out,” he reminds you, voice low.
“I know,” you say again. You are absolutely capable of leaving the house without touching his hair.
Probably.
You let him go reluctantly, fingers slipping free like you’ve been denied something important. Already missing the feel of it.
He grabs his cap from the sideboard and pulls it on as you head for the door. It tucks most of his hair away. Not all of it. The back still sticks out, stubborn as ever.
You clock it immediately.
He catches you watching and gives you a look. “Don’t.”
You smile. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Yet.”
He takes your hand, laces his fingers through yours, and leads you out. Outside, he locks the door and turns back to you, already resigned. You reach up and fix the sides around his ears, then the bit at the back the cap didn’t quite manage.
Quick. Efficient. Necessary.
He just looks at you.
You look back. “What? It was sticking out.”
“It was fine.”
“It was absolutely not.”
He laughs under his breath and slips an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in as you start walking to the car. “People are gonna think you’re trying to mess with me on purpose.”
You grin, completely unrepentant. “I am messing with you on purpose.”
“That much is clear.”
On the sofa, it gets worse.
You’re stretched out together, something playing that neither of you is really watching. He’s half-reclined against you, head tipped back, and your hand finds the thick waves at the crown of his head almost immediately.
God, it’s so soft. And long enough now that you can actually twist a few strands around your fingers, tug gently just to feel the way it bounces back. He lets out this low, contented hum, like a cat being scratched behind the ears.
“You didn’t even wait,” he says.
You glance down at him, unrepentant. “Why would I?”
He shifts slightly, making a show of settling in. “I’m just saying. There was no build-up.”
You rake your nails lightly over his scalp, watching the way his lashes flutter. “It’s begging to be played with.”
He laughs, low, and after a minute adds, “If you mess it up, you’re fixing it.”
You deliberately mess it up more.
“Unbelievable,” he says, but he doesn’t move. In fact, he tilts his head a fraction, like he’s trying to pretend he’s not actively encouraging this.
Later, when your hand slows and your attention drifts back to the screen, you realise you’ve been doing it for ages. That it’s stopped being about messing with him and started being… comforting.
You don’t comment on that. You just keep going.
Another night, you’re out to dinner — nothing fancy, but enough that he’s clearly made an effort. You’re sitting next to each other at a small table, knees brushing under it, his arm hooked loosely over the back of the booth like it belongs there.
His hair has been coaxed into behaving. Not perfectly. Not stiff. But styled enough that it’s obvious he’s tried — the front pushed back, the sides almost neat, the whole thing looking intentional in a way that immediately gets your attention. You notice it while he’s talking, nodding along to whatever he’s saying, and your first thought is genuinely appreciative.
He looks really good.
Your second thought is: don’t touch it.
You last about a minute.
You don’t interrupt him, don’t make a big deal of it. You just lift your hand and smooth the side of his hair back into place, slow and fond, like you’re admiring his handiwork rather than sabotaging it.
He pauses mid-sentence and glances at you, amused. “You checking my work?”
You smile. “Complimenting it.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It looks good,” you say honestly. “You did a nice job.”
He hums, pleased, and goes back to what he was saying. You let your hand drop back to your lap, feeling satisfied. See? Normal. Supportive. No crimes committed.
A little while later, you’re listening again — really listening this time — when you lean in closer without thinking much about it. Your fingers slide back into his hair, this time at the nape of his neck, lingering there because you like the feel of it. Because it’s soft. Because it’s him.
You’re fully aware of what you’re doing.
You just don’t stop.
He doesn’t call you out. Doesn’t tease. Instead, his hand finds yours and laces your fingers together, bringing them to rest on his thigh like a gentle compromise.
You look at him, caught, “Sorry,” you say, already smiling. “I know I said I wouldn’t.”
“You didn’t say that,” he says easily, thumb brushing against your knuckles.
“I thought it,” you say. “Very briefly.”
He laughs under his breath, squeezing your hand. “I’m not complaining.”
“I just really like it,” you admit, a little sheepish, a little unapologetic. “It looks so good. And it feels nice.”
“I gathered,” he says, glancing at you. There’s no judgement in it. Just warmth.
You make a visible effort after that. Truly. You keep your hands to yourself, sip your drink, nod along, convince yourself you’re behaving like a fully functional adult.
Then he leans in to say something quietly, mouth close to your ear, and the effort it takes not to touch his hair feels completely unreasonable.
Your fingers slip free and curl back into it again, slower this time, deliberate. Affectionate.
He exhales through his nose, a quiet laugh you feel more than hear. “You tried.”
You laugh quietly, exposed. “I really did.”
He leans in and presses a brief kiss to your temple. “I appreciate the effort.”
You leave your hand where it is, content, and when his arm tightens around you a fraction, pulling you closer, it feels less like indulgence and more like agreement.
The first time you catch yourself doing it without thinking is in the car.
He’s driving, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on your knee. You’re humming along to the radio, watching the road slide past, when your hand drifts up and settles into the back of his hair like it’s always lived there.
You don’t notice straight away.
What you do notice is him saying, mildly, “You know I’m operating heavy machinery, right?”
You blink. Look at your hand. “Oh.”
You pull it back an inch. Then pause. “Wait. Is this dangerous or just distracting?”
He huffs a laugh. “It’s… debatable.”
You grin and very deliberately put your hand back. “I’ll take that risk.”
“Menace,” he mutters, but his shoulders loosen anyway, like he’s resigned to it.
You leave your hand there the rest of the drive, smug.
You realise it’s become a thing when your friends start calling you out on it.
You’re all sitting around a table, drinks half-finished, conversation drifting the way it does when everyone’s comfortable and nobody’s in a rush. Austin’s beside you, turned slightly inward, one arm resting along the back of your chair.
You’re laughing at someone’s story, when one of your friends squints at you. “Do you know you keep doing that?”
You blink. “Doing what?”
She nods at your hand. “That. With his hair. You’ve been at it for, like, ten minutes.”
You glance over.
Yep. There it is. Your hand fully tangled in it. No memory of putting it there.
“Oh,” you say, a little surprised. “Huh.” You start to pull your hand away.
“No, don’t stop on our account," another friend laughs. It’s very… you.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now, heat creeping up your neck. “I’m not doing it on purpose.”
Austin glances at you then, amusement flickering across his face. He lets his hand slide to your thigh, thumb pressing lightly, reassuring. “She does it when she’s thinking,” he says, casual.
You stare at him. “I do not.”
“You absolutely do,” he says, gently, smiling wider. “You do it all the time.”
Your friends exchange looks.
Someone laughs. “Honestly, it’s actually cute.”
You groan. “I hate that word.”
“Tough,” your friend says. “That's exactly what you’re being.”
Austin leans in close and whispers, so only you can hear, “I really don’t mind.” He gives your thigh a gentle squeeze. “Actually, I kinda like it.”
You glance at him. “You do?”
“Mmhmm.” He’s biting his lip.
Your hand ends up back in his hair before you’ve finished your drink.
Your friends absolutely notice.
You absolutely do not care.
That night, when you get home, the door clicks shut behind you, and the quiet of the house feels charged — the evening’s teasing touches and glances still buzzing under your skin. You slip off your shoes and notice him watching you with that small, knowing smile as he does the same.
“What?” he asks, voice low.
You step closer. “So you like it? When I play with your hair.”
He laughs quietly, hanging up his jacket. “Did I say that?”
“Mmhmm.” You close the distance, backing him toward the stairs, your hand brushing his arm. “So… do you?”
He doesn’t answer right away — instead, he reaches for your waist, pulling you flush against him. “Maybe.” His eyes darken a fraction and drop to your mouth.
You hum and finally let your hand slide up, fingers sinking into the thick waves at the nape of his neck. It’s soft, silky, and the way it slips through your fingers feels deeply satisfying. You twist gently at first — testing. Then, with a deliberate tug, you pull a little harder, tilting his head back ever so slightly.
His breath hitches, eyes fluttering half-shut. “Yeah,” he admits, voice rougher now. “I like it.”
“Like this?” you murmur, tugging again — sharper this time — watching the way his jaw tightens, his hands gripping your hips more firmly.
“Yeah,” he says again, quieter this time. “Exactly like that.”
He leans in and kisses you then — slow at first, testing the waters — but the moment your fingers tighten in his hair again, he makes a low, pleased sound against your mouth and deepens it. His tongue brushes yours, warm and unhurried, while one of his hands slides up your back to hold you closer.
You keep your hand where it is, combing through the waves, tugging lightly whenever the kiss slows and you want more. He responds every time, groaning softly, hips pressing closer until your back finds the wall beside the stairs.
“Fuck,” he breathes when you break for air, forehead resting against yours. “Do that again.”
You smile and oblige — fingers twisting a little firmer this time, guiding his head so you can kiss along his jaw, down to the spot just below his ear. His hair brushes your cheek, soft and warm, tickling lightly as he turns into your touch.
He exhales shakily, hands roaming now — under your top, along your sides — before he pulls back just enough to look at you. “Bedroom,” he says quietly. “Please.”
You don’t need asking twice. You keep one hand in his hair as you guide him up the stairs, tugging gently every few steps to keep him kissing you, laughing softly when he nearly trips on the top step because he’s too distracted to look where he’s going.
In the bedroom the pace slows again. He backs you toward the bed, kissing you properly now, hands careful as he slips your top off, then his own. When he lowers you onto the mattress and settles over you, his hair falls forward, brushing your collarbone, your chest, trailing over your skin as he kisses lower.
You thread both hands into it, gripping lightly, tugging when his mouth finds a spot that makes you arch. He groans against your skin, hips rocking down in a slow grind that has you both gasping.
The rest is easy, intimate closeness — lazy kisses, wandering hands, soft sounds swallowed between you. Your fingers stay in his hair the whole time, tightening when you need him closer, loosening when you want to feel it slide through your hands, until everything builds to a gentle, shuddering peak that leaves you both breathless.
Afterward, you’re tangled together, his weight a comforting press against you. His hair is a glorious mess — damp at the roots, strands sticking up in odd directions. You smooth it back tenderly, fingers drifting through the waves in slow, absent strokes.
He looks blissed-out, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth curved in that lazy, satisfied smile you love. He catches your wrist and kisses the inside of it. “Still obsessed?”
You grin, unrepentant. “Hopelessly.”
He laughs softly, rolling to the side and pulling you against his chest.
And as his breathing evens out, your hand still playing gently in his hair, you think this silly obsession might just be the best thing that’s happened to you.
Summary Austin brings you to Cannes, where you leave a mark on more than just his heart.
❤️🔥Passionate Smut❤️🔥 Austin adoring • affectionate Austin • couples bliss• loves your company • his muse• oral on male• marked with lipstick •heavy petting• edging •teasing• p in v •the chain stays on •orgasms •aftercare
📖Proofreader @purejasmine 🎬 Scene Consultant @butlerrizz
Marqué à Cannes
The atmosphere in Paris is filled with sultry elegance for the Cannes Film Festival.
You and Austin arrived the day before, jet-lagged from a long flight out of Los Angeles, your bodies heavy with the weight of travel, but high in anticipation for his film premiere.
The hotel room at the Hôtel Martinez is a vision of opulence, cream colored walls adorned with gold accents, a chandelier dripping crystals that catch the morning light.
You barely slept, your bodies still embraced together in the sprawling bed where you collapsed after a quick, steamy shower.
You’re breathing in the lingering scent of lavender soap on your skin, mingling with the faint cedar of Austin’s cologne, when a knock interrupts the quiet moment.
It’s the styling team, bustling in at an ungodly hour. You’re barely awake, your eyes heavy as the makeup artist dusts your cheeks with a soft brush across your skin.
Austin sits across the room, his hair being styled into that perfect, effortless look by a woman chatting animatedly in French. He’s in a black tuxedo, tailored over his broad shoulders and tapering down to his lean waist, with a bow tie around his neck.
You’re in a floor-length cream colored gown, the silk cool against your skin, the neckline plunging just enough to make you feel seductive.
The room is a whirlwind of hairspray mist, the clink of makeup brushes, and the soft conversation of the styling team, but Austin’s eyes keep finding yours in the mirror, the smallest upturn of his lips telling you everything you need to know…you both look incredible.
The styling team finally leaves, and the room becomes quiet again without their chatter. Austin’s publicist informs him the car will arrive in one hour, and the door clicks shut, leaving just the two of you again.
Austin’s grin widens, his blue eyes glinting with something unguarded as he steps closer. “You look absolutely gorgeous,” he compliments, his gaze roaming your body with pure admiration.
“And you look every bit the dazzling super star,” you reply, your tone warm and teasing.
He smiles at your compliment, a soft flush creeping up his face. “You know,” he says, his voice low and sincere, “even after all this time, I still get so nervous to walk on that red carpet.”
You smile, stepping into his space, your fingers reaching for his bow tie. “You’re going to be wonderful tonight Austin,” you promise, your voice soft but firm, smoothing the silk under your fingertips.
He leans in, and you kiss him, slow and soft. His hands find your waist, fingers digging into the silk of your gown, until your interrupted by the sounds of chants, screams, and cheers filtering through the window from below.
“What’s all that for?” Austin asks out of curiosity, his brow furrowing.
He takes your hand and leads you to the balcony. The glass doors slide open, and the sound hits you like a wave, thousands of voices chanting, and screaming, a chaotic symphony of adoration.
Austin pulls open the sheer curtains and steps out onto the balcony.
“Holy shit,” he mutters, wide-eyed. “Look at them,” he says in astonishment. You step out onto the balcony, the cool air kissing your bare shoulders as you peer over the railing.
Below, several stories down, the Croisette is alive with people; fans, paparazzi, security. Cameras flash like lightning in a storm, the energy is frantic, chaotic, and it sends a shiver down Austin’s spine.
“There’s so many of them,” he breathes, his voice full of awe and nerves, his eyes wide as he takes in the crowd.
You glance over at him, his lips parted, still not able to grasp the concept of how famous he is. You can see he’s trying to gather his senses, trying not to let it overwhelm him, and it sparks something mischievous in your mind.
You lower down to your knees on the cold tile of the balcony in your silk gown, and Austin’s gaze snaps to you, confusion flickering across his face. Your fingers graze the buckle of his belt, and you undo it with a soft clink.
“Babe, what are you—” he starts, his voice catching, as you tug his zipper down.
“I want you to think about this… every time you feel nervous tonight,” you whisper, pulling his cock free, and he’s already half-hard in your palm, his skin warm and velvety under your touch.
He lets out the smallest, unintentional gasp when your tongue flicks the tip.
“Show me how good of an actor you are Austin,” you grin, your voice a sultry tease as you suck the head, tasting the salt of him.
His breath catches, and a low, involuntary groan escapes as you take him into your mouth, your eyes locked on his.
He tries hard to stay composed, his hand gripping the balcony railing, knuckles white, his face a mask of control for the cameras below. The crowd’s chants are a distant memory, drowned out by the wet sounds of your mouth and the soft, desperate noises he’s trying to suppress.
His breath hitches, and you feel the tension pulsing through his cock as you suck him with slow, steady pressure.
His eyes meet yours, desperate, soft, reverent. “Please, baby, don’t stop,” he gasps, his voice breaking into a plea he can’t quite contain.
His cock twitches, and you slide your mouth faster, whimpering in pleasure around him, pulling a strangled moan from his throat.
He starts to come, hot and thick, the taste bittersweet across your tongue, and you swallow eagerly, savoring the way he shudders, the way his eyes are pleading even as he tries to keep his face neutral.
You pull back slowly, his cock glistening as he slides it out of your mouth, and you lick your lips slowly, eyes locked on his.
“Feeling better?” you tease, your voice a sultry purr, as you rise to your feet, smoothing your gown.
He exhales shakily with a grin spreading across his face. “Fuck, that was incredible,” he praises, his voice low, tinged with that confident edge you love.
You walk back inside the suite to the vanity, dabbing at the corners of your mouth, watching him behind you in the mirror.
He’s still dazed and glowing as he steps in, trying to gather his thoughts. “Shit,” he says, tucking himself back in, and you glance down, seeing the perfect ring of your lipstick around his cock.
He searches the room for a napkin, a towel, anything—but your voice stops him in his tracks.
“Leave it,” you say sweetly, reapplying the red color across your lips again. “I want you marked with me… all night.”
He meets your eyes in the mirror as he obeys, tucking his cock down the right side of his leg before zipping up his dress pants.
With the lipstick hidden and branding him as yours, his blue eyes gaze in the mirror at you with reverent worship, making it seem like he’s the one on the verge of falling to his knees.
The car ride to the Palais des Festivals is a soothing contrast to the chaos on the red carpet outside.
Austin’s hand rests on your thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles through the silk of your gown. He leans in, his lips brushing your ear.
“I love you,” he whispers, the words heavy with sincerity. “I’ll see you inside.” He kisses you, slow and deep, his tongue teasing yours before he pulls back.
The door opens, and he steps out, transforming instantly into the super star that he is, his signature wave effortless, his posture commanding as he joins his castmates on the red carpet.
Joaquin Phoenix, Emma Thompson, and Pedro Pascal, gesture him over, all of them radiant under the flashing lights.
The car inches forward a few feet to a tented entrance where security checks you in with brisk efficiency.
You catch glimpses of Austin posing as you are guided through to the parallel entrace, his tuxedo is pristine, his grin dazzling, as you are ushered into the theater.
The auditorium is a cathedral of art, crimson velvet seats and gilded walls, the air heavy with anticipation. You take your seat, the cushion plush under you and moments later, Austin and his costars enter to thunderous applause.
He spots you his eyes softening as he makes his way through the crowd.
“Hey, baby,” he says, leaning over the row to kiss you, his lips warm and lingering before he takes his seat ahead of you with his cast mates.
His hand reaches for yours instinctively, and you lace your fingers through his, resting them on his shoulder
He leans back, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “You won’t believe this, me and Pedro had to save Emma from a bee outside. She was flailing like it was a damn horror movie.”
Emma, seated nearby, chuckles, her voice genuine and warm. “It was a very aggressive bee!” She defends.
Pedro chimes in, his sly grin infectious. “We were her knights in shining armor,” he says smoothly, and you laugh together, finding the ease of their friendship utterly endearing.
The lights dim, as the film begins and Austin gives your hand one last gently squeeze before he straightens up to focus.
The film Eddington is Ari Aster's latest top-secret project, and Austin fond of him as a director, was enthusiastic to be part of it.
Ari's style, often called "maximalist dread" unfolds on the massive screen, a fever dream of a Western fused with psychological horror and surreal comedy.
The cinematography is claustrophobic yet sprawling, colors bleeding into each other like a fevered painting.
The film feels like three movies in one, clocking in at two hours that stretch on leaving you drained yet awestruck.
When the final scene cuts to black, there’s silence… then a swell of applause as the lights go up the sound of clapping thunderous and insistent.
It turns into a seven-minute standing ovation.
A cameraman pans across the cast, capturing their stunned or moved expressions. Joaquin stoically nods, Emma offers a tearful smile, Pedro gives a playful wave, and Austin takes a humble bow, his eyes glistening. You watch him as the camera lingers on his face. Even here, he’s honest, open, and a little overwhelmed.
The crowd’s energy is a vibrant thing, vibrating through the air, until eventually, the clapping subsides.
Austin takes your hand leading you to the grand hallway, and with a quick, heated kiss, he whispers in your ear: “I’ll meet you at the car.” his voice a little emotional after the moment and you nod squeezing his hand one last time.
You follow an aide to a side exit while Austin joins his costars for the final red carpet walk.
From the banister, you watch him descend the iconic stairs, the red carpet a river of crimson under the blinding flashes.
He’s magnetic, posing with Joaquin, Emma, and Pedro, their chemistry iconic, the paparazzi shouting their names like a chant.
By the time you reach the car, Austin’s bodyguard opens the door for you, and you step inside, sealing out the chaos.
Moments later, Austin slips in beside you,his energy amplified by the thrill of the night.
“That was wild,” he says, his eyes sparkling as he pulls you into for quick kiss, “I can’t wait to celebrate with you tonight,” he says softly against your lips, his hand reverently caressing your thigh.
The car weaves through Cannes’ glittering streets to Lumière, the festival’s after-party, a cavernous club pulsing with bass and draped in shadows. Celebrities directors and icons swarm the space, their laughter sharp, the air heavy with champagne and perfume.
After the photocall, Austin finds you again, taking your hand like he never wants to let go, and leads you through the crowd to your designated plush booth.
You sip drinks, the liquor sweet on your tongue as his his fingers trace your wrist, his touch igniting you.
“You’re killing me in this dress,” he whispers, his voice low, flirty, his eyes dark with want.
You smile as he stares at you all heat and hunger ,and you kiss him until he groans softly, tugging at his collar with a frustrated little breath.
“I’m burning up, baby,” he says, needy now, and you smile, helping him take off his tuxedo jacket and laying it gently on the booth.
You untie his bow and slowly undo the top buttons of his shirt, probably too many as you reveal the silver chain against his flushed chest.
His eyes are on your hands the entire time, his lips parting as if watching you undress him is the most intimate thing in the world.
Your hands slide up his chest admiring the firmness of his pecs and he leans in and kisses you again deeper this time.
You’re aching for each other, your teeth grazing his lower lip, as his moan vibrates against your mouth.
Your hand drifts over his lap, palm grazing his erect cock through his dress pants,and he hums, his hips shifting. The kiss leaves you both dizzy, breathless, and he pulls back, his voice rough. “Let’s go back to the room baby,” he says.
You bite your lip as you nod and just as move apart, a familiar voice cuts in through the ambiance. “Austin Butler!”
You both turn to see Robert Pattinson standing at the edge of your booth. He’s grinning, clearly a few drinks in, but warm and thrilled to see Austin. “Mate. That was fucking insane. You killed it.”
Austin laughs, but you can see him shift, trying to compose himself. “Thank you, means a lot coming from you.” He says grinning warmly.
“You two are absolutely glowing.” Patrick says leaning in to kiss your cheeks with European flair before he collapses in the booth beside Austin.
“That film—fuck, I can’t get it out of my head it’s unhinged. Ari’s a madman.” Robert says in awe.
They keep trading compliments, their banter easy, like old friends. But you know Austin is still hard under the table.
You run a hand over his thigh to check, your fingertips sliding over his cock in a secret claim and Austin loses his thoughts entirely.
Robert’s gaze narrows, his eyes looking over the smudges of your red lipstick on Austin’s shirt collar, his neck, the corner of his mouth.
He leans forward, smirking. “Austin , you’ve got lipstick all over your … everything.” He says.
Austin’s eyes flick to you, a mix of embarrassment and arousal, as his lips turn into a shy grin.
“I should probably go clean up,” he says, blushing.
Robert laughs, clapping a hand on Austin’s shoulder. “You’re a lucky bastard,” he says. Then he points at you. “And you… you’re trouble. I like it.” and with that, he leaves the booth to rejoin the party.
Austin exhales, his hand finding your thigh under the table and squeezing.
“You’re gonna pay for that,” he teases, his voice low but laced with that naughty edge you adore.
You lean in, your lips brushing his ear. “I’m counting on it,” you whisper.
Back at the Hôtel Martinez, the opulent suite is a haze of desire and lust as you and Austin stumble through the door, the city’s glittering lights spilling through the windows.
He’s on you the instant the door clicks shut, his hands aggressive and hot, gripping your hips, your waist, your shoulders, as if he can’t get enough. His lips crash against yours in a bruising, desperate kiss with raw need.
“You’ve been claiming me all night,” he rasps, his voice low, his blue eyes dark with hunger.
You whimper into his mouth, already yearning for him, and he tugs at your cream-colored gown, the silk sliding down your thighs before pulls it off with your panties leaving you completely naked.
His hands roam, searching, wandering, palming your breasts, sliding down your sides, leaving trails of heat on your skin.
You pull at his shirt, buttons popping and scattering across the floor, the crisp white fabric tearing open to reveal his flushed chest, his silver chain glinting in the chandelier’s soft light.
He groans, primal and low, as you trail your fingers down his torso, his muscles tensing under your touch.
His pants come off next, shoved down with his boxers in urgency, and your eyes catch the perfect ring of your red lipstick still marking his cock. The sight sends a jolt of heat right through you, your core throbbing as you pull him onto the bed.
“Look how pretty I marked you,” you breathe, your voice sultry with possession.
He smirks, his gaze feral, as he rubs the tip of his cock against your entrance, already slick and aching for him. “I’m gonna mark you too,” he rasps, his voice rough with lust, and then he thrusts in, hard and deep, filling you completely.
You gasp, your back arching against the plush bed, the sensation overwhelming as he sets a relentless pace, his hips snapping between your legs.
Austin above you is a vision of raw power—his broad shoulders flexing, his face flushed with exertion, his blue eyes locked on yours, burning with intensity.
He’s hard, unyielding, each thrust driving you higher, your whimpers mingling with the rhythmic sound of skin on skin.
He kisses you, open-mouthed, messy, his tongue claiming yours as he groans, “You’re so fucking hot, baby.” His voice is rough, reverent. “Love fucking you, love how you take me.” He shifts on to his forearms, caging you beneath him, the new angle letting him go deeper, harder, his cock hitting that spot that makes your vision blur.
His chain dangles, brushing your forehead on every thrust, the cool metal a rhythmic tease that has you lost in how he controls your pleasure, your body surrendering to his every move.
Your hands trail down his back, nails digging in as the pressure builds, your moans spilling out. “Fuck, fuck, oh Austin,” you cry out, your voice loud, trailing off into desperate moans as your orgasm crashes over you, your core clenching around him.
He watches you fall apart, his blue eyes wild with lust,“Fuck-fuck…baby, I’m gonna come,” he groans, his voice breaking as his muscles flex, his thrusts pounding, relentless, driving into you with a force that leaves you making helpless little sounds.
He comes hard, his body tensing as he presses deep, the warmth of his release flooding your core, a low moan tearing from his throat. You whimper beneath him, both of you lost in the shared ecstasy, your bodies trembling in the aftermath.
He pulls out slowly, his cock glistening, the lipstick ring still faintly visible, and you feel a possessive thrill at the sight. His chest heaves, breaths heavy, as he collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms on the sprawling bed, the sheets cool against your overheated skin.
“Fuck, you’re everything,” he breathes, his voice soft now, almost awestruck, as he presses a kiss to your forehead.
His blue eyes are warm, adoring, the heat of the moment melting into tenderness. You smile, still catching your breath, and trace a finger along his jaw. “I’m glad you’re mine, Austin,” you whisper, your voice laced with pride and love.
He grins, his roguish smile returning, and he leans in to kiss you, slow and deep, both of you smiling against each other’s lips. “All yours, baby,” he vows, his hand squeezing your hip as you lie there, tangled together, the world outside fading into nothing but the two of you.
Summary You love the sound of Austin’s voice ( especially in pleasure) so when he suggests making an intimate tape together, you can hardly contain yourself.
❤️🔥Passtionate Smut ❤️🔥 Austin all for you • affectionate •observant • voice kink • plans everything • soft dom• lap sitting• sex on tape • nipple play • clit play • groping• fingering • sweet talk • dirty talk • missionary • doggy style • size kink• orgasm denial • multiple orgasms • simultaneous orgasms• cream pie •aftercare 🔗Masterlist
📖 Proofreader @purejasmine @butdaddyilovehim99 ✨Inspo by request from the lovely @mickeymooooo 💝
The Tape
Austin’s voice is already your weakness.
The way he says your name, the deep playfulness of it when he’s teasing you, it’s enough to make you come undone before he even touches you.
You love when he begins sending you voice notes, soft at first, him telling you he misses you, how he can’t wait to see you.
He catches on quickly to the way you like hearing his voice, the way your responses get shorter and breathier when he says things a little slower, a little deeper.
He starts pushing, testing, drawing you in seeing how far he can take it, until one night, his voice note comes in entirely different than the others.
“I was thinking about you,” he says, his voice deep with something darker something heavier, then there’s a pause, a hitch in his breathing . “But you’re not here to take care of it.” He confesses.
Your whole body locks up as you listen to the sounds of him pleasuring himself. His pace, the way he struggles to keep his voice steady as he says your name between ragged breaths.
Your body craves every minute of listening to him pleasing himself, but what really does you in is the sound he makes when he finally comes. His soft little pants and whimpers before he deeply moans your name in pleasure.
That sound completely wrecks you.
When you tell him how much you love it he immediately confesses he wants to make a sex tape with you, one that you can use to hear and watch him make those sounds forever, and you almost lose it.
“Are you serious?” You ask breathless trying to sound normal with your voice already betraying you.
His smirk is practically audible. “Yes just for you.” He confirms
You bite your lip wanting to know exactly what he’s planning. “You want to make a sex tape, just so I can hear you moan in my ear?” You ask.
Austin hums, but there’s a hunger behind it. “I want to make a sex tape so you can watch what I do as I moan in your ear.” He confirms.
Your whole body feels like you’ve lost strength as you struggle to regain your thoughts, he’s already got you trapped, his seduction, his promises, locking you in like he always does and you have no desire to escape.
“What if I get shy?” You ask, though you know he would never let that happen.
His voice drops and you swear you can feel his breath against your ear. “Once we start, you won’t even remember the camera is there.” He promises, and the certainty in his voice makes your knees press together.
The night you decide to do it, Austin sets up the camera with precision, adjusting the angle like he’s crafting a masterpiece.
With his intimate knowledge of film from acting, he understands exactly how to create a scene, how to capture not just the moment but the intensity.
He’s thought everything through, the perfect position to showcase every heated motion, the lighting that will cast just the right shadows over your skin, and even the little outfit you’ll wear.
You smile when you see what he’s chosen, a delicate black lingerie set, and as you put on the barely-there lace, you feel seductive and sinful.
The lace panties barely skim your hips, the high socks hugging your thighs tight, and the intricate bra with barely any fabric exposes more than enough skin to make him restless.
You step into the bedroom with a teasing smile on your lips and Austin’s arms are crossed, his eyes dark as they trail over you, his mind playing out exactly what he wants to do to you.
He’s in black Calvin Klein boxers, already hard, and you lick your bottom lip, in anticipation.
Without a camera in sight, you scan the room, wondering where he’s placed it, until his voice pulls you back into the moment.
“Come here, baby,” he says, his tone filled with mischief and something darker. “Let me see you.”
His stare is so direct you lose your thoughts for a second, but as he smiles, clearly loving every moment of this, you can’t help but play into his whims.
You step into the bedroom, the soft light casting a golden glow over your curves.
His grip tightens around his firm biceps as he takes you in. “Fuck, you look so good,” he says, uncrossing his arms to beckon you closer.
