summary: you and logan make a little bet. who can last longer without sex? as much as he wants to deny it, he's starting to think the answer might be you.
cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, brief daddy kink (one mention)
a/n: a commission for my sweet @sleepyluxe who i love so very much <33 this fic takes place after the events of dofp when things are fixed.
Seven days. One week. A quarter of a month. That's how long it had been since Logan and you had fucked.
It was brutal. Some may say he's being dramatic, but that's because they've never had the luxury of you. They couldn't understand losing a paradise they've never experienced. The past several days he's felt like a man wandering through a barren desert, the oasis in sight but never close enough to drink from. Absolute torture.
Unfortunately, this situation came about because he couldn't keep his mouth shut.
You'd been getting some work done late last Sunday evening. Just a few plans for the upcoming school week. Your fingers punched away at your computer while Logan lay on the bed twirling a stray cigar between his fingers.
"How many more pages you got?" he asked, boosting his head up to glance at you.
At the sound of his voice, you spun your chair around to face him. "Not that many. Just finalizing a few details for the field trip they're taking the kids on next weekend," you said.
"You're not even going. Why're they making you do that?"
The fat stick of tobacco continued to glide between his digits. One of your legs crossed over the other as you watched him.
"I'm not going because I offered to do all the planning," you reminded him.Â
Your eyes stayed on the tantalizing movements of his fingers.
"You know you can't smoke in here, so don't even think about it," you said.
He rolled his eyes and puffed air through his pursed lips as if that was an outrageous warning. Sitting up, he put the cigar back in the drawer on his side of the bed. He rose to his feet and began to cross the room in your direction.
"Maybe you should give me something else to do with my mouth then," he teased, his voice lowering to the octave that reverberated with want for you.
Then it was your turn to roll your eyes. You turned your chair back toward the desk and continued grazing your fingertips over the raised letters.
It didn't deter him though. He kept on in your direction, stopping only when he was directly behind the backing of your seat.
His hands landed on your shoulders, fingers massaging the tight muscles fanning out from your neck. He leaned forward so his head hovered beside yours. You could hear each breath he took. The smell of that cigar lingered around his form even if he hadn't lit up tonight.
"C'mon, babydoll. You've been working so hard. A little break won't hurt you," he murmured, lips pressing against your cheekbone.
"I have to have these done by tomorrow morning. Just give me a few minutes, and then I'll be done for the night and completely focused on you," you'd rebuffed him gently.
But that didn't satisfy Logan. When he wanted you, he got you. He proceeded with his tender touches and luring pecks. You remained focused on your work though. He figured he should vary his approach.
"Just let me make you feel good then, honey. Give you some extra motivation," he whispered. His dedicated hands drifted to your waist, squeezing in a way that teased the idea of lifting you up and putting you on his lap. As good as it would've felt to be full of him, you knew you had to get this done.
"You're so bad," you said with a smile, head falling back a little as his mouth moved to your neck, "You act like you haven't gotten any in decades."
"Is that your way of telling me you're getting tired of me?" he teased.
"No. I'm just saying you're insatiable. It's getting to the point where I don't think you could live without me," you responded with a tone matching his in arrogance.
His eyebrow raised, and he pulled back a little to laugh. "That so?"
"Mhm," you nodded. Your sweet eyes stared him down, begging him to disagree.
Looking back, he wishes he could travel through time again to slap any further words out of his mouth. He should've just agreed! Should've told you that you were absolutely right. That he can't live without you, can't survive this life if he doesn't get to slip inside of you at the end of each day. He should've waited the fifteen minutes it would've taken you to finish your paperwork and then gotten laid.
But he didn't do any of that. He had to keep going and dig himself into a deeper hole.
"Don't act so innocent, princess. You're just as bad as me," he'd said.
"No way," you'd huffed, smirking with amusement, "I want you a totally normal amount. You want me like every second of the day. If you could, I don't think you'd ever let me do anything. You'd probably keep me chained to the bed, yours for the taking at all times of the day.
"Like you wouldn't love that. I'm not the one pawing at you every morning, whining about how bad I need it," he taunted.
"Oh shut up, that's happened like a couple times. Every day you're right in my ear, feeling me up. You practically drag me away from what I'm doing when you wanna fuck," you fired back, "I am nowhere near as bad as you."
And then he'd spoken the three cursed words that launched him into this predicament.
"You wanna bet?"
You laughed more at that and nodded again. "Sure. Because I know I'll win."
And that unofficial vow of celibacy was why the two of you had been dancing around each other for the past week. He was starting to feel like that old love song counting the amount of time it'd been since he had you beneath him last. Fifteen hours and seven days or however it went.
You didn't make this trying time any easier for him either. That night he went to sleep with blue balls. The next morning, he woke up to you getting ready. You weren't dressed in your usual style of clothing though. Instead, you had on a dress, Logan's favorite dress of yours. You'd styled your hair real pretty too, letting it compliment your features in the best way.
As his heavy lids blinked open to consciousness, he watched you fasten a shimmering necklace over your collarbone. It sat just above the neckline of the chiffon fabric that adorned your bust.
You caught his waking eyes with your own in the reflective glass, turning to look at him with a bright smile.Â
Despite his bleary vision, he could hear the light steps of you prancing over to him. The mattress dipped with your weight as you sat down and leaned in to kiss his forehead. Your fingers slid through his dark hair just the way he likes, with your nails scratching his scalp a little. Worst of all, that close, the scent of your perfume became all consuming. It hit him harder than normal. He wasn't sure if he should blame you or himself for predicting the trials of the coming days.
He hummed in acknowledgement of your presence and nuzzled into your palm.
"Hey, sleepyhead," you cooed, your voice extra soft and sweet. It was too caring to be seductive, but of course, that's where his mind went anyways.
"Hey, baby," he'd mumbled.
"I gotta go drop off that paperwork, but I'll see you later. I love you," you whispered in return before laying one more column of kisses from the tip of his nose back to his forehead.
Then you'd left, leaving him half-hard and yearning for you. A pattern that would plague him over the next week.
Each day it was some new form of torture. The day after that, you'd worked extra hard in the danger room, coming back to him at night covered in a light sheen of sweat. Your heady natural scent filled the bedroom in moments.
The following afternoon, you wanted to cuddle when you both had some free time. The fact that you draped your leg over his torso, slotting your clothed cunt right against his hip, inches away from his cock, was pure accident of course.
Over the last few days, your games have become less specific. You peppered your speech with innuendo. Looked at him with your fuck-me eyes and spoke in the tone you always used seconds before he ended up bending you over the nearest surface.
He tried to fight back, he really did. He stopped wearing a shirt in your shared room. Every time he talked to you, he made sure to rub your ass or stroke your cheek. He was so desperate he stooped to embarrassing levels of lovey-dovey when the two of you were alone. But no matter what he tried, it seemed like you'd been right. Of your pair, you had the superior restraint.
With each passing hour, his frustration grew.
Today, it reaches its zenith.
The mansion is empty because it's Sunday. All the students and other teachers are out on the trip to the observatory today. You and Logan are the only remaining residents in the school. He ended up not having to tag along with the rest of the group after volunteering to fix the sprinklers bordering the school's patio. Babysitting kids had never been his forte even with all the practice he gets at it now. Simple handiwork he could do no problem.
The two of you take the morning to sleep in. This was a rare occasion where no early meetings or classes occupied your schedules. You stay tangled up together well past sunrise.
Logan is the first to leave the warmth and comfort of your embrace. He pulls himself from the nest of pillows and blankets, stretching his limbs out as he does. He rubs the tiredness from his features before rising and heading to the wardrobe to pull on some clothes.
In addition to his normal black t-shirt and jeans, he grabs the tool belt on his way out to the lawn. He slings it around his hips before walking through the back door. Heading past the basketball court and rows of hedges, he finds the line of leaking sprinklers besides them. It would probably take him a while given that he had to first identify the source of the problem and then recalibrate all of them with the adjustment.
He sighs but gets to work. At least he'd have a distraction from the desires haunting him.
Crouching in the dewy grass next to the little faucets, he begins examining the hard plastic shells. To his surprise, scanning for breaks does attach his mind to the task and give him a brief reprieve. It's quiet outside. Besides a small chirp from a distant bird or a grunt out of him, no other sounds echo over the open space. The sun shines in the sky, but it's not beating down on him. The air tickles his skin with warmth but not to the point of being miserably humid.
All the conditions meet in the perfect middle to keep him calm. It's the most peace he's had since he agreed to this bet between the two of you.
But all that tranquility is shattered about a half hour later when he hears the patter of footsteps against the stone pathway. From around the tall thicket of green foliage, comes you. Your face breaks out into a smile the second you burst into his vision. He would look the same if not for what you'd decided to wear.
You trot over to him across the grass in a pair of tiny black shorts with lacy frills on the hems. They sway with each of your movements, highlighting the shape of your legs. A gray camisole graces your upper half; a delicate white bow sits at the center of the collar, dead center between your breasts. The fit of the garment displays the contour of your chest just right. He feels like he's gonna start drooling before you make it near.
Despite his reaction, the outfit wasn't that provocative. It wasn't like you'd strutted out in lingerie. But he was so pent up that a flash of your ankle in the proper lighting could probably get him hard.
Bounding up to him, you wrap his body in a tight hug. Every curve of your form presses up against him.
"Look at you, working so hard," you praise playfully with a kiss to his cheek.
He laughs it off, returning the hug in an attempt to be normal, so you wouldn't see how vulnerable he was right now, how this was the perfect opportunity to strike. He couldn't let you know that in this moment, he could easily become the prey.