He lowers to sit on the edge of the bed in anticipation, and you stand in front of him just close enough to let his fingertips graze the edge of your panties.
“Turn for me,” he says, his eyes fixated as his hands slide over the curves of your ass, squeezing possessively.
He hears you sigh, and he hums in satisfaction turning you around and pulling you down to straddle his lap.
“I want to take my time with you,” he says, softly his blue eyes filled with lust, and you nod eagerly as his hands slide up and down your waist before squeezing firmly. He presses his lips to your neck, and his mouth is warm and soothing as he trails kisses along your sensitive skin.
You give in instantly, placing your hands on his shoulders and he brings his face to your chest, breathing you in before licking a slow stripe along the exposed curve of your breast, making you ache inside.
His tongue is soft and teasing, as he looks up at you, and his fingers pull down the front of your bra as he licks each of your nipples entirely.
“You’re so perfect,” he says, his hands sliding lower over your ass, pulling you to lightly grind against his hard aching cock. “You drive me absolutely insane you know that?” he says against your skin.
You whimper, breathless, and kiss him, your body obeying his every command as you grind harder against his cock until he starts to groan, his eyes squeezing shut.
“Fuck, you’re killing me,” he rasps, his deep voice sending a shiver through you. He takes your arms and guides you on the bed beneath him, his body pressing you down as his tongue flicks out to meet yours.
He’s eager, greedy, his open-mouthed kisses against yours filled with a hunger that has you gasping, your fingers threading in his hair as you push against him, feeling the hardness of his cock.
His hands grasp and roam your sides, exploring and squeezing until he reaches your hips, pinning them firmly in place.
Your breath catches as he pulls back just enough to look down at you, his eyes dark with intent.
“I want to make you feel so good,” he says, his voice smooth as his hand moves lower, pulling his boxers down with slow, agonizing, precision until his large cock slides free.
You stare at it, mesmerized by how thick and heavy it is, the sight only intensified as he wraps his hand around the shaft, stroking it slowly, each pump making your breath catch.
“Austin,” you whisper, breathless, your voice a plea as your hips shift under him, instinctively begging for his touch.
He smirks as his fingers grip the delicate lace of your bra and unclasp it to expose your flushed skin, and you sigh feeling his hands on you again, his palms cupping your breasts as his mouth latches on one, sucking your nipple deeply.
A sharp moan falls from your lips as you arch into him, the wet heat of his mouth sending a rush of pleasure straight through your core.
His tongue flicks against your other nipple, teeth pulling and grazing enough to make your fingers tangle in his hair.
“It feels …so good Austin” you whisper pressing yourself against him, your hips rolling in desperate need of friction, the slick heat between your thighs dragging along his cock, and he groans against your skin, the deep vibration sending another wave of pleasure surging through your core.
“You must be so wet for me,” he says, his hand skimming lower, pressing into the fabric of your panties, his fingers brushing where you’re aching for him the most.
You moan, shifting your hips, silently begging until he finally hooks his fingers into your panties. He slides them down your thighs tossing them aside and presses his fingers against you slick heat, teasing gently, “you’re so ready for me” he breathes, and he pushes them deep inside.
A sharp cry spills from your lips as your head falls back, feeling the pleasure surging through you as the wet sounds of his fingers thrusting becomes louder.
Your thighs tremble as the heat coils deep, his steady rhythm relentless, each curl and stroke igniting sparks that ripple through you, pushing you to the edge.
“You’re so close” he whispers as your walls clench around his fingers, and you nod as you begin to roll your hips. Just as you’re about to come, he stops, leaving you gasping, your cry of despair breaking heavy into the air between you.
His fingers slowly pull out of you, leaving you aching for them, and he leans down to whisper in your ear.
“You can’t come yet baby,” he says, pressing your swollen clit just enough to make your body jolt. “I want to feel it on me.” he says.
You gasp, hands clinging to his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, trying to give him what he wants. “Please,” you softly whisper, and he nudges his cock to your entrance, pushing it in, stretching you all over again as his thumb circles your clit.
Your lips open in soft little cries as he thrusts in you, his chest resting against yours as he slides his hands to hold your legs apart, his cock pressing into a deep sensitive spot that has you clenching tight.
You’re in a haze as your body moves with each precise thrust, your moans turning into high-pitched wails as he keeps hitting the spot, over and over, sending sharp waves of pleasure crashing through your core.
He holds your thighs tighter knowing your about to come, the high socks framing the way your legs quiver, as the wetness between your legs become slick and messy.
His pace increases, pushing you up and down with every firm thrust until you gaze up at him, eyes dazed, lost, every thought erased except for the overwhelming pleasure he’s giving you.
He watches you, his blue eyes dark and heated, his pupils dilated as you come for him, every pant, every whimper, every sound spilling from your lips proof of just how much he’s satisfying you.
“That’s it, baby,” he soothes, as he slides his hands up your hips, rolling his thrusts into you slow, easing the frantic edge of your need. “You came so good for me,” he says, his voice making your heart flutter as your core throbs deep inside.
You’re weak and breathless as he slips his cock from you, and he takes your waist in his hands and rolls you on your stomach with ease.
His strong grip guides you up, pulling you onto your hands and knees, and your body trembles in anticipation.
“This is all for you,” he says, his voice low and warm as he positions himself behind you, and his fingers tease along your wetness again, sending a shiver up your spine.
Your eyes finally land on the camera in the bookshelf in front of you, It’s red light blinking steadily, the screen flipped so you can watch it capture every detail of Austin fingering you until you’re on the edge of another orgasm.
You begin to moan, ready to climax, and he slips his fingers away, barely giving you time to react before he’s pressing the tip of his hard cock against you.
“Watch what I do to you,” he says, and your hands fist the sheets, gripping tightly as he slides his large cock in, the heat of it sending a sharp pulse racing through your core. The slow, torturous glide makes your whole body tense, and your thighs press together heightening the sensation as you moan in pleasure.
“You feel what you do to me,” he breathes, his cock pushing in deeper before pulling back. “I want to have you all night like this,” he confesses.
His palms carefully settle on your lower back, holding you in place, a firm yet possessive weight as he starts to thrust into you. Your hips lift up instantly, overwhelmed by the fullness, but his hands press firmly on your lower back, pushing you down.
The dominance in the gesture makes your feet kick against the bed, your thighs squeezing together as the intensity of his cock takes over.
“Take it for me,“ he breathes, his voice thick with desire as he buries in until you feel it deep in your core. He watches as you squirm from his size, the fullness causing a throbbing heat to build with every passing second.
He keeps a steady rhythm, the sounds of your wetness filling the room, until at any given moment he thrusts in deep, the force making your body tense as your core throbs in pleasure.
A broken moan spills from your lips, and he groans at the sight of you.
“Look at us,” he encourages, glancing at the camera screen, watching the way you take him. He gives one more firm thrust, making your mouth fall open, your breath stuttering as you moan.
“You look so fucking good like this,” he says, and you tremble with pleasure as he guides your legs wider apart. He begins to really focus, laying his thrusts into you just right, making you feel every ridge and vein as the head of his cock nudges you perfectly.
His thighs press harder on the back of yours, and your moans turn desperate and reckless, your body rocking mercilessly with every firm thrust.
His fingers dig into your back as the pleasure peaks, his palms pressing down, keeping you right where he wants as he angles himself just right, driving his cock repeatedly into that perfect spot deep inside.
You both moan in unison and he begins to climax, his hips pushing faster, his cock twitching harder.
“Fuck, baby, come with me,” he groans, his voice raw with need. He pulls you up against him, one hand cupping your breast, squeezing firmly, while the other slides between your legs, circling your clit with precise pressure.
Your eyes lock onto the camera, watching the screen capture every shudder, every gasp as he drives into you leading you both to the peak of pleasure. A deep, guttural moan falls from his lips as he begins to lose control, his hips stuttering as you feel his cock pulsing hard inside you.
His breaths turn heavy against your ear, desperate wrecked, the sounds breaking between moans,and deep whimpers.
His sounds push you over the edge as you orgasm, your release washing over you in waves as you feel him come deep inside of you, your walls pulsing on his cock at his most pleasurable moment.
He thrusts against you become softer and weaker until he has nothing left. He catches his breath as the pleasure subsides, then he carefully pulls out of you, the slow drag of his cock making you shiver.
A deep, satisfied sigh escapes him as he rests back on his heels, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.
One of his hands settles on your hip while the other squeezes the soft flesh of your ass with a satisfied exhale.
“What are we gonna call our sex tape?” he asks, pulling you down on his lap.
“I don’t know ” you pant, your mind still spinning.
He grins, his thumb skimming up your spine, his voice warm against your ear. “What do you think about watching it together until we decide,” he encourages, his voice deep and smooth as he kisses your shoulder.
You look into the camera to meet his eyes as you nod, and you both smile before he turns your face to his, capturing your lips in a deeply passionate kiss.
It was his hands. That was the first thing I noticed, even before his voice or the way his hair curled just slightly at the nape of his neck. His hands. Strong. Veiny. Almost too elegant for a man who looked like he could lift me with one arm and often did.
Austin was across the room now, sat on the sofa, thumbing through a script with a faint furrow in his brow. The lamp beside him cast amber warmth over the room, and the firelight danced across his skin in that way I never quite got used to. He was beautiful, sure but it was his hands that truly drove me mad.
I watched as he dragged one hand through his hair the tendons shifting, the veins in his forearm rising with the motion. My thighs pressed together involuntarily, a subtle, automatic reaction.
He didn’t even know what he was doing to me.
Or maybe he did.
“Y’know,” I said, walking over and curling up beside him, “you have the most unfairly attractive hands I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Austin looked at me, bemused. “My hands?”
I nodded, letting my fingers skim along his forearm where the veins popped beautifully. “Mmm. They’re… ridiculous.”
He chuckled, a low, warm sound in his chest. “Alright. I’ve heard I’ve got nice eyes, good lips. But hands? That’s a new one.”
“Well then, let me be the first to say it,” I replied, sitting up a little straighter. “Your hands are beautiful. But not in a delicate way. They're veiny and calloused and…” I sighed, a dramatic little groan, “just so bloody capable.”
Austin raised a brow. “Capable?”
“Yeah.” I trailed my fingers over the back of his hand, feeling the rougher skin over his knuckles. “You look at some hands and you think, ‘they play piano.’ Yours? I look at them and think, ‘they build houses. They throw people over shoulders. They pin girls to walls.’”
He laughed at that, shaking his head. “Jesus, baby.”
“I’m serious,” I grinned. “And when you clench your fists...ugh.” I reached out, taking his wrist in one hand. “Do it. Just yeah, like that.”
He clenched, and right on cue, the veins in his arms stood out, proud and impossible to ignore.
“God, that’s not fair,” I muttered, openly ogling. “That should be illegal.”
Austin’s eyes darkened slightly as he watched me, that cheeky smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Never thought I’d get you going with just my hands.”
I leaned in, resting my chin on his shoulder, lips just near his ear. “They’re so artistic too. Long fingers, strong grip. The way you hold things… how your fingers move. It’s like you were sculpted with that in mind.”
“You talkin’ about me or a Michelangelo statue?”
“Same thing, really,” I whispered, letting my hand slide down his bicep slowly. “It’s not just how they look. It’s what they do. How they play guitar. How they hold me at night. The way you rub slow circles on my back when I can’t sleep. The way you cup my face when you kiss me like I’m the only thing that matters.”
He turned his face slightly, lips brushing mine. “You say stuff like that and I’m not gonna be responsible for what happens next.”
I smiled against his mouth. “Good. That’s what I’m aiming for.”
Austin placed the script on the coffee table without breaking eye contact. “You really like ‘em that much, huh?”
“You’ve got no idea,” I murmured, pulling his hand into mine, flipping it over to trace the lifelines of his palm. “These hands ruin me.”
He was watching me closely now, his breath hitching slightly as I kissed the centre of his palm, slow and deliberate. His fingers twitched just slightly, his other hand coming up to rest on my thigh.
“And when they’re wrapped around my throat…” I let the sentence hang, watching his eyes darken visibly, a flush rising on his cheeks.
He stilled. “Say that again.”
I tilted my head, letting my nails graze the back of his hand. “When your hands are wrapped around my throat. Not hard. Just enough to remind me who’s in charge. It’s hot, Austin. It makes me feel… owned.”
He groaned, low and wrecked. “You can’t say shit like that to me and expect me to sit here.”
“Who said I wanted you to sit?” I whispered.
In a flash, he had me straddled on his lap, his hands... those hands gripping my waist like they were made for it. I could feel every line, every callous, the heat of his palms branding me through the thin cotton of my shirt.
“You really like the veins?” he murmured against my neck, lips brushing over my pulse.
“Mmm.” I rolled my hips against his ever-so-slightly. “Like a bloody roadmap. I want to follow them with my tongue.”
He laughed darkly. “Fuckin’ hell, you’re gonna kill me.”
His hand came up to my jaw, fingers guiding my chin as he kissed me hard, deep, consuming. I melted into it, into him, the feeling of his hands cradling my face and then sliding into my hair making me dizzy with want.
“Look at me,” he whispered, when we finally broke for air.
I did.
“I like when you talk like that. When you tell me exactly what does it for you.”
“Why do you think I do it?” I smirked. “You should see your face.”
He licked his bottom lip, eyes flicking down to mine. “Say the thing again.”
I bit my lip, teasing him.
“Say it.”
I leaned forward, letting my hands trail up his chest. “I like your hands wrapped around my throat.”
He exhaled sharply, eyes fluttering closed for a second.
“They make me feel small. Powerless. But in the best way. Like I can just let go. And you’ll keep me right where you want me.”
His grip on my hips tightened. “Christ, baby.”
I pressed a kiss just below his ear. “And I know those same hands that take control like that… they’re the ones that hold me when I’m sick. That cradle my face when I cry. That brush my hair back when I’m too tired to talk.”
He nodded slowly, eyes shining a little. “I love you, y’know.”
I kissed his lips, soft this time. “I know. And I love your hands.”
He grinned. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Better than being predictable,” I winked.
We stayed like that for a while his hands splayed across my ass, mine exploring the lines and dips of his arms. Occasionally I’d kiss a knuckle or trace a vein, and he’d sigh like it was physically doing him in. Maybe it was.
He pulled me close, burying his face in my neck. “Gonna start wearing gloves at this rate.”
I laughed. “You wouldn’t.”
“You’re right. Wouldn’t deprive you.”
“You’d miss the praise,” I teased.
He pulled back to look at me, face soft. “You talk about my hands like they’re holy.”
“Maybe they are,” I whispered. “They’ve certainly delivered a few religious experiences.”
That made him laugh again, full and real and boyish.
We eventually moved to the bedroom slowly, deliberately where I let him show me just how good those hands really were. They slid beneath my clothes with reverence, found every place I needed to be touched, held me with a tenderness that made my chest ache.
And later, when his palm pressed gently around my throat, and he looked into my eyes with that steady, quiet control I wasn’t thinking about art or anatomy or anything at all. Just him. His hands. His love.
Hi love, I hope your day is going well! I really enjoy your work, and I wanted to request something based on the Vanity Fair interview with Austin making the paper roses. It could be a one shot, either he makes them for the reader or maybe they could have a competition or something since Austin's mentioned that he can be quite competitive. Thank you so much if you get to write this 😊
Author’s Note:
@saturnsdaughtr thank you for always taking the time to comment on my fics—I just wanted to say, I really appreciate it. Your comments genuinely make my day whenever I see them. That goes for anyone else who takes the time to comment, too—it really does mean a lot. Hope this one hits the mark!
Word Count: 5.6k
Masterlist
Paper Roses
The studio lights cast a soft glow over the intimate set, bouncing off black leather booths and scattered red napkins. There was something cinematic about it—like an old Hollywood film, polished yet intimate. You stood just off-camera, leaning against the back wall, watching Austin settle into the plush black booth.
He looked unfairly good. Tousled blonde curls, sharp cheekbones, that high shine black coat slipping off his shoulders just enough to tease the white tank underneath, layered necklaces resting against his collarbone. His sleeves pushed up just enough to expose his forearms, the glint of his gold bracelet catching under the lights as he flexed his fingers, smoothing out the napkin in front of him. You were supposed to be focusing on the interview, but how could you when he looked like that?
“And then you can just, you hide it—” he tucked the half-formed rose behind his back, then glanced at someone off-camera. You. “Come here.”
Your heart skipped at the way his voice dipped, warm and teasing. He gestured again, smirking now. “Come here, I’m talking to you.”
The crew laughed, and you shook your head, crossing your arms over your chest as if that would stop the way your stomach flipped.
Austin’s smirk lingered, eyes locked on yours for a beat too long before he turned back to the camera. But the amusement in his voice when he started over? That was just for you. "Alright," he exhaled, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeve. "Tonight, I'm gonna show you how to make a napkin rose."
The way he said it, smooth as velvet, sent a flutter through your chest. You bit the inside of your cheek, suppressing a grin.
As he began folding the napkin, you noticed the slight tremor in his fingers—subtle, but there. He was nervous. That was the thing about Austin; no matter how much confidence he radiated on the outside, there were always these little tells if you knew where to look. The slight swallow before he spoke, the way he ran his tongue along his bottom lip before pressing them together. You always noticed.
He smoothed the napkin over his palm, fingers deftly folding and twisting. “My sister was in high school when I was in elementary school,” he said, glancing up at the camera with a small, nostalgic smile. “And there was this guy, Chaggo—Brazilian, coolest kid at her school. He taught me how to do this.”
You’d heard bits of the story before, but never like this. His voice was soft, laced with admiration, like that little boy still lived somewhere inside him, awestruck by the cool older kid.
He twisted the napkin again, knuckles flexing, veins shifting beneath the surface of his skin. His hands were mesmerising—the precision, the careful way he manipulated the delicate material. You couldn’t stop staring.
“See, it’s good for when you’re out and don’t have real roses on hand,” he continued, a small smile tugging at his lips as he shaped the petals. “If you like a girl—or a guy—you can just, y’know… whip one of these out.”
Your breath caught.
You weren’t sure if he even realised it, but he was smirking. The type that made your stomach dip, the type that usually meant trouble.
He worked the napkin with surprising ease, fingers deft and careful as he wrapped and twisted the delicate folds. You should have been paying attention to what he was saying, but it was impossible not to get distracted by the way he moved. How gentle his hands were, the way he pinched and smoothed the edges with precision, poking at the napkin to create the illusion of petals.
He continued talking, something about how he’d used the trick in Elvis, but you barely processed it. Your attention had narrowed to the steady, practiced movement of his fingers—the precision, the ease, the way he handled something so fragile with such effortless control.
Austin twisted the napkin between his fingers, slowly bending the outer edge back to make it look more realistic.
“Try to be delicate with it,” he murmured, head tilting slightly as he bent the napkin between his fingers. "Cause you don't wanna rip it."
You exhaled sharply. He had no idea how hot that was, did he? His big, careful hands, the way his fingers traced the creases. He murmured, almost absently, “Sometimes you gotta get in there…” as he adjusted the centre of the rose—
Christ. He had to know.
The smirk. The flicker of amusement in his eyes. The way he lingered just a second too long—like he wanted you to notice.
Oh yeah. He definitely knew.
His lips twitched as he pinched the stem between his thumb and forefinger, twisting it one last time before holding it up with a small, satisfied smile.
“Yeah…” he said, examining his handiwork. “And that's how you make a rose out of a napkin.”
And then—like he could feel the heat of your gaze—he looked up. Right at you.
You rolled your eyes, but your face felt warm.
Hours later, Austin was back in his usual post-long-day attire—grey sweatpants slung low, a worn-out band tee, barefoot as he padded into the living room. He ran a hand through his curls, tousling them even more before flopping onto the couch with a sigh.
You dropped onto the cushions beside him, tucking your legs underneath yourself as you glanced at the coffee table, where the restaurant napkins from dinner were still sitting in a small pile. You nudged one with your finger, unable to shake the memory of his fingers folding and twisting the delicate paper.
“Think you could teach me how to do it?” you asked, nudging him with your foot.
Austin glanced over, one brow lifting in amusement. “The napkin rose?”
“Yeah.” You reached for one of the napkins and held it up. “It was cute.”
He smirked. “You were checking me out the whole time, weren’t you?”
“I was watching the interview,” you corrected.
Austin just smirked. “Mmm. Sure.”
But the truth was, yeah, you had been. And judging by the way he was looking at you now—one arm draped lazily over the back of the couch, amusement dancing in his eyes—he knew it, too.
Still, he sat up and took a napkin from your hands, scooting closer until his thigh was pressed against yours. “Alright,” he murmured, voice dipping just slightly as he smoothed the napkin out over his knee. “First, fold over one end like this, and then you just start wrapping.”
Austin leaned in, watching as you tried to mirror his movements. You folded one end over, twisting the fabric between your fingers.
“You’re holding it too tight,” he murmured.
You rolled your eyes. “Am I?”
“Mmhm.” He leaned in closer, one hand bracing on the couch beside you. “You gotta be delicate with it.”
The heat from his body seeped into your side as he leaned in, hands brushing over yours.
“See?” His voice was quieter now, rougher. “Loosen your grip a little. Let the fabric move with you.”
Your breath hitched.
It was just a napkin. Just paper and soft touches and—
God, he smelled good.
Focus.
You followed his lead, allowing him to guide your fingers. His hands were so much bigger than yours, rougher in some places, but his touch was impossibly gentle.
“Now twist,” he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek.
You swallowed hard, trying to mimic the way his fingers moved, but yours felt clumsy compared to his. “Like this?”
Austin glanced at your attempt, biting his lip. “Not quite.”
“What? What’s wrong with it?”
He huffed out a small laugh. “It kinda looks like a… wilted tulip.”
You gasped. “Oh, you’re a jerk.”
He was full-on grinning now, all mischief and teasing. “I’m just saying—”
“Alright, let’s make it a competition,” you interrupted, grabbing another napkin. “Best rose wins.”
Austin’s smile widened, his competitive streak flaring instantly. “Oh, you’re on, baby.”
For the next ten minutes, the room was filled with intense focus—at least on your part. Austin, of course, looked completely at ease, working quickly while you struggled with each fold. He’d occasionally glance over at your progress, lips twitching, but said nothing.
Finally, you both held up your finished roses. Yours was… well, it wasn’t the worst thing you’d ever made, but next to his? It looked pitiful.
Austin tilted his head, feigning deep consideration before finally speaking. "Mmm... not bad." His smirk gave him away.
You gasped. "Oh, you ass—best out of three."
His lips curled. “Oh, you really wanna lose, huh?”
And just like that, it was on.
Folding. Twisting. Talking shit between laughs. Austin got progressively more competitive, and you were desperate to beat him at least once.
But of course, the man was insufferably good at it.
He smoothed down the petals of his latest masterpiece, setting it beside his growing collection. “How many does that make now?”
“Too many,” you grumbled, glaring at your latest attempt—still lopsided, still amateur.
Austin reached out, plucking it from your hands. He turned it over, pretending to admire it. “It’s got… character.”
You groaned. “Shut up.”
He chuckled, then without hesitation, he reached out, gently tucking his perfect napkin rose behind your ear. His fingers lingered, knuckles brushing your cheek, his gaze softening as he looked at you.
“There,” he murmured, voice low. “Perfect.”
Your breath caught.
Something about the way he was looking at you—the way his eyes flicked between yours and your lips, the way his thumb traced the edge of your jaw—made the playful atmosphere shift into something heavier.
Neither of you moved.
Neither of you breathed.
His fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face up just enough. His breath was warm, the space between you thick with something electric. His gaze flicked down—just for a second—before finding yours again. "You wanna go for best out of five?" he murmured.
You scoffed, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Oh, piss off.”
Austin grinned, shameless.
You exhaled a small laugh, reaching up to touch the napkin rose. “Besides, I think you’ve already won.”
His smirk faded into something softer. “Yeah,” he murmured.
And then, he kissed you.
There was no hesitation, no slow build—just heat, immediate and consuming. His hand slid into your hair, fingers tangling at the nape of your neck as he pulled you in, tilting his head to deepen the kiss before you could even catch your breath.
You barely had a second to process it before his other hand was on your hip, gripping, pulling, pressing you closer. The space between you disappeared in an instant, his body warm, solid, all heat and intent.
His goatee tickled against your skin, the rough scrape of it igniting something unexpected. It wasn’t the first time he’d kissed you since he started growing it out, but you still weren’t used to it.
You inhaled sharply at the sensation, fingers tightening in his t-shirt as you let yourself sink further into the kiss.
Austin must’ve noticed, because his lips curled against yours in a knowing smirk before he angled his head, dragging the coarse hairs deliberately over your jaw.
You shivered.
You inhaled sharply, fingers fisting into his t-shirt. “Austin.”
That should have been a warning. It wasn’t.
Austin exhaled a quiet laugh, warm and teasing. “Still getting used to this?” he murmured against your throat, lips brushing over the spot where your pulse jumped.
Your stomach flipped.
He felt different like this. Looked different, too.
The softer, cleaner lines of his face had been replaced with something rougher, sharper. The scruff along his jaw made him look older, a little more dangerous—all in a way you liked too much.
And then there were the tattoos.
They weren’t real, but they might as well have been. The ink peeked out from under the sleeves of his worn-out t-shirt, bold against his sun-kissed skin.
The scruff, the tattoos, the newness of how he felt under you—yeah, you were getting used to it.
And you liked it.
His thumb traced your jaw, tilting your face up, and you knew he could see it all over you. The way you were already falling apart for him, the way you’d spent all day watching him, fingers twisting, pressing, folding delicate paper into shape—
And now those hands were on you.
Austin hummed, slow and satisfied, his voice dropping low. “I saw you staring earlier.”
You swallowed. “You were showing off.”
He smirked. “Maybe.” His hand slid down your side, slow and lazy. “Did it work?”
You didn’t answer. Not verbally, anyway.
Instead, you shifted, pushing him back against the couch as you climbed onto his lap, legs bracketing his thighs.
Austin stilled for half a second—just long enough for his fingers to flex against your waist—before his hands tightened, pulling you flush against him.
“Fuck,” he muttered, breath rough.
That one syllable sent heat pooling low in your stomach.
His grip tightened, knuckles pressing into your skin like he was trying to keep himself in check, but you weren’t interested in restraint.
You kissed him again, sinking into it, rolling your hips just slightly—just enough to test, to tease, to see how far you could push him.
Austin groaned, low and desperate, and that was it.
His hands moved—one sliding up your back, the other gripping your hip, guiding your movements, pressing you down against him.
The friction sent a spark of pleasure curling through you, sharp and sudden, and you gasped into his mouth.
Austin swallowed the sound, chasing it with another kiss, hungrier now, rougher, his teeth scraping along your bottom lip.
“Yeah,” he muttered, voice rough as his lips moved to your throat, his goatee burning hot against your skin. “Think I like this look, too.”
And from the way he was dragging you closer, gripping, rolling his hips up to meet yours—he didn’t just like it.
He was losing himself in it.
Austin kissed you like nothing outside of this—outside of you—existed. His goatee scraped along your skin with every tilt of his head, leaving behind a burn that only made you want more. His fingers flexed at your waist, gripping harder, pressing you further into his lap until you could feel every inch of him beneath you.
And God, he felt so good.
He was all lean muscle and warmth, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your palms. His t-shirt was thin, old, soft in the way only well-worn fabric could be, and you could feel the heat of his skin through it, could feel the way his muscles tensed when your hands wandered.
With a slow roll of your hips, you dragged your hands down his arms, over the sinewy muscle of his forearms, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingertips. Then, before he could react, you caught one of his hands, bringing it to your lips.
Austin stilled.
His eyes locked onto yours, heavy-lidded, burning with something dark and wanting. You held his gaze as you parted your lips, taking two of his fingers into your mouth, sucking lightly at first before hollowing your cheeks, running your tongue along the length of them.
“Jesus.” His breath punched out of him, his head falling back against the couch for half a second before he snapped his gaze back to you. His pupils were blown, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths.
You bit down gently at the tip of his fingers before pulling back, letting them slide out of your mouth with a slow, deliberate drag. Austin let out a quiet, broken sound, his free hand tightening on your hip like he was trying to ground himself.
“Yeah?” you teased, voice saccharine, knowing exactly what you were doing.
Austin’s jaw flexed, his breath shuddering as his fingers—wet from your mouth—slid down your throat, pressing lightly against your pulse before trailing lower. He watched the way your breath hitched, the way your body arched into him, and his smirk turned downright sinful.
Austin's fingers trailed lower, skimming over the curve of your breast before dipping beneath the hem of your shirt. His touch was slow, teasing, deliberately unhurried as his palm flattened against your stomach, warm and firm.
Your breath hitched when he gripped the fabric and started lifting. You let him pull it off, tossing it somewhere behind the couch. The second it was gone, Austin’s hands were back on you, palms skimming up your sides, his thumbs grazing the underside of your breasts.
His gaze flicked over you, heavy, burning, lingering as his hands mapped every inch of newly exposed skin. "Fuck," he muttered, almost to himself. "You're so damn pretty."
Your stomach flipped at the reverence in his voice, but before you could respond, his mouth was on you again, pressing open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, across your collarbone, lower still. Every brush of his lips was chased by the rough scrape of his goatee, sending shivers dancing over your skin.
Then, his hands were moving again, sliding down your back, across your ribs, down to your hips—before one slipped lower.
Your breath hitched.
The fabric of your shorts was thin—too thin to stop the way you felt the heat of his fingers as they pressed against you, the way he cupped you, testing, teasing.
"Austin—" Your voice wavered, anticipation curling hot and tight in your stomach.
"Shhh." His other hand slid up your back, grounding you as he tilted his head, scraping his teeth along the curve of your jaw. "Let me feel you, baby."
And then—his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your shorts.
Your gasp melted into a moan the second he touched you properly. His fingers moved slow, deliberate, parting you, spreading you open before sliding through the slick heat he found there.
"Christ," Austin groaned, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he felt exactly how ready you were for him. "You been like this all day?"
You didn't answer, couldn't—not when he pressed his fingers in deeper, curling just right, stroking slow and purposeful.
"You have, haven’t you?" His voice was thick with smug satisfaction, his breath warm against your skin. "Spent all day watching me, thinking about this."
You whined, hips shifting into his hand, chasing the sensation, and he chuckled, low and dark.
"Yeah," he muttered, nipping lightly at your pulse. "Bet you wanted it bad, didn't you?"
You couldn't think, couldn't do anything but melt into him as his fingers worked you open, his palm dragging against your clit with every slow, devastating movement. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, breath ragged, nails biting into his shoulders.
Austin groaned at the sharp press of your nails, his pace stuttering for half a second before he pushed in deeper, rougher. "Fuck, baby," he rasped. "Wish you could see yourself."
You whimpered, hips rolling into his touch, and that was it—he was done for.
"Here," he murmured, fingers slowing just enough to withdraw, slipping from your body with a wet drag. "Open up for me."
You barely had a second to react before he was pressing his fingers against your lips, waiting.
Your stomach flipped. Your heart nearly stopped.
Slowly, deliberately, you parted your lips, letting him slide them into your mouth.
Austin groaned, deep and husky, as you closed your lips around them, your tongue flicking over the taste of yourself on his skin.
"Fuck." His head tipped back against the couch, his grip on your waist tightening. "You're gonna kill me."
You sucked lightly, slow and teasing, dragging your tongue along the length of his fingers before pulling back with a soft pop.
Austin exhaled hard through his nose, his eyes nearly black as they flicked back to you. "Stand up."
You blinked, still catching your breath. "What?"
"Stand up," he repeated, hands gripping your hips as he helped guide you off his lap.
The second your feet hit the floor, Austin hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, dragging them down your legs in one slow, fluid motion.
He stayed seated, but his gaze was burning into you as he took you in—naked, breathless, trembling.
Then, without a word, he shifted lower on the couch, stretching out, his broad shoulders sinking into the cushions.
And then he looked up at you.
"Come here, sweetheart," he rasped, hands gripping your thighs. "Sit."
Heat flooded your body, pooling low in your stomach at the sheer command in his voice.
You swallowed hard, stepping forward, placing your hands on the back of the couch to steady yourself as you swung one leg over his shoulders.
Austin hummed in satisfaction as you hovered above him, his hands smoothing over the outside of your thighs before gripping firmly.
"All the way," he murmured, voice thick. "I want to feel all of you."
You let him pull you down onto his mouth, and the second his tongue touched you, the world shattered.
Austin groaned the second you sank onto him, the sound vibrating through you, hot and hungry. His hands flexed against your thighs, fingers digging in, holding you exactly where he wanted you.
The first stroke of his tongue was slow—deliberate, tasting you, savouring you. Then, his grip tightened, and he pulled you closer, tilting his head, pressing deeper.
A choked moan slipped from your lips, your fingers curling into the couch cushions to keep yourself steady. The heat of his mouth, the rough scratch of his goatee against the sensitive skin of your thighs—it was overwhelming, intoxicating.
Austin hummed against you, his tongue flicking over your clit before he sucked it between his lips, and your whole body jerked.
“Jesus—Austin—”
He groaned at the way you said his name, one of his hands trailing up your side, settling at your ribs before sliding higher, palming your breast. His fingers flexed, teasing, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger as his mouth worked you over.
Your head tipped back, breath shuddering as he devoured you, every stroke of his tongue sending sparks shooting through your body. The burn of his goatee was relentless, scraping against your inner thighs with every move, adding a delicious, stinging contrast to the slick heat of his mouth.
Your legs started to shake, the pleasure building too quickly, too sharp, and Austin felt it.
His grip on your hip tightened. Your thighs clenched around his head, and he groaned like he fucking loved it.
Your hands scrambled for purchase, nails biting into the couch, hips rolling, chasing, desperate for more.
Austin exhaled a sharp breath through his nose, then—without warning—he pulled back just enough to suck two fingers into his mouth, wetting them before pressing them against you, sliding them in, filling you.
A ragged moan tore from your throat, your back arching as he curled his fingers, finding exactly what he was looking for.
“There,” he muttered, voice rough as his mouth found you again, tongue moving in time with his fingers, stroking, teasing, coaxing you closer.
It was too much.
Too good.
The rough scratch of his beard, the firm press of his fingers, the obscene sounds of his mouth on you—it was all too much.
Your legs trembled, the coil in your stomach tightening, ready to snap.
Austin felt it, knew it, and he went harder. He moaned against you again, deep and raw, and it sent you over the edge.
Your whole body clenched, pleasure washing over you in a dizzying, breathless wave. Your thighs squeezed around his head, your hips stuttering as the pleasure ripped through you, raw and unstoppable.
Austin groaned as you came, drinking in every last tremor, his tongue never stopping, his fingers never slowing, pushing you through it, dragging it out, making sure you felt everything.
Your body sagged, trembling, spent, and finally—finally—he slowed.
Austin pressed one last, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, then another, before gently guiding you off his face, helping you settle onto his lap. His hands smoothed over your thighs, up your sides, grounding you, steadying you.
Your chest was still heaving, your whole body still shaking, and he fucking smirked, proud and satisfied.
His goatee was glistening, his lips red and swollen, his eyes dark and hooded as he looked up at you.
Austin smirked, still dazed, still catching his breath, and then—without breaking eye contact—he sucked his fingers into his mouth, groaning quietly at the taste of you.
Your stomach flipped.
The heat in his gaze didn’t waver as he pulled his fingers free with a slow, deliberate pop. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. “Thought you’d like this beard.”
Your thighs ached, sensitive from the rough burn of it, but God, you did.
And now it was his turn.
You moved before he could, pressing him back against the couch. Austin exhaled sharply, his jaw flexing, but he didn’t argue. He just let you push him back, his head tipping over the armrest as you slid down, fingers trailing down his stomach, dipping beneath the hem of his t-shirt. You felt the heat of his skin, the way his muscles tensed under your touch. You pushed the fabric higher, and he helped you, yanking it over his head before tossing it aside.
Fuck, he was beautiful.
Lean and golden, stomach flexing with every shaky breath, scattered freckles and moles peppering his skin. You traced them with your lips, your tongue, making your way lower, feeling his body tighten with anticipation beneath you.
Your fingers teased at the waistband of his sweatpants, and his breath hitched. His cock was already straining against the fabric, the outline thick and heavy, and just the sight of it had heat sparking between your legs all over again.
Tugging his sweatpants lower, you freed him, and your breath caught. He was thick, flushed dark with heat, precum already beading at the tip. A sharp, involuntary twitch made it jerk against his stomach, and your mouth watered.
Austin let out a sharp breath, watching you through heavy-lidded eyes, his stomach flexing when your fingers wrapped around him, slow and deliberate. He was hard, so fucking hard, thick and warm in your palm as you stroked once, twice, just to feel him twitch in your grip. His fingers curled into the couch, his throat bobbing on a swallow as he exhaled through his nose, his control already slipping.
"Shit," he muttered, voice rough as his head dropped back.
You hummed, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the tip, licking the precum from his slit just to taste him. He groaned, hips jerking slightly off the couch, but you pressed him back down with a firm hand, taking your time as you dragged your tongue down the underside of his length, letting him feel every inch of it.
"Fuck," Austin exhaled, his breath shaky. His free hand lifted, fingers threading through your hair, cradling your skull.
You let spit pool in your mouth, letting it drip over the head of him before taking him deeper, your lips stretching around his cock as you hollowed your cheeks. The wet sound of it filled the room, obscene, slick, and Austin let out a sharp, shuddering groan, his fingers tightening slightly in your hair.
“Jesus,” he choked out, his voice breaking slightly.
His head knocked back against the couch for half a second before he forced himself to watch, his pupils blown wide, jaw clenched so tight you thought it might shatter.
You moaned around him, the vibration making his whole body shudder beneath you. You pulled back slowly, letting your tongue swirl over the tip before taking him deeper again, sucking harder.
His grip on your hair tightened, his other hand fisted into the couch, knuckles white, like he was using every ounce of control not to fuck up into your mouth.
When you relaxed your throat, taking him even deeper, he finally gave in. His fingers flexed against your scalp, his grip shifting, guiding you down further, his hips rolling up into the heat of your mouth in slow, shallow thrusts.
He wasn’t quiet.
Austin let out a sharp, gasping moan, his thighs tensing beneath you. "You're—" he cut off, moaning when you swallowed around him, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, voice rough. "Too good at this."
You pulled off just slightly, meeting his gaze, letting your lips drag over the head of him. "Yeah?"
His eyes burned into yours. "Yeah."
Then, before you could tease him again, he surged forward, gripping your face, pulling you up into a desperate, messy kiss. His lips were insistent, searching, and his hands weren’t still for a second—gripping your hips, sliding down your back, curling into your thighs like he couldn’t get enough.
"C'mere," he murmured against your lips, voice rough, commanding.
He guided you into his lap, his hands steadying you as he rolled his hips up, searching for friction, searching for anything that would let him feel you closer.
Austin reached between you, wrapping his fingers around himself, dragging the flushed, heavy head of his cock through your slick, coating himself in it. His breath hitched, the muscles in his stomach flexing beneath your palms.
And then he pushed in.
Your mouth fell open, a sharp, breathless sound escaping as he stretched you, thick and unrelenting. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t go slow—he just filled you, deep and overwhelming, knocking the breath from your lungs.
Austin groaned, his hands flexing at your waist, his jaw clenching tight as he bottomed out. His grip shifted, sliding up your spine before curling around the back of your neck, tugging you down until your chest was flush against his.
"Fuck, baby," he muttered, his breath hot against your ear, voice low and strained.
His arms wrapped around you, holding you there as he rocked up into you, deep and deliberate, like he wanted to drown in you.
Every slow, devastating thrust had you gasping against his mouth, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your body moulding against his like you were made to fit him. His goatee scraped against your jaw as he tilted his head, lips dragging along your throat, biting down just enough to make you shudder.
"You feel so fucking good," he groaned, voice thick, hands pressing into your back, keeping you close, keeping you right where he wanted you.
Your breath hitched, every inch of your body on fire as he moved beneath you, thrusts deep and unrelenting, dragging pleasure from you with every snap of his hips.
Your fingers tangled in his curls, tugging hard, and he groaned, the sound vibrating against your skin as his pace turned rougher, needier. He wasn’t holding back anymore, wasn’t trying to.
Austin’s breath came rough and uneven against your throat, his hands roaming, gripping, pulling—like he needed to feel every part of you, needed to consume you. His hips snapped up to meet yours, the wet, obscene sound of it filling the space between you.
You could barely breathe, barely think—just feel. The stretch of him, the heat of his skin, the way he filled you, deep and perfect, every drag and push against that spot inside you unraveling something hot and unbearable.
Austin felt it, knew it, and he wasn’t about to let up. One of his hands slid between you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight, teasing circles that made your whole body seize.
You gasped, hips stuttering, nails biting into his shoulders. “Fuck, Austin—don't stop.”
His teeth grazed your jaw, a moan catching in his throat. And just like that, you shattered.
The pleasure ripped through you so hard it left you gasping, shaking, your whole body tensing as the orgasm crashed over you, raw and consuming. His thrusts turned ragged, desperate. He was trying to hold on, to make it last, but the way you clenched around him—tight, perfect, unraveling him—tore a strangled moan from his throat. 'Fuck—baby—' his voice cracked, his fingers digging hard into your waist. He cursed sharply, and then he was gone, hips stuttering as he spilled deep, heat flooding between you as he groaned into your skin, undone and gasping.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. The only sounds were your ragged breaths, the steady thrum of your heartbeats still trying to slow.
Then, Austin exhaled sharply, a breathless laugh escaping as he tipped his head back against the couch, his hands splaying over your back, warm and steady.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered, voice hoarse. His lips curved, eyes flicking up to you, exhausted and utterly blissed out. "You tryin’ to kill me, sweetheart?"
You huffed out a laugh, forehead dropping against his. "Pretty sure you started it."
Austin grinned, satisfaction written all over him, and then—slowly, gently—he pulled you down into another kiss. This one was softer, lazy, just lips and warmth and the slow, delicious hum of aftershocks still buzzing through your veins.
He hummed against your lips, fingers tracing light, absentminded patterns against your spine. "We should probably move."
You sighed, letting your body relax against his. “Mmm. Later.”
Austin chuckled, arms tightening around you, perfectly content to stay right where he was. His fingers traced slow, lazy circles against your bare back, soothing, grounding. "Yeah," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Later."
A teasing comment in an interview changes everything. The internet notices. Austin notices. And when he offers to take control, to take care of you—you realise you want him to.
Word Count: 11.4k
Masterlist
The press tour had been a whirlwind—early mornings, long flights, endless interviews with the same handful of questions, just worded differently each time. But honestly? You didn’t mind.
For one, you were ridiculously proud of the movie. It had been the kind of project actors dream about—the perfect mix of challenge and chemistry, the kind of story that stuck with people.
And two, it had given you Austin. You’d spent months circling each other on set, tension building until pretending wasn’t an option anymore. By the time filming wrapped, you were his, and he was yours. Eight months later, nothing had changed.
The world had caught on quickly. You weren’t exactly hiding, but you weren’t shouting from the rooftops either. Still, between red carpet glances, the way Austin never quite kept his hands off you, and the way you smiled at him like he’d hung the damn moon—people knew.
Which was why, when the two of you sat down for another round of press, it was business as usual. You sat next to him, legs crossed, holding your microphone loosely while Austin lounged in his chair, one ankle resting over his knee, his arm draped casually over the backrest as he leaned in to speak. Across from you, the interviewer, Josh, was flipping through his notes, clearly enjoying himself.
“So, were you guys rebels growing up? Did you ever get into trouble? Or were you good kids?”
Austin let out a small chuckle, tilting his head as he thought about it. “I feel like I was a fairly obedient, good boy, yeah.”
Josh’s brows lifted in amusement. “Really? You never got into trouble?”
Austin shook his head, shrugging. “Not really. My biggest thing was that as soon as somebody told me to do something, I wanted to do the opposite. Like, I liked cleaning my room, but the second my parents told me to do it? Didn’t wanna do it anymore.”
Josh nodded. “Ah, classic.”
“But I never snuck out or anything. I also didn’t have to because my parents were really cool. My mom always said if I told her everything, she’d support me, give me her opinion, but she never ruled with an iron fist.”
Josh hummed in approval before turning to you. “And you, Y/N? Would your parents say the same?”
“Oh, absolutely,” you said without hesitation, smiling. “I was the goodest girl. Never in trouble, always doing what I was told. If someone gave me instructions, I followed them exactly.”
Josh chuckled, nodding along. Beside you, Austin shifted in his seat, his hand flexing where it rested on his knee, but you barely noticed.
“I mean, I never tested boundaries,” you continued. “If you told me to sit somewhere and not move, I’d stay there until you came back. Even if it was hours later. I was just like that—I listened, I followed directions, I never needed to be told twice.”
Josh let out a slightly strangled laugh. Austin coughed into his fist.
You frowned at their reactions but kept going.
“I always liked knowing what I was supposed to do. Like, rules? Loved them. Structure? The best. I never questioned authority, I just wanted to please people. Like, making my parents proud? That was the best feeling in the world. I thrived off it. Just tell me what you expect, and I’ll do my absolute best to be perfect.”
Josh made a weird noise that sounded like half a laugh, half a choke. Austin pressed his lips together, eyes slightly wider than before.
Austin nodded, a little too quickly. “Yeah. Very admirable.”
The conversation moved on, the interview wrapped up. That night, you and Austin didn’t think much about it. It had been just another stop on the press tour, blending into the dozens of others you’d done over the past few weeks.
It wasn’t until the following week that everything changed.
You were in the middle of a quiet morning—coffee, a slow start, a rare moment of peace before another packed day—when your phone buzzed.
Emma: LMFAOOOOO
You frowned at the screen, confused.
You: What??
Emma: Sis. You broke the internet and I don’t think you even know why.
A pit of mild concern settled in your stomach. You glanced up from your phone. “Babe?”
Austin hummed, flipping a page in the book he was reading. “Yeah?”
Your stomach tightened slightly, but before you could respond, another message popped up.
Emma: Check Twitter. Actually, no. Here. Let me do the work for you.
A flood of links followed.
You hesitated, fingers hovering over your phone before clicking the first one. The moment the words registered, your stomach dropped.
@randomuser1: THE INTERVIEW JUST AIRED AND I SWEAR TO GOD Y/N DOESN’T KNOW. AUSTIN KNEW. JOSH KNEW. THE INTERNET KNOWS. BUT SHE DOESN’T KNOW.
@subtextqueen: Y/N: “I was the goodest girl, I’d sit still for hours if you told me to.” Austin, gripping the armrest of his chair: deep breath. Josh, short-circuiting: nervous laughter. THE WORLD: screaming into the void
@smutficreader69: NO BECAUSE THIS IS THE FUNNIEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN. SHE JUST OUTED HERSELF AS THE MOST SUBBY SUB EVER WITHOUT EVEN REALISING IT AND AUSTIN IS TRYING SO HARD NOT TO LOSE HIS MIND ON CAMERA
You froze, eyes locked on the screen. “Oh my God.”
Austin, finally curious, set his book down and leaned over your shoulder. “…What?”
You whipped around to look at him, wide-eyed. “The internet thinks I—” You stopped, pressing your lips together, then groaned. “Oh my God.”
Austin squinted at the screen, scanning the tweets. It took him all of two seconds before he burst out laughing.
Like, actual, full-body laughter.
You smacked his arm. “Austin!”
He barely even registered it, leaning back, wheezing. “Baby…” he managed between laughs. “Oh, sweetheart.”
“I didn’t know!” you insisted, heat creeping up your neck.
“I know,” he said, grinning. “That’s what makes it so good.”
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I can’t believe I said all of that on camera.”
Austin wrapped an arm around you, still chuckling. “Hey,” he murmured, voice softer now. “It’s not a bad thing.”
You exhaled, peeking at him. “I just didn’t realise.”
His thumb traced slow circles over your knuckles, his expression still amused but softer now, more thoughtful. “Have you ever thought about it?”
You frowned, still feeling the heat in your face from the absolute chaos happening online. “About what?”
He tilted his head slightly, watching you. “About… what they’re saying.”
You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “No. Not like that. I mean, I knew I was a rule-follower, but I never thought—” You gestured vaguely at your phone, which was still lighting up with notifications. “I never thought it meant anything.”
Austin hummed, his fingers still gently stroking the back of your hand. “It makes sense, though.”
You gave him a look. “Does it?”
He chuckled. “Baby, you do like rules. You like knowing what’s expected. You like making people happy.”
You exhaled, tilting your head back against the couch. “I mean… yeah. That’s just how I’ve always been.”
He smiled, his fingers tracing higher, skimming your wrist. “It’s not a bad thing.”
Your stomach fluttered at the way his voice dropped slightly, just enough to make you aware of it.
You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. “You’ve never brought this up before.”
“I didn’t wanna assume,” he admitted. “And I didn’t think it really mattered. But… watching you say all that? Baby, I was losing my mind.”
You flushed. “Austin.”
“What?” His grin was boyish, teasing, but his fingers on your wrist were not. “You have no idea how much I wanted to take you out of that interview and—”
You slapped a hand over his mouth, your whole body going warm. “Oh my God.”
His laughter rumbled against your palm before you let him go, sinking further into the couch. He watched you for a moment, his teasing expression shifting into something more serious, more curious.
“Have you ever wanted that?” he asked, voice lower now, like he was testing the waters.
You thought about it. Really thought about it.
Had you ever wanted to let go like that? To hand over control, to not have to think, just follow? You weren’t sure you’d ever considered it before, not in so many words, but the way your body reacted to Austin’s touch, to his voice—
Your stomach flipped. The thought should’ve felt ridiculous, but it didn’t. It made sense. It wasn’t just about liking the praise—it was something deeper.
You liked knowing what to do. You liked when things were clear, when you didn’t have to guess or hesitate. And when Austin took control—when he guided you, when he told you exactly what he wanted—it felt... right.
Had it always been like that? Had you always liked that feeling?
Your stomach tightened.
“…Maybe,” you admitted softly.
Austin studied you, his fingers now barely ghosting over your pulse point. “We don’t have to,” he murmured. “If you’re not into it, if it’s not something you want—”
“I do,” you cut in, surprising yourself. Your throat felt dry, your pulse kicking a little harder. “I think… I do.”
Something flickered in his gaze—something thoughtful, something knowing. His thumb brushed over your wrist, slow and deliberate.
“We’ve got a packed day,” he murmured, voice lower now, curiosity still dancing in his eyes. “But… we can talk more about it later.”
The implication sent heat curling in your stomach. You swallowed, nodding.
“Yeah.” Your voice came out softer than you expected. “Later.”
Austin smirked, giving your hand a final squeeze before letting go. “Looking forward to it.”
And just like that, the moment shifted back to normal—except now, there was something else there, lingering beneath the surface.
The press tour was over.
No more early morning flights, no more crammed schedules, no more sitting under hot lights while answering the same five questions in slightly different ways. After weeks of moving from one city to the next, you were finally home.
And yet—
You still couldn’t stop thinking about it.
About him.
Austin had been completely normal for the rest of the press tour. That was the problem.
He hadn’t brought up the conversation again—not once. Not a single teasing remark, not a knowing smirk, not even a look that suggested he was thinking about it. He’d just carried on as if nothing had changed.
Except it had.
It was in the way your stomach flipped when his voice dropped just a little lower than usual. The way your skin tingled when he touched the small of your back.
The way you caught yourself watching him more than usual—wondering what was going on inside his head.
Austin wasn’t the type to jump into something without thinking it through. If he hadn’t mentioned it, there had to be a reason. Maybe he was just waiting for you to bring it up. You swallowed, curling deeper into the couch.
It had been hours since you’d gotten home, but you still felt unsettled. Like something was waiting just beneath the surface, hovering in the quiet between you and Austin.
Speak of the devil—
You glanced up as he walked in from the kitchen, two glasses of whiskey in hand. He wore an old, well-worn t-shirt and sweatpants, a stark contrast from the designer suits he’d practically lived in for the past few weeks.
You accepted the glass as he sat down beside you, tucking one leg under the other, settling in like this was the first time he could breathe in weeks.
“Feels weird being home, huh?” he mused, taking a slow sip.
You hummed in agreement. “Like I forgot how to just… sit still.”
His lips twitched. “You? Miss ‘I follow instructions perfectly’? I don’t believe it.”
Your stomach flipped.
You shot him a look, heat creeping up your neck. “I knew you were thinking about it.”
Austin smirked against the rim of his glass. “I never said I wasn’t.”
Your heart stuttered. You set your drink down on the coffee table, suddenly unable to focus on anything other than the way he was looking at you.
Austin exhaled, setting his own glass down before shifting closer, his arm resting along the back of the couch.
When he leaned in, brushing his lips over yours, it was slow. Unhurried.
You sighed against him, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. His hand came up to your jaw, his thumb grazing over your cheekbone, tilting your head slightly.
And just like that, you followed.
You let him adjust the angle, let him take control of the kiss exactly how he wanted—and you liked it.
Austin hummed, breaking away just enough to let his breath ghost over your lips. His fingers traced down, skimming your wrist—just like he had that morning in the hotel.
He tilted his head, studying you, and then—
“You like that, don’t you?”
You froze.
Your pulse hammered against your ribs.
Austin’s eyes stayed on yours, patient, waiting—not pushing, just watching.
Your breath was shaky when you finally answered.
“…Yeah.”
His lips twitched, something warm flickering in his gaze. His fingers squeezed lightly around your wrist, not tight, not forceful—just present.
“Good.” His voice was soft, smooth, edged with something deeper. “Because if we’re gonna do this, I wanna do it right.”
You swallowed hard. “Right?”
Austin nodded, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin. “I’ve been doing some research.”
Your stomach flipped.
“Oh.”
“Oh?” He raised a brow, amused. “That’s all you’ve got?”
Heat bloomed in your chest. “I—I just…” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “You researched?”
His lips twitched. “Of course I did. You really think I’d jump into something like this without making sure I know how to take care of you?”
Something about the way he said it—take care of you—made your stomach clench.
You swallowed. “What did you find?”
Austin smirked. “You really wanna get into that now, sweetheart?”
Your face burned. “I mean—I should know, right?”
His smirk softened, turning into something more sincere. “You should. And we will talk about it. But before anything else, I wanna make sure you’re comfortable.”
You nodded quickly. “I am.”
Austin gave you a look. “No, I mean really comfortable. This only works if you feel safe, if you know you can always stop things if you want to.”
You bit your lip. “Okay.”
His fingers traced the inside of your wrist again, grounding you.
“There’s something called the colour system,” he murmured. “It’s simple—green, yellow, red. Green means you’re good, you’re enjoying it. Yellow means slow down, maybe check in. Red means stop—no questions asked.”
You stared at him, your heart thudding against your ribs.
He was serious.
Not just about doing this—but about doing it right.
Warmth bloomed in your chest, curling around your ribs.
“You really thought about this,” you murmured.
Austin smiled. “Of course I did.”
And that was the moment you knew.
This wasn’t just some passing curiosity, some fleeting experiment.
Austin wanted to take care of you.
And you wanted to let him.
A slow exhale left your lips, your body settling into the realisation, letting it sink into your bones.
Austin’s thumb traced over your wrist again, his touch light, thoughtful. Still watching you. Still waiting.
That same familiar warmth curled in your stomach—the same pull that had been there from the moment this conversation started.
You looked up at him, and he must have seen it in your eyes.
Because the next thing you knew, he was kissing you.
The movie had long since become background noise. You weren’t sure what was happening on the screen anymore—not when Austin was kissing you like this.
You were curled into his side, legs tangled, fingers slipping into the fabric of his t-shirt as his lips moved against yours, slow and deep. It had started soft, unhurried, but now there was something heavier beneath it.
His hands skimmed over your waist, his thumb brushing just beneath the hem of your top before his fingers flexed, gripping you just enough to make your breath hitch.
Austin noticed.
Of course he did.
He pulled back just enough to let his nose brush against yours, his fingers still resting warm and firm on your skin.
“You still good?” he murmured.
You swallowed hard. “Yeah.”
His lips twitched, but he didn’t move in again. Instead, he waited—watching you, giving you the space to process.
You knew what this was.
This was the moment—the point where you could still pull back, still pretend like none of this had changed between you.
But you didn’t want to.
You wanted this. You wanted him.
Austin exhaled, dragging his fingers higher, slow, deliberate. “I need you to remember something for me, sweetheart.”
You shivered. “Okay.”
His thumb traced circles over your ribs, grounding. “I’m taking the lead here. But you?” His eyes stayed locked on yours. “You’re in control.”
Your breath caught. “I—”
“You say red, I stop.” His voice was smooth, but firm. “You say yellow, I slow down. Green means you’re good.”
You nodded quickly, pulse kicking. “Got it.”
Austin gave you a look.
“Say it back to me, baby.”
You licked your lips, heart pounding. “Green means I’m good, yellow means slow down, red means stop.”
Austin’s fingers squeezed at your side, approving. “Good girl.”
Heat flared through you at the praise.
He noticed.
His lips twitched like he was fighting a smirk, but he let it slide for now. Instead, his fingers traced slow lines up your back, settling at the nape of your neck.
You hesitated for a moment before grinning, trying to lighten the moment.
“So… do I need to call you sir or something?”
Austin let out a low chuckle, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin. “Only if you want to, baby.”
You swallowed hard, but your grin didn’t fade. “You have a preference?”
His fingers tightened, just slightly. “I like hearing you say my name when you’re like this.”
Your breath hitched.
His name. Not sir, not anything else—just Austin.
Something about that made warmth curl through your chest. Like it was intimate, just between you and him.
You swallowed hard, nodding.
Austin smiled, kissing you again—slower this time, like he was savoring the way you were melting against him. His hands mapped your waist, your back, his lips pressing firmer, deeper.
Everything was so much more intense now, knowing where this was headed.
Then, he pulled back.
You blinked, dazed. “What—?”
Austin smirked, his hands dropping to your thighs as he leaned back against the couch.
“Go to the bedroom,” he said, voice slow and deliberate.
Your stomach flipped.
“Take off your clothes.”
Your breath caught.
Then—
“Sit on the edge of the bed and wait for me.”
Heat rushed through you.
Austin let the words settle between you, his expression calm, patient, but expectant.
He was watching you so closely, waiting for any hesitation.
But you didn’t hesitate.
You hovered for a second, your lips brushing his, breathing in the heat between you. Your fingers curled at the hem of his shirt, like maybe—just maybe—you’d stay a little longer.
Austin’s hand slid lower, tracing the curve of your hip, his voice a warm hum against your mouth.
“Go on, baby,” he murmured.
Your stomach flipped. You swallowed, then slowly pulled back. His gaze followed you as you stood.
And then—
His hand smacked your ass, light but undeniable.
You gasped—not in shock, but in pure, giddy surprise. A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it.
Austin grinned, tilting his head at you, pleased.
“There she is,” he murmured.
Your heart hammered.
His smile only widened as you turned and ran off to the bedroom.
He didn’t follow immediately.
You could feel him waiting—making you anticipate, making you think about what was coming.
And God, it was so much worse than if he had just followed you right away.
The bedroom felt different like this.
It wasn’t like before—when you’d stumble in together, tangled up in laughter and kisses, pulling at each other’s clothes in a rush to get to the bed.
Now?
Now, you were waiting for him.
You sat at the edge of the bed, exactly how he’d told you to. The air felt warmer against your skin, every inch of you aware of the anticipation curling in your stomach.
He hadn’t followed you immediately.
It had only been a minute or two—long enough for your breath to steady, for your skin to prickle with awareness. You weren’t nervous, not really. Mostly, you just wanted.
The sound of the door creaking open pulled your focus.
Your eyes were already on the doorway when Austin stepped inside, his movements slow, unrushed.
He didn’t say anything at first.
Just stood there.
Watching.
The flickering light from the hallway cast shadows over his face, but you could still see the way his gaze dragged over you, taking his time, letting the moment settle between you.
He exhaled slowly, voice smooth, assessing.
“…Look at you.”
Your stomach tightened.
His eyes didn’t leave yours as he stepped further inside, the door clicking shut behind him.
Austin took his time crossing the room, his steps slow and measured. Not hesitant—never hesitant. Just deliberate, as if he wanted you to feel every second of the space closing between you.
Your pulse kicked hard as he came closer, your eyes locked onto his, unable to look away.
He was still in the same sweatpants and t-shirt he’d been wearing on the couch, but there was something different now. Something in the way his body moved—loose, controlled, completely in command of the moment.
By the time he reached you, the anticipation curled so tight in your stomach you thought you might tremble.
Austin stopped just in front of you.
He didn’t touch you immediately. Instead, he just stood there, looking at you. Letting you feel the weight of his presence, his focus.