"Were you missing me already?" he asks, rubbing his free hand up and down your spine.
"Mhm. Woke up and you were gone," you reply. You nuzzle the crook of his neck, planting a few electric kisses on his skin.
"I didn't wanna wake you. You're pretty cute when you're sleeping," he mutters.
"Well now I'm gonna be cute out here with you," you say and pull back. You peck his lips one more time before plopping down in the grass behind him.
He glances back at you to see what that means. All you're doing is sitting there. Your legs extend out in front of you, straightened for his eyes to rake over. You lean back with your palms against the moist greenery below you.
"You don't got anything better to do with your day off?" he asks.
That earns him a small pout. "If you want me to leave, I will. I just wanna spend time with you."
He can tell by your tone that your intentions aren't so innocent. You're leading him into allowing your presence. But denying his girlfriend has never been one of the wolverine's strengths so of course, he acquiesces.
"Relax. I'm not telling you to go anywhere," he says as he turns back to his work, "I just don't think this will be that interesting to you."
"Watching you do anything is interesting to me," you joke back.
He rolls his eyes and gets back to work.
At first, things are smooth as before. He continues messing with the small, bendy pipes. You're quiet behind him. Almost too quiet, but he lets it go for now since he thinks he's found the source of the malfunction.
It doesn't take long to patch up. The more difficult part is going to each individual head and fixing the tightness. His fingers twist the little knobs to the correct settings. He then turns to you when he's finally done.
The sight of you feels like a gust of fresh air filling his lungs. You're laid out where you were before, but you've reclined across the ground. One of your arms is sprawled outwards, soaking up the sunlight while the other lazily covers your eyes. Your shadow outlines your figure against the emerald blades below you.
You look luscious and ripe, like a precious fruit ready to be picked and devoured. In any other circumstance, that's exactly what he'd do. He'd spread you out further for him and take you apart piece by piece. He wanted your nectar running down his chin with each savoring lap of his tongue. He craved the feeling of your heat wrapped around him, your walls massaging his shaft during every punishing thrust.
Imagining it now only gets the blood pumping down South to his hardening length.
He runs a hand over his hair and sighs. Why didn't he do that now? What was the point of this stupid fucking contest? It's not like there was anything on the line. The only stake was his pride, which to be honest, he'd already compromised for you multiple times over the course of your relationship.
Unbuckling the leather from his waist, he discards the tool belt. Next he peels his shirt from his body and tosses it to the side.
He makes his way to you on the grass. He drops to his knees and leans forward. His muscular frame cages you in against the ground. Starting at your navel, he drags his nose up your body. He coasts over the valley between your breasts and past your collar bone. His soft exhales breeze across your throat before he finally reaches your cheek. With a gentle pull, he clears your arm from your face.
Your eyes flutter to adjust to the sunlight beaming down on them again. They take in the vision of him so close to you and the way he gazes down with adoration.
"Hey, pretty girl," he says, his voice much softer than it'd been before, "You falling asleep on me?"
His thumb rubs over your jawline while the other strokes the crown of your head. A smile blooms across your lips. You can't help it with how he's behaving.
"No... well, maybe a little. I think you were right. Sprinklers are pretty boring," you say.
He grins and leans in to kiss your lips. With the exchange he hopes to communicate everything he doesn't want to say. I give up. You win.
You reach up and cup his scruffy cheeks. Your tongue swipes against his lips, sensing his longing for intimacy. He allows you in, and you deepen the connection. A long breath oozes from your nostrils.
He presses you down against the ground further as your hands slide over the little white streaks in his hair. Your fingers embed themselves in his locks. You feel his hands sliding down your body. They stop at your hips and give the plush flesh a squeeze.
It's obvious what he wants, but in case there was any doubt, his digits then hook around the top of your shorts and give them a tug.
A giggle bubbles up out of you against his mouth. You pull back to look at him with smug eyes.
"Is that your way of admitting I was right?" you ask.
He grumbles and ducks his head down to start kissing your neck. "Don't get cocky or I'll change my mind."
That makes you laugh more. You yank on his hair and pull him back up to look at you.Â
"No you won't," you tease and brush your noses together. Looking into his eyes again, you can see how bad he wants this. "Just say it."
"Say what?"
"Say you're giving in. And that I win. And that you can't live without me."
He gives you a blank stare. Silently, he contemplates if there's any way around this. He wonders if there's a way he can avoid utter humiliation.
"C'mon, baby. Throw an old dog a bone," he grumbles.
Giggling, you shake your head. "Nuh uh. I wanna hear you say it."
He sighs and rolls over, pulling you on top of him. You straddle his hips with learned ease. Your smile glows from this angle. The sunlight above cascades over your frame and only further accentuates your body in your tight clothes. He rubs his hands up and down your sides. His dick is already at half-mast under the denim that covers his lower body. Your heat rests right on top of it, teasing him through the barriers of cloth. It dangles what he could have if he gives you what you want right before him.
The words that challenged you and created this trap for himself came out so easy. Why couldn't these be the same?
To coax him along, you grind down the slightest bit. The pressure's so light and gentle, a mere graze of your mound on the outline of his growing bulge. He hisses at the feeling.
"Just admit it," you say, planting your palms on his chest, "Just say I was right and you were wrong."
He watches you above him, knowing you're not going to drop this. If he wanted this self-invoked dry spell to end, he'd have to make it happen.
You roll your hips down with more force, impatient to hear him comply with your request. A small whimper leaks out of you. He can tell from that sound alone that you're getting worked up. That arousal is beginning to collect between your thighs.
The thought of it makes his need for you almost biological. His hands clamp around your waist and press you down harder. He rocks his up a little to meet your own movements.
"I need you so bad, princess," he sighs, his eyes shutting as he takes in the dull pleasure of you on top of him.
"Then you can say what I told you," you tease.
"What was it again?" he asks as he continues dragging your covered pussy back and forth along his now fully hard shaft.
"Say you're giving in. That I win. And that you can't live without me," you remind him, visibly proud of your victory.
With a sigh, he repeats, "I'm giving in. You win. I can't live without you."
You smile and laugh as if it was the best thing you'd ever heard. Your head falls back with glee before coming up so you can see his face again.
"Actually, can you say that again? I'm gonna grab my phone. That way I can film it this time. I just wanna have a record-" you continue to tease, but you're cut off by your own squeal when he grabs you and flips you back over onto your back. He keeps you quiet by smashing his lips against yours as your back thuds against the grass.
This kiss burns hotter than the last one. His mouth moves with bruising passion as he pulls your shorts down your legs for real. You help him by kicking them loose. His hands roam around over your smooth skin.
He glances down and finds what he thought he felt. No panties.
Eyes flitting back up to you, he shakes his head. "You were gonna give in anyways," he accuses.
"Yeah, but you gave in first," you giggle.
A small growl rumbles in his chest, but he still leans in to pull your tank top up. He brings it across your stomach, letting your breasts fall free as he bunches the material above them. He cups the plump flesh, taking a look at the beauty he holds in his palms. You watch him in the fleeting interval in which you're forced to separate.
"So... since I win, what do I get?" you continue to gloat.
"My dick inside you," he answers as his fingers yank his zipper open and shove down his pants in a similar fashion to your shorts.
"But I'm gonna get that anyways. I think I should get a real prize," you say, aiming to stoke the flames higher.
Your hips get hauled closer across the grass, so fast that you're in danger of having green smeared across your skin.
"I don't think you'll be complaining in a few minutes, ya little brat," he mumbles.
His fist pumps over his cock as he lines it up between your legs. The leaky tip smears some precum over your folds before he slides inside. He groans as he sinks in, cherishing the feeling after the week of its absence.
You're quick to adjust to the stretch. With a sharp breath, your back arches off the grass. He had already snapped back and slammed in again. You knew he wouldn't be patient after being deprived of this. Watching him above you, your eyes study how his chest puffs in and out with harsh breaths. His strong arms extend down on either side of your head, his fists holding clumps of grass between them.Â
It's a gorgeous view, but you know it can't beat the feeling.
"Closer..." you whine and grab at his shoulders, pulling him down so he's right on you and smothering your body against the turf, "Missed you, old man."
"How many times have I told you to quit it with that?" he asks as his pelvis begins setting a rhythm.
"Enough to know that I'm never gonna," you say. It's the last thing you can get out before moans shatter your plans to speak.
His warm flesh pounds against yours over and over. Your body rocks with the bounce of him on top of you. It feels so good. The world feels bright again, like you'd transitioned from an existence of black and white to living in color. It was so open out here but also so empty. Like you and him were the only two people on earth.
Your voice tapers off. Words become second to whimpers of pleasure. His hands grope the swell of your ass before returning to your sides for steady leverage.
"We'll have to work on that then," he grunts, "If you're not gonna stop, I'll just have to make sure you can't speak at all."
You preen at the idea, clutching at his muscular shoulders and back. He pants right next to your ear. Each stroke drives deep into you, brushing a spot that had ached for him to touch it again.
"Never wanna go that long again," you babble around whines.
"Me neither, baby. Think you were right. Not being able to feel this pretty little pussy every day almost killed me," he says.
A rush of euphoria flows through you upon hearing that. Your moans become more breathy, more full of need for him. You grab one of his wrists and tug his hand off your hip, pushing it in between your legs.
He knows what you want. His fingers apply some pressure and rub at your swollen bundle of nerves. Immediately, he's rewarded with a whine out of you and a buck from your hips.
"Impatient," he huffs between a set of deep thrusts.
"I won," you retort, "I get to do what I want."