Your breathing shallowed out, but you didn’t move—not because you weren’t allowed to, but because you didn’t want to. Because you wanted to be right here, locked in this moment, waiting for him to take that last step.
And then, he did.
One hand lifted, fingers skimming so lightly along your jaw before settling firmly at your chin.
A controlled touch.
Not rough, but deliberate.
His thumb traced a slow path across your cheekbone before tilting your chin up, guiding your gaze back to his.
Your breath caught.
Austin hummed, almost like he was committing this moment to memory.
“…Good girl,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, thumb pressing just slightly against your skin.
The words sent a hot, unshakable pull straight through your core.
You weren’t even sure you breathed before he leaned down, his mouth brushing against yours, so soft you barely felt it—
A tease.
A test.
Like he wanted to see if you’d chase him.
Your fingers curled at your sides. You wanted to.
Austin chuckled, the sound warm, knowing.
His grip tightened just slightly, his free hand skimming over your knee, tracing.
“Tell me how you feel,” he murmured.
A deliberate check-in. Not because he thought you’d hesitate—but because he needed to hear you say it.
Your pulse pounded. “I feel good.”
Austin’s lips quirked. “Yeah?”
You swallowed. “Yeah.”
His thumb stroked over your cheek, his gaze still locked on yours.
“Good.”
His hand drifted lower, fingertips ghosting over your collarbone, slow and unrushed.
“You’re doing so well for me already,” he said softly.
You shivered.
His knees bent slightly, his posture relaxed but controlled as he brought himself closer, lower. Enough that you didn’t have to crane your neck too much, just enough to keep you looking up at him.
You weren’t sure who exhaled first before his lips were on yours again—firmer this time, undeniably leading.
Guiding you into exactly what he wanted.
And you?
You followed.
Austin’s lips moved slow and sure against yours, deepening the kiss just enough to pull you further under.
His thumb traced lazy circles against your cheek, a gentle contrast to the firm grip still holding your chin in place.
Leading.
Guiding.
Watching how you responded.
When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t sudden. He let it linger, breathing against your lips for a second before his fingers tilted your face just slightly to the side, exposing more of your neck.
You let him.
He hummed lowly, dragging the back of his fingers down the column of your throat, following their path with his eyes, like he was memorising you in real time.
His free hand, the one still resting lightly on your knee, squeezed.
A reminder.
“Keep your hands where they are,” he murmured.
A soft instruction.
Not forceful, not a warning—just a quiet expectation.
Your breath caught, but you didn’t hesitate. You stayed still, fingers curled into the blanket beneath you, even as his hands continued their slow, teasing path over your skin.
Austin smiled.
“Good girl.”
The words sent a hot, shivering pulse through you.
His lips pressed against the corner of your jaw, not quite kissing—just lingering there, close enough that you felt the warmth of his breath.
“You like that, don’t you?”
Your stomach fluttered.
You swallowed hard. “Yes.”
His teeth grazed the spot just below your ear.
“That’s my girl.”
A thrill shot through you, unexpected and overwhelming, curling in your stomach so fast you barely had time to register it.
Austin chuckled against your skin, feeling the way you reacted before you even had the chance to process it yourself.
He always noticed.
The hand on your knee moved higher, fingers trailing up your thigh, featherlight but deliberate.
His lips brushed against your ear, his voice low and controlled.
“I think you’re ready for the next instruction, sweetheart.”
Your breath shuddered. “Tell me.”
Austin smirked, pulling back just enough to look at you again, his thumb skimming one last time over your cheek.
“Lay back for me.”
Your pulse jumped.
Not out of nerves, but out of anticipation.
Austin didn’t rush you. He never did. He just waited, watching you carefully as you shifted, leaning back until your spine met the mattress.
His gaze dragged down the length of you, slow and approving.
You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, every inch of your skin flushed, exposed, waiting.
Austin hummed, low and thoughtful.
“Hands above your head.”
Heat curled low in your stomach.
Slowly, deliberately, you did as he asked, letting your arms stretch above you, settling against the sheets.
Austin’s lips quirked.
“See? You’re a natural at this.”
You exhaled sharply, your chest rising and falling with the weight of the moment.
Austin’s hands trailed over you, fingertips grazing down your stomach, tracing over the curves of your hips, mapping his way down with infuriating patience.
His mouth followed, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your collarbone, your ribs—each one slower, more deliberate than the last.
His pace never changed.
No rush. No urgency.
Just complete control.
And you?
You could barely breathe.
Austin’s voice came, a warm murmur against your skin.
“You still good, baby?”
Your breath hitched.
“Yes,” you whispered.
Austin hummed in approval, his lips grazing the dip between your ribs before he lifted his head, letting his gaze roam over you.
“Now, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hands tracing slow, idle circles over your hips, “I want you to do something else for me.”
Your pulse jumped, anticipation curling low in your stomach.
“Spread your legs.”
Heat flooded through you at the quiet authority in his voice.
You hesitated for just a second—not out of reluctance, but because you wanted to savor the moment, the weight of his words sinking in. Then, you did as he asked. Slowly, deliberately, you parted your thighs, feeling the cool air graze over your already overheated skin.
Austin’s breath hitched.
It was subtle, barely there, but you caught it. And that was the moment you knew—he was just as affected by this as you were.
His hands smoothed down your thighs, fingers pressing just firmly enough to keep you exactly as he wanted. His control was unwavering. He wasn’t just touching you—he was positioning you.
And then—His grip tightened. “Don’t move.”
Your breath stalled in your throat. Austin’s voice was still smooth, steady, but now there was an edge to it, something undeniable, commanding.
Your pulse thrummed against your ribs. Austin watched you, waiting, searching for any hesitation—but there was none.
So, when his fingers finally drifted lower, his touch was so unhurried, so deliberate, you thought you might lose your mind before he even started.
You wanted to shift, wanted to press up into his touch, but his words still echoed in your head.
Don’t move.
You clenched your hands into the sheets above you, breathing hard as he finally—finally—gave you what you’d been waiting for.
The first stroke of his fingers was agonizingly slow, a teasing drag through your slickness, spreading the wetness he found there.
Austin let out a low, satisfied hum.
“So good for me,” he murmured. “Already so wet, baby.”
Your whole body tensed, your thighs threatening to tremble against his hold.
He felt it. And he didn’t allow it. His grip tightened just slightly, a reminder.
Your breath came out shaky. “Austin—”
A sharp squeeze to your thigh. “Careful.”
The warning was gentle but firm, the kind that made heat rush straight to your core. You swallowed, forcing yourself to stay still.
Austin rewarded you immediately.
His fingers circled your clit with slow, devastating precision, never too much, never too little—just enough to have your stomach twisting with need.
Your fingers dug into the sheets, desperate to ground yourself.
Austin noticed.
His lips curved into a pleased smirk, his other hand dragging over your stomach, soothing you as his fingers kept their slow, ruthless pace.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured. “You’re taking it so well.”
You whined, your head tipping back.
Austin chuckled against your skin, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss against your hip, his breath warm and steady, his grip still firm on your thigh—keeping you exactly where he wanted. But then, as his fingers circled with devastating precision, a sharp jolt of pleasure shot through you, and before you could stop yourself, your back arched.
It was instinct, reflex—your body responding to him before your mind could catch up.
Austin’s fingers stilled instantly.
The shift was so subtle, so controlled, that at first, you barely registered what had happened. But then he pulled away. Not roughly, not as a punishment, but with calm, deliberate intent. His fingers left your skin, retreating, while his grip on your thigh remained firm—a quiet reminder that he was still in control.
Your breath hitched, heat flashing through you, not just from frustration but from the sharp, sudden awareness that you’d broken the rule.
Austin exhaled, his smirk edging into something deeper, something knowing. He dragged his thumb in slow, lazy circles over your thigh—not to soothe, but to make you wait. To let the loss of his touch sink in.
“What did I tell you, sweetheart?” His voice was smooth, even, but there was a quiet weight behind it, something unmistakably firm.
You swallowed hard, pulse pounding. “…Not to move.”
Austin hummed, pleased you remembered, but he didn’t give you what you wanted—not yet. Instead, his free hand traced idle patterns along your stomach, fingers dragging over your heated skin, but never quite where you needed him most. He was making you feel it, making you sit in the tension of the moment, fully aware of what had happened and what it meant.
“And what did you do?”
Your fingers clenched against the sheets above you, heat crawling up your neck. “I—I moved.”
“Mmm.” His fingers trailed lower, teasing, but never quite touching, his breath ghosting against your thigh. “You did, didn’t you?”
The teasing lilt in his voice sent a fresh rush of heat through you. You wanted to squirm, to press your thighs together, to do anything to relieve the aching need he’d built up in you. But you knew better now.
Austin let the silence stretch, letting the moment settle between you. And then, just when you thought you might break from the waiting—
“Let’s try that again.”
And this time, when he touched you again, it was worse.
Slower.
More controlled.
Every movement designed to push you to the edge, to test how well you could follow.
And now?
Now, you didn’t move.
Not until he let you.
Austin’s touch was back, but this time, he wasn’t just touching you.
He was testing you.
His fingers teased right along the edge of where you needed him, the pressure just light enough to make your thighs tremble with restraint. The worst part? You knew he was doing it on purpose. You could see it in the way his lips curled at the edges, that slow, knowing smirk that told you he was watching, waiting to see if you’d break again.
But you didn’t.
Not this time.
You kept your arms where they belonged, stretched above your head, fingers curling against the sheets, muscles tight with effort. Your thighs stayed parted, exactly how he told you to keep them, your body held in perfect, obedient stillness.
Austin exhaled a quiet hum, his fingers tracing slow, measured circles over your clit. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. “That’s my girl.”
The praise sent a pulse of heat straight through your core, but you held firm.
Austin’s hand drifted lower, teasing through your slickness before pressing two fingers inside you, slow and deliberate, filling you with an unhurried precision that had your whole body tightening around him.
You gasped, your nails digging into the sheets. Your hips twitched—small, barely perceptible, but enough.
Austin’s movements didn’t stop immediately, but his rhythm shifted—not easing up, not punishing, just letting you feel the change. A silent reminder.
A pleased sound rumbled low in his chest, and he tilted his head slightly, observing you with that same sharp, calculated focus. “You feel that, sweetheart?”
The weight of his attention made your breath catch. He was always so attuned to you, always catching the smallest shifts in your body.
You swallowed hard, barely managing to nod.
Austin’s fingers curled just right, pressing into a spot that sent a sharp, pleasure-laced shock up your spine.
Your breath hitched.
His voice dipped lower. “You’re taking me so well.”
The words only made the heat in your stomach coil tighter, hotter. The pressure was building too fast, too intense, too much.
Your thighs tensed, your stomach quivered, your whole body on the verge of something devastating.
Austin felt it. He always did.
“Almost there, baby?” His lips brushed against your inner thigh, teasing, coaxing, but still in control.
You let out a breathy whimper, barely able to form words. “Y-Yes.”
His fingers didn’t slow. Didn’t ease up.
But he wasn’t letting you go just yet.
“Hold it for me.”
Your body shook.
Austin’s fingers kept pressing, circling, building, but the one thing you needed most—the release, the permission—he wasn’t giving it to you.
Not yet.
“Stay right there,” he murmured, his voice like silk over gravel. “Don’t come until I tell you.”
Your entire body locked up, trapped on the razor-thin edge of pleasure, every nerve burning with the effort of holding it back.
But you did it.
You held it.
Because he told you to.
Austin’s free hand slid up your stomach, his touch light, reassuring. “So good for me, sweetheart.”
His thumb pressed down harder, his fingers curling deep—
The world tilted.
You were unraveling, the pleasure cresting so violently your body nearly betrayed you—nearly—but you clung to his words, to the last thread of restraint, waiting, waiting—
And then—
Austin exhaled, his lips grazing your thigh as he finally, finally gave you what you needed.
“Come for me.”
The command sent you spiraling.
Pleasure crashed over you, white-hot and overwhelming, your body shaking as you let go, every inch of you surrendering completely to the force of it. Your breath came shaky, uneven, gasping, your thighs threatening to close around his hand, but Austin didn’t let you.
He held you open, held you through it, his fingers never stopping until he’d wrung every last drop of pleasure from you.
When it finally, finally subsided, you felt boneless, your limbs heavy, your skin flushed and buzzing.
Austin pressed a slow, lingering kiss against your stomach, soothing, grounding.
“Breathe, baby,” he murmured.
You did.
A slow inhale, your chest rising, falling, settling.
Austin watched you carefully, his hands still warm against your thighs, his eyes dark but undeniably soft. “You okay?”
You blinked up at him, still catching your breath.
And then, a small, blissed-out laugh slipped from your lips. “Yeah.”
Austin grinned, leaning up until he was hovering over you, his lips just barely brushing yours.
“You did so well for me.”
Heat bloomed low in your stomach again, but this time, it was softer—a slow, warm glow rather than a burning need.
He lifted one of your wrists gently, running his thumb over the crease of your palm before guiding it down, down, down—
Letting you feel the way he wanted to bring you back.
His other hand followed, his touch warm, steady, easing the tension from your arms as he finally, finally let you move again.
Only then did you reach for him, instinctively pulling him closer.
Austin let you, pressing himself against you, covering you with his warmth.
And when he kissed you, it was unhurried, lingering, full of quiet satisfaction.
Your breath was still uneven, your pulse a slow, deep thrum in your ears, your body heavy with the aftershocks of pleasure. But Austin?
Austin wasn’t done.
You knew it before he even said a word. You could feel it. In the way his body still hovered over yours, the way his fingers still moved—never idle, never aimless. Just deliberate. Deciding.
You swallowed hard, already feeling the warmth start to build again, even though you’d barely recovered.
Austin hummed low in his throat, his fingers traced lower, skimming over your ribs, dragging over the curve of your breast before cupping you firmly, fully.
Your breath hitched.
Austin smiled, slow and satisfied. Like he was testing how sensitive you still were.
And when his thumb brushed over your nipple—you shuddered.
Austin didn’t rush. His hands moved with the same measured, deliberate control he’d kept all night—mapping you, exploring you, playing with you like he had all the time in the world. Then, his lips were on your breast.
Your breath stuttered.
He started slow, dragging his lips over the curve, breath warm, fingers still teasing and tracing, never quite giving you enough. Then, he licked—a slow, deliberate stroke over your nipple, wet and warm, so careful, like he wanted to see exactly how you’d react before doing it again.
Your body betrayed you instantly. Your breath hitched, your thighs twitching, heat bolting straight between your legs like a live wire. Austin smirked. He felt it. Of course he did.
He wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking hard. A sharp gasp tore from your throat, your back arching slightly as his hand squeezed your other breast, his thumb rolling your nipple between his fingers, keeping you trapped between two perfect sensations. He sucked, licked, flicked, each movement precise, calculated, like he was testing just how much he could unravel you with his mouth alone.
His breath was warm against your damp skin when he pulled off, lips twitching with quiet amusement as he took in the way you trembled beneath him.
Austin shifted, his fingers dragging down your ribs, your waist, your hips, like he was testing how sensitive you’d become. Your whole body shivered at his touch. His voice dropped lower, smoother. “Tell me your colour, sweetheart.”
You swallowed, barely able to think past the heat pooling low in your stomach. “Green.”
Austin hummed, pleased. “Good girl.”
Then, without warning, he pulled back.
Your breath caught as you watched him lean back onto his knees, reaching for the hem of his shirt. And then—he pulled it over his head.
Fuck.
The sight of him—bare, toned, gorgeous, every inch of him flushed with heat, the faintest sheen of sweat on his chest—made your stomach tighten, fluttering, wanting. Your thighs shifted.
His smirk deepened as he stood and kicked off his sweatpants, leaving him completely bare. You couldn’t breathe. Your eyes dropped—
And your stomach flipped.
Austin was hard.
Painfully, devastatingly hard.
For you.
And when his fingers wrapped around himself, a soft, helpless sound slipped from your throat.
Austin groaned, slow and low, stroking himself, taking his time, letting you watch. “See what you do to me?”
Your whole body flushed, the heat crawling down your chest, your stomach, settling low, low, low. You could barely think past it, past the way his hand moved, past the way his muscles tensed, past the way he let you take in every inch of him, knowing exactly what it was doing to you.
Austin exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head like he was just as wrecked as you were. “You like watching, don’t you?”
You barely had it in you to answer. “…Yes.”
Austin’s grin deepened. He leaned in again, one hand still lazily stroking himself, the other trailing up your stomach, between your breasts, wrapping gently around your throat. Not squeezing. Not holding. Just resting there. Letting you feel the warmth of his palm, the weight of his touch, the control of it. His lips hovered over yours, so close you could taste his breath.
“You ready for your next instruction, baby?”
Your pulse pounded, heat curling tighter in your stomach, everything in you locked onto him, onto the moment, onto the way his fingers flexed lightly around your throat. You swallowed, shivering beneath his touch.
“Yes.”
Austin’s thumb dragged over your pulse point, slow, approving. His voice came low, dark, commanding.
“Tell me what you want.”
You hesitated. Not because you didn’t know—God, you knew. But saying it out loud, admitting it, asking for it—that was part of the game, wasn’t it?
Austin’s lips quirked, like he could see your hesitation, like he knew exactly what was happening in your head.
His grip stayed firm around himself as he watched you, his strokes slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every second. “Come on, sweetheart.” His voice was soft, coaxing, but edged with quiet authority. “Use your words.”
His other hand shifted, fingers sliding lower, tracing over your collarbone, then lower still, skimming the valley between your breasts, dragging the moment out.
Your whole body tensed, trembling. Your nails curled into the sheets, your thighs twitching as you sucked in a sharp breath.
“…I want you to touch me.”
Austin’s smirk deepened, but his eyes stayed locked onto yours, steady, dark, unwavering. “Where?”
Your face flushed hot. “You know where.”
Austin tutted, shaking his head, clearly enjoying every second of this. His fingers traced over your stomach, light and teasing, never quite dipping lower. “I do,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “But I wanna hear you say it.”
Your stomach tightened. He was dragging it out, keeping you hovering right on the edge of desperation, making you admit exactly what you needed.
You swallowed hard. Then—
“My pussy,” you breathed. “I want your mouth on me.”
Austin groaned, his jaw tightening. His fingers flexed around his cock, the slow pull of his strokes matching the way his eyes raked over you, hungry, dark, full of nothing but want.
“Fuck, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with approval. “Look at you.”
Your breath caught, your body thrumming at the way he was looking at you—like you were something to be devoured.
Then—without breaking eye contact—Austin slid further down, shifting between your legs.
You barely had time to process it before his hands were on your thighs, holding you open, keeping you exactly how he wanted.
He was so close.
His breath ghosted over your already aching, throbbing heat, teasing, lingering, letting you feel just how close he was to giving you exactly what you needed.
A slow, wet, devastating drag of his tongue, pressing just enough to make your whole body jolt.
Your thighs tensed, threatening to close around him, but Austin’s grip tightened instantly, keeping you open, keeping you where he wanted.
“Ah-ah,” he murmured, his voice rough, dark, indulgent. “Stay still for me.”
Your breath hitched.
He did it again, a slow, torturous flick of his tongue, followed by the softest, teasing suction around your clit.
Your whole body arched, a desperate, broken sound slipping from your lips.
Austin groaned, sucking harder, his grip tightening, keeping you locked in place as his mouth worked you over with calculated precision.
Your fingers clenched the sheets, your stomach tightening, the pleasure coiling low, deep, unbearable.
And the worst part?
He wasn’t going fast.
Austin was taking his time, savoring the way your body tensed, trembled, begged for more.
Your head dropped back against the pillows, a wrecked whimper spilling from your lips.
Austin chuckled against you, sending vibrations straight through your core. “You taste so fucking good,” he muttered, almost to himself.
You gasped, your hands twitching, aching to reach for him, to grab his hair, to pull him closer—
But you didn’t.
You remembered the rules.
You stayed still.
Austin noticed.
And he rewarded you.
His tongue flicked faster, the pressure increasing, circling, sucking, stroking—
You gasped, thighs trembling, vision hazy.
Austin groaned against you, his hands digging into your thighs, keeping you open, keeping you his.
Then—he pulled back.
A strangled, desperate whimper tore from your throat.
Austin grinned, his lips slick, his breath heavy. “You wanna come, baby?”
You were shaking. “Yes,” you choked out.
Austin tilted his head, dragging his thumb through the mess he’d made of you, barely applying pressure, just enough to drive you insane.
“Then beg for it.”
“Please, Austin.”
The words slipped from your lips, barely more than a whimper.
Austin grinned against your skin. “You can do better than that, baby.”
His fingers flexed over your thighs, keeping them spread, keeping you open. “Tell me exactly what you need.”
You swallowed hard, pulse hammering, voice shaking.
“Please, I—I want to come.”
Austin hummed, dragging his lips over the inside of your thigh, teasing, slow. “Where?”
Heat rushed through your chest, down your stomach, pooling between your legs. You could barely breathe past it. You whimpered, your fingers twisting into the sheets. “I want to come on your mouth.”
A groan rumbled in Austin’s chest, deep, wrecked, satisfied. “That’s my girl.”
Then—he gave you exactly what you begged for.
His mouth was back on you in an instant, hot, wet, relentless.
His tongue flicked over your clit, faster now, harder, a devastating contrast to the slow, torturous teasing from before.
Your back arched off the bed, a wrecked moan ripping from your throat.
Austin held you down, kept you right where he wanted, kept you pinned beneath the weight of his control.
His tongue moved in perfect, ruthless strokes, sucking, circling, flicking, dragging you closer and closer to the edge—
You gasped, whimpered, your thighs trembling violently.
Austin could feel it.
His grip tightened, his tongue working you over with precise, practiced pressure, his groan vibrating against you.
You were so fucking close, dangling over the edge, the pleasure spiraling, cresting, blinding.
Your body locked up, your breath catching—
Austin felt the shift immediately.
He didn’t stop.
Didn’t ease up.
Didn’t let up until—
Pleasure slammed through you, sharp and overwhelming, ripping you apart at the seams.
Your whole body shook, wrecked, trembling, your pulse thundering, your thighs squeezing against Austin’s grip.
Austin didn’t let go.
He held you down, held you through it, his mouth still moving, still licking, still pushing you through every last wave of it.
You let out a helpless sob, your vision white-hot, your body pulsing.
Austin groaned against you, licking you through every last tremor, refusing to let you come down easily.
You were panting, gasping, wrecked, every nerve still tingling, your body limp against the sheets.
Finally, finally, Austin pulled back.
His lips were slick, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. He watched you carefully, his hands still warm on your thighs, grounding you.
His gaze dragged up your body, dark and heated, but laced with something softer, more thoughtful.
“You still with me, baby?” His voice was low, warm, edged with something indulgent but unmistakably careful.
You nodded, still trying to catch your breath. “Yeah.”
Austin smirked, his thumb tracing absentminded circles over your hip. “Good.”
His hands skimmed up your body, slow, deliberate, savoring every inch of your skin as he moved.
“Because I’m not done with you yet.”
Your breath shuddered, your pulse still pounding, your body still buzzing from the last orgasm he’d pulled from you.
The thought sent a ripple of heat through your core—because you wanted more. You knew you did. But your muscles were already trembling, every inch of you sensitive, flushed, wrecked.
Could you handle it?
Austin must have seen the flicker of hesitation on your face, because his touch softened, his gaze sharpening in that way it always did when he was reading you.
His fingers traced over your hip, soothing, grounding.
“You okay, sweetheart?” His voice was warm, patient, steady.
You swallowed, nodding. “Yeah.”
Austin hummed, shifting his weight, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the center of your stomach. “Talk to me.”
You breathed, trying to gather your thoughts past the haze of lingering pleasure.
“I want to.” Your voice was soft, hoarse. Shaky, but sure.
Austin’s lips quirked into something softer, something knowing. “But?”
You exhaled, flushing. “I don’t know if I can.”
Austin smiled, dragging his lips up your ribs, your sternum, working his way higher.
“You don’t have to do anything, baby.” His voice was like silk, smooth and firm all at once. “You just have to let me take care of you.”
A slow exhale left your lips, your body instinctively relaxing beneath him.
You trusted him.
You wanted this.
Austin’s hand slid over your thigh, coaxing, encouraging, wordlessly reassuring.
“Just tell me,” he murmured against your jaw, his voice low, patient. “Green or yellow?”
Your stomach flipped.
You knew what he was asking.
You swallowed, exhaled.
“Green.”
A slow, approving hum rumbled from Austin’s chest. His lips brushed against yours—light, teasing.
“Good girl.”
Then—he kissed you.
Not gentle.
Not careful.
Deep. Consuming. Possessive.
Your body arched beneath him, your legs parting, welcoming him in.
Austin’s hand gripped your thigh, hooking it higher over his hip, adjusting you exactly how he wanted.
Your breath hitched as he rocked forward, teasing you with the thick, aching length of him, sliding through your slickness, pressing just enough—just barely—without giving you what you needed.
You whimpered, hips shifting, chasing him.
Austin smirked against your lips, his grip tightening, keeping you still.
“Uh-uh.” His voice was low, commanding. “You wait for me.”
Your pulse pounded, every muscle locking up with restraint.
Austin groaned quietly, adjusting his angle, his teasing measured, deliberate. Then—he pressed in.
A slow, steady push, stretching you, filling you, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt.
You gasped, your fingers clawing at his back, your legs trembling around him.
Austin let out a deep, ragged moan, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath uneven, his muscles tense.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
You weren’t sure if it was for you or for himself.
Maybe both.
His hand gripped your thigh tighter, holding you open for him, anchoring you beneath him.
You felt every inch of him, every slow pulse, every deep throb.
Austin’s lips brushed against your temple, down to your jaw, his breath hot, measured, steady even as his muscles trembled with restraint.
“You still doing okay, baby?” His voice was rough now, strained.
You nodded quickly, desperately. “Yes.”
Austin groaned, gripping your hip before drawing back—just enough—before thrusting forward, pushing deeper, pulling another gasping moan from your lips.
The rhythm was slow at first, controlled, dragging the pleasure out until you were whimpering beneath him, until your nails dug into his shoulders.
Then—he picked up the pace.
Deeper.
Harder.
Austin set the rhythm, and you followed.
Your body clung to him, heat tightening, winding, pressing, overwhelming.
The pleasure was almost too much, too sharp, too good.
Austin felt it.
He let out a low, strangled moan, his lips parting, his brows furrowing as he watched you, felt you, attuned to every tiny shift, every helpless gasp, every flutter around him.
“You close, baby?” His voice was lower now, breathless, edged with pure need.
You barely had it in you to speak. “Yes—”
Austin smirked, tilting your chin up, kissing you through it, swallowing your gasps as he drove into you harder, faster, deeper.
Your body shook beneath him, already sensitive, already teetering on the edge again.
Austin’s hand slid between you, fingers finding your clit, pressing, circling—
Your whole body locked up, the pleasure ripping through you again, sharper, hotter.
“Austin—”
His pace faltered, his grip tightened, his body pressed deeper.
The orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, consuming, wrecking, tearing through every last nerve.
But Austin didn’t stop.
He groaned low in his throat, his grip on your hip tightening, holding you in place as he kept moving—deep, steady thrusts that sent aftershocks rolling through you, making you gasp, making your thighs shake.
You whimpered, still pulsing around him, still too sensitive, too wrecked—but Austin wasn’t done.
Not yet.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he gritted out, his forehead pressing against yours. His pace didn’t slow—if anything, it got rougher, more desperate, like he was chasing the high he’d been holding back all night.
Your hands scrambled for purchase, slipping from his shoulders to his biceps, feeling them tense beneath your fingers. Every muscle in his body was tight with restraint, trembling with the effort of keeping himself from losing control completely.
But he was slipping.
You could hear it in his breath, feel it in the way his rhythm stuttered, in the way his hips snapped against yours harder, deeper, a low, wrecked moan spilling from his lips when you clenched around him again.
Your body tried to shy away, the oversensitivity sending sharp, electric jolts through you—but Austin’s hands were there, steady, grounding.
His hand gripped your thigh, pinning you open, keeping you right where he wanted you.
“Stay with me,” he murmured against your skin, voice low, rough, barely more than a growl. “I know, sweetheart. You can take it. Just a little more.”
You whined, barely able to breathe past the overstimulation, your body helpless against the way he was still driving into you, chasing his own release now, his self-control unraveling thread by thread.
He buried his face against your neck, his breath coming hot and heavy, his groans turning into something almost desperate.
“Fuck—fuck—”
His hips slammed into yours once, twice, and then—
Austin broke.
A deep, wrecked moan tore from his throat as he drove himself deep, his body locking up, his grip on you tightening as he finally, finally let go.
You felt the heat of him spill inside you, felt the way his whole body shuddered with the force of it, how his arms trembled as they held you close.
Your body felt boneless, spent, trembling, your breath uneven, your mind lost in the haze.
His breath was still heavy, his hands slow as they traced over your skin, soothing you, easing you through it.
But even as the last tremors faded, you could still feel the heat lingering, still burning just beneath the surface.
Austin felt it, too.
He smirked, pressing slow kisses along your jaw, down your throat, his fingers still stroking your skin.
“You did so good for me,” he murmured against your collarbone.
Your body shuddered.
Austin exhaled slowly, letting himself rest against you for a moment, his body warm and heavy, his lips pressing soft, lingering kisses against your shoulder. His touch was different now—gentle, reverent, like he was giving you a moment to settle, to breathe.
Carefully, he eased out of you, a quiet groan catching in his throat at the loss of warmth. His hands smoothed down your sides, grounding you, reassuring, as your body gave a soft, involuntary shudder.
You didn’t move. Not yet.
Your limbs felt loose, your mind still floating somewhere between bliss and exhaustion, the aftershocks still buzzing faintly beneath your skin.
Austin pressed a kiss to your temple, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns against your ribs. He wasn’t in a rush, wasn’t pushing. He was just here, watching you, waiting.
Then, his lips brushed over your cheek, his voice low, coaxing.
“Talk to me, baby. How do you feel?”
You inhaled shakily, still catching your breath, still feeling the warmth of his body, the press of his hands. You swallowed, licking your lips, trying to find the words.
“…Good,” you murmured, your voice soft, slightly hoarse. “Really good.”
Austin hummed, his lips curving against your skin. “Yeah?”
You nodded, shifting just slightly, rolling your shoulders, feeling the way your body still trembled, still hummed with lingering heat.
Austin let out a quiet chuckle, his thumb stroking slow circles against your hip. “Think you can take one more?”
Your stomach flipped, your pulse jumping, your body already stirring with something darker, hotter, more desperate.
You hesitated for just a second, just long enough to feel the weight of the moment, the anticipation curling in your stomach. Your body was spent, sensitive, wrecked—but you wanted it. Wanted him.
You exhaled sharply, your voice shaky, but certain.
“Yes.”
Austin’s smirk widened.
“Good girl.”
Austin pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder, his breath still hot against your skin. His hands trailed slowly down your sides, grounding you, even as the heat still burned just beneath the surface.
You exhaled shakily, your body still trembling from the last orgasm.
Austin hummed, satisfied, pressing a kiss to your other shoulder before murmuring against your skin—
“Turn over for me.”
Your stomach flipped.
You were already sensitive—wrecked, overstimulated, every nerve raw and frayed—but the way he said it, low and sure, made your body move before your brain could even catch up.
Slowly, you shifted, rolling onto your stomach, the sheets cool against your heated skin. Your breath shuddered as Austin’s hands immediately found your hips, guiding you, adjusting you exactly how he wanted.
“Good girl,” he murmured, his fingers stroking over the curve of your waist, your lower back, down to your thighs. “Just like that.”
Then, softer—“Colour?”
You swallowed, heat coiling in your stomach, your body still thrumming from everything he’d already given you.
“…Green.”
Austin’s lips quirked, his touch growing bolder. “That’s my girl.”
You buried your face in the pillow, trying to steady your breathing, but then—
His fingers trailed lower.
A slow, teasing drag between your thighs, over the soaked mess of you, still throbbing from the last orgasm.
You jolted. “Austin—”
“I know, baby,” he murmured, soothing, but he didn’t stop. Didn’t pull back. His touch remained slow, steady, deliberate. “You can take it.”
Your body trembled beneath him, already teetering on the edge of too much, but it felt so good. The angle, the way you were stretched beneath him, every nerve ending focused solely on the way his fingers teased, traced, pressed—
Then—he pushed inside.
A slow, deep thrust of his fingers, curling downward, pressing against that devastating spot with unrelenting precision.
Your whole body jerked.
Your mouth fell open on a silent gasp, your thighs twitching as the pressure built too fast, too sharp, too much.
Austin groaned softly, his free hand smoothing over the small of your back, keeping you right where he wanted. “That’s it,” he murmured, stroking deep, coaxing, pushing you higher, higher, higher.
You whimpered, your body writhing, pressing into the mattress, your hips shifting involuntarily, chasing the pressure, the friction, the overwhelming sensation.
Austin’s pace stayed slow, unyielding, making you feel every stroke, every deep curl of his fingers.
A tight, relentless pressure coiled low in your stomach, sharp and insistent, an unfamiliar urgency creeping in, almost too much.
“I—” You gasped, a broken sound slipping from your lips. “I feel like—I need to—”
A flicker of panic shot through your chest. It was too much, too overwhelming, too unfamiliar. The pressure in your stomach coiled tight—
“Yellow.” The word left your lips on a breath, instinctual, unstoppable.
Austin reacted instantly. His fingers slowed, his free hand smoothing over your lower back, grounding you. “Breathe, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice steady, reassuring. “You’re safe. Talk to me.”
You shuddered beneath him, breath shaky. “It’s just—” You swallowed hard. “It feels like—I need to—pee.”
Austin paused—just for a second—but there was no hesitation in the way his fingers smoothed over your skin, keeping you grounded. “I know, baby.” His voice was warm, patient, laced with quiet encouragement. “You don’t have to fight it. Just let go.”
Your body trembled beneath him, caught between tension and release.
“You trust me?” Austin murmured, his fingers stroking over your hip, grounding.
“Yes.”
“Then let me take care of you.”
His hand resumed its slow, coaxing rhythm, gentler this time, guiding you back toward the edge. His voice stayed low, soothing, wrapping around you like silk.
“You’re doing so well for me.” A kiss to the back of your neck. “Just let it happen, sweetheart.”
Your whole body tensed, locked, trapped in the overwhelming crest of it, hovering right on the edge of something devastating.
Austin didn’t let up.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxed, his tone smooth but firm, his fingers pressing deeper, faster, until—
It broke.
The orgasm tore through you, white-hot and all-consuming, pulling a sob from your lips as your body surrendered completely. The release hit so hard your vision blurred, and then—
A rush of liquid warmth spilled from you, drenching his hand, soaking into the sheets beneath you, making you gasp at the sensation.
Austin’s breath hitched.
“Fuck—”
He groaned softly, working you through it, his other hand smoothing up your back, whispering soft praises as you trembled beneath him.
“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with awe. “So fucking beautiful.”
Tears leaked from your eyes, your body sagged, completely wrecked, completely spent. Your breath came in uneven gasps, your limbs heavy, your skin damp with sweat and pleasure.
Austin held you, soothed you, his voice low, grounding. “You’re okay, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”
You barely registered the way he eased his fingers from you, barely noticed the warmth of his hands smoothing over your back, coaxing you down from the high.
Everything felt distant. Warm. Floating.
Austin didn’t move away—not yet. He just held you, breathing slow and steady against your skin, letting you feel the warmth of him. His fingers smoothed through your hair, his lips brushing soft, lingering kisses along your spine, whispering quiet praises.
A deep, shuddering exhale left your lips as you slowly blinked back into the present, still feeling the aftershocks rolling through you.
Austin’s arms wrapped around you, his chest warm against your back, his lips brushing over your shoulder, still holding you, still anchoring you.
And when you finally, finally turned your head to look at him, his expression was pure awe.
“Baby,” he murmured, reaching up to gently brush a tear from your cheek. “That was—”
You swallowed, your throat tight, emotions swelling thick in your chest. “I…” You let out a breathless, dazed laugh. “I think you broke me.”
Austin chuckled softly, nuzzling against your temple. “Never, sweetheart.”
Then, softer—
“You are so fucking perfect.”
Austin stayed close, his body pressed warm and solid against your back, his arms wrapping around you like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon. His lips traced slow, lazy kisses along your shoulder, up to the curve of your neck, his breath still a little uneven, but steadying.
His hands moved over you in slow strokes, smoothing down your arms, your back, your waist—grounding, reassuring. Not because you seemed unsteady, but because he wanted to. Because he needed to.
“You did so fucking good for me, sweetheart,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and warm, full of something deeper than satisfaction.
Your chest rose and fell in slow, uneven breaths, your limbs still heavy, still tingling with the aftershocks of everything he’d pulled from you. But there was something else now—a deep, settled warmth, a sense of being completely held, completely seen.
Austin shifted, slipping one arm beneath you, the other wrapping tighter around your waist as he turned you in his arms, rolling you onto your side so you were facing him. His blue eyes searched yours, checking, reading, waiting.
“How are you feeling?”
You exhaled a slow breath, your lips parting, your voice barely above a whisper.
“…Floaty.”
Austin smiled, his fingers brushing over your cheek, his touch impossibly gentle now. “Yeah?”
You nodded, sinking further into his warmth, his presence, his care.
Austin studied you for a moment, then pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get you cleaned up, baby.”
A sleepy hum left your lips as he carefully pulled back, shifting off the bed. You barely had time to miss the warmth of him before he was back, gently rolling you onto your back, pressing one more kiss to your stomach before grabbing a warm cloth to clean you up.
His touch was careful, slow, reverent.
And when he was done, he pulled the covers up over you, making sure you were comfortable before slipping back in beside you.
Immediately, you curled into him, your head pressing against his chest, your fingers lightly gripping at his side, as if holding onto the steady, grounding weight of him.
Austin exhaled softly, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you in, pressing another kiss to the top of your head.
“You still floaty?” he asked after a moment, amusement threading through the warmth of his voice.
You let out a small, contented sigh. “Mhm.”
Austin chuckled, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles over your back.
For a while, there was only silence—the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the feeling of his fingers smoothing over your skin, the warmth of his body keeping you cocooned in a soft, safe haze.
Then, his voice came, low and quiet.
“You know how proud I am of you, right?”
Your stomach fluttered.
Austin’s fingers found your chin, gently tilting your face up until your eyes met his.
“You trusted me,” he murmured, his gaze deep, his thumb brushing slow, thoughtful circles over your jaw. “And you let go. You let me take care of you.”
Your chest tightened—not with nerves, not with uncertainty, but with something softer, warmer, deeper.
“I liked it,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t know it could feel like this.”
Austin’s expression softened into something almost unreadable—something that looked a lot like pure, unfiltered adoration.
His lips brushed against yours, a featherlight, lingering kiss. “I know, baby.”
And then, with quiet certainty—
“We’ll do it again.”
Your stomach flipped, excitement curling low in your belly, but for now, you were content to just be here, wrapped up in him, letting the warmth of his words settle deep into your bones.
Austin shifted, tucking you closer, pressing another kiss to your temple.
“Sleep, sweetheart,” he murmured against your skin, his arms tightening just a little more. “I’ve got you.”
And this time, when your eyes fluttered shut, there wasn’t a single doubt in your mind.
Summary Being with Austin in Paris fills your heart with amour for him. Especially when he can't keep his hands off of you during the YSL Fashion show, and even more so when you can't wait for him to ravage you back in your penthouse suite.
🔗 Masterlist
💝Romantic Smut💝 Austin loving •affectionate •intuitive • physical touch•love language wait for it • good girl •praising •patient •passionate•eye contact • enjoys watching you come• still hard girl on top• body worship• consecutive ejaculation• everyone knows his name• orgasms •creampie
*Written by popular demand with @butdaddyilovehim99 🤤🩷
Romantic Rêverie
The sleek car door opens and the Parisian night air is crisp against your skin as you step out with Austin.
Flashbulbs explode around you, the chaos of cameras and shouted names blending into a blur, but you forget all of it the instant you feel the warmth of Austin’s palm settle on your hip.
He guides you effortlessly on the red carpet, his fingers pressing through the sleek fabric of your dress as he walks you up the grand steps. His pace is confident, measured, every movement of his body like foreplay, the way he glances at you, the way his thumb grazes your lower back.
On top of it all, he looks devastating.
His suit is midnight blue, so dark it’s nearly black, the kind of color that only reveals itself under the right light. The tailoring is loose in a modern cut on his sculpted frame, the crisp white collar of his dress shirt holding a black tie with the faintest silver stripes neatly against his chest.
You’re captivated as you stare at him, utterly and hopelessly caught in his rêverie.
“Breathe, baby,” he murmurs, low enough for only you to hear, amusement laced in his tone as his fingers trail over your hip.
“You keep looking at me like that, we won’t make it through the show,” he teases, his voice dipping lower, softer, something just for you.
You blink up at him, heat rising to your cheeks that he’s already caught you, and his blue eyes darken knowing exactly how much you want him.
Inside, the Palais de Tokyo is magnificent. The hall glows with warm, golden light illuminating from polished marble walls, the high ceilings amplifying the hum of conversation.
The space is filled with an elite crowd, fashion icons, designers, ambassadors, everyone dressed in the pinnacle of Parisian luxury.
Champagne glasses are passed to you both as Austin mingles effortlessly. He moves through the crowd greeting and chatting up his peers with the kind of presence that draws everyone’s attention without seeking it.
When your champagne is refilled again Austin smiles at you lifting his glass “Saint Laurent can put on a show,” he teases clinking his glass against yours, his blue eyes gleaming in the low light.
You smile as you take a sip, the crisp bubbles tickling your tongue, but you barely register the feel—Not when Austin is standing this close, when his suit is brushing against you, when his voice is a deep steady timbre as he exchanges pleasantries with another guest while his fingers trail up your side.
As the lights dim to signal the start of the show Austin’s hand finds the small of your back guiding you gently to the front row
He takes his seat beside you, his long legs crossing effortlessly, one arm draping over his knee as his presence radiates quiet confidence.
As the lights rise, the runway comes to life. The first notes of the music hum through the venue in a deep pulsing rhythm that vibrates the space, setting the tone for the event.
Models emerge one by one, striding with effortless grace, their silhouettes sharp against the illuminated backdrop.
Austin watches intently beside you, his posture relaxed as his palm rests against your lower back.
He leans in occasionally pointing out designers, giving you quiet insights into the world of fashion that he’s become so familiar with.
But the champagne has gone to your head, and the way his voice drops just a little lower with every word, the way his lips softly graze your ear when he speaks, sends a shiver down your spine.
And he notices.
Austins smirks as he hums with quiet approval, the sound low and indulgent as he pulls back to glance at you.
His gaze darkens with desire when he sees how much you want him. Your eyes are wide, lips parted in shallow breaths as your body betrays just how desperately you need his touch.
And He knows.
Austin always knows.
As the show comes to a close all the model sashay down the runway with the designer for the finale as the crowd erupts into polite applause
The moment the lights rise, signaling the end, Austin’s hand finds yours, guiding you through the crowd of his peers as he offers polite goodbyes.
Once at the Lune Courtyard of the Palais de Tokyo, you spill out into the cool Paris night.
His sleek black car is already waiting beyond a roped-off group of fans pressing eagerly against the velvet barrier to catch a glimpse of the celebrities in attendance.
Their voices rise, calling his name the moment they spot him, a chorus of excitement cutting through the night air.
He pauses with effortless charm, flashing his signature smile for selfies before signing a few autographs, his pen gliding swiftly over outstretched posters and photos.
His free hand stays locked with yours, fingers intertwined as if unwilling to let you go.
Then, with a final graceful wave, he turns, guiding you into the car.
Once in the backseat Austin brings you closer, his arm sliding around your waist as he pulls you against him.
“You have no idea how hard it was to keep my hands off you in there,” he says, voice low and sensual, his breath grazing your ear.
“When you looked at me like that, I nearly lost it.” He confesses, and your heart pounds as his lips find yours, drawing you into a searing kiss, tasting faintly of champagne and the intoxicating edge that’s undeniably him.
Your fingers trail through his stlyed hair, pulling him closer as the city blurs past in streaks of gold and shadow.
He deepens the kiss and your lost in him, the heat of his mouth, the press of his body, the low pleasurable hum in his throat.
Once outside the hotel you both get out of the car hand in hand stealing glances at each other as you walk through the lobby unable to contain your excitement.
The elevator ride is a haze of stolen kisses, his hands sliding over your dress as your back presses against the mirrored wall.
The ding of the elevator door barely registers before you’re in the hall, his hands roaming your body as you cling to each other, desperate to reach the room.
When you finally get to the suite, he fumbles with the keycard, swearing under his breath as you kiss along his neck.
Once inside the hotel penthouse suite the city glows beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the Eiffel Tower shimmering in the distance, but you barely notice it—Not when Austins hands are warm on your waist, guiding you back to the bed.
“Stand right here,” he says, his voice calm with authority.
He pulls off his suit jacket, one shoulder at a time the slow, intentional movement keeping you locked in place, unable to move even if you wanted to.
Then he starts on his tie, the striped black silk sliding through his fingers as he loosens the knot, slipping it off with practiced ease.
You bite your lip as you watch him, your pulse hammering deep in your core, and he catches it—in the way you shudder as you exhale, in the way your thighs press together trying to contain your arousal.
He smirks as his fingers move to his cuffs, undoing them with ease, before unbuttoning his dress shirt exposing the strong lines of his torso.
You reach down in anticipation, slipping off your heels, and bringing your fingers to pull the zipper of your dress until he makes a low tsk to stop you.
“Not yet, baby,” he says, his voice as smooth as silk as he undoes his belt, the metal clinking faintly.
His blue eyes lock onto yours as he grins as if daring you to disobey, and your pulse pounds in your ears as you nod, surrendering completely to him.
He strips fully, his broad pecs and firm arms sculpted by the city glow streaming through the windows.
The defined contours of his abs tighten down to his narrow waist, his sharp hips framing his hard cock amplifying his commanding presence before you.
He steps closer, his touch affectionate and warm as he takes his time worshipping you in your elegant low-back dress.
“I’ve been thinking about this moment as soon I saw you slip this on,” he confesses, his hand sliding along the slit, caressing the bare skin of your thigh.
“You’ve been thinking about this moment all night too, haven’t you?” he says with a knowing look, his fingertips gliding over the exposed curve of your back, tracing up your spine to your neck.
“Uh-huh,” you breathe, your eyes filled with lust for him, your voice so soft and needy, it’s clear he’s unraveled you completely.
“It was written all over your face, baby,” he teases, his fingers slowly tangling in your hair “Everyone could see it,” he whispers and he draws you into a deep, consuming kiss.
His lips slide against yours with possessiveness, his tongue slipping in to explore yours with velvet strokes, coaxing soft moans from you.
His solid strength presses into you, his hips pinning you with an unspoken claim, the raw edge of his desire pulling you deeper into the haze of him.
He’s completely naked as he lowers you onto the bed with gentle strength, his warm hands sliding up the soft skin of your thighs, thumbs catching the hem of your dress and bunching it slowly around your hips.
“You’ve been so good for me tonight,” he says, hooking his thumbs into your panties and pulling them down, the depths of his blue eyes holding yours in a silent promise as his hands guide your legs apart. “Let me show you what you do to me.”
He lowers his head, kissing along your inner thighs before his tongue flicks out, delivering soft, teasing licks against your clit that make you arch beneath him.
Your arousal is already slick and warm against his mouth, and it drives him wild as he hums against you in pleasure.
“Austin please,” you beg, your voice trembling as your fingers tangle in his hair, trying to guide him up, trying to get him to satisfy your need to feel him deep inside.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his voice deep and reverent. “I love it when your this needy for me baby,” he says, pressing a final kiss to your thigh.
He climbs on top of you, his broad shoulders flexing with strength as he settles his weight over you, his-skin hot against yours.
You’re panting heavily as he strokes your hair back, cooing at you. “Shh, baby, I’ve got you now,” he promises, his tone soft and soothing.
He nudges your legs apart as his thick cock slowly pushes in, guiding so deep it’s overwhelming as the tight stretch of him inside sends a jolt of heat through your core
“Fuck…you feel …so perfect, take it all for me baby,” he encourages, his voice low and reverent, his breath brushing your ear as he settles, letting you feel every inch of him.
He moves with slow precision, each thrust a testament to his passion, his gaze fixed on you watching every reaction.
He angles his hips just right, a subtle tilt that presses a spot deep inside, his fingers grazing your cheek to catch the flutter of your lashes, as your breath hitches.
“That’s it, baby,” he coaxes, his tone soft but commanding, “Show me how good it feels for you.”
Your walls tighten around him instinctively as your soft moans grow heavier, your chest rising in shallow, desperate breaths.
He smiles with a faint curve of his lips as he watches you. “So… pretty like this,” he says, his voice filled with admiration.
His thrusts deepen, rhythmic and powerful, his body tensing with each push, his broad pecs tightening as his abs flex driving into you.
One hand cradles your jaw, his thumb tracing your lower lip with care, while the other rests at your hip, fingers holding just enough to steady you against his relentless thrusts.
“You’re doing so good for me,” he praises, his voice cutting through the haze of pleasure.
His thick cock strokes you just right, building an unbearable heat that makes your body clench tighter around him as he hits the perfect spot inside of you over and over with each rhythmic thrust.
“Your so close baby ” he whispers, his voice low and knowing as you teeter on the edge of ecstasy.
You nod, a shaky breath escaping you as your walls flutter and tighten against his cock.
“Come for me,” he urges, his tone shifting to a gentle command.
His words push you over the edge, as you feel a surge of pleasure crash through you, sharp and radiant.
Your hips tilt up to meet his thrusts, lips parting in soft broken moans as you lock onto his stunning blue eyes, intense and unwavering, his focus entirely on the way you fall apart for him.
“Austin!” You moan feeling a flood of warmth and bliss course through leaving you trembling, and he’s right there with you, his loud groans of pleasure echoing as he comes inside you.
His hips rock back and forth, his cock pulsing with each clench of your walls, moving in perfect sync with your shuddering body until you’re both breathless.
Your satisfied sounds fill the room, pupils blown wide, lips parted in soft exhausted exhales as your cheeks flush a deep rosy hue.
He watches you captivated, before lowering down to press lingering kisses from your forehead to your lips. “You’re so perfect,” he praises.
His hand strokes your hair gently as he slowly pulls out, his cock still hard, his body reluctant to leave yours.
He lays down beside you, both of you still catching your breath, and he gently pulls you onto your side.
His fingers find the zipper of your dress and slide it down, helping you peel it off to reveal your bare skin.
His hands roam over you, warm and possessive, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your hip, before his lips find yours again in a deep consuming kiss.
You kiss him back, lips parting eagerly, tasting the faint salt of his skin as his rock hard cock presses against your thighs.
He ruts gently, a low hum of pleasure escaping him, the friction stroking his need to have you all over again.
It’s not long before he pulls his lips away, his breath ragged as guides you on top of him with firm hands on your hips.
“One more, baby,” he says, voice rough with desire, “ride me like a good girl.” He breathes, and you nod, eager to please him, lifting your hips as he aligns himself beneath you.
His cock slides back in, thick and warm, filling you with a tight, perfect stretch as he pulls you down, urging you to sink fully onto him.
You moan as you settle, feeling the pleasure radiate in a deep, throbbing heat pulsing from where you’re joined.
He takes in the full view of your body on top of him as his hands explore, sliding over your breasts, your ribs, your hips.
“Baby, you’re so gorgeous,” he whispers, his voice brimming with want and desire.
You begin to move for him, rolling your hips in slow circles, savoring the way he feels inside you.
Your hands press against his chest, fingers digging into his firm pecs as you ride him, soft moans falling from your lips.
You lift and settle in a steady rhythm, each downward push a sharp slap against his pelvis.
His face is pure bliss eyes fluttering closed as he moans in pleasure, only to open them again, locking onto yours with fierce intensity.
You indulge him in the sensation, your hips grinding harder, faster, chasing the tension building inside you.
His voice is low and rough, grunting “unh, fuck” as you begin to bounce on him.
“Austin,” you moan, loud and unrestrained, your voice so sharp you’re sure everyone in the halls knows his name by now.
He grips your thighs, fingers sinking into your flesh as he thrusts up to meet you, the force making your breath catch.
His thick cock hits deep as your mind unravels into a haze of incoherent pleas—“yes, Austin, please, yes”—the words tumbling out as the pleasure consumes you.
Your orgasm hits first in a sudden, shattering wave as you cry out, “Austin!” feeling a surge of pleasure rock your core.
Your hips falter as your walls clench tight around his cock pulsing with every surge of bliss that floods your body.
He’s right behind you, his release crashing through as a loud, guttural “fuck, yes” tears from his throat as his hips buck hard and fast, spilling thick, hot streams inside you.
His hands grip your hips, holding you down to take it all, each deep pulse of his cock syncing with the aftershocks shuddering through your body.
You both moan, breathlessly as he pulls out, his come warm and slick, coating your thighs.
He guides you down beside him your bodies still tangled as you rest on his arm, spent and sated.
His lips brush your forehead as his hands stroke your back, and you’re lost to him, the world fading to nothing but the steady beat of his heart against yours, feeling his breathing softening as the moment slows.
“I love you,” he whispers, his voice low and reverent, a small smile tugging at his lips as you look up into his eyes.
“I love you too,” you say affectionately, and he pulls you closer wrapping you both in a romantic rêverie.
prompt: austin pushes your limits during the screening for The Bikeriders to see how far you can go.
warnings: lots of teasing/sexual tension, dom!Austin x sub!reader, usage of daddy, fem!reader but inclusive/imagine it’s you, poc!friendly, slight “fingering” but that’s about it, part 2 can be written if wanted.
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The lights in the prepared arena just began to dim, that’s when you felt your fiancé’s hand creep up your thigh through the well-placed felt slit of your dress. Something Austin insisted on picking out for you himself, adamant that you never see it until the stylist would ease it onto your body. You were slowly piecing together as to why he had picked such a design and such material from the beginning of the night. It started with slow touches. His arm always snaked tightly around your waist as the flashing lights consumed your vision, steady fingers dancing along your sides, threatening to fall lower if it wasn’t for so many eyes glued onto his muse. Slow actions repeated themselves and only ceased when prompted into the building, into assigned seats, now a hand gripped onto your thigh was the final touch of the evening.
You were sure Austin wouldn’t do such a dangerous move out of his internal sexual instincts, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t dare. Instead, your brain chalked it down to his natural protective nature. That was, until his rough hand inched up onto your heated skin. Your eyes trailed over to your boy, sat still and polished, no expression on his redeeming features as if nothing had happened. No cocky smirk played on his lips to imitate his actions, only an expression that you could only describe as relaxed, really the only word you managed to think of before his hand came up to cradle your inner thigh, thumb grazing over the sensitive skin slowly.
He inches closer to your side. “Wanna take you just like this, amor.” He whispers, words trickling down your spine and warmed the feeling between your thighs, thumb pressing into the flesh of your inner thigh to emphasize his words.
“Aus.” You shot back as a quiet warning, your shaky hand rising to grip at his own but never daring to remove the feeling, letting him just lay still on top of your legs. You really were trying to watch the movie, do the best to support your baby after so many nights he’d came home restless and ready to quit his career. Move to a country side and forget all his troubles, he says.
He didn’t budge this time as opposed to many others, only gripped tighter into your now shivered skin, feeling every single small bump under the pad of his thumb. He knew you never wanted him to stop, you never did. All he managed to belt out in response is a soft and slow breath against your neck. You were more than certain that if the lights hadn’t been dimmed to the lowest setting possible that there would’ve been pictures and uneasy glances thrown your way. His hand ceased from your thigh, only his middle finger tracing up and down the skin, a soft chuckle dancing on his lips that you were quick to retaliate with a cough.
“Oh c’mon, darlin’. You can’t act like you don’t need me right now. Like you’re not already dripping just from my slightest touch.” His lips were only centimeters away from the spot right under your earlobe, drinking in your scent as his finger ran up your stomach, inching closer and closer to where you needed him the most. Your hand flew up to lightly pull at his bicep in a lame attempt to stop his movements, chewing on your bottom lip as if your life depended on staying your quietest.
“Such a good girl, staying quiet.” His voice was rasp, thick with southern charm, he knew that was just how you liked it. His finger trailed up your thighs, slipping into your delicate lace to trail his finger in a slow stripe across your pussy, biting his lip to cover the hum that threatened to seep through. He was truly effected by everything little thing about you, obsessed with how well you fall into his grasp.
His middle finger pressed lightly into your clit making your head dip into his shoulder, breathing in his scent as you did everything in your power not to bite down onto his shoulder or his neck for that matter. “Look at you. You poor little baby.” He cooed, his free hand running his fingers softly through your hair. “Desperate to be filled by her daddy, yeah?” He quipped, his voice dangerously deep and a tad bit hoarse from having to whisper for the longest time. But nonetheless, he wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon.
Your thighs started to vibrate in his grasp, biting down on his shoulder as the tip of his finger teased your entrance, circling slowly around where you needed him the most, shoving yourself further into his side to hide your embarrassment. “Always so effected by my every little touch, princess. Can never get enough of my filthy baby. Wanting me in the worst times, mm?”
A muffled whine slipped from your lips before you could even process catching the desperate noise. The movie was sure to wrap up soon, it had to, and that only meant that you would be caught red handed. So desperate for your boyfriend that your morals seemed to slip out the window as soon as you heard his hushed voice.
Austin stiffened in his seat, pulling his hand slowly from under your dress, delicately tapping the side of your leg to signal that the movie had been ending. He let out a light chuckle at some of your mascara that spread down your cheek due to how pressed your head had been in his shoulder. His hands raised up to cup your cheeks, smile of sheer adoration dawning his lips as his thumbs did their best to fix your makeup. He leaned in after another mocked chuckle, tucking a stray piece behind your ear.
“I’m the only one that can see you like this, mi amor.”
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AN: SAM MADE A FIC? shut up no she didnt!! anyway y’all… part 2? lemme know 🥰 sorry for the cockblock :( not really !!
fic warnings : 18+ mature content smut. rough dominant!ab. crying/tears. total control. total submission. degradation. aftercare is implied. one-shot style. porn without plot. Slight anal. Blurb-sized.
a/n : my writing is a bit patchy i’m so sorry in advance. i tried :/ i hope it’s not too bad
⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆
“Sir.. please.” You manage out a whimper from below him.
Austin had just gotten back into town from filming his most recent movie, Bikeriders. And it seemed from the moment he stepped in the door that night, he only had his sights set on having you. In every. Way. He. Wanted. He wanted to see you squirm, he missed the way you felt around him, missed the way you constantly begged him to remain deep inside of you like the pretty little slut he turned you into. Missed your pretty face as it contoured in pleasured pain as he would force you to push out an overstimulated orgasm.
Tonight, he had too much planned in his mind to put you through. His torture of the night? Not letting you release. Under any circumstance.
He cooed from below you. His head was nestled in between your thighs that were comfortably placed on top of his shoulders. His skilled tongue traced your swollen clit, his arm wrapped securely around your front to keep your hips hoisted down onto the mattress. His lips closed around the sensitive bud, pulling your hips closer into your pussy as he pushed down onto you with his lips.
He pulls off of you reluctantly, he’d never leave his baby hanging. He hummed, pushing a steady finger into your tight wetness as he raised his eyebrows up at your shivered form. “What’s the matter, darling?” He purrs, his lustrous blues meeting your puppy-dog pupils that filled with tears. It had been an hour now of his tortuous movements, he’d run his tongue along you until you started to shake then would pull away with a painful smirk.
You squirmed from below him, running your hand down to tangle in his hair, rolling a few blonde strands through your trembling fingers. “I need to cum.. please.” You whimper again, your throat scratched up and making your sweet voice sound hoarsed.
He adds a second finger, curling the digits as you fought his strength to try lifting your hips up to melt into his hand. “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, little rose.” He tsked. He wasn’t punishing you or even planning to in the near future, he just wanted to hear those noises he replayed over and over in his head during his many lonely nights without his baby angel by his side to play with as he liked.
The question that started to arise from your throat is cut short by a sharped gasp as he effortlessly flips you onto your back, manhandling you skillfully until you were on your hands and knees. He forces you down so your elbows are digging against the mattress, his arm pushing your hips up to meet the thin fabric of his dress pants. The slight sound of his belt unbuckling behind you makes you stiffen, and makes your mouth water against the pillow you rested your head on, drool pooling around your lips. God, he could take a picture of you like this and frame it if you’d let him.
He slides into your heat without warning the second his pants and boxers pool around his knees, bending his body to press a rough kiss to the shell of your ear. Between passionate thrusts, he runs a hand down to your thighs, his finger circling around your clit as he forces the full length of his cock into your slicked hole. He groans into your ear as your walls glue around him, tightening against his every vein the more he picked up the speed of his hips.