Even in the heat of the moment, he chuckles at your petulant tone. His hips keep rutting against you on the grass. He's sure his next task of yard-work will be covering the mysterious indents in the soil out here.
"I needa cum, Logan," you whine several seconds later, "So close."
"Yeah? You need it, sweetheart? Need to let it out after keeping it from me for so long?"
Your head bobs up and down in an enthusiastic nod. "Please, please, please."
"Well, it's like you said. You won. So I think you can finish when you're ready."
"Mmmm- o- ok..." you whimper out.
Your hips roll up and down to reciprocate the fast pace of his own. He's battering right up against that special spot inside you that makes your mind blank and your eyes gloss up.
With a handful of whimpers, you cum. Your face scrunches as your cunt tightens around him. His fingers keep up the same rhythm on your clit, swirling around the little bud through your pleasure high.
"That's my girl," he praises, "Let it all out for daddy."
Your body seizes up at that command. Every cell of your being somehow knows to obey. You stumble over words and let them leave your lips half formed.
He keeps driving into you as you're coming down, chasing his own release. You're well into the territory of overstimulation now, all parts of you fizzling like a lit sparkler. Your thighs quiver against his sides violently. They lock around his waist when you finally feel him slam in and drain himself.
A loud groan erupts from him. He makes no effort to restrain it given that only the two of you are here to hear it. He fucks it into you, ricocheting himself against your center a couple more times and letting every last drop pour into your dripping hole.
When he feels sated, at least for the moment, he reluctantly pulls out. He takes a couple deep breaths as he watches a bit of his cum ooze out of you. It didn't matter though. That wouldn't be the last load you took today.
His body topples over next to yours on the natural ground. You both lie there for a few moments catching your breath before you roll onto your side to look at him.
You just stare for a few moments. Your eyes roam along the shape of his face to the slope of his jaw and the curve of his chest. Leaning in, you kiss the space below his ear.
He responds to the touch by curling his arm around your waist and pulling you to his side.
His head turns to meet your loving gaze.
"I think we have some more time to make up for," he says.
You respond with an eager nod and hop up to your feet. Both of you pull on the basics of the clothes you'd been wearing before and rush back into the mansion, giggling as you stumble through the halls like a couple of lovesick teenagers.
The door to your room stays shut for the rest of the day. You spend the remaining hours you have enmeshed in each other; intertwined with him enough to recover from the lack you'd put yourself through.
Logan doesn't venture beyond the barrier of your shared sanctuary until the sun has gone down and darkness coats the halls of the mansion. He walks quietly, taking his steps carefully to ensure none of the wooden planks beneath him creak.
All he had to do was go downstairs and grab you some water. In and out. Five minutes. But as he rounds the turn into the room, Scott's already there, looking through the fridge. He freezes and stands there awkwardly in his black tank top and loose sweatpants.
Having heard the sounds of his footsteps, the other man glances over at him.Â
"There you are. Didn't see you around when I got back," he says simply.
Logan shrugs, trying to play it casual. He walks across the room toward the cupboard that holds the glasses. The other man's eyes follow him. He can feel that even through the scarlet shades on his face.
"Haven't seen your other half either," Scott continues.
Logan can tell from the tone of his voice where this is going.Â
"Don't call her that," he scoffs, forever downplaying his attachment to you, "She's tired. She's upstairs sleeping."
"On her day off? I wonder what would have her so drained," Scott replies. His tone is flat in contrast to the little smirk on his face.
"Don't start," Logan says. He goes to the fridge to fill your cup with water. The trickle of the fluid is the only sound in the room until Scott keeps going.
"I didn't say anything," he says, raising his hands in surrender, "Only that this is the best mood you've been in all week."
"A couple hours without you around does wonders for me," Logan grumbles, wishing the liquid would pour a little faster.
"I'm sure. A couple hours with no one else around. Just the two of you after you've both been stiff the whole week," he taunts, "It's ok to admit you're whipped."
Finally, the cup is full. Logan takes it and turns away, holding one finger up as he walks from the kitchen.
"See you tomorrow, Scott."
"Yeah. Tell her if she's feeling sore, she can skip the early meeting," he says with a little laugh.
áŽáŽÉȘÊÉȘÉŽÉą: best friendâs dad!Bucky x f!reader
ᎥáŽÊᎠáŽáŽáŽÉŽáŽ: 8.8k
ê±áŽáŽáŽáŽÊÊ: Ouch! Your boyfriend cheated on you! Whatâs there to do other than day drink and text stale Hinge dates? That is, until your best friendâs dad enters the picture (accidentally) and shows you how a real man should treat a lady.
ᎥáŽÊÉŽÉȘÉŽÉąê± / áŽáŽÉąê±: 18+, MDNI, smut, angst, alcohol use, bad decisions in general, kinda proofread and kinda not, porn with some plot, age gap (reader is mid-20s, Bucky is 40s) Rogers!reader (on accident), kinda dbf!Bucky too???, oral (f!receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it, folks), creampie, mating press, kinda belly bulge for just a second, brief choking, some overstimulation, slight praise kink, Bucky is a gentleman, and (of course) big dick!Bucky
ÉŽáŽÊÊáŽ'ê± ÉŽáŽáŽáŽê±: I have been lost to the void for two months and only recently felt the urge to let the muses take over me once again. Thanks to Sabrina for the MBF album because honestly Iâm obsessed and need to write a fic for every song but we all know that wonât happen. Enjoy whatever the fuck this is and I guess Iâm back?? Thanks to my wifey @laufeydottirs-writings for beta reading part of this because I am insecure in my writing abilities and crave validation - ily <3.
Divider credit to @/cursed-carmine & @/squirrelstone!
You honestly couldnât blame yourself for sending the text. After all, you were already buzzed off a few dirty martinis and it was only 10 A.M. What else were you supposed to do when Gossip Girl reruns no longer held your attention and your vibrator just wasnât doing it for you?
You had scrolled through the backed-up list of numbers in your phone, most not even named and countless stale conversations having died after a horrendous first date. You never actually expected to receive a text back from any of them - so, when your phone finally buzzed against the stained wood of the coffee table, a fistful of popcorn halfway to your mouth, you froze.
The fluffy, white kernels slowly fell back in the bowl as you set it aside and you leaned forward to grab your phone. Your hand was shaking, and your heart was pounding. Who in the hell was crazy enough to text you back?
Someone horny enough, you supposed.
You sighed, opening your texts and staring at the grey bubble longer than you needed to, the white letters slurring together from the excess of alcohol.
Everything okay?
You laughed - like, actually laughed aloud. The sound, sharp and sudden, echoed off your living room walls. Why the fuck did this man care if everything was okay? You were looking for a hookup, not therapy. You texted back, autocorrect doing the heavy lifting for you.
I just asked if you wanted to come over. Could use the company.
It marked âreadâ instantly and your heart stopped for just a second. And then he was typingâŠFor a long damn time. Finally, a little âwhooshâ came across as his response popped into the chat.
Why donât I, instead, take you to dinner while Becca is at volleyball practice?
You blinked. Your brain was running on booze and a crippling fear of meeting God. You had to reread it a few times. BeccaâŠBeccaâŠBeccaâŠWhat the hell did your best friend have to- Oh. Oh no. No, no, and hell no. You panicked, instantly sobering up at least halfway. Your fingers were quick to type.
Oh! Wrong number, sorry!
Okay. Deep breaths. Maybe that would work. Ping. Or not.
Whatâs going on, doll? You and Becca not friends anymore? She was just talking about you the other day and finalsâŠ
Oh god. Yeah. No way to âwrong numberâ this one. Okay, no problem. Just another deep fucking breathâŠPing.
I insist. Dinner. Iâll pick you up. You still live just off campus? Birch and 44th?
You let out the bundle of oxygen youâd been hoarding in your lungs. You had just wanted a good time and now your best friendâs dad was offering to take you out. On what? A date? How old was he again?
Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard so long your screen shut off. You looked at yourself in the dark reflection of the glass - hair messy, cheeks tear-stained, eyes puffy and dark. Fuck. Maybe you did just need to get out of the house for a little while.
You tapped your screen back awake.
Yeah, thatâs still the address. What time?
Your finger was shaking as you hit âsendâ.
He started to type.
Be ready by 6 P.M. Make yourself feel pretty :)
Your heart fluttered a little. Oh. He wanted you to make yourself look pretty. WellâŠAlright then! You had quite a lot of work to do so you switched off the TV and headed straight for your bedroom. It was time to put yourself first and have a hell of a time doing it.
6 P.M. rolls around. A steady knock on the door.
You were just securing your final diamond earring and slipping on your last heel. You felt veryâŠNice. Cocktail dress, stockings, heels, and the only diamond set you owned. Makeup and hair done to the nines with a spritz of your favorite perfume. As you grabbed your clutch, you couldnât help but wonder if it was a little too much.
You opened the door, eyes widening a little as Beccaâs father, Bucky, stood there just outside the doorway looking mighty damn fine. Gray slacks, white dress shirt unbuttoned in a casual yet polished manner. Gray sport jacket slung over his shoulder and that beautiful salt-and-pepper hair brushed back. Youâd never really given him much of a second thought before - I mean, how could you? He was your best friendâs dad, and you and Becca had been friends since senior year of high school.
But, you just couldnât help the way your eyes lingered on every part of him - his strong facial features, stunning blue eyes, and the way his stubble danced along his chiseled jaw. Then there was the way his dress shirt clung to his chest and arms in a way that should have been a sin - tight in all the right places to show off the work heâd always put into his body since his Army days. It felt a little aggressive to say, but you wanted to chew on this man.