As soon as he feels your sweet cunt tighten around him clutching for dear life, he pulls himself out, much to your dismay. He chuckles from behind you, gripping tightly onto your hips as he flipped you back over so your hair splayed across the pillow. He uses his thumbs to rub slow circles into your inner thighs, smirking up at your desperate form. His lips pop into a faux pout causing a whine to slip past your lips. You were already pretty sensitive when it came down to Austin’s size, he knew that, and he loved it. And nothing could stop him from taking advantage of it.
“What’s wrong, baby?” He questions, stuffing two of his fingers into your hole again, his free thumb circling your puffy clit. He had a hutch at what was wrong, he loved you like this.
“I.. I wan’ cum, sir.”
He doesn’t answer, instead slides his fingers out and raises your legs to rest upon his shoulders, rubbing his tip up your slit before allowing himself to sink into you for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. “It’ll be okay. Let daddy take care of you, yeah? I’ll decide when you deserve it.” With that, he starts to thrust into you again just how he knew you liked it. Making sure only his tip remained inside before he slammed into you again, and again, and again.
On cue, you tighten around him, he stops. You thrash your hips below him as he kept his cock buried inside of you, his tip hitting the back of your heat. He brings a gentle hand up to rub heart shaped patterns into your cheek, cooing at the tiny tears that spill out. He drank in the beautiful sight.
“Gon’ make you feel good. D’ya trust me?” He rasps up against the shell of your ear, waiting for the sweet dazed nod of your head before adjusting your position. He sits himself down on the bed against the headboard and slowly sinks himself into your ass. Your head lulls back onto his shoulder as you swallow his cock whole. His hand slides around your neck, massaging your skin.
Once he’s fully inside, he uses the leverage to spread your thighs with your legs resting on either side of his lap. “You’re gonna’ be the death of me.” He growls into your ear as he slides two leisurely fingers into your pussy. Your eyes widen, a gasp slipping your drooled lips at the double penetration. You had only tried anything close to this one time, and needless to say you’re more than happy with the reappearance.
As his fingers begin to move, he says the magic words.
“Cum f’me, darling.”
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a/n : OKAY Sam actually finished a piece again? It’s a miracle!! i hope this wasn’t too bad, i don’t feel amazing about it but i hoped at least some of my readers liked it :) kisses.
Summary: noticing her struggle with the loss and memory of her brother on his birthday, austin helps and comforts y/n with the celebration of his special day (requested)
Warnings: mentions of deceased siblings, descriptions of grief
Masterlist/Request Form | Ask/Tell/Request
A/N: it’s been so long since I’ve updated and I’m so sorry for that. I’ve missed writing so much and hope this is me getting back into my groove. I started this request ages ago but just now finished it. it’s felt so weird rounding out this fic about grief after hearing the news about liam (for any of my fellow directioners) and it’s just crazy to me how so many of the feelings and instances I wrote about in this fic have been a reality lately. I hope you’re all doing well whether you’ve been affected or not, and please remember to keep those you love close and to let them know how much you love them. to the anon who requested this, I hope this fic brings you comfort, thank you so much for requesting <3
Today’s the day. The day you’ve been anxiously awaiting for a while now. Every year it’s the same, it never seems to get easier for you no matter how hard you wish it would.
It’s your brother’s birthday, and it’s been a while since you’ve gotten to celebrate with him in person. He passed away and every year on his birthday you find yourself unable to function properly. Everyone tells you it gets better with time, but you’re still waiting for that to start kicking in.
There are some days where you find yourself so overcome with grief you can’t even find the right words to describe it, and there are other days where for a little while you almost forget he’s not here anymore. You yearn for those days, those days that feel like you’re floating and there’s nothing but calmness surrounding you.
You wish his birthday was one of those tranquil days.
As you move mechanically around the kitchen, doing your normal tasks as you would any other day, you find yourself trying not to fall apart.
Grief is a really funny thing. At times you believe your mourning period has passed and that that part of you that’s now missing has been patched and you’ll be able to handle this day on your own without any consolation. Other times you don’t even know how you’re able to stand up on your own and be expected to continue on. It’s like a balancing act, never knowing which way the scale is going to tip. Calm or devastated. Good or bad.
Pouring yourself something to drink, you think back on all the happy memories with your brother that you can. You know in your heart he wouldn’t want you to be sad today, or any day really. It’s just incredibly hard to not notice his absence, especially on his special day. It’s hard when you miss him so much and want nothing more than to celebrate with him instead of without.
Over the past few days you’ve tried not to focus too much on your brother’s birthday. You’ve kept busy and continued business as usual but you can’t deny the moments of sadness that crept in unannounced. You’ve talked to other family members about it and some of your friends too, a lot of them knowing what this day means to you and how hard it can be. You always keep up a brave face but it’s easier said than done on some days compared to others.
The sound of padded footsteps coming from your right breaks you out of your thoughts. When you turn your head you’re met with the soft smile on your boyfriend’s face. It’s impossible not to reciprocate it. You don’t know a soul on this Earth that’s ever been able to withstand a smile from Austin Butler.
“Hi, baby,” he says as he wraps his arms around you, his warmth and familiar scent immediately settling over you. Your body instantly relaxes against him, comfort beginning to course through your veins.
“Hi, Aus.” It comes out almost like a whisper and you curse yourself for already showing a sign of weakness. You promised yourself last night that you’d try to get through this day on your own, not wanting to distract Austin from any of his work or typical routine. Alas it’s not turning out how you hoped. That’s the thing about grief though, no matter how hard you try, you never do know when it’s going to come creeping back in.
Busying yourself with cleaning up, you ease yourself out of Austin’s grasp. For some reason you feel that if you stay that close to him, it won’t be long before your walls start crumbling down and you’ll both end up wrapped in devastation.
To be fair, you don’t even know if your boyfriend realizes what today is. You know you’ve mentioned it in passing, but with not wanting to make a big deal out of it you never really went into detail. You’ve talked to Austin about your brother before whether it be reminiscing about childhood memories or recalling an inside joke, but you always try to keep that devastation at bay.
The blonde hasn’t said anything about it recently and with his hectic schedule lately, you’re sure it hasn’t even crossed his mind. You’re not hurt by it, if anything you understand and appreciate it. It’s probably best if you handle today alone, in your own way.
A small frown adorns the corner of your lips and you make sure to turn your head so Austin doesn’t notice it. One thing about him is that he’s always able to pick up on your emotions and can tell when something’s wrong. Best plan of action is to just proceed as you normally would. You’re sure the actor has a million and one things to do today, so he should be out the door any minute now and you’ll be able to tackle the day however your head and heart deem fit.
“Are you hungry?” You say as chipper as you can while you start to open up a cabinet, ready to whip up anything your boyfriend would like. “I can make you your favorite or if you have to leave soon I can just make you something to take on the go.”
“No, I’m okay, thank you. I-I’m not working today.” You nearly bash your head into the cabinet door as you hear this. Your boyfriend was practically always working, especially now. So him saying this totally takes you by surprise.
“Why not?” You turn around and face Austin and just based off the look on his face you can tell he remembers what day it is. His eyes are so sincere and you nearly burst into tears because he hasn’t even said anything and yet you know exactly why he isn’t working. Why he most definitely told his manager and whoever else that today specifically was off limits for any meetings or shoots.
“I took the day off. I know I haven’t brought it up lately and you probably thought I forgot, but I know what today is, what it means and how important it is to you. I just wanted to be here with you and to let you know if you need me that I’ll be right here. I won’t let you deal with today on your own, sweetheart.” His tone is soft and he reaches out to caress your cheeks, wiping a tear you hadn’t even realized slipped out in the process.
“Austin I-,” you gulp, emotion rising fast in your throat as you look into his blue eyes and feel the empathy radiating off of him. “You didn’t have to do that. I know how busy you are and I know it must’ve taken a lot to have your day cleared. Really, it’s fine if you want to go to work. I-I can handle it, I’m fine-“
Your voice cracks and in that same moment you feel like part of your heart does as well.
Austin’s hands are tangled in your hair in an instant as he pulls you in close, holding your head against his shoulder as you begin to fall apart in his arms. There it is, one of those grief stricken moments you swore you wouldn’t allow to take over you today. So much for holding it together.
Clearly your boyfriend doesn’t seem to mind though, and for that you’ll be eternally grateful. You let yourself go, let your emotions go, as he whispers affirmations in your ear. Softly shushing you and assuring you that it’s ok to let it all out. It’s almost scary how easy it is for you to do this as well. To let yourself be vulnerable like this. But honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way. If you’re going to fall apart in anyone’s arms, there’s no one better than Austin’s to do it in.
After a while of being wrapped up in the blonde’s arms and after your sobs begin to turn into soft hiccups, you feel collected enough to take a small step back and start to wipe away any remaining tears.
“I’m sorry, Aus,” you whisper, feeling a little bad for just falling apart like this. You know he doesn’t mind, he wouldn’t have taken the day off if he did, but even still.
“Hey, hey, hey, do not apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for.” Austin reaches out and swipes his thumbs underneath your eyes, collecting tears that haven’t yet fallen. “I’m here for you, and if that means being a human tissue for the day then I’m fine with that.”
A small laugh bubbles out of your throat and the sound makes Austin smile. He loves your laugh and he’d do anything to hear it, especially on a day like this.
“I hope you know how much I appreciate you. I know you’re no stranger to grief when losing a loved one, but I still appreciate you taking this in stride and just being there for me. This day it’s-it’s-,” your breath catches in your throat, but you clear it, not wanting your emotions to take over again. “It’s hard, but you certainly make it a lot less difficult to deal with and for that I’m grateful.”
“Of course, baby. I’m here for you, always. When you lose someone you love, it’s difficult enough to deal with, yet alone trying to deal with it on your own. I promise you I’ll always be here for you on this day and every other one you may need me for as long as you’ll have me.”
A small smile breaks out on your lips and you don’t know a better response than wrapping your arms around Austin and squeezing him with all the love and appreciation you can muster. You can’t even imagine a day without him. You’ll have him forever if you’re able to.
Once the two of you break apart you watch as Austin begins to say something, but then appears to hesitate. His eyes meet yours and you start to wonder what it is he wants to say to you.
“Now I don’t ever want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable, but over the past couple days I’ve been thinking about what we could do to celebrate your brother today. If you’re okay with it, I’d like to take you somewhere.” The blonde takes a breath and then reaches for your hand, squeezing once before continuing. “You trust me, right?”
You’ve never felt more sure of anything than you do right now in this moment when you say, “Yes, with my whole heart.”
Your boyfriend smiles and you feel your stomach flutter with both gratitude and anticipation for what he has planned. No matter where it is he ends up taking you, you know with one hundred percent certainty that he’s doing it because he loves you and cares for you in a way you never even thought possible. That fact alone is what carries you out of that kitchen and through the front door.
*****
When Austin pulls the car into the parking lot of the flower shop connected to the cemetery your brother is buried in, you feel your heart begin to swell.
On the drive over, you began to brainstorm ideas of where it is your boyfriend was taking you. There was a small part of you that hoped he wasn’t driving you to some restaurant or your family’s house to try and take your mind off today, but that he was taking you right to this very place. In your mind, there’s no better way to celebrate and remember your brother than celebrating with him as much as you’re physically able to.
Not a lot of people find comfort in visiting a grave in a cemetery, but it’s one of the only ways you’re able to feel some sort of closeness to your brother. He might not be visible to you, but there’s something about sitting there and just talking out loud to him that allows you to feel some semblance of peace.
“Now I know everyone feels differently when it comes to visiting graves and doing stuff like this. So if you’re at all uncomfortable being here, you just let me know and I’ll turn this car around, we’ll go right back home, and I’ll apologize for the rest of my life for ever crossing any boundaries with you.”
A breathy laughs escapes you and you shake your head as you reach out and hold Austin’s hand in yours. “No, this is perfect. I very much appreciate you even thinking of doing this. I haven’t been able to come out here in a while, especially not alone, so I’m grateful you brought me here and that you’re willing to be by my side during it.”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he smiles.
Austin turns off the car and the two of you make your way inside, the smell of fresh flowers instantly hitting your nose and you breath in deeply, wanting to hold onto it. It’s crazy to think there could be something so beautiful and alive surrounded by a place so sorrowful and morbid. Somehow, you think there’s something poetic to be found in that.
Both you and Austin wander around the shop for a while, taking in all the gorgeous arrangements decorated specifically for different types of family members. You see plaques for parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, and then finally siblings. It hurts your heart to know people lose their loved ones in a blink of an eye every day. No one is safe from the horrors and unfairness of the world, but you wish with everything you’ve got that they were.
You wish nearly every day that your brother had been.
As you walk further down the aisle, you find yourself getting stopped by a bouquet. It stands out from the others, it’s almost as if the colors and arrangement of it were calling out to you. One look at it and you know instantly it’s the one you’d like to get for your brother.
“Aus, this one’s perfect,” you say softly, stopping your boyfriend in his tracks. He looks over at it and smiles fondly. He thinks it’s perfect almost as much as you do.
Austin instantly grabs it and the two of you walk over to the checkout counter. You reach into your purse so you can grab your wallet, but the actor holds his hand out and shakes his head. “Let me, for his birthday.”
Tears immediately spring to your eyes at the sentiment and all you’re able to do in response is nod your head slightly and give Austin a wobbly smile. You don’t know why you’re so surprised over all of this. This is who Austin is, it’s who he always has been, and it’s who he always will be.
*****
The gravel road that winds every which way through the cemetery causes the car to shake just slightly as Austin follows your instructions to get to your brother’s grave. You’re not entirely convinced that’s the sole reason your stomach starts to knot though.
Even though it’s been a while since you’ve visited this place, the moment Austin pulled up to the gates it was like you were here just yesterday. The landmarks are all too familiar, the shapes of other people’s headstones, and the view of other grieving families scattered around bring everything back instantly.
As you look around and tell Austin to pull over to the right up ahead, you start to feel a little lightheaded. In your mind you can see the day you buried your brother so vividly. You can hear the sniffles of family and friends and feel the slight breeze in the air as he was lowered into the ground.
Even though you appreciate being able to still somewhat spend time with your brother here, it does make it all seem so much more real. When you don’t come and visit, sometimes you’re able to pretend that he’s still here, still alive. But the minute you see that headstone, you’re reminded that he’s not, and it gets harder to shake the sadness.
Austin puts the car in park and you both sit in silence for a moment. He watches you look out the window, knowing all too well the emotions running through you right now. He gives you a minute more before speaking up.
“Do you want me to wait in the car or is it okay to come with you?” His deep voice breaks you out of your thoughts and you blink several times before looking over at him.
“No, come with me, please? I-I want you there.” Austin nods his head and exits the car, coming over to the passenger side and helping you out of the car as you hold onto your brother’s bouquet.
Grass crunches under your shoes as you walk the few feet to your brother’s grave, and a soft gasp passes through your lips as you come face to face with the headstone that’s seared itself into your mind forever.
Kneeling down, you brush off the small bits of leaves and grass that’ve taken residence on the light gray stone. Your fingers trace over the letters imprinted within it and with each passing letter you feel your heart squeeze inside your chest.
It’s so unfair how life can change so drastically in an instant. You remember the last conversation you had with your brother and you wish you would’ve known that would be the last time you spoke to him. You would’ve said more, would’ve memorized more about his voice and the way he laughed. You would’ve held on to anything and everything you could if it meant keeping even one more tiny thing of him close to you.
Lifting up the bouquet in front of you, you make sure everything in it looks perfect before placing it by the headstone and then standing back up by your boyfriend. The flowers look beautiful and you hate that you can’t physically give them to your brother on his special day. You just hope he’s somewhere looking down at you and seeing how loved he still is. How he’ll always be celebrated.
Suddenly, you feel Austin softly place his hand on your lower back and begin to rub circles on it. This is something he often does when he can tell you’re sad or getting overwhelmed and just need some sort of comfort. It always helps calm you down and you appreciate Austin doing it in this moment.
Austin truly cares so much for you and it blows your mind every single day how lucky you are to have someone like him in your life. Everything from the grand gestures to the smallest little things he does for you, you find yourself being so grateful for it all. He’s such a wonderful guy and you smile thinking about how well he would’ve gotten along with your brother.
You know instantly your brother would’ve adored him. He’d definitely try to play the protective brother card and give off the impression he’d never approve, but in your heart you know Austin would’ve had him wrapped around his finger, much like how he has you. You could see them hanging out and watching sports together, talking about music and films, and overall finding such a genuine friendship within each other.
The thought brings a smile to your face and you let out a small laugh thinking about all the chaos they’d get up to together.
Austin notices and his own curious smile adorns his lips as he wonders what you could possibly be thinking about. “What’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours?”
“I know you never got to meet him,” you start, a small tear trailing down your cheek as you take your eyes off the headstone in front of you and look towards your boyfriend. “But he’d really like you.”
A small puff of air leaves Austin as he takes in your words. In an instant he has you wrapped in his arms and his lips pressed against your forehead. “Oh, baby. I wish with all my heart I could’ve met him.”
You nod your head silently against him, knowing with everything you’ve got that he genuinely means it.
“Thank you for bringing me here, Aus,” you whisper, your words a soft rumble against the blonde’s chest. “You have no idea how much this means to me. I appreciate it so much.”
“You don’t have to thank me, but you’re welcome. I’d do practically anything for you—especially this—and especially today.”
You know Austin’s unfortunately no stranger to grief. He knows the pain of losing a loved one just as much as you do and you think it’s so kind of him to do all of this with you when you know it probably puts him back in his own memories of loss. The thought alone makes you squeeze him a little harder and plant a soft kiss on his cheek. “I love you, Austin.”
“I love you too,” he smiles. “Y’know if you wanna do this every year for your brother’s birthday, we definitely can. If you want to, that is. I know it’ll never change the fact he’s no longer with us, but maybe celebrating him like this and coming to leave some flowers at his grave every year can help you feel a little bit closer to him in a way.”
“Yeah, I’d really love that. I think he would too.” You smile up at your boyfriend and take in his thoughtful proposition. You’d love to come visit your brother’s grave like this for his birthday every year. Like Austin said, it’ll never change the fact he’s not here with you anymore, but at least it gives you something to hold onto. It gives you something to keep your brother just a little bit closer to you, and you’d do anything to make that happen.
“It’s a deal then,” Austin says before leaning down and kissing you on the forehead. After pulling away he crouches down and plants himself on the grass. “C’mon, no more birthday blues. Let’s sit for a while. I’d love for you to tell me more about your brother.”
Your heart soars at his interest. Most people would want to flee this situation. Get as far away from a place like this and ignore the fact someone’s passed on completely. Not Austin. He faces it head first. He knows it’s hard, but he also knows it can be healing to do and it can mean a lot to someone too. He can tell by the look on your face he’s made the right call, and he’s grateful he’s able to be here for you in whatever way you need him.
“Well, where do I begin?” You wonder as you sit down next to the blonde. You rack your brain and try to decide on what story or fun fact you should share first. God knows you have an endless supply of them tucked away in your memory. Some funny, some sad, and some downright disturbing in the best way possible.
You glance over at Austin, settling on one and as you go to start sharing one of your favorite memories of your brother, you watch as your boyfriend completely tunes in to whatever it is you’re about to say. Nothing else seems to matter in this moment to him and that alone makes you want to wrap your arms around him and never let go.
Yeah, you think in your head, in a way speaking to your brother. You definitely would’ve liked him.
Summary Based on Austin revealing his love language is physical touch and words of affirmation
💝Romantic Smut 💝 Praise kink• P in V• cream pie
📖 Proof Reader @purejasmine
Austin always has a way of getting what he wants, and tonight is no different. His favorite position is missionary, looking into your eyes watching every flicker of emotion that crosses your face.
But if that’s not an option, he always defaults to doggy in front of the mirror, putting you in just the right place to watch your face, to see every moment of pleasure as he drives into you.
No matter what, he needs to see you, needs to witness the proof of what he’s doing to you, as if your pleasure fuels his own, pushing him to go harder, deeper.
Tonight is no different, he has you on your back, legs locked around his waist thrusting into you at relentless pace sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.
His hands grip your hips, anchoring you to the bed as he drives deeper, his breaths coming in short pants as his eyes lock onto yours, waiting for you to give him what he craves.
You know exactly what he needs, your praise, and you love giving it to him, knowing how much it gets him off. And it turns you on just as much—the way he needs your words of affirmation, the way he pushes harder when you tell him how good he feels.
“Austin…” you moan, your voice breathless as you grip his arms, feeling the strength of his body as his hips press against you with a rhythmic force. “You feel so incredible,” you praise.
“Keep going,” he pants, his voice raw with need. “Tell me how much you love it.”
You can feel the tension building in his body, the way he’s close, but holding back just for you as his eyes lock on yours dark and intense, watching every flicker of emotion that crosses your face.
You look into his eyes, feeling a rush of heat flooding your body as your breaths come in quick gasps. The need to encourage him surges within you, urging you to express just how good he makes you feel. But the words escape you, lost in the overwhelming pleasure of it all.
“Please, baby,” He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear “Tell me how much you love me inside you. I need to hear it.”
He’s at his peak, and it’s moments like these that he’s practically begging for it and you give it to him, knowing he deserves every word for making you feel this way.
“Austin,” you moan, your body arching beneath him. “I love you inside me so much.”
He groans in response his thrusts growing faster and rougher, his hips snapping with a force that leaves you breathless.
You cling to him as the pleasure builds to an almost unbearable peak. “Austin yes,” you moan as he drives deeper, the sensation igniting every nerve in your body.
He revels in the feeling of you beneath him, savoring the way your body responds as he desperately tries to hold back until he can’t anymore.
“Baby…” he groans, inhaling sharply as he feels the familiar tension building within him. “I’m gonna come,” he relents, his voice filled with desperation.
“Austin, please!” you cry out, your nails digging into his back as his movements become frantic and his eyes lock onto yours, filled with an intensity that makes your heart race, the moment pushing you both to the brink.
“Austin, come in me,” you moan, your voice laced with desire, and that’s all it takes.
With a deep, guttural moan, he comes hard, his cock throbbing inside you as he spills himself deep within, his hips jerking against you sending new shockwaves of pleasure through your body.
You moan for him your voice breaking as your body tenses and he gives you exactly what you need to spiral out of control.
Even as he’s coming, his fingers slip between your legs to find your clit, rubbing with a firm, relentless pressure.
The combination of his cock filling you, his fingers working your clit, and the heat of his release pushes you into overdrive.
Your orgasm hits hard like a tidal wave crashing over you and pulling you under with his intensity. Your walls tighten around his cock as he continues to stroke your clit, thrusting in you, urging you to ride the wave for as long as you can.
You both moan, your bodies pressing tightly together as you orgasm, and as the waves of pleasure begin to subside he slows his movements, his cock still buried deep inside enjoying the closeness.
His hand slowly intertwines with yours, his thumbs tracing the contours of your palm as you stare into his eyes basking in the afterglow.
“You’re incredible,” you smile at him, your eyes filled with satisfaction.
“Yeah?” he replies, a playful grin spreading across his face. “How incredible?” His voice is teasing, but there’s an unmistakable yearning behind it, eager for your affirmation.
“The greatest,” you praise, feeling a rush of warmth wash over you at the intensity of what you just shared.
He grins, clearly pleased by your response. “I love it when you say that,” he says, his eyes softening with affection. He leans down capturing your lips in a kiss with all his lingering passion as he wraps you in his embrace.
Your hands find their way to his jaw, fingers gently pulling him closer, needing to feel more of his mouth against yours as you savor the connection, knowing every praise you’ve given him fulfilled you both.
warnings: degradation obv, daddy kink, overstim, dirty talk, spitting, mean austin, dick sucking, the usual!!! (not proofread)
austin's voice was still raspy from the lingering traces of sex, laced with satisfaction as he watched you, sprawled out and dazed, your chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. his eyes hungrily traced the flushed curve of your body, lingering on the way your thighs still quivered from the intensity of your release. he took immense pride in the idea that he caused this. he licked his lips, savouring the taste of you that still lingered all over his swollen mouth, his thumb lazily stroking the inside of your thigh, a possessive touch that sent a fresh shiver through your overworked nerves.
“you’re a fucking mess, you know that” he drawled, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips, but there was something bigger behind it now—something like pride. “can’t believe you came all over my face like that. my good girl.”
the praise hit you differently, like a warm blanket over the sting of his previous cruelty (that you secretly got off on). you turned your head to meet his gaze, his big blue eyes watching you with a mix of hunger and something that almost looked like tenderness, though you knew better than to mistake it for softness. austin’s brand of affection was always edged with relentless dominance, his control over you unwavering even in these rare, blissful moments of some semblance of affection.
“thank you, daddy, ’s all for you” you murmured, voice still raspy and involuntarily whiny from your moans, your body aching but satiated, basking in the warmth of his attention. it wasn’t just the orgasm; it was the way he looked at you afterward: you were his prize, you were worth every ounce of the torment he put you through.
austin’s pretty fingers that you loved so much traced slow, lazy patterns over your still achingly sensitive skin, his touch gentle now, almost reverent. he leaned in, breath hot against your skin, before pressing a feather-light kiss to your collarbone, his lips lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch. you could feel the stupid fucking smirk against your skin as he pulled back, his eyes darkening with that familiar, relentless, dirty need.
“y’ did so good for me, baby,” he whispered, his voice still dripping with that rough, and to you, irresistibly sexy trait that never failed to send your heart into overdrive. “think you deserve a reward, hm? y’ think my baby girl earned another round?”
your breath caught in your throat at the implication, your body, particularly your puffy and pink, swollen clit, already stirring at the thought of him taking you again, pushing you past your limits. you nodded eagerly, the word “yes” barely forming on your lips before he was on you, his weight pinning you down in the most delicious and filthy way, his mouth crashing into yours with a hungry, desperate need.
his kiss was bruising, his tongue sliding against yours in a battle for dominance that you were never trying to win. he fought anyway. you moaned into his mouth, fingers tangling in his already messy hair as you pulled him closer, bodies moving in sync, a frantic, messy tangle of heat and want that was all too familiar, and still insanely sexy. austin’s hands roamed over your body, rough and demanding, squeezing and gripping every inch of you as if he couldn’t get enough, as if he wanted to imprint the memory of you beneath him into his very bones.
he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his lips red, swollen, and starting to bruise from both of your insatiable sex drives, his breath hot against your face. “on your knees, slut” he commanded, his voice rough with arousal. “i want to see that pretty mouth of yours around my cock. now.”
you didn’t hesitate, fucking obviously. you never did when it came to austin. in fact, you almost came at his lewd words. you scrambled to obey, your movements clumsy in your haste but driven by the overwhelming need to please him. you settled between his legs, knees sure to bruise but it just reminded you that he had you like this, looking up at him through heavy, lust-fogged eyes, his gaze darkened, his pupils blown wide with desire.
“my good girl, my pretty baby” he praised, his hand tangling in your hair, touch rough and unforgiving despite his gentle words guiding you closer, his cock already throbbing, hard and waiting for your hot n warm mouth. he didn’t waste any time, forcing your head down onto him, groaning at the wet heat of your mouth. “mmm, fuck- that’s it, baby. just like that. you can take it, i know you can.”
you hollowed your cheeks, trying your hardest to take him deeper, letting his dirty grunts and groans of pleasure fuel your every movement. you wanted to be good for him, to be his good girl. austin watched you intently, his grip on your hair tightening as he began thrusting into your mouth, controlling the pace, guiding you exactly where he wanted you. he knew exactly where he stood with you, how you viewed him. the sounds of your messy, sloppy sucking, only made wetter with a mix of his pre cum and your spit filled the room, punctuated by his breathy moans and the occasional low, filthy growl of your name.
“fuck, you’re so perfect like this, all f’ me” he murmured, his voice thick with praise and lust. “taking me so well. god, you look so fucking pretty choking on my cock. no one takes it like you, baby”
the words sent a rush of heat through you, making you moan around him, your throat tightening in response. austin’s hips stuttered, his control slipping as he neared the edge, his breaths coming in ragged, desperate pants. he pulled you off him, yanking you by the hair suddenly, your lips wet and swollen, a string of saliva connecting you to him as you gasped for air, whining his name.
he looked down at you, his expression almost wild, and he reached down, thumbing at your chin before pulling you up, dragging you into another fevered kiss. “‘m gonna make you cum again, baby,” he promised, his voice a low, dangerous rasp against your lips. “gonna fuck you so good till you’re too fucked out to even remember your own name.”
with that, he flipped you over, effortlessly, pressing you into the mattress, hands rough and demanding as he positioned you exactly how he wanted you. you were his to do with as he pleased, and the knowledge of that made him perversely sick with claim over you. as he pushed into your still sensitive cunt, thrust into you again, relentless and unyielding, he moaned directly into your ear, his cock aching with the anticipation of his orgasm. he needed to cum.
austin’s grip on your hips was ironclad, fingertips digging into your skin hard enough to leave bruises, further marking you as his. you fucking loved it. every thrust was a reminder of his control, the way he owned every fucking inch of you, inside and out. you could feel the ache building again, that familiar, overwhelming pressure coiling in your belly, spurred on by the punishing rhythm of his cock driving into you and all you could do was moan.
“you’re always so fucking tight,” he growled, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. “this little cunt was made for me. fuck- you feel that, baby? feel how deep i am? feel what you do to me, baby.”
you could only moan in response, a broken, desperate plea for something that seemed to spur him on even more. austin’s pace quickened, each hard snap of his hips sending shockwaves through your body, forcing you to take every inch, every brutal thrust. your vision blurred with tears of pleasure, and the room echoed with the lewd, wet sounds of skin against skin, his hips slapping against you, mingled with his low, filthy groans and the sinful cries n whines spilling from your lips.
“please, aus” you whimpered, voice hitching as his cock pounded into that perfect spot he knew so well, over and over again. “fuck, Austin, baby, i need-”
he cut you off with a sharp pull of your hair, yanking your head back so you were forced to look at him, your gaze meeting his as he leaned over you, his breath hot against your cheek. his expression was enough to make you almost cum, eyes hooded and dark, but there was a cruel amusement there too, like he was revelling in your submission, the way you always fell apart beneath him.
“what is it, my baby?” he taunted, his voice laced with a mocking sweetness that sent a jolt of need straight to your core. “does my baby girl wanna cum? want me to let you cum all over my cock?”
you nodded frantically, tears spilling down your cheeks as you squirmed beneath him, your entire body strung taut with the need for release. “yes, fuck, please- i need it, daddy, please’- m gonna die without it”
austin’s smirk widened, and he slowed his pace just enough to drive you insane, rolling his hips in deep, grinding thrusts that had you gasping, on the verge of sobbing. he watched your every reaction, savoring the way you trembled, the way your walls clenched around him, desperate and needy.