âHi there, doll,â he said, voice sweet and low with something youâd never heard before. Something akin to the floral sweetness of honey dripping across cragged gravel.
You tried not to melt right then and there as he held out his hand to take yours. âAre you ready or do you need a minute?â He smiled and you felt your world tilt and your stomach churn. No one had the right to be that attractive. No one had the right to look this good and smile at you like that.
âO-Oh IâŠIâm ready,â you said, clearing your throat a little before giving him a polite smile and daintily placing your hand in his. His palm was practically twice the size of yours and you had to really put effort into not thinking about how good theyâd feel inside you right about nowâŠ
The thing about Bucky, which had always been the thing about Bucky, was that he was a proper gentleman through and through. You often thought about how Becca ended up with much better men than you did - and it was probably because she was raised by such an exemplary man to begin with. He was the ultimate blueprint.
He walked you to his car, never a pace ahead nor a hair behind until he took a few strides in front of you to open the passenger side door for you. Your dress was a little on the short side, so as you dipped into his car, he used his sport jacket to shield you from prying eyes - he even looked away himself. How chivalrous!
The ride to the restaurant, itself, was great. A little awkward considering how the situation had manifested, but he was skilled at moving the small-talk along and making you feel like the center of attention. You discussed the weather, finals, and after-college plans with the ease of someone whoâd done it a million times over with someone his age. It was the typical experience, just with far less lecturing and more mutual understanding than youâd come to expect.
Once you were pulled up to the valet, it wasnât the valet worker who opened your door for you. No, it was Bucky shielding you again with that damn sport coat until youâd adjusted yourself and grabbed your clutch off the seat. You wobbled a little in your heels against the uneven cobblestone ground and his hand left the car door to catch your waist.
Your breath hitched, his touch so gentle and warm. Your gaze immediately flitted up to his face where he smiled in amusement. âCareful there, doll. Groundâs got teeth,â he murmured, making sure you were steady before he closed the car door and then slipped his sport coat on before offering you his arm. Of course, you obliged.
He lead you to up the little stone pathway to the restaurant door - the inside was dimly lit but you found yourself met with opulence beyond anything youâd experienced before. Crystal chandeliers gleaming and twinkling against candlelight that buzzed from the white clothed tables. You swallowed thickly. This place was expensive and you werenât so sure you were worthy of it.
âTable for two, should be reserved under James Barnes,â you heard him say to the hostess at the stand.
âSays here youâd prefer the balcony view. Is that still correct?â the hostess inquired.
Your brows furrowed a little as you looked up at him. That soundedâŠPricey. Exclusive. âBuckyâŠâ you started to protest.
In the most polite way possible, he shushed you and spoke instead to the hostess. âYes, please. Should you have anything available.â He gave you a sideways glance, one that silently read as âshut up and watchâ. Watch what?
The hostess lead the two of you to a semi-private table on a balcony overlooking the city. It looked beautiful from this far away - so quiet and so peaceful. The air was crisp, but not at all too cold and the fireplace lit beside the table added a nice bit of coziness.
Bucky pulled your chair out and you took a seat after only a moment of hesitation. You werenât used to this kind of treatment and couldnât recall the last time a man ever gave this much of a shit about chivalry. He pushed you in close to the table and then seated himself politely across from you. That was just the thing wasnât it? He was so polite.
The hostess left you two the wine menu and the prix-fixe menu detailing the nightâs exclusive offerings before disappearing back inside the main restaurant. Outside, it was just you, Bucky, and one other couple seated several feet away. For the most part it wasâŠQuiet. Peaceful. All except for the incessant pounding of your heart.
You picked up the wine menu, still trembling. He cocked an eyebrow as he glanced up at you over the top of his menu. âWhy donât you order a bottle, sweetheart? Seems like your nerves could use it.â
Your eyes flicked up from the tiny booklet, cheeks turning scarlet. âIâm not nervous,â you defended.
âMmmâŠâ he hummed, blue eyes focusing back on the menu. He was reading it for far too long for something so short. It seemed maybe he was nervous too.
âMmm what?â you asked, setting the wine menu down and then mirroring his prior expression - cocked brow and a sharp gaze.
He didnât look back up at you as he answered. âYouâre awfully shaky. Itâs like youâve never had a real man take you on a proper date.â
You scoffed. âIâve been on plenty of proper dates.â
He chuckled. âDoll, Olive Garden doesnât count and neither does splitting the check.â
Your cheeks continued to bloom red. âIn my defense, Iâm a broke college student. We all are.â You bit your bottom lip as your eyes flicked down towards the prix-fixe menu.
Bucky finally set his own menu aside and leaned forward, his large, warm palms finding your forearms and resting there. You looked up. His gaze was almost too much and not enough in the same breath. âAnd thatâs why weâre here tonight,â he said, voice low again in that tone that sent heat pooling straight between your thighs. Shamefully.
âSo that I can show you how a real man treats a lady.â
You swallowed hard, eyes flicking down towards his hands and the only thing you could think of was how he could easily hold both your wrists above your head with no issue. Back pressed to the wall. His lips on yours. Fuck, where was your goddamn mind at?
He smirked. âDoll, whereâs your head at?â Like you were an open book and he was reading it faster than you could write it.
You about choked. You cleared your throat. âNothinâ justâŠYouâre right. Youâre right, Iâve never been on a proper date,â you mumbled, still avoiding contact with those beautiful blues that had you feeling like you were losing your mind - which, in your defense, you sort of were.
âYouâre staring,â you muttered, deciding it was time to say something. Anything.
He laughed. âPeople tell me Iâve got a problem with it,â he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. You could feel his gaze boring into you. It was like you could sense he was on the verge of saying something but wasnât sure if it was appropriate.
Hell, was any of this appropriate at all? Probably not. The age gap screamed very much not. But, part of you really wanted this. The older man. The experience. Someone who knew what the fuck they were doing.
âSo, why are you trying to hook up with your best friendâs father?â His voice cut through your thoughts - the dreaded question that youâd been waiting for him to ask.
You blinked. âIâm sorry?â You tried to play dumb.
He smirked again. A slight tug at the corner of his lips but it was there. âYou heard me, doll,â he said, voice dripping sinful honey that had your tongue feeling too big for your mouth and your thoughts racing beyond a speed you could comprehend.
âIâŠIâŠI didnâtâŠI didnât know it was you,â you choked out.
Buckyâs expression turned puzzled. âYou didnât know it was me?â He almost sounded offended. Well, at least the night had gone halfway perfect.
You sighed. âI was justâŠI was buzzed. Okay, maybe a little drunkâŠâ
âUh huhâŠâ
âAnd IâŠWellâŠI just texted a bunch of numbers hoping someone would answerâŠâ
He hummed, expression still puzzled like he wasnât quite sure what to make of your confession. His voice wasâŠConcerned, though. As he spoke again, âWhy are you drunk at ten in the damn morning and texting men who you donât even know who they are?â
And then it all came crumbling down and the only thing left to do was pray your mascara was going to hold on tight. âBradâŠIâŠI caught Brad cheating on me last weekâŠâ you said quietly, your eyes beginning to water. You fanned yourself with the menu, hoping you could hold it together and not seem like an absolute mess.
Buckyâs expression softened. All he could do was reach out across the table, palms up and inviting your own to meet his. Slowly, you set the menu down and placed your palms in his. Once again, his hands were twice the size of yours, practically swallowing them whole as he held them firm and gentle.
You sniffled, a tear falling down one cheek and then the other. Oh great. The waterworks. How lovely. ButâŠHe didnât seem to mind. In fact, he pulled one hand away, grabbed the linen napkin from across his lap, and brought it up to gently dab the tears away.
âDollâŠâ he started slowly, softly. âThat doesnât mean you go searching for answers at the bottom of a bottle and texting men who arenât any better for you than himâŠâ
As if on cue, the waitress brings back your bottle of wine in a bucket filled with ice. She places a glass on the table, thin and dainty and made for sparkling wines. She popped open the bottle and poured your first glass to a perfect height. âEnjoy. The first course will come out shortly,â she said, leaving Buckyâs scotch at the end of the table before whisking off again.
Once she was gone, you blinked. âButâŠBut youâre better than him.â
He laughed as he swirled the scotch around in the beveled crystal - amused. âOh, I know I am. But what if one of those other boys had responded, hmm? Where would you be at now?â
You sighed. Not at a fancy dinner, thatâs for sure. Probably getting drunk in your apartment and letting Jake from Hinge hit it from the back. And this was far better than that.
âThatâs what I thought,â he said, voice breaking through your loud, mess of a mind. âNow, let me show you how a real man should treat you, okay? I donât want to see you hurt like this, doll. Youâre too good for that.â
When it came time for dessert, a stunning display of comforting bananas foster, you two had decided to share the course. His spoon would clink against yours occasionally, a red flush covering your cheeks and your heart doing somersaults like a high school girl on a first date.
You hadnât even noticed, but some of the caramel sauce that had come atop the ice cream was dribbling down your chin after a misguided, wine-drunk bite. He was quick to the rescue before it soiled your ruby dress.
He carefully leaned across the table, napkin outstretched in his hand as he very gingerly wiped the caramel from the corner of your mouth with a gentle smile upon his lips. âCareful there. Wouldnât want you ruining that pretty little dress.â You felt like you could swoon, like your eyes would turn to hearts at any given second.
Bucky hovered there for a moment, over the table, hand outstretched and his face just close enough to smell the warm scotch and the sweet caramel on his breath. Your eyes flicked down to his lips and then back up to those piercing blue eyes that you swore would be the death of you.
You watched as his eyes mirrored yours now, flicking down once and then up almost too quick to catch. But then he was retreating, sitting back in his chair and quickly throwing up his hand as the waitress passed by. âCheck please, maâam?â
Bucky drove you home. He made sure to shield you again from prying eyes, although you caught it this time when he glanced down once to see the curve of your ass peek out from beneath your dress as you lowered yourself into his car.
He walked you up to the door, taking you by one hand and leading your waist with the other as you were very clearly drunk. Once you got to the door, you fumbled in your clutch for your keys, fingers trembling and causing you to drop them onto the welcome mat.
You moved to stoop down, but he stopped you with a chuckle. âSweetheart, if you bend down right now, Iâm not gettinâ ya back up off that concrete.â Yeah, he probably had a point there.
He bent down and grabbed the key - and, as he stood, his shoulder brushed against your arm and your breath hitched. Buckyâs eyes met yours, inches away from your face, and he took the key and pressed into your palm with a close-lipped smile. âCareful, doll.â
You felt like a deer caught in headlights for a good fifteen seconds, although those seconds felt like years. You blinked and then turned your attention back to the lock.
The world was spinning as you lined the key up and pushed it in, turning it over with a thump that nearly echoed the frantic pulse of your heart in your ears. You pushed the door open and he stuck one foot in to follow before you turned around, shocked.
He tilted his head. âRelax, sweetheart. Iâm just makinâ sure you make it past the threshold. Honest,â he said with a light chuckle.
And you let him. You let Bucky Barnes walk you to your couch and sit you down. You watched as he kneeled in front of you and very carefully guided your heels off your blistered feet - in your defense, you didnât wear heels often.
Bucky fluffed up one of your decorative pillows that had seen better days, and then gently helped you lay down. The ceiling was swirling around and around, and in the same breath it felt like your body was on a boat rocking back and forth. You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling ten seconds away from turning green.
The next thing you felt was the weight of his sport coat as he laid it across you, a makeshift blanket to ensure you didnât go cold - or, a cruel souvenir for you to remember him by. For you to stare at every day from now on and think about his face. The way he bit his lip if he stared you up and down for a moment too long. The way you could feel his lips linger, dying to leave a kiss on your cheek, but then retreating cowardly.
âI gotta leave, doll,â you hear him say through the fog. âNext time, call me.â
And the click of the door closing behind him was the very last thing you heard before you blacked out.
The grey morning light is what woke you, streaming in through the sliding glass door all cheery and bright as if you werenât currently crawling your way out of rock bottom. You groaned, the weight of his sport coat still on your body. The scent of him lingered there on the woven fabric. Sharp, woodsy, masculine. Driftwood and gunmetal.
You slowly sat up, bringing the collar of the coat to your face and inhaling deeply. Had you not had this tangible piece of evidence, you would have thought the prior night was nothing more than a drunken dream fueled by a bottle of Malibu.
You saw your clutch placed on the coffee table and you opened it, pulling your phone out. No new texts. You sighed.
You moved to start the routine youâd gotten in the habit of the over the last week. Tylenol, number one. Shower, second. Booze, third. Except, as your head pounded and your stomach growled with the craving of something other than liquor, you could hear Buckyâs voice in the back of your head. The one telling you not to drown your feelings in a bottle. The one telling you to call him.
So, you put the bottle of vodka down and picked up your phone instead. You tapped on his contact, which you made sure to actually label that morning, and called him. Your heart was beating a mile a minute as you waited for him to pick upâŠ
No answer.
You huffed and threw your phone down onto the table. Not like you expected an answer anyway. Just then, you heard a knock at the front door. Brows furrowed in confusion, you quietly padded over and peeked through the peep hole. All you saw was a rather stout man holding what had to be an entire bush of bright red roses.
You opened the door and the man set the bunch of roses down on the ground. They were in their own little golden vase, fanned out and pretty for display. âGot a delivery here from a Mr. Barnes,â the man said with a smile, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out an envelope. âEnjoy your morning, miss.â
You ran your fingertips across the heavy weight of the cardstock envelope, a gold wax seal holding closed all its secrets. You hauled the roses inside before sitting at your kitchen table and fumbling with the envelope as your fingers trembled.
You slipped out a short letter, hand-written with a good pen, paper, and ink. Thoughtful.
Doll, I hope you enjoyed yourself last night. Take care and Iâll see you tonight at 8:00 P.M. You donât need to be fancy, and you know the address.
Your heart stopped dead in your chest for what felt like minutes, but in reality it was only a second or two. Your head was reeling now. Why did he want to meet you at his house? Your best friendâs house? Was she even going to be gone this evening?
You quickly checked your texts. Becca had been fairly MIA for her finals, which tracked considering she took her schooling so seriously. You scrolled up, glanced at the date on your calendar, and then your cheeks flushed crimson. Becca would be gone. Most of the night, actually. Her boyfriend, Cole, had his last baseball game of the school season and it didnât start until seven.
Was he inviting you over forâŠ? No. No, he couldnât be. Even with the tension between you two the night before, you knew Bucky. You knew he wasnât like that. You knew he didnât think of you like that. Not at all.
As you folded the letter back up and tucked it neatly inside its envelope, you turned to take in the magnificent sight of the multiple dozens of roses that were bloomed as red as your cheeks as they sat there on the kitchen counter like a neon invitation. An invitation to see how far you could push Mr. Barnes that evening.
The house wasnât anything special. A quaint little brownstone in Brooklyn that screamed home sweet home in the midst of corporate chaos and brightly lit billboards that never slept. The street was quiet, lined with old street lamps that gave it a sort of charm that felt captured in a different time.
You knocked at the deep red door, nervous as you tugged your coat in tight around you. You heard the deadbolt unlatch and then the door creaked open. There was Bucky, in blue jeans and a blue Henley with his hair messier than the night before - he looked much more lived-in and casual and less like a posh Ken doll fresh from the box.
âCome on in,â he invited warmly with a smile, stepping aside.
You gave him a curt, polite nod and a mirrored smile as you ascended the last two steps and crossed over the threshold. You were immediately greeted by the sobering smell of coffee brewing, and the sound of the TV playing the local news at a low volume. You jumped slightly when you felt his hand rest against the small of your back as he came around your left flank. âCan I offer you some coffee?â he asked, glancing down at you with irises that reminded you of endless blue skies on a clear June afternoon.
You glanced nervously between him and the television a few times before you decided you were much too jittery to drink any level of caffeine - so, you declined. âNo, thanks,â you said quietly.
Your eyes widened as he moved to take your coat off for you. A red-hot blush flooded your cold cheeks with crimson as his hands brushed along your arms - the cool autumn air didnât stand a snowballâs chance in hell against the heat of your own embarrassment. âO-Oh I-â you stuttered, watching as he placed your coat on the rack just beside the door.
âI believe the word youâre looking for is âthank youâ?â Bucky quipped teasingly, beckoning for you to follow him into the kitchen.
You followed, leaning against the kitchen island while he poured himself a cup of coffee into one of those cheesy âWorldâs #1 Dadâ mugs. He leaned back against the dark granite countertop across from you, eyes flicking up to meet yours over the brim of his mug as he took a sip of the piping hot liquid.
You cocked an eyebrow. âIâm assuming you didnât summon me here with a bush of roses just for me to watch you drink coffee,â you said, breaking the tensioned silence that had fallen between you.
He laughed a little, setting the mug to the side. âGuilty as charged,â he said, half-heartedly throwing up his hands before his expression shifted to something more serious.
âI asked you over because I wanted to tell you, in person, that this-â he gestured from himself to you â-cannot be aâŠA thing.â His tongue darted out to wet his lips and his jaw ticked, clearly nervous.
You laughed. âBucky, this was never meant to be a thing,â you said, mirroring him as he crossed his arms over his chest. You got the feeling he was backpedaling, like he realized something at the restaurant the night before and was now trying to build a wall to keep it out. âI was looking for a hookup, not a boyfriend.â
âWell, maybe since youâve seen how a proper man treats a lady, perhaps youâll rethink that.â
âIâm really not ready to get back in the dating sceneâŠâ
âThen wait.â
You paused. This was your life. Not his. Why in the hell did he care so much? âWhatâs it matter to you if I wait or not?â
His jaw ticked and his eyes briefly darted to the side, fixating on a point in space you couldnât quite locate. âI donât want you playing with fire so much you burn yourself,â he muttered, gaze going downtrodden.
âWhy do you care?â
âSeeing you hurt, hurts me.â
âAnd why do you care that fucking much?â
Your question lands on him like a bullet to the chest. He picks up his coffee, mug trembling a little, and takes a sip like itâll magically cure the ache in his chest. âItâs what Steve would have wanted me to encourage you to do.â
You sighed. Steve was your father, a military vet and close friend of Buckyâs whoâd been killed in action many moons ago. You only found out about their connection to each after about a year of being close friends with Becca - at your high school graduation when Bucky gifted you a letter your father had left for you.
âHe isnât here and he doesnât get to dictate what I do,â you mumbled, avoiding his gaze because itâd only remind you that he was doing this to isolate himself.
âBut I can still try to fulfill his wishes,â Bucky said, taking a couple steps forward and inserting himself into the awkward little bubble youâd built. It felt like he was taking up too much personal space but not enough at the same time.
Your breath hitched as he reached forward and pressed his metal palm to your cheek, something cold and shocking against the constant flush that reddened your skin. âAnd itâs so I no longer want what I canât have.â
Your heart was pounding. You. He meant you. You were what he couldnât have. You were the guilty pleasure, the reason he probably answered your text in the first place. And you were right - he was trying to build a wall. A wall between your heart and his.