“you look so fucking pretty when you beg,” he murmured, his voice low and ragged. “so fucking pathetic. you’d do anything, wouldn’t you? anything for me. anything to make me feel good, make me cum, hm?”
you nodded again, unable to form coherent words, your mind clouded with nothing but the overwhelming desire to please him, to be his good girl, his perfect little slut. you opened your mouth, ready to beg for more, but austin beat you to it. he pulled out suddenly, leaving you empty and desperate, and before you could protest, he was hovering over you, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip.
“open,” he commanded, and you obeyed without hesitation, parting your bruised n bitten lips, holding shameless, dirty eye contact with him as he watched you with that dark, possessive gaze. austin leaned closer, hand still gripping your hair, his eyes never leaving yours as he spat, letting the hot, wet glob land right on your tongue. the act was degrading, filthy, and it made you shiver, a lewd whine escaping you as you swallowed without being told.
“mmm, good girl,” he praised, his voice thick with arousal. “look at you. you fucking love it, don’t you? love being my dirty little slut.” he tsked. “you’re sinful.”
you nodded eagerly, the taste of him still lingering on your tongue, your body alight with the combination of humiliation and desire that he so expertly wielded against you. austin’s eyes burned with approval, and he rewarded your obedience by shoving you back down, positioning himself between your cum slick thighs once more.
“daddy’s gonna make you cum now, hm?” he promised, his voice a husky whisper in your ear as he lined himself up with your slick entrance. “gonna fill you up, make you scream for me, all f’ me.”
and then he was forcing himself back inside you, deeper and rougher than before, each thrust a ruthless reminder of his claim over you, of how much he loved pushing you to your limits. you cried out, your hands gripping the sheets, your entire body writhing as he fucked you mercilessly, the fat head of his cock hitting all the right spots, driving you closer and closer to the edge.
“you’re mine,” he grunted, each word punctuated by a brutal snap of his hips. “this pussy is mine, you hear me? only i get to make you feel like this.”
“yes, yes, fuck—only you, austin, daddy. ‘m only yours.” you babbled, your voice ragged and high-pitched, each word laced with the desperation of someone on the brink of losing themselves entirely to pleasure. “‘m yours, i’m yours-”
austin’s is thrusts grew erratic n sloppy, breathing heavy and labored as he pounded into you, his grip on your hips tightening to the point of pain that you relished in. he was close, you could feel it in the way he was losing his rhythm, jackhammering his fat cock into you, and in the low, guttural moans that escaped him, each one sending a gross thrill through your overstimulated nerves.
“cum for me,” he ordered, his voice a strained command. “right. fucking. now. cum all over my cock like the good girl you are.”
that was all it took. you came undone beneath him, your body seizing up as waves of intense, blinding pleasure crashed over you. your tight n overworked walls clenched around him, drawing him in deeper, and you screamed his name, your voice breaking as you rode out possibly the most overwhelming orgasm of your life.
austin followed shortly after, his own climax hitting him hard as he buried himself to the hilt, spilling inside you with a guttural groan that was pure, unfiltered satisfaction. he stayed there, pressed against you, his breath hot and ragged against your neck, his hands still possessive on your skin, holding you close as you both came down from your intense high.
“you’re so fucking perfect,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost affectionate as he kissed your shoulder, his lips lingering in a way that was almost tender. after a few seconds, he let out a breathy chuckle, voice still rough n sultry from sex “how are you still tight after all that?”
A/N Ya'll asked for it! A continuation of the steamy evening and somehow in the midst of crazy life chaos, I actually got it written! Enjoy sweet darlings!
Let me know if you'd like me to add you to the tag list!
“Thank you, I think this might be the best birthday present yet,” he chuckles, sitting up. “I'll be right back.”
He scoots into the bathroom, leaving you sitting on the bed. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the full length mirror on its stand by the door. You are astounded at how hot you look; hair tossed around, totally naked and laying back on your elbows, The devil-may-care look you give yourself makes you throttle that voice trying to rise and ask ‘what the hell are you doing.’ You are doing what you have wanted to do since the night you laid eyes on this man. You can’t help but smirk at yourself.
You hear the toilet flush and the running of water. Suddenly he flings the door open before hitting the light. Burned into your brain is the silhouette of him against the bright rectangle of the door. Then you feel his hands gliding up your leg, you swear you hear him say ‘sexy little minx.’
“I may need a little time before you uh-’ he glances at his crotch, “in the meantime.”
Your night sight comes back just in time to see the heated look Austin gives you as he lowers his face between your legs.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you say, figuring if that’s the main thing he’s been doing for the past couple years, maybe he’d had enough of it.
“Oh no, hunny. I love it,” he says in all seriousness, “trust me, this is the quickest way to get me hard again.”
He doesn’t give you any time to respond before his fingers squeeze deep on your outer labia, capturing your clit between them. He pulls just a little, then rolls his fingers together and it’s like fucking magic. A giggle escapes you, rolling into a moan as he continues.
Then his thumb is just above your clit, pulling up and tightening your folds.
“Now squeeze and release this pretty pussy, hunny,” his deep honey’d voice drips.
You tighten your pelvic floor rhythmically and it nearly sends you. It feels like your clit is being jerked off. You’ve never felt anything quite like it before.
He smiles as he watches your face in pleasure.
“You like that?” he asks, his voice low and raspy.
“Yeah, that’s… fuck… what are you doing?” you moan.
“I”m not, you are doing it,” he smiles.
Unlike many of the previous partners, who would stop the thing that felt good to try something new, Austin actually keeps going. You feel the warmth, the pressure mount. There he is, not even touching your clit, doing nothing more than pushing your mons and you are approaching delirium.
When he does let go, he quickly nestles his face between your legs. His tongue grazes your bare lips. His long fingered hands knead into your inner thighs, coaxing and pressing them apart.
Little flicks of his tongue part your lips, little nibbles from his teeth run rampant. His head turns to the side and the tip of his tongue slots between your labia, lifting out just before he gets to your clit. His moan tells all as a string of your juices pulls away with his tongue.
The deliberate twists of his tongue tell you that he knows exactly what he is doing. It’s tantalizing in a way you’ve never felt before. Most guys went hard and fast for the little nub, if they knew where it was at all. But here he is, introducing himself, flirting with it. You’ve never been so turned on by someone doing so little to your pussy.
He pulls back, looking up at you. His little inhale lifts his brows just the smallest bit as though asking if he’s doing alright. The sight of him peering up at you over your mons is breathtaking. The realization strikes you that this is where you’ve always wanted this fine man.
You bite your lip and nod. The apples of his cheeks pop as he smiles. He doesn’t break eye contact as his tongue extends long between your lips. You can scarcely breathe.
His fingers gently spread you open to him. His brow furrows, a little horizontal crease forming between his eyes.
“God that is beautiful,” he mumbles mostly to himself as he looks down.
The ploughshare of his tongue separates your small glistening petals. His head moves gently up and down. His moan starts out soft but deepens into a growl as he dips his tongue into you. His body shakes with desire. He wasn’t kidding when he said he loves it.
“Oh my god, you taste so sweet. I could eat you for hours,” he says against your skin.
He takes several long deep licks from your taint to almost your clit. Sousing his tongue in your juices then continuing to suck and nibble on your labia.
Finally, just before you can’t stand it anymore, he gently exposes your clit to the air before drawing little circles around it. Then it’s in his mouth and you aren’t sure what he is doing with his tongue but it’s fucking amazing.
Your hand shoots to his head. His silky, soft hair is glorious between your fingers. You’ve always wanted to comb your hands though it. Your fingertips tighten on his blonde locks, tugging.
“Oh baby, be gentle,” he winces, “I’m a bit sensitive,” he admits.
“Sorry Austin,” your brow creases,”It’s just, your hair is so… and fuck, you got me so…” his tongue flicks across your clit and you gasp, unable to complete your thought, let alone get it out your mouth.
“It's ok, just don’t pull, darling,” his lips graze your clit as he talks.
His mouth closes over your pussy and he’s sucking.
You feel fingers play at your entrance, tracing your opening, petting it, pushing down and releasing just inside. It’s like he knows every little hidden button that sparks fire. The sensory overload of his hair, his scent, his tongue, his fingers. Good lord this man could not be hotter.
The sucking and pressing get rhythmic, stronger. Moans escape your throat.
You are surprised with how quickly you near your climax. And he just continues on steadily.
You want to keep watching how his jaw muscles tighten, how his shoulder flexes as he fingers you, but your head falls backwards with how good it feels. You barely have the presence of mind to let go of his hair before you yank on it. Instead your hands find their way to your hard nipples and then fuck oh fuck.
“I’m cumming, oh god” you moan. Your hips shake against him, nerves exploding with a third orgasm for the night.
His tongue flattens against your clit, holding pressure as you grind into his face. He is masterful. You might as well have never been eaten out before.
He waits, just pressing his tongue against you, letting your shakes and shivers provide all the movement until you come down.
“Jesus, Austin,” you puff out, “that was fucking awesome.”
He leans back, smacking his lips, shiny with your juices.
“Thank you,” he raises his eyes to yours as a quiet moan rumbles his chest.
Whether he referencing your compliment or for letting him feast on your pussy, you don’t know.
His gaze turns intense, wanting.
You melt.
You know it’s just the oxytocin flooding your brain right now, but you’ll be damned if your crush isn’t morphing into more in this very moment.
You return his intensity, tongue peeking out to lick your top lip.
You glance down, his cock is rock hard again. You wonder how he has any blood left for his brain. Your fingers curl in a come hither to his cock.
No words have to be spoken.
He pushes back, his knees folding up under him.
You sit up with nothing but his cock in your sites. Your hands wrap around his shaft and it definitely takes both of them. You take a minute to soak in the sight of him.
His cock is just a pretty as he is. Long, like his fingers, he curves ever so slightly to the right, thicker at the base by just the perfect proportion. A patch of blonde short and curlies is partially hidden behind his erect shaft.
You only now notice how smooth he is. Not prickly like he shaved, but lickable like he got waxed. The thought of him manscaping just in case he might get to maybe fuck YOU sets off a little bomb in your belly. Your tongue sneaks out to lick your lip in anticipation. God you love a smooth cock. His head is a beautiful pink, with a jewel of precum catching the light.
You want it in your mouth, and you want it right now, as much of it as you can swallow.
You bend forward, rubbing your cheek on him like a cat. He smells like your hand soap. The flat of your tongue drags along his smooth shaft up to his little weeping hole. You growl as the tip of your tongue dips into the viscous fluid. You spread it along the roof of your mouth.
“That tastes so good,” you whisper.
You pull saliva to the front of your mouth and let it fall from your lips. Your spit dribbles down his sides and over the ring of your thumb and forefinger. Which nearly meet around his girth. Then you close your mouth over his head, the flat of your tongue rubbing against his frenulum and suctioning up to his tip. Up and down, up and down you glide on his head, reveling in the feel of his smooth cock on your tongue.
You can feel your pussy heating up, jealous of the friction your mouth is getting. You slurp off him with a moan, glancing up at him. His face is shaking with barely contained lust.
“God, that’s been a while,” he mumbles, almost to himself.
“What, did she not do this either?” you say with a slight frown.
“Not really, but I’ve not had… not like that ,” he whispers, trying to keep it together.
“Like what?” you ask, your heart breaking just a little for him.
“Like you want to do it, that you actually enjoy it,” he bites his lip, its all just so hot for him.
“I do,” you say simply.
Before you let yourself rage over the ungrateful bint, you dive down onto him.
Sucking the gorgeous cock on a gorgeous man is not something everyone enjoys or has to enjoy, you remind yourself.
Luckily, you do.
You are intent on devouring as much of him as you can. You want to show him what he’s been missing out on.
He fills your mouth, forcing your jaw to hinge wider. You rub the tip of him along your soft palate. You moan as you fuck your own mouth with his girth. Tongue tracing random designs on his underside each time you pull back.
“Oh god, girl you are- OH!” he moans.
Solid desire sublimates into outright need as you hear his deep-throated moans above you. His inability to make sentences drives you wild. You stuff him deeper.
You can tell he wants to thrust into you. His hands lightly land on the top of your head as his hips strain to stay still. There isn’t any more room in your mouth, but his control is breaking. Your air is cut off momentarily, then the back of your tongue is rolling and forcing him out along with thick viscous spit. It trails from his cock to your lips as he emerges.
The sound of you gagging momentarily freaks him out.
“Are you ok?” Austin asks with a concerned face.
“Mmhmmm,” you nod, a mouth full of thick spit. You dribble it on his tip, using your hand to spread it. Curling your knees under, you grab his hand, placing it on yours.
“Show me how you like to jerk off,” slutty desire coats every syllable.
Austin’s beautiful face goes beet red.
“No, I don’t… I mean, I do. It’s just…” he licks his lips nervously, shyly looking away from the scene between his legs. You wait patiently for him to get over his inhibitions. He doesn’t take away his big hand, instead he adjusts his handgrip, pressing into your fingers. It’s like he can’t help himself.
He tightens over your hand and starts moving both up and down his lubed cock. First, several faster short strokes on his upper third followed by a few long strokes that slide all the way from root to tip. Short short short short short, long long long. His head tilts back as he loosens his grip, letting you take control, drunk on the friction. You return the favor by keeping the pattern, the pace, the pressure steady.
“Here, just a little,” he says, moving your other hand to his balls.
Your hand cups his smooth testicles, gently rolling them in your palm.
“Yes, oh fuck like that,” he moans, looking down at you with once blue eyes that are now morphed into dark pools.
The sly smile on your lips only serves to spur him on. You catch his eye, lowering your mouth to his tip while still pumping his shaft and tickling his balls. Tongue cradling his head, you glide back and forth over him.
“Oh my fucking god, that’s gonna make me cum,” he moans, involuntarily shifting his hips back and forth.
Moaning your consent, you keep steadily jerking him off into your mouth, steadily undulating your tongue along him. Spit begins to pool in your palm
“So hot, so fucking hot,” he chants. His fingers thread into your hair and they are surprisingly gentle.
Two of your fingers slide behind his balls, lightly rubbing the dribbling spit nearly to his asshole.
“Oh my god!” he groans into the thick air of the bedroom, fingers tightening on your scalp. His hips that once he was trying to maintain control over, thrust forward erratically.
So turned on by his seemingly wild abandon, by how much you are pushing him to the brink, you find your hips angling to and fro against the bed to get friction. You moan around his cock. His echoing grunts are wordless and feral.
You can feel it; the tightness of his sac, the throbbing pulsation on the lower side of his thick-as-fuck shaft. All just before the deep wordless groan rips from his throat. Hot ribbons of cum fill your mouth.
“Fuck fuck fuck!” he intones as milky white jizz drips from the corners of your mouth and down your chin. When he pulls back, your face and chest are a veritable cum mess.
He pants, looking you up and down, reeling from his orgasm. When he looks down and sees your mouth just a little slack from straining around his big cock, he immediately cradles your head in his hands.
“Oh darlin’, are you ok?” his eyebrows raised.
“Very,” you swipe your thumb under your bottom lip.
“You sure?” he is so cute when he’s concerned.
“Quite,” you assure him, “Austin that was so hot.”
He produces a hand towel he must have brought with him from the bathroom and gently wipes your chest and chin. When he leans forward kissing away the last of his own cum from the corners of your mouth, you kiss him deeply, loving every second of it.
“Oh lord,” he sprawls out next to you, arms open.
“Yeah?” you snuggle up to his chest. His arm automatically slips around you.
“Yes, like…. That was amazing the way your tongue…” his fingers flick upward like your tongue twirls, “ and how you went under,” his hand turns over in a mimic of your hand rubbing his balls. “I’ve never experienced anything like that. And for real you like doing that? Even on me?,” he is babbling, finally relaxed enough to state it like it is.
“Oh hell yeah,” you say in no uncertain terms, “I’ve never had a cock feel so good in my mouth and you are so smooth it’s dreamy” you reach down between his legs, lightly gliding your fingers along him. “I could lick and suck you all day.”
“I’m glad you like it,” he reaches too, rubbing along his balls, catching your fingers and lacing them in his own, “I like to be smooth, it just heightens everything.” he reaches between your legs to pet your labia. “Don’t you think?”
“Mmm, Austin,” your glutes tighten, pushing against his fingers.
They slip lightly between your folds and come away wet with your viscous juices.
“Damn girl, are you always like this?”
“No, no, Austin you just are that fucking hot.”
He brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them and moaning low.
“And you just keep getting hotter, damn,” your finger crawls up his chest, “I wanna ride you, do you think we can make that happen?” You have no idea if he’ll have it in him.
“Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said lots of times,” he smiles. “Give me a few, then I’ll see what I can do.”
Summary: A tipsy car ride home from a birthday outing becomes oh so much more.
Warnings: Explicitly mature content, 18+ only Fingering, Big cock, PiV, Friends to lovers.
Authors Note: It's been a while, I know. Writing and indeed creativity hasn't been on my front burner for while. Life, it's happening to me. But I was a couple drinks down riding in the backseat of a car and BAM, this thought struck. The thought became a fantasy and the fantasy became a story. Happy Birthday Austin, sir. I sure hope all your b-day fantasies come true!
OH! and check out the poll at the end!!
You were in the back of the generic sedan. The two mango margaritas you had made you just a little more relaxed than usual. He was sitting next to you, or rather he was manspreading next to you. He was a dirty blonde, tall, slim but muscular and fucking gorgeous. Like in a ‘how are you even real’ sort of way. Which you would totally be able to handle if it weren’t for the fact that he was also kind, sweet, thoughtful, endearing, and the best fucking listener on the damn planet. The mere fact of his presence shifted the energy around him. It was like a current of electricity flowing in the very air around him. He was the whole package.
You two had moved in the same circles for years. You had developed an interest in him that went beyond ‘just a friend.” A desire, a spark for him that you never told anyone about, much less him.
Austin was recently single, it was also his birthday. He had texted the group chat and said he needed his people around him to celebrate the day. Thrilled to be counted as ‘one of his people’, you were there, like always. He promised everyone that he was ok, that it was actually a good thing. Nevertheless, you had seen the hurt behind his smile.
She had only been using him, you knew. You watched it from across the living room at game nights; from across the table at restaurants. You saw how she treated him at the bars. He hadn’t expounded on what happened, only said that they were done. Who broke up with who? You didn’t know, you only knew that he was better off without her.
Now he was in the back of the car with you and your DD friend was driving you both home. She and her partner are talking in the front seat. Those two had been married for years and were like the epitome of a comfortable happy couple. You can see their hands laced together on the center console.
You hadn’t the faintest idea what they were saying. You are too distracted by the heat of Austin’s leg and watching the streetlights play across his face. Perfect nose, high cheekbones, plush lips and the graceful curve of his neck all intermittently highlighted as the car zooms along. His perfectly tousled hair is swept back away from his face, you watch his prominent Adam's apple bob up and down in a swallow.
He makes some kind of noncommittal noise to the front of the car. You press your knee into his as your hand lighted upon his leg. You meant it to be a reassuring gesture between friends. But when he looks down at you, a slow smile spreads across his lips and fire races from his eyes directly to your core. Unable to look away from his magnetic gaze, you can only feel his long artistic fingers trace lines on the back of your hand and wrist.
Just as the thought, ‘is this a good idea?’ crosses your mind, his fingers snake around your wrist and gently pull your hand farther up his inner thigh. Your pinky nearly brushes the bulge at his crotch. A slow smile spreads over your face and you inhale. Oh yes, yes indeed.
The cool night air at the open air bar had made your thighs cold to the touch. His hand, warm and sensuous, slithers over the edge of your skirt. You open your legs to him and he drags his fingers up, up, he can feel the heat increase. He is a fraction of an inch away from your panties.
It takes everything you have not to moan out loud in the backseat of your friend’s car. Instead you bite your lip and close your eyes.
Austin answers a question directed at him, laughing a little. You open your eyes just in time to see his face light up as he laughs. He goes from beautiful, perfect model man to giddily boyish. It’s so damn cute.
“Yeah, you can just drop me off at her place, we came together,” you hear him say. Wait what? That is a flat out lie, you had been the first one there when you watched him get out of the Uber in front of the bar.
His fingers grip your inner thigh in a silent appeal to keep your mouth shut.
Is it possible that he has the same thing in mind? Maybe he thinks you are more drunk than you actually are and just wants to make sure you are safe. Probably the latter, that’s something Austin would definitely do, he’s so thoughtful and kind.
You barely compose yourself when the car pulls up in front of your little house, a symbol of your freedom from your bastard ex. You’d bought it with the money from the divorce and remodeled it yourself… well mostly yourself. Your family had been roped into some of the bigger projects.
Austin grabs the shoulders of your friends as they wish him a happy birthday. You give them big smiles and goodnights. You completely miss the knowing look they give one another because Austin is suddenly opening the car door and helping you out of the car with an extended hand. Maybe you are a little more drunk than you thought you were.
He doesn't let go of your hand as he walks you to your front door. You stop on the step and turn around. Eye level with him, it feels like his ocean eyes are staring into your soul, even in the dim porch light he is mesmerizing. You wonder how his plush lips might feel against your own.
“How many did you have?” he asks, waiting, wondering if you’ll give him the brush off or invite him in.
“Only two and with dinner,” you insist “I’m barely tipsy, birthday boy.”
“Mmm, hmmm,” he nods as if he doesn't believe you and steps up to tower over you, wrapping his hand around your waist.
“Wanna…?” you tilt your head towards the door. You can’t actually finish the sentence, not with him this close to you.
Suddenly, that one word is full of meaning. His nostrils flare as he nods. Anyone with eyes can see the thoughts racing through his head, thankfully, you have eyes.
The door closes behind him in the dim light of your living room. His hand snakes into your hair.
Your purse falls with a thud to the floor.
His lips are millimeters from yours.
“Is this what you had in mind?” his voice is barely audible and his hand
“Something like it,” your hand fists in his shirt, hesitation falling away.
“You sure you want this?” he asks with a shaky breath,
“Oh yes, are you?” you throw it back to him.
“For years,” he states, rubbing his lips along yours.
Years? Really? How did you not know this? You are momentarily stunned until his lips meet yours and that line of thinking evaporates.
He doesn’t mash his lips against you all sloppy and needy. Oh no, this man knows what he is about. His kiss commands, but softly and with the perfect amount of suction. Gently, he probes your own lips open. Not once in the countless times you have imagined Austin kissing you did you come close to what is happening to you, to just how talented he is. The kiss deepens and seems to come right from his toes. His hand cups the back of your neck as your fingertips dig into the columns of his back in a subconscious effort to get him closer, to get him inside you.
“Fuck Austin, you are really good at that,” you can’t help saying when you both come up for air.
“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he whispers. His chest is rising and falling as he holds onto restraint.
“We’ll unpack that later, right now though, Austin, please,” you push your chest against him. You are suddenly so needy for him. Years of pent up desire start cracking the ‘just friends’ shell you’ve been working so hard to keep intact.
A devilish grin peaks one of his cheeks, “If you need to stop, just say.”
You nod and lick your lips.
He takes control of your mouth again. So immersed in the supple feel of his lips and the soft texture of his tongue, you don’t notice that he is backing you towards the couch. You are too busy helping him bunch up the hem of your skirt, moaning as he rubs the pads of his fingers along your damp cotton panties.
You feel the bump against your calves and nearly lose your balance, but he holds you so close.
“Condoms, my room,” conveying your willingness, if unable to use full sentences.
“I got some,” he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a few Skyns.
“Do this often?” you ask with a wicked grin. It doesn’t matter that much, you are just curious. He had never really been one to kiss and tell. But you wondered if sleeping around is the reason he is single, or the reason he’s doing ok.
“No,” he puffs out shaking his and looking away, “not since before I caught her… a while before too,” he shakes his head, a moment of pain in his eyes.
“Oh Austin, I’m so sorry,” you want nothing more than to take care of him, especially on his special day.
“It’s done,” he shrugs, “But, I knew I’d see you tonight and I kinda had hoped, so I wanted to be prepared.”
“Austin, all you had to do was say the word, and I would have come running,” you find yourself confessing.
“Well, we will add that to the unpacking list,” he flashes a sheepish grin that is the cutest thing you've ever seen.
“I look forward to it,” you banter back.
“But right now, I want you,” his hand shakes as he cups your face, “I hope you won’t mind if we take our time?”
“Or we could just take lots of times,” you suggest, pulling his face to yours, “Cuz I need…” your hand cups the large bulge of his crotch.
“Oh, fuck,” he moans against your lips.
Then it’s like an explosion of motion. Your panties are kicked under the side table, and your skirt is bunched around your hips. You tug at the hem of his faded black 80’s rock band t-shirt. He pulls at the back of his shirt as it goes over his head. You’ve seen him once or twice without a shirt, the privilege of all men, to go shirtless once in a while with no repercussions. He looked even more delicious than you remembered even in the low light of your living room. His naturally slim waist was accentuated by the muscles he had built recently in his upper body. Pecs defined, abs faintly outlined with his motion, caps of his shoulders rippling into his bi and triceps. You can’t see the breadth of his lats, but you certainly can feel them. He is breathtaking.
Your knit blouse gets tossed to the wayside. You reach behind your back and unhook your bra with quick and practiced ease. His hands hold your breasts as the bra loosens. He peels it off with an appreciative moan.
“Fuck you are so beautiful”, he dips his head to suckle at your chest. You don’t see him unbutton the fly of his jeans with one hand because your head is thrown back from the way his tongue works across your nipple. Zings fire to your spine and down to your pussy. Your hips thrust forward as you pull his hand to you.
Thank the gods that you had spent the afternoon doing some spa-like self care. You are smooth and soft and clean.
Austin pulls back to watch your face as he slips his fingers against your seam. He definitely knows what he is doing. You bite your lip and moan as he presses on either side of your lips, activating those clitoral branches. Your legs nearly collapse out from under you. He catches your back, then your mouth, holding you in one strong arm.
Your fingertips dig into his bicep.
Holy fuck, he’s not even gotten to your clit yet. Tonight might just be more than you had ever dreamed. Your hips press forward, begging for more. His fingers spread your lips, triggering your pussy to clench on the nothing as he stretches you apart just enough. Slowly, one finger dips into your wetness, his movement so slight, twitching only the end of his digit back and forth.
“Oh fuck, Austin,” your eyes roll back in your head. Again, not even touching your clit.
“Oh yeah, you like that?,” his voice is a whisper in your ear, “I want you to cum on my fingers.”
All you can do is whimper and nod.
“Put your arms around my neck and your foot on the couch,” he instructs softly. It’s so easy to do as he says. He’d make an amazing dom. You can feel your wet lips open to him as your skirt falls in a curtain behind your bent leg.
He kisses you as he slips a gentle finger inside you. Moans reverberate in your chest and flow into his mouth.
His other arm is wrapped around you sandwiching you with long fingers splayed out over your low back and sacrum. He pushes a second finger in. It feels so good. He slides in and out a few times, spreading your juices.
“Oh you are so wet,” he murmurs in your ear, “is that all for me?”
“Uh huh,” you moan into his bare chest.
“Heh, heh,” his laugh is throaty and deep, “That is so fucking hot, I love it.”
He straightens to his 6 foot height, pulling you into his frame. Skin on warm skin. You feel his hard cock pressed against your side body, still trapped in his teal underwear and framed by his jeans.
His fingers drag moisture lightly up over your clit. You shiver at the contact. Then his thumb is gliding over your clit as his fingers curl inside of you.
Oh fuck, your knees threaten to buckle again and your eyes close as you moan. His arm clamps onto you as he works you with expertise you didn’t know he had. How is he this good? Squelching in curling and gliding out while his thumb captures your clit, milking it just perfectly.
“Oh. My. Fucking. God.” each word a staccato as he fingers you.
A litany of dirty phrases find their way from his lips to your ear:
“Fuck you are so hot.”
“Yeah, tighten down just like that.”
“Does this little clit need more?”
“That’s it, beautiful.”
“I want you to cream all over my hand.”
Each word, each stroke, pushes you farther to the edge.
“Yes, yes, yes,” you begin to chant over and over. Yes to everything, yes to anything.
Then you are moaning wordlessly, unabashedly pumping your hips onto his fingers. Your face screws up and your fist pounds his shoulder. It’s a wave that rises and crashes over you. Austin holds you in place between his palm on your low spine. The thought strikes you, "This must be what waves feel like crashing against the shore, Ocean orgasms.”
“Fuck yeah, so hot,” he whispers, jaw tight as he tries to maintain control of himself. He captures your mouth with his own, swallowing your moans. He gently strokes out your orgasm, prolonging it without overwhelming you.
“I want to fuck you so bad, can I?” his hip tilts forward and back, nearly dry humping your leg. Just the idea of being fucked by him might as well come with a halo and choir. This sex-god in friend-clothing can do whatever he wants to you. You nod, not trusting your own voice at this moment. Looking down, you can see the pink tip of him breaching the side of his waistband. Your eyes go wide. Jesus, to reach that far he has to be…
He takes a big breath, as though steeling himself, and drops his drawers to the floor, his cock swaying with his movement. It’s long and hard, tapering to thick but not drastically so. It’s not a monster cock per se, but it's bigger than any cock you’ve taken before. Luckily, you like them big.
“Oh wow,” you mutter, stroking him lightly. When you look up, you see the mix of desire and trepidation in his eyes.
“Do you still…?” he asks, almost embarrassed.
“Still what?,” you stroke gently up and down his substantial shaft.
“Still want …me? This? It’s not like…scary?” his brows draw together and he unconsciously bites his lip.
What kind of insecurity was this? Worried about his big cock?
“Oh lord no,” you bend over and plant a kiss on his pretty pink tip, then kitten-lick the clear drop on his pretty little hole.
His breath hitches.
Suddenly a thought occurs to you, “Wait, did someone make you feel bad for your cock size?”
“Maybe? Yeah, a little? I don’t know,” he shrugs noncommittally, “She said it was intimidating and only ever wanted me to eat her out and finger her. I’m really good at oral, believe me,” he smiles, trying to make light of the body shaming he had so clearly experienced.
You know exactly who he is talking about, and if you didn’t like her before, you hated her now. How on earth could anyone of substance do that to a man as sweet and adorable as Austin, then turn around and cheat on him too. That little wench wouldn’t know a good thing if it hit her in the teeth.