You nuzzled against his palm, eyes fluttering shut. The touch felt holy. âWhat if I want it too?â you whispered, opening your eyes and looking up at him. âWhat about my own wishes?â
âItâs not the right thing to doâŠâ
âI donât want to do the right thing, Bucky!â you exclaimed, frustrated. You pushed yourself off the counter, standing closer to him now - almost chest to chest. âYou donât understand that all I want right now is something wrong! I want to feel something, Bucky. Anything. Anything other than this pain.â Your voice was beginning to crack and those beautiful blues of his were starting to well up with tears.
âIâŠâ Buckyâs hand lingered on your cheek. You could tell by the way his fingers twitched that he was thinking. That he was trying to figure out if he had the strength to go against his own morals. âIâŠI canâtâŠâ
You reached up and cupped his stubbled cheek with your own palm, thumb running along the plane of his cheekbone. âYou can.â
He looked like he was about to break, about to shatter completely. The tension was thick enough to feel, heavy and suffocating. His eyes flicked from yours and down to your lips. Back up to your eyes. Back down to your lips. âThis isnât a good ideaâŠâ he murmured, leaning in close enough now that you could smell the mix of coffee and whiskey and mint on his breath.
You took a shuddering breath, eyes closing again because you couldnât stand the weight of his gaze. âI donât want it to be good. I just want to feelâŠâ you breathed, shaky hand coming to rest against his muscled chest. âI just want to feel you.â
You could see it in the way his jaw ticked - you could feel it in the way he wasnât sure if your hand burned him or comforted him. Bucky was trying so hard to resist the temptation in front of him. âPlease, dollâŠI canât,â he pleaded brokenly, but it was weak and he made no attempt to pull away from your touch.
You leaned up, nose nudging his and lips so close to brushing as you murmured, âThen why are you still here?â
It could be heard in his chest, something deep and guttural and longing all pulled together into a groan he couldnât hold back. And suddenly, both of his hands were holding your face - one metal, one flesh. The way his lips smashed into yours would be forever imprinted in your mind. You could only imagine how long heâd waited to have this. To have you.
The kiss was everything - teeth, tongue, breath, and heat. He nipped playfully at your bottom lip and you growled, which elicited a deep chuckle youâd never heard before - amused and pleased. His tongue explored your mouth like it was trying to map it, and yours did the very same to his. Nothing about this was normal. But you didnât want it to be.
When he broke the kiss, it was only because one of you needed to fucking breathe or youâd both be dead on the floor. Panting, he whispered, âIs that what you wanted?â
You nodded wordlessly and pulled him right back in, trying to drown him under the weight of how much you craved him. His hands found your hips and gripped at the soft flesh, picking you up like you weighed nothing and perching you atop the granite.
His flesh hand snaked its way up your blouse, unclasping your bra with a practiced ease that shouldnât have turned you on but it did. He pulled the garment off and tossed it on the kitchen floor, the silk of your blouse cascading in cool puddles across your tits. You shivered, only cold for a moment before his palm was kneading at the mounds of flesh like heâd been dreaming of how good theyâd feel.
You moaned out, breaking the kiss as you tossed your head back when his thumb and forefinger began to tease and roll your nipple between calloused skin. âFuck,â you groaned, hands scrambling from purchase at the edge of the countertop.
You barely had time to react before Bucky was ripping your blouse from your torso, a shocked gasp falling from your lips. âBucky!â you scolded, but he remained unbothered and on a mission.
âIâll buy you another one,â he muttered, stooping down and taking your neglected breast into his mouth as his hand continued to work the other.
The feel of his hot, wet mouth and tongue across your nipple was enough to have you keening up off the counter and further into his touch. It felt so fucking good that you were convinced youâd cum just from the way he worshipped your tits.
He pulled back, lips glistening with saliva and pupils blown as he glanced up at you. He looked feral - hungry and ready to feast. You watched as he dropped to his knees and rucked up your pencil skirt to reveal the lacy panties that clung to your dripping wet core.
âThis what I do to ya, doll?â he breathed, practically drooling at the smell of your arousal as it assaulted his senses. He just needed to taste you. Devour you.
You whimpered and nodded. âY-Yes,â you nearly whispered, brain short-circuiting as you felt his fingers hook in the waistband of your panties and peel them away.
He watched, mesmerized by how your glistening folds clung to the lace, groaning as he could now see how drenched and pretty you were for him. He tossed the panties somewhere in the same direction as your bra, and then his hands were prying you open to make way for his head as he leaned in and licked a slow, warm stripe straight up the center of your heat.
You felt your toes curls and your back bow a little as the tip of his tongue traced devastating circles around your clit before diving back down and straight past your entrance.
âBucky!â you gasped out, head thrown back as your hands found purchase in that gorgeous salt-and-pepper mane of his. âFuck-â you groaned, listening as the sounds he made were so obscene they had you blushing. Licking, slurping, suckingâŠHe was like a man starved and you were the best damn meal he couldâve been served.
Bucky hummed against your core, sending vibrations straight through your clit as his lips closed around the sensitive bud and began to suck. You were already trembling from the overload of pleasure, but that wasnât enough for him. No, he needed you screaming for his mercy.
You felt as he teased your entrance with his forefinger, just barely pushing it in and then retreating. Nothing he couldâve done in that moment would have prepared you for when he plunged two fingers deep inside you and curled them with such ease it was almost second nature.
You could feel yourself clench around his digits with his name on your lips as you let out a whorish moan. Between his mouth and tongue working your clit and his fingers quite literally beckoning you to cum for him, you were in pure, blissful heaven.
That burning coil in the pit of your stomach began to wind tighter and tighter, and he could tell. He hummed in approval, fingers bullying into your g-spot now with a precision that was, frankly, unfair.
âCâmon, doll,â he urged as he lapped at your clit. âCum fâme. Lemme have it allâŠâ The way his voice was so deep, so smoothâŠIt was like silk over gravel. And it had you coming undone the second he begged for you like that.
Your body arched forward as you moaned his name, nails digging into his scalp as your toes curled and your entire body felt like it was trying to levitate off the damn counter. But he didnât stop - even as you pulsed and gushed around him, he kept on fucking going.
âB-Bucky,â you whimpered out as it was bordering on overstimulation. âB-Buck pleaseâŠâ You were pleading with a man who was too damn happy with where he was. If youâd let him, heâd live there between your thighs and die a very satisfied man.
âOne more fâmeâŠPlease,â he begged softly, warm breath ghosting across your core before he dove back in and began sucking at your clit again.
You could feel tears blurring the edges of your vision, and you werenât even sure if your first orgasm had ended before the second begun - but, you still felt it all the same. The overwhelming tidal wave of bliss that caused your body to clench around his fingers like your cunt was trying to trap him there. You let out something between a moan and a sob, grip faltering on his hair as your body collapsed back against the shockingly cold granite.
Your head was spinning, vision blurred and hearing muffled. You werenât sure youâd ever cum so hard in your whole goddamn life.
âSo, so good fâme, doll,â you heard him praise you through the haze. He slowly pulled his fingers out, your dripping cunt fluttering around nothing at the absence of him. He gladly lapped at the slick release youâd rewarded him with, earning a very fucked-out groan from you. âTastes like heaven and ya sound like it too when youâre cumminâ fâme like that,â he drawled, getting to his feet.
As he rose, you could see just how hard he was against the stiff denim of his jeans, and that only filled you with a new wave of want - of craving.
A smirk tugged at the edges of his lips when he noticed you were staring - not that you were trying to stare, it was just there. âNot right here, doll,â he murmured like he could read your mind, a finger hooking under your chin and gently bringing your lips up to his as he kissed you with the remnants of your release still glistening on his skin. The taste of you and him combined was intoxicating, a drug that you only wanted more ofâŠ
But then he was pulling away and you were left pouting. âHey, donât you pull that with me,â he teased, pressing a chaste peck to your forehead before you found yourself being lifted into his arms - bridal style - like you weighed no more than a feather. âYouâll get what you want. Just gotta be patient, sweetheart.â
The sickly sweet kindness in his smile was almost cruel in this scenario, but you silently snaked your arms around his neck as he carried you through the narrow foyer and up the short staircase to the second floor. The house wasnât cramped, necessarily. But, with him carrying you through the tight halls, it felt rather cozy with just the two of you alone.
His foot nudged the door open to the master bedroom, old brass hinges creaking softly. You found yourself being laid so gingerly onto the mattress you could almost feel the tears welling again in your eyes. He treated you like something special, something fragile. It made your heart swell a little.
âMay I?â he asked, nodding to your skirt. It was your last remaining article of clothing. You nodded back in permission, cheeks flushed crimson in the low lamplight that streamed through the window and illuminated everything in a heavenly, golden glow.
Bucky shimmied your skirt gently down your legs and tossed it aside before he made zero show about stripping down himself - but, it was a delicious sight to you all the same.
Watching as the layers of clothing were peeled away, revealing nothing but rippling muscles and silvery scars. The scar where metal met man was particularly bad, but still beautiful itâs own devastating rite. His dress shirt the night before hadnât left much to your imagination, but even then, this was far beyond what your mind had conjured - he had the appearance that God himself carved him from the finest marble. An aged artwork that only grew finer with the weather and the years.
âYouâre staring again,â he murmured lowly, crawling over top of your body and caging you in with solid forearms and beefy biceps you swore one day youâd take a bite of.
Heat rushed across your cheeks and you brought your hands up to rest against his biceps, fingers gripping flesh one side and brushing across whirring metal plates on the other. âIâm just admiring what youâve been keeping from me,â you whispered.
âWell, itâs not polite to stare, doll,â he said, dipping down so your lips were brushing dangerously close.
âItâs not polite to keep a girl waiting,â you quipped back, feeling your breath hitch a little just feeling his bare chest pressed so intimately to your own.
âSee? Youâre learning,â he chuckled softly, ducking down and beginning to kiss and suck at the suppleness of your neck. âGood girl,â you heard him mumble against your skin.
You arched up into his feather-light touch, lips trailing from neck to collarbone to breasts to torso as soft purple bruises began to bloom in his wake. And then he was sitting back on his knees and you took another unashamed moment to fully appreciate him. To admire his cock, impossibly hard and gorgeously flushed, leaking precum like heâd been edged for hours.
He opened his mouth and you interrupted him. âYeah, yeah. Staring again. I get it, Barnes. Just let me eye-fuck you, yeah?â you muttered, and that got an actual laugh from him.
Reaching his flesh hand down, he gripped himself at the base and started to stroke his aching length. âYou like what you see?â he breathed, angling his hips a little so his precum dripped along your thighs like a sinful, pearlescent trail that lead to your core. âYou imagining what it can do to ya, doll?â
You nodded, more than eager. âWanna feel it inside meâŠPlease,â you pleaded, practically drooling as you watched him rub the head of his cock through your slick folds. âPleaseâŠâ
âMmmâŠPlease who?â he asked, gaze flicking up to your face as it was contorted in desperation for him.
It took you a split second to think about what he mightâve been asking. And then it popped into your mind and you couldnât help but giggle a little. âYouâre a dirty man, Barnes,â you purred, only to feel the grip of metal meet your throat. Your eyes went wide.
âI asked you a question,â he growled, and the gravelly rumble of his voice went straight to your cunt as your walls fluttered around nothing.
âYes, Sergeant,â you said, pushing your throat up further into his hand and smirking.
Bucky groaned, swearing in the back of his mind that you were going to be the death of him. He squeezed at your throat one last time before posting the same vibranium palm right beside your head. âThatâs right, doll,â he muttered, and your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your skull as you felt him begin to push inside you.
The stretch burned, but the way he so perfectly filled and dominated every inch of space was immaculate - let alone the way you could feel every pulsing vein and soft ridge brushing along your walls as he eased in inch by brutal inch. He paused about halfway, concerned by how your features were twisted. âDoinâ okay there, doll?â he asked, flesh hand coming up to cup your cheek. The way his thumb ran along the high plane of your cheekbone was tender, loving.
You nodded, gazing up at him through half-lidded eyes and wet eyelashes. âMore than fucking okay,â you managed to choke out with a small laugh. It was hard to put into words just how good he felt buried so deep inside you that you swore he was pushing the very oxygen from your lungs.
Bucky let out a soft grunt once he was fully sheathed, already appearing wrecked. âFuck, doll,â he breathed, nearly panting as his forehead dropped to your shoulder. âSo fuckinâ tight, ya know that? Squeezinâ meâŠMilkinâ me dry already and I havenât even startedâŠâ He let out a small, breathless chuckle.
You let out a laugh just as breathless as his. âSounds like youâre not gonna last very long, old man,â you jeered playfully.
His cheeks flushed bright red, but he didnât reply. He only slowly began to pull out, groaning raggedly as he felt the way his cock dragged along your walls - the way your body was actively trying to pull him back and keep him in.
He pulled out nearly all the way and then pushed himself back in all at once. You moaned so loudly when he bottomed out that you were certain the neighbors three doors down heard you. And that wasnât the last time they would, unfortunate enough as it was for them. Because he pulled out and then pushed back into you again, forcing the same exact whorish moan past your lips before you could catch it.
âYou like what I do to ya, doll? Like when I give it all to ya? When I bury my cock so deep ya feel it here?â he drawled, a smug little smirk tugging at his lips as his flesh hand pressed down against a small bulge in your lower abdomen and you just about levitated off the goddamn bed.
The pace he set was steady and calculated. One that allowed for him to achieve the same depth of penetration each and every time - the same devastating attention to making sure he hit all the right spots. It wasnât brutal because it was fast - no, it was brutal because he took his time and holy fuck it was a borderline religious experience.
It felt as though you had no idea where your body ended and his begun as he rucked your legs up over his shoulders and you found yourself with nails raking down his back as your ankles were pushed back damn near close to the sides of your head. The position was passionate, intimate. Sweat began to pool where your bodies were melded, chest to chest and forehead to shoulder. You couldnât help the way you moaned his name, and he couldnât help the way he panted yours like he was begging for mercy.
âTakinâ me sâwellâŠAtta girl,â he breathed out, his praises sending sparks of red-hot pleasure straight to your cunt. âGonna fill ya up, dollâŠClaim yaâŠMake ya mine like I shoulda done a long time agoâŠâ
You whimpered at his words, nails digging crescents into the tops of his shoulders as you clung on for dear life. âB-Bucky~â you moaned out weakly, head fuzzy as your mind was actively being fucked stupid. âPleaseâŠâ you begged, pulling at him and trying to encourage him to go faster. Harder.
âYou sure, doll?â
âIf you donât fuck me into this goddamn mattress-â
He cut you off with a sharp snap of his hips. Then another. And another. You could feel the head of his cock bullying into that soft, spongy spot inside you and you cried out. âYes! Yes! Yes!â you exclaimed with each thrust, eyes lolling shut and your head hitting the pillow as the pleasure began conjuring stars across your vision.
Bucky groaned, something deep, guttural, and primal - something you hadnât expected from someone who seemed soâŠQuiet. âItâs like you were made fâme, doll,â he whimpered, his rhythm beginning to falter. âYa gonna cum fâme? Can feel ya grippinâ meâŠKnow youâre close, sweetheart. Need ya to give it to meâŠâ
He was begging for you in the same way someone would pray for forgiveness - reverent and wrecked and desperate. You could feel that coil in your lower abdomen tightening, pulling taut until your orgasm snapped through your body unyielding and violent.
âB-Bucky! A-Ah~!â you barely managed to squeak out as you felt your spine arch off the mattress and your body seize beyond your control. He groaned again as your cunt clenched down around him, and you could feel as he began to throb and pulse ropes of white, hot cum inside you at the exact same time.
âShit-â he grunted out, stilling inside you and partially collapsing his weight on top of you as his chest heaved and gleamed with sweat.
Your head was fuzzy, warm. The afterglow rolled over your body like something soft and comforting - floaty like you were resting on a cloud of your own pleasure. âMmmâŠBucky?â you asked, trying to catch your breath.
âYeah?â he murmured.
âIs that how a man should fuck me proper?â
He laughed, turning his head to pepper soft kisses on your cheek. âYeah, doll. Iâd say so.â
He slowly pulled out and then flopped onto the bed beside you. The loss of him inside you felt almost great enough to mourn, but his strong arms wrapping around you and pulling you close quickly filled that void. âAnd now Iâve ruined you for all the boys,â he teased, kissing your forehead before gathering you in close to his chest - he was like a furnace, and he held you like his greatest treasure.
You giggled. âSâokay,â you mumbled against his skin, lazily tangling your legs with his. ââM yours now anyway.â
Bucky smiled to himself, squeezing you tight. âThatâs right, doll. All mine.â
When a pretty girl walks into the station looking for the sheriff, no one ever thought that she could be his wife.
âž PAIRING & WC: Lee Bodecker x F!Reader â 1.3K
âž WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, age gap (big enough to notice), cockwarming, slight mean!lee (but let's be fr that is him), a touch of fluff
âžÂ A/N: first of my 2k celebration fics!!! this is for my darling @blowingbarnes for sending in my first request <3 hope you like it my love. actual request included at the end!
†main masterlist
Lee Bodecker is many things, but a ladies' man is not one of them. He had been in a relationship with his ex for years before she finally called it quits and moved three towns over. His deputies know him as a lone wolf, focused solely on work and whatever side gigs heâs working off the books.Â
So when a pretty young thing with the sweetest smile walks in looking for the sheriff, all heads turn.Â
âYou lost, little lady?â One of them comes up to you first, plastering on a salacious grin that has you crinkling your nose.Â
âNo, just looking for the sheriff. Is he in right now?â
âWell, Iâm sure I can help you with whatever it is you need.â
Your lips curl into a sour grimace. âWhatever it is youâre offering, Iâm not interested.â Laughter scatters throughout the station as the officerâs smile wipes from his face. âNow, the sheriff?â
âStraight through the back.â
âThank you.â
At first, they think itâs a fluke. Some new-to-town city girl who got herself into a bit of trouble and wants the highest-ranking officer to help.Â
Because why is someone like you â fresh-faced, devastatingly gorgeous, inappropriately young â looking for a sleazy geezer like the sheriff?