“Oh, Austin,” you take his face in your palms. “Austin, no, it’s fucking beautiful and I want you to fuck me with this gorgeous dick…Slow, fast, hard, gentle; whatever you want.”
“Really?” The relief on his face is so evident. You nod just before he kisses you like a man dying of thirst. His hands wiggle your skirt over your hips and to the floor.
“Where do you want me?” you ask, determined to make this night amazing for him.
His only answer is to lean over to pick up his condoms then take you by the hand.
You follow his naked, adonis-like form down the hallway to your bedroom. It’s like a dream, the way he cradles your head as he lays you down gently on the bed.
His whole body is pressed to yours and you can feel him rooting against your leg, leaving little trails of pre-cum. You can’t help but reach down and stroke him, just to feel the size of him in your hand. His little moans are the best aphrodisiac.
He sits back and rolls a condom over his rock hard cock. Christ it looks even bigger from this angle.
“Oh god, I want it in me,” you murmur both for his reassurance and to simply state the truth. You want to feel him spread you, split you, sate you. It is without hesitation that you open your legs to him.
He leans forward on one arm, and you reach down to guide him to your entrance.
Despite his excitement, he pushes in real slow.
“Holy fuck your pussy feels so damn good,” he moans.
“Holy fuck your cock feels so damn good,” you respond in kind.
The deeper he goes, the more stretched you feel. The sensations on your labia are just perfect. You feel gorged on his magnificent cock. You have never felt so full before.
Finally, he bottoms out, still not balls deep, but most of him is inside you. He pauses.
“You ok?” he asks
“Austin, I need you more, please.” you moan into his ear. You simply must feel him moving so deep in you.
“Are you sure?” he says, still cautious.
You hold his face in your hands, looking him in the eye with serious intent.
“Please yes! Austin, you feel so fucking good, I might lose my mind if you don’t ride me.” Your pussy clenches encouragingly around him and your hips push involuntarily.
His hips begin to move fluidly, pistoning that sumptuous cock in and out of you.
He treats each stroke like a sacred deed, each one its own perfect ecstasy. He buries his head in your neck, breath hot on your skin. Your hips rise to meet his, urging him closer. A smile creeps over his face, one that is just now beginning to trust that you really want it, really want him.
Now it’s your turn to coax him with your own dirty words slipped in between the moans that his thrusts push out of you:
“You feel so good stretching me.”
“Oh god, I can feel every inch.”
“I love it so deep in me.”
“Don’t stop until you cum.”
“I fucking love it.”
It lights him up, to hear you say such dirty things while he is inside you. He goes faster, harder.
“M’gonna cum,” he blurts out after a few minutes.
“Yes, fucking do it, fucking cum in me,” the idea itself nearly sends you over the edge.
He rails into you, groaning. His body tenses on a deep thrust and he lets loose.
“So fucking hot,” you moan into his ear, “so good in me, on me.” You run your hands over his back down to his tight ass,
His inhale is ragged as every cell of his body is drugged with a cocktail of endorphins.
You gently hold him close as his body relaxes on top of you. For a bit, he reminds you of a dragon; spent with his back expanding in puffs. Your muscles bunch under him and he stirs. You expect him to roll to the side and for words of gratitude to come out of his mouth.
Instead, he starts moving again, as though merely the tensing of your body is new fuel for his desire. Something primal seems to take hold of him. It’s not words, but growls and grunts in your ear. Austin reaches down and grabs your ass. He is all of a sudden insistent and dominant. You are hardly surprised when his mouth clamps onto the crook of your neck, sucking and biting. He ruts into you deep and intense, nearly using you like a fuck toy.
You’ve never seen this part of him, it’s fucking hot.
The gripping of his teeth and lips send incredible shivers down your spine. The primordial energy overtakes you. You snake your hand between your bodies to get your middle finger on your clit.
“Don’t fucking stop,” you snarl into his ear, “I’m gonna cum all over that brillant cock.”
You can feel his smile against your skin as he thrusts into you over and over. It’s beyond amazing, the way he works you.
“Fuck yeah, fuck yeah, fuck yeah!” you moan.
Your pussy clenches down hard on his big cock and you feel your juices flood around him. You are shaking with the rising energy as he pounds you to the pinnacle. Your toes curl and your vision blurs; your only anchor is his body on yours, in yours. Your blood-curdling scream resounds off the walls of your little bedroom as you writhe under him.
His fingers knead into your ass as his spine jerks and he tenses, his second release flooding down his spine. His wordless moan is stoppered by your shoulder, where there is sure to be a lasting mark. His body shudders and jolts, then stills.
This moment is bored into your mind: the light sheen of sweat on his back, the movement of his breath across your neck, the pressure of his chest against yours, the slight twitching of his cock inside you, the scent of his hair in your nostrils, the faint taste of his precum on your tongue.
Finally, he lifts his head to look at you, his concern is poorly hidden behind the lopsided smile.
“God, that was fucking amazing,” you say just before pressing your lips to his.
His smile is far more genuine in your reassurance. In one motion, he rolls to the side, taking you with him. You are perched on top of him, cock still in you.
“You, fuck. I’ve never had a woman say things to me like that, I don’t know what came over me, I just needed you again.” He says hands on your hips.
“You don’t hear me complaining,” you say, “it was sexy as fuck.”
“Well thank you, I’ve not gotten to-“ he shakes the thoughts from his head, “Thank you.”
“Oh, you are so welcome. For the record, you can fuck me like that anytime.” You smile down at him.
“Give me a few minutes and I will take you up on that.” he chuckles.
“In the meantime,” you purse your lips, “ what the hell, years? Really?”
“Yeah, I’ve had a little crush on you for a long time,” he blushes and looks away. This man, who just rutted into you like a damn animal, who’s cock is still buried inside you, who is starting to prove himself as a god among men, is suddenly shy? And good lord, shy Austin is so fucking cute. You want to wrap him in your arms and just kiss away his sudden timidity.
So you do.
You lean down over him and press your mouth to his. You play your tongue on his, sucking at his full bottom lip. It’s the kind of kiss that takes its time.
When you finally pull away from him, his self-consciousness is gone and fire has risen in his eyes again.
“Well me too with you,” you murmur, “why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” his eyebrow lifts.
“You were unavailable, sir,” you point out climbing off of him, “and I am not that girl.”
“True, you are not,” the look he gives you melts your heart, “you could be my girl, if you wanted.”
“Austin, I’ve always been your girl,” it tumbles from your lips and you realize that it’s true.
He shakes his head in disbelief. “You are amazing, you know that? I’m sorry it took so long.”
“Me too, but we are here now. You know, I’m glad I started feeling up your knee in the car,” you giggle.
“Yeah, I wasn’t sure how I was gonna broach the subject,” his shy smile is back again, “but I might have had a whole corny speech prepared on the off chance that it came up.”
“Oh dang! Now I want to hear the speech!” you tease.
“No, no, besides, I don’t think I can remember it now,” he reaches up to grab the back of your neck, “Thank you, I had forgotten how good that feels.”
Jesus, how long had it been for him? You wonder.
“Well, tell you what,” your hand slides down his semi hard shaft, cum from his two orgasms starting to drip down his balls. “Let’s get his condom off and clean you up a bit. Then I want this magnificent cock in my mouth.”
“Yes Ma’am,” he says with a smile.
“Oh, and before you fuck the thought out of my head entirely, Happy Birthday Austin.”
Is this story done, or would you like to read about the rest of the night?
Nah, I'm good, I feel it's complete
I need to read the rest of this encounter... every sordid detail. Please.
warnings: degradation, rough sex, possessiveness, a little overstim if you squint, not proofread
(no spoilers for the bikeriders movie :)
benny cross wasn’t much of a talker
from the day you’d met him, he always let you do the talking. he’d let you go on and on without more than a few words, and you didn’t mind it, and clearly, nor did he.
but when it came to sex, benny cross talked.
talked you through your orgasm, talked dirty to you, degraded you, the whole lot. his voice was deep and rough during sex, a result of the years of smoking and riding, and he took the utmost advantage of this.
from the first time he claimed you, bullied his fat cock into you, saw how you reacted when he talked down to you, told you how much of a slut you were, how tight you were, writhing and babbling on his cock while he split you open, he knew he had found his favorite game.
benny reveled in it, got off on it, honestly. the way you melted under his words, in the way your body betrayed your mind's resistance, the way you’d squirm and try to stifle your moans, trying to hide the way his degradation turned you on.
"look at you," he'd tsk, feigning disapproval “fucking desperate for my cock. you need it, don’t you baby?” his grip punishing on your hips, forcing you to take every inch. "such a needy little slut, can't get enough of my cock, can you? always so tight for me, always so wet."
with benny, every thrust was deliberate, each stroke accompanied by a litany of degrading affirmations. "you love this, don't you? being my fuck toy, my little whore. look at how you're dripping for me. pathetic." he’d spit out between ragged moans
you'd gasp, the shame mixing with pleasure, making your body respond even more fervently to his rough handling. he'd grab your hair in fistfuls, pull your head back, making sure you saw the depravity in your own eyes reflected in the mirror.
"fuck- cmon, take it all, you fucking minx. you were made for this, weren't you? for me, to be used, to be filled up with my cum. fucking say it." he’d prompt you as he jackhammered the fat head of his cock further in you, smacking against your cervix repeatedly with a squelching sound.
and you would, because he made you, because his voice alone made you almost cum on the spot.
because the power in his voice left no room for anything else but obedience.
"yes, benny, fuck- ‘m yours, need your cock, need to get fucked, love your cock, please cum in me, pleasepleaseplease." you barely even knew what you were saying, you just knew you needed him, needed what he could give you.
he’d let out a loud, deep moan, music to your fucking ears, the sound sent shivers down your spine even as your body betrayed you again, arching into his touch, seeking more.
he'd smack your ass, hard, leaving his mark on you as a reminder of who you belonged to, relishing in your screams.
"that's right. you’re mine. no one else can fuck you like this, stuff their cock so deep in you, you forget your own name. no one else can make you cum like i do.” his voice would begin breaking, his moans choked as he neared the edge. “cmon baby, cum on my cock, cum for me, m so close. don’t- fuck, don’t forget this feeling baby. don’t forget how how i stretch you, fill you. you feel full baby? stuffed?”
all you could do was nod, frantically as your thighs shook and your orgasm washed over you, and despite all he’d say, benny would hold you close, soothe your body through the orgasm as it wracked through you, whispering praises and endless filthy words into your ear.
"that's my good girl, my perfect little slut. look at you, falling apart for me, taking every inch like you were made for it."
he'd hold you tighter, his thrusts growing more erratic, more desperate, each one fucking you further into the mattress, fucking deeper into your already overstimulated cunt. his big, rough hands, callused from years on the bike, would wander over your body, leaving eventual bruises and marks in their wake, reminding you of your place, of his dominance.
"fuck, baby," he'd groan, the desperation in his voice eminent. "'m gonna fill you up, gonna pump you full of my cum. you want that, hm? want me to cum in your pretty cunt, baby?"
you'd nod, barely coherent, lost in the haze of pleasure and degradation, along with the comedown of your high. "yes, benny, please. need it, need you s’ bad."
his grip would tighten impossibly more, breath hot against your neck as he thrust deeper, harder, faster, driving himself to the brink.
"take it all, baby. so good for me, gonna mark you as mine."
with a final, guttural growl, benny would bury himself to the hilt, body shuddering as he came, flooding you with his release. the feeling of him pulsing inside you would trigger another wave of pleasure, leaving you trembling and spent beneath him.
benny would never let you go immediately.
he'd stay buried deep inside you, breathing heavy, his hands still possessive on your skin. he'd savor the moment, the way your body molded to his, the way you fit him perfectly.
"good girl," he'd murmur, his voice softer now. "you did so good for me. you’re perfect baby,” he’d punctuate his sentence with a soft kiss to your lips, before pulling out, exuding another moan from you.
he’d smirk, rolling over to the bedside table, already reaching for another cigarette.
benny is back home n'he's missed you so much he may just have to fuck you over it!!!
warnings!!!!
benny is toxic! unprotected sex! benny is toxic! i didn't proof read it!!!! so there are probably so many mistakes!!!! n' this is LONG, so read at your own risk <3
despite its stillness, there is something deafening about the july air. there's nothing more to hear than night bird song as it falls over the slumbering city. gone are the rumbling engines on i-90 n'the chatter of women parading down the sidewalks. there are no babies gigglin', no ice cream trucks wailing, no sirens squwakin'. there's nothin' stirrin' in this humid night besides the rapid beat of your heart because, well, you shouldn't be here. you know that jus' as well as i do. you should be at home, sprawled beneath the ceiling fan, eyes closed, blissfully disconnected from the world, n'you're a good girl, so i'm sure that's what you would be doing had the shrill urgency of benny's call not woken you.
"hi baby," is what he breathed over the line, and despite the distance you could smell the jack daniels on his breath. "m'home." he had been home for a few days now. johnny had called you n'made you aware the second benny's wheels crossed the county line. and then you waited. and waited. and waited. and were your feelings hurt when benny didn't call? absolutely. by day three you were going insane. like mosquito-bitten legs, it was painfully hard to ignore the absence of his voice through the receiver. every purring engine had your head whipping 'round. every blonde head had your heart hammering, but it was never the right engine. never the right head. never benny. johnny'd tried to get you to come down to the clubhouse, but you didn't wanna look desperate (even though you were). it was just so hard to think about. all you could see in your mind's eye was benny splayed across a bar stool, lap empty, hand wrapped around a whiskey glass when it should've been around your throat.
"m'missin' you so much." you wouldn't have assumed he missed you much at all with how radio silent he'd been since leavin' over a month ago. your girls told you that if benny really cared he would make more of an effort - wouldn't run off whenever things other than his dick got hard - an' yeah, you knew this was likely true, but he was enigmatic and enticing and everything.
"wan' you to come see me."
you should've hung up the phone right then, but you didn't. and you definitely shouldn't've pulled a sleep shirt over your nightgown n'sneakers on your bare feet, but you did. now here you stand - peerin' up at benny's front door - tryin' to tell yourself it's all right. nothin' to be nervous over. but you were nervous, so you counted the steppin' stones - 14 - and then there he was.
he looked good, there was simply no denying it. when it was particularly hot, benny wore nothing beneath his colors n'tonight you could see his bare chest glistening with sweat from the glow of the porch light. moths and june bugs spun themselves dizzy 'round him, but he didn't flinch. his sights were set, smile wan and excited and focused on you.
"c'mere." benny's voice had a medicinal quality about it - you figured that out some time ago. his voice was a salve on sunburned skin. it was a cool mid-day rainstorm. it was enough to have your eyes flicking upward, your body moving forward, your mouth forming the shape of his name. "look at you," he practically purred. he seemed more coherent, which was great. you didn't like fuckin' benny when he was drunk - always fearin' it never meant the same as when he pressed himself into you sober. he held you at arms length, eyes traipsing the familiar paths his fingers and tongue had mapped repeatedly. "y'know, i could travel from here to fuckin' the ends of the universe n'never find a girl s'pretty as you."
"s'that what you're lookin' for when you leave?" the words escape your mouth before your brain can register the impact they will have, but benny doesn't seem all that deterred. he just shakes his head; half-hearted guilt tugging at the corner of his mouth as he lets ya go n'invites you inside. benny would never apologize for leavin'. that just wasn't his forte, but he'd make up for it. he always did.
the interior of benny's place is nicer than you'd expect n'it's all because johnny outright fuckin' refused to step foot in the place when benny'd first moved in. it was terrible, but now the trailer actually looks decent. s'not much: a small livin' space with a couch, a tiny kitchen, an even smaller bathroom, and a bedroom big enough for a few pieces of furniture, but it smells like benny: like motor oil and sandalwood and smoke and body wash and you wish they sold the scent in department stores because you'd buy up every bottle. it's the aroma you miss terribly when he runs. it's the scent you wish lasted just a bit longer on your bedsheets. it's now overwhelming as benny plods over, stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray. hands unoccupied, he has nothing better to do with them than wrap 'em 'round your waist, tuggin' you into his slick embrace. his chin fits so nicely atop your head n'he's always told you that you were meant to be. "fuck soulmates. i think god s'got a big ass puzzle n'he just, tears it up. throws the pieces here n'there. but me'n'you, baby? we're always gonna fit together. m'always gonna find you." he wouldn't need to find you if he didn't run but when you're pressed so snugly together like you are now - well - he could say anything and you'd agree.
"look at me, darlin'. wanna see those eyes again. missed 'em so much." n'when you do look at him, you wish you hadn't. he looks better (somehow) than the last time you saw him: skin so clear, eyes so bright, smile taken from a fuckin' toothpaste commercial. it's unfair how good god made such a bad boy look. "there's my girl." and damn if his voice doesn't sound even better.
a half-hearted hum rolls from the back of your throat. you want nothing more than to be his girl, but he'd never really allow that. never really allow you to get close enough and the hurt must register on your face because benny's takin' your cheeks between his palms, eyebrows furrowing.
"what's goin' on, baby?"
baby. the word sounds so good rolling off his tongue. you wanna be his baby more than anything, but you say "nothin'" cuz that's all this will ever be.
"doesn't seem like nothin'. tell me." you think about it. could you, rather, should you tell him? the words are there, right there. right on the tip of your tongue; i miss you. i've missed you. i so badly wanted to see you. i want to be more than the girl you call when you want to fuck. the words are so hot you want to spit them out, but you can't say those things n'likely will never be able to. the words are toxic. poison. those words would assassinate this arrangement n'as much as it hurts, you know deep down you'd rather have pieces of benny than none at all so instead of speaking you rise on your tip toes and press your lips against his.
kissing benny is something you could never tire of. it's the delicate bite of his perfect teeth on your pillowy lip that has you opening your mouth - inviting him in - begging him to take. it's the taste of mint and cigarettes and liquor that lingers on your tongue that makes you long for more. but benny pulls away first - always does - n'that's when you notice the wrinkle in his brow is gone because he is no longer concerned about what's racketing around your brain. no. he's had a sample, and now he wants the whole thing.
"c'mere." it's an impossible command. you're already so close - any closer and you would - benny dips slightly, circling your thighs with his arms, pushin' you atop the high-backed couch where you wobble and clutch onto him which makes him smile but then everything changes because "want another kiss. missed that mouth so much." and you collide in a spit-soaked show of affection sure to bruise the flesh now scraping so deliciously against his beard.
this decent is familiar to benny. he knows where to touch you. knows how to caress your skin as he peels the shirt from your flushed torso and pushes the thin straps of your nightgown down. you're soft. he's always loved that about you. your voice. your hair. your skin. so supple. and there are times benny's gotta stop himself. he's gotta repress that primal urge to take, to claim, to mark but it's hard so hard because you are so soft. his agile fingers float down your neck, relishing in the plume of perfume that billows out as your body contorts closer and closer and closer. you're so responsive: gasping in the right places, arching into his hands so perfectly. your dainty inhales fuel him. he wants to do more. wants to hear more.
"you're gonna let me fuck you right here, aren't ya?" benny asks, pulling back to gauge your reaction. "missed me so much you're gonna let me fuck you on this couch, eh?"
"you're the one who called me." you say, smile wide and knowing as you feel benny's cock twitch. his eyes turn molten lapis. he had called you. he had missed you. but he wouldn't say it. couldn't.
"awfully mouthy," he clucks, pressing his mouth into yours for another taste. "why don't y'use it for somethin' else?"
before you, benny'd never been a fan of oral sex. i mean, he'd come around to enjoyin' it thanks to johnny but, it wasn't high on his list 'til you started suckin' him off any and every chance you got. for a mouth belonging to such a precious gal, he never would have expected the sinful things you could make him feel. n'now, knelt before him, he can barely fight the urge to shove his dick in your mouth.
"s'pretty. always so pretty." you hum. you got him out of his jeans in record time and thank god because it's probably a million degrees in the goddamn trailer. now he's free; cock out, dripping precum and he can see the pride puffin' up your chest. no other girl could get 'em like this - could rile him up 'til his cock was thick and heavy and veiny and hot to the touch - no one but you n'at the first whisper of your fingers, his head rolls back. his precum is good lubrication, but you need more. could always use more, so up you come, crossing your cute little feet under your bum, and then - fuck - you lean forward and spit on his heated skin. yeah, benny thinks he may cum from that alone.
"touch me, doll. c'mon."
"shh," your fingers form a loose circle 'round the base of his cock. "i've got you."
"jesus christ," its the feel of your lips on his thighs and your fingers on his dick that makes him squeeze his eyes shut. he's got one fist balled at his side, the other tucks its way into your hair because he's gotta do something. anything.
"y've still got your christmas tree up, so, y'know, could be insensitive what with the holidays n'all. chirstimas in july." and despite the fact that you've got his pulsing length so wet and hard in your hand - benny fucking laughs.
"you're so -" but whatever adjective he had planned to use flies from his mind the moment your mouth covers him. all he can think about now is not cumming. you don't need to know that he hasn't fucked another woman since the last time he was balls deep in you. you don't need to know that he hasn't jerked off in god knows how long in preparation for this night. the only thing that you need to know is that he fuckin' loves this. he just lets you work. just relishes in the feeling of having you there. of having your mouth on him. it's so heavenly. cavernous yet tight. wet and warm and "fuck - oh fuck - stop."
and you do with no hesitation. you pull away so quickly that strands of saliva trickle down onto your tits. okay. maybe not jerking off wasn't the best idea, benny determines.
"did i do something wrong?" your voice is husky, eyes wide and slightly frightened and benny thinks he may love you.
"no." he shakes his head, grabs your arms, pulls you up. "no. fuck - i wanna fuck you." he brushes his palm across your cheek, wiping the spit and precum away. "want to fuck you right here. on the couch. c'mon," he maneuvers you around, makin' it to where his bare ass is on the couch and you're hoverin' above him, smiling so cutely at him he's sure he's gonna explode. you're so fucking cute that it nearly suffocates him.
"gimmie another kiss." he breathes, cupping your cheek once more. your lips meet in a cacophony of sighs. relief slackens your shoulders and now anticipation builds because you know what's coming.
"benny,"
"mm?"
"unless you have rubbers tucked in the cushions," you have to fight through his kisses. "you can't fuck me here."
the words marinate. the ceiling fan bats them around like a cat does to yarn and then benny finally responds.
"let me fuck you raw."
there are a hundred good reasons why it's a horrible idea, but you can't conjure a single fucking one as your head bobs in agreement.
"yeah?" perhaps christmas miracles are still valid in july because holy shit. "yeah?"
"please."
"come 'ere then."
you're obedient. benny loves that about you. seconds later you're spreading your legs, shimmering with sweat as you fight to maintain your balance n'you look so hungry - so eager to please - so pretty n'he can feel your wetness seeping onto his bare thigh as you pepper tender kisses along his chest. you want this. you want it just as badly as he does. he can tell. those preening noises comin' from the back of your throat and the bite of your nails into his shoulder are the only things grounding him to this moment. he feels so light - like he could fuckin' float if you weren't sat atop him - but there is work to do. a certain set of things that need to be done before he can spear you on his cock.
"gonna stretch you open first," he tells you, pushing your hip back but you don't budge. your head shakes, lower lip juts out. no.
"i wanna feel it." you say, voice almost a whine. you're tired of waiting. tired of playing this game so you propel yourself onto your feet, nearly toppling as the cushion gives under your weight, but you've got this. you sweet capable being. "wanna feel you now." your right hand circles his cock. "just want you to be in me benny. jus' you." it's a confession spoken like gospel. n'with your help, his gushing head probes your wetness and benny's thoughts spiral recklessly. "ready?"
it's cute. the way you ask him. the way your pretty little head cocks to the side. it's even cuter the way your pussy so greedily takes his cock once benny gives you an answer. yes. a singular nod. then everything is hot. he's too close to the sun, but the burn is delicious.
every bump. every vein. every groove on his cock awakens something within you. your eyes are closed so tightly - you may rupture a vessel - but you don't care. you're full. so full n'he's only halfway in. it's never felt like this before. you're in uncharted territory so the first roll of your hips is exploratory. the second is more confident. the third is a plunge and benny is drowning.
"god. fuck." words to form coherent sentences have long since vanished from benny's vocabulary. and you? usually so deft with language, you're somewhat embarrassed at the foolishness of your grunts, but benny loves it. he watches you move from squinted eyes. you're fascinating; body shifting with ease up and down up and down up and down. the muscles in your stomach tighten and wan as his cock disappears deep in your cunt only to reappear seconds later dripping and glistening with remnants of your wet. it's hypnotic n'benny thinks you're magic and sweet and good but dirty - oh so dirty. his balls and heart squeeze simultaneously n'it only gets worse when you toss your arms around his neck. benny can feel your cool breath on his throat - it adheres to the damp indications you lips left behind - and your tits, god your tits press against the material of his colors and rub and rub and rub. it's intimate. it's too much. too long like this and benny knows he'll be spillin' his secrets and his seed and that's not how he wants this to go, not yet anyway.
the change in position catches you by surprise, he can see it on your face. those puffy lips part in confusion, but he silences your questions with a shattering kiss. your teeth gnash and spit slips down your chin as he bites your inhibitions away. he's got you beneath him now. missionary. his favorite because he just likes lookin' at you. likes being close, so close. he's in his element; forehead pressed against yours, mouth open, grunting obscenities as he pushes harder and harder and harder into your sobbing pussy. you're slowly disintegrating. the way your ankles lock around his spine perfectly aligns your clit with his pelvic bone and my god nothing has ever felt quite so good.
"benny," your voice is a dark whisper that grows brighter brighter brighter as he thrusts into oblivion. you want more. want it harder. and benny is happy to oblige. the sound of his nuts slapping against your soaked center reminds him of a fuckin' metronome. your pitiful little moans could put pornstars to shame.
"you're so fuckin' tight." and it's true. he's said it to other girls before out of courtesy, but he means it with you. "when i cum you're gonna take every drop, mm?" benny's ability to say such delivish things so close to your face drives you insane. it's as though he's tellin' you what the weather is gonna be tomorrow, or sayin' his favorite color. "s'my favorite pussy to fuck. no one feels like you." he should stop, but he can't. it's too good. you're so good. "only girl i wanna fill. only girl i wanna give my cum to."
if pride were a flower you'd be a fuckin' garden. confidence flourishes like ivy as he keeps. going. it's in this moment you know it's worth it. the hours waiting for him. the lonely nights. it's all worth it. benny is worth it.
"are y'gonna cum in me?" at the sound of your voice, benny's forehead crashes down on yours. his eyelashes are so long they kiss the tops of his round cheeks.
"fuck - yeah."
"yeah?" you angle your pelvis, gasping at the new sensation. n'benny knows what to do. knows how to send you over. snaking a hand down, his index finger rubs circles around your clit, dipping down, pullin' your shared juices up. you're not gonna last much longer n'as much as he wishes he could keep you here forever but fuck his fucking nuts are so tight. he's so close.
"fuck - baby. shit."
"do it deep. wanna have you leakin' out of me days. want somethin' to remember you by." you've never spoken like this before - his sweet darling - where did this mouth come from? one hand squeezes your jaw. something to remember him by? he'll give you something. he pushes your head to the side, latching his teeth into the side of your neck. the rough yet delicate suck and soothing stroke of his tongue add another element to the amalgamation of pleasure, and now you feel like you're drowning.
"m'gonna cum."
"cum in me."
"fuck im gonna cum in you."
he couldn't pull out even if he wanted to. there's no willpower strong enough to allow him to extract his cock from your pussy. he's sure of it.
"need you to cum with me." his index finger circles around and around and around. "gotta cum when i tell you. yeah? gonna be a good girl n'listen to daddy?" your toes fuckin' curl, digging into the cushion. "use your words." he doesn't know - doesn't care - that your words have magically turned into alphabet soup; there are letters and sounds but no coherence, but it's no excuse. benny, devilishly, begins to slow. "use. your. words." each syllable is punctuated with a sharp thrust n'the head of his cock is wedging so deliciously against your spongy center that you nearly cum, but you don't. you're good. so good.
"m'gonna listen." you wail. "gonna be good." your reward is a kiss and the continuation of benny's deliriously fast pace.
"knew you would." it becomes hard to speak with you squeezing round him like that. his pleasure is melting into an unidentifiable mass. he knows nothing of isolation. his body no longer belongs to him. he can't tell where you start and he ends but he knows where you will finish. "gonna need you to cum, pretty baby." he's unable to do much more than whisper. "ready?" you nod. "ready?"
"please."
"now."
you couldn't hold back even if you tried. the first spurt of benny's cum is so warm you make a surprised little gasp. he's so deep, pumping his load so deep that the lower part of your abdomen has stretched in accommodation. your bodies flounder together; fingers pressing, lips melting, legs tangling. benny thrusts once, twice, three times more before he's spent. his body begins to still - his weight slowly pressing upon you before collapsing. your thundering heart could lull him to sleep if he'd allow it, but he can't allow it because unlike with other women; the lustful haze refuses to dissipate. post-nut clarity doesn't exist when the woman you fucked looks and feels the way you do and it scares benny so much that he collects you in his arms n'moves you off of him.
"i'll bring you somethin' to wipe off with." he doesn't look at you as he rises. instead he chooses to focus on how his legs don't feel like his legs. how the hot water won't warm up n'he can't give you a cold rag. his disappointment grows when he returns to find you already shrugging back into your nightgown. the pair of you tend to yourselves. you wipe benny's cum off your thighs and toss the rag into the dirty clothes pile on the floor. you try not to linger. you know it only makes things harder, but benny's gazin' at you with those eyes. he's fixin' your necklace and opening the door for you.
"gimmie a hug?" his bravado is gone. his voice is quiet, his arms are welcoming. you fool yourself into thinking he's gonna miss you too. you've got his cum dripping down your leg and he's got your heart in his hands but nothing has changed. things would never change. n'you wanna stay here - wanna stay with him for eternity - but if history repeats itself you will only have another minute in his embrace. he who holds your pieces together is the one responsible for their fractured state n'maybe you're a masochist. maybe you're in love with the wrong person. maybe none of it is supposed to make sense anyway.
when you part, you want to cry. benny kisses you. it's soft, a delicate kiss you wanna bottle and keep forever next to his scent. you worry that one day you will unknowingly have a last kiss with benny, but for now you allow yourself this moment. he won't promise to call n'you won't say goodbye. you'll just slip out into the night - probably call johnny usin' the payphone down the street and spend the rest of the night sobbin' into his neck.
but it's worth it. somehow even after it all, benny cross is still worth it.