But then it happens again and again and again.Â
You keep coming back. You keep asking for Lee.Â
Each time you come in with a cute little bag, each time you leave without it.Â
Each evening, everyone watches as Lee leaves with that blue plaid lunch bag in tow.Â
Once, after you leave, Lee steps out into the bullpen to heat his lunch. His colleagues take that as the prime opportunity to pounce.Â
âLee, come on, be honest now. Whereâd you pick that gal up? She your niece or something?â Tommy asks first. âShe single?â
The sheriff gives him a disgusted look. âWatch your tongue, Deputy, else Iâll shoot it right outta your mouth. Thatâs my wife youâre talking about.â
Once again, laughter ripples through the room. Except their boss isnât laughing. Lee cocks an eyebrow at Tommy.Â
âThat a problem?â
âN-no, but that gal? Your wife? Really?â
âWhat about it?â
Tommy opens his mouth but the fear of losing his job has him clamping his mouth shut again. Luckily, Stu has never had a problem with uncensoring his raw thoughts when it comes to his good friend. âWhat he means is â whatâs a pretty young thing like that doinâ with a man like you, Sheriff?â
Lee only scowls. âI have many redeeming qualities.â
âHopefully that means your diââ
âFinish that sentence and Iâm putting you on overnight patrol for the rest of the month. Maybe on the wrong side of town.âÂ
Sure enough, the next time you come around, Stu has to confirm for himself.Â
And there it is â the big fat rock on your finger.Â
You donât make it to your husbandâs room before youâre intercepted and surrounded by the entire station; granted, itâs a small department but youâre still circled by these hyenas nonetheless.Â
âHoney, you have to tell us, what do you see in an old grump like the sheriff?â Stu starts with a grin.Â
You canât help the dreamy smile that stretches across your face. âGrump? The sheriff? Please. Heâs a big olâ softie. You shouldâve seen what he prepared for Valentineâs Day â flooded our living room with flowers, cooked me dinner, even danced with me in the kitchen to Sinatra.â
All of them are convinced theyâve entered the Twilight Zone. Sheriff Lee Bodecker? Flowers? Cooking? Dancing?Â
âYouâre pullinâ my leg,â Stu insists, âthat manâs diet consists of beer and burgers. Store-bought only.â
Your lips twitch. âI do like me a man who can eat.â
Stu wiggles his eyebrows. âYou tellinâ me that our boss is a muââ
âThatâs enough,â Leeâs voice snaps like a whip to disperse most of them back to their desks. Unfortunately, his best friend has no fear and continues to tease him relentlessly throughtout the rest of the day.Â
When he comes home in the evening, sinking into his beloved armchair with a cool beer in hand, you settle right down on his lap. His wide frame trapped between your supple thighs.Â
âThe guys werenât giving you a hard time, were they?â He murmurs, hand sliding down your back to your ass â practically exposed as your little nightgown rides up â as you curl into him like a kitten, nuzzling your face into his thick neck.
You hum, the vibrations going straight through his skin and down to his cock. âNo, it was all in good fun, Sheriff.â
Leeâs pants stiffen underneath you. You smile. Heâs always been so easy to rile up.Â
âSheriff, huh?â He grunts, âWhy donât you be a good wife and warm this sheriffâs cock, sweetheart?â
You donât miss a beat, hands peeling down his zipper to free his thick cock. One thing Stu got right â his dick is definitely a big perk to being Leeâs wife. Youâre dripping at the sight of it, mouth salivating like a trained dog as you flip the hem of your skirt up, as you sink yourself down facing him.
His cock stretches out your poor aching cunt, still sore from when he fucked you good the night before. Itâs a burn that has you whining in delight. Â
âThatâs a good wife,â Lee softly says, kissing down the column of your neck. His cool fingers, now free of the beer bottle, reach up to grope you through the flimsy silk of your gown, pinching at your pert nipples. His touch seeps icy cold onto your skin, eliciting a shiver up your spine.Â
âMmm, Sheriff, please,â you wriggle on his lap, pushing his cock deeper into your pulsing pussy.
âLet me watch my show, sweetie. Iâm gonna need you to be a good, quiet cocksleeve for me. Can you do that?â
A whimper builds in your chest but you nod quietly, hiding your face in his neck again as he picks up his beer and continues watching his show.Â
Itâs disgustingly arousing to see your husband, much too old for you, a belly that protrudes in a puzzle piece that usually fits so snugly into the arch of your back, offer little to no attention to you. Youâre used to the hungry eyes that follow you everywhere. But Lee â while he loves you â doesnât spoil you that way.
Instead, he barely pays you any mind as he takes another swig of his beer.Â
It only makes you needier for him. You wiggle impatiently, swiveling your hips to drive him deeper inside you. Petulant whines fall from your lips. âLee, please.âÂ
âWhat is it, darlinâ?â
âNeed you,â you pout, grinding your hips down again.Â
Lee remains unfazed but his cock twitches inside of you, betraying his wanton need. No matter how much he pretends, thereâs a reason why Lee locked you down with a ring so early, so quickly.Â
âSuch an impatient little minx. If only the guys knew how much of a needy slut you were, they wouldnât be asking why youâd want to be with a man like me.â
âI only need you, Lee. Only need you and this fat cock to satisfy me.â
Lee lifts his hips in stuttered thrusts. You slump over him, relishing in the way he keeps muttering what a good wife you are, a good little cockwarmer for him. How your young pussy was made for this old cock.Â
His fingers bruise evidence of his love on your hips, his mouth imprinting his territorial marks along your collarbones. His cock reshaping your cunt to fit him and only him.Â
Through it all, he doesnât stop whispering what a sweet wife you are. How perfect you are for him.Â
And when is all is said and done, when Lee has creamed inside of you and is keeping you plugged up with his cock, he brushes your hair to the side, pressing a kiss onto your shoulder.
âI love you, sweetie.â
âI love you more, Lee.â
+ sam: ilysm bbl you have no idea <33 intended for it to just be cute and we ended up here (as always)
đŹđłđŹđœđŹđ” đ¶âđȘđłđ¶đȘđČ đșđ°đ” A late-night donut delivery turns into something far sweeter and filthier, than Sheriff Bodecker ever expected from the townâs purest little angel.
lee bodecker x fem!reader
word count : 8,2k
warnings 18+ : explicit sexual content, dddne, no use of y/n, age gap, corruption of innocence, virginity loss, drunk sex, food play, oral sex (f & m revieving), creampie, come eating, unhygienic sex, degradation mixed with praise, size kink, light spanking, possessive behavior, no aftercare, raw sex, panty gagging, extreme filth, uncut lee, maternal control (reader has a curfew), religious-adjacent blasphemy,
authorâs note : anotha one for our filthy sheriff wohooo we cheered đđđ I went a little crazy with this one so pls bear with me⊠make sure you REAAD through the warnings before continuing because this one gets a lil icky đ”âđ«đ”âđ« and donât come for me afterwards because I am NOT responsible for your media consumption!! as always hope you enjoy <33
The back office of the Knockemstiff sheriffâs station stank like a drunkâs ashtray left to fester: cigarette butts piled high in a chipped coffee mug until they spilled over the rim like dirty snow, Jack Danielâs sweating slow from the open bottle on the desk, the thick, greasy ghost of yesterdayâs chili dogs still clinging to every surface. The air was heavy, stale, the kind of smell that settled into clothes and skin and never quite left.
The single desk lamp buzzed overhead like a dying insect, flickering every few seconds and throwing sickly yellow light across the room in unsteady pulses. Shadows jumped on the walls, mean, jagged things that made the place feel smaller, more trapped.
Lee Bodecker belonged in that filth the way a hog belongs in wallow: shirt half-unbuttoned and sweat-soaked, clinging to the coarse black hair on his chest; belly hanging heavy over the straining leather of his belt, uniform pants riding low; armpits dark with rings of sweat; badge crooked on his chest like it had given up trying to look respectable.
He was deep into the bottle tonight, more than halfway gone, the cheap stuff that burned clean at first and then just burned. His thoughts moved slow and thick, like molasses poured over broken glass. The night shift had dragged on empty: no calls, no drunks to haul in, no fights to break up, just him, the fan rattling uselessly in the corner and the low, mournful howl of a hound somewhere far off in the dark.
He lifted the bottle again, took a long, sloppy pull. The whiskey slid down easy now, no sting left, just heat blooming in his gut and spreading outward until his fingertips tingled. He set the bottle down too hard; it clinked against the scarred wood, amber liquid sloshing up the sides. His head lolled a little, eyes half-lidded and bloodshot, staring at nothing.
Then the door creaked.
You pushed it open with your hip, careful, like you were afraid of making too much noise. Both hands cradled a grease-spotted paper sack that still steamed faintly, radiating the clean, holy warmth of fresh dough and sugar.
You really were the sweetest thing this godforsaken town had ever managed to produce: big, soft doe eyes, cheeks flushed pink from the night air and the heat of the bakery oven, hair pinned back neatly with a tiny daisy clip your mama had bought you last Easter.
Your apron was crisp white cotton, tied in a perfect bow at the small of your back and your skirt, modest enough for church but short enough to flutter high on the walk over, showed the delicate lace tops of your stockings with every hesitant step across the threshold.
You smelled like vanilla extract, warm yeast and the faintest trace of the lavender soap you used every morning. A walking Sunday morning dropped right into the middle of his Saturday night sewer.
Lee blinked slow, once, twice, like the whiskey was painting you at the edges, making you shimmer. He rubbed a greasy hand over his face, trying to clear the haze but it only smeared the sweat and grime. His gaze dragged over you anyway: lazy, hungry, unfocused at the corners. From the bow in your apron to the flush on your cheeks, down to the way your skirt moved against your thighs, then back up to those wide, trusting eyes.
You swallowed, clutching the sack a little tighter to your chest like it could shield you from whatever look he was giving you.
âSheriff Bodecker,â you said, voice small and trembling, barely louder than the lampâs buzz, âI- I couldnât sleep knowinâ you were sittinâ here all alone on the night shift again. Mama says the devil finds work for idle hands and I just⊠I thought maybe youâd like somethinâ warm. So I brought you some donuts. Theyâre still hot from the fryer. Glazed, the way you like âem.â
Lee stared at you another long beat. The words took time to sink through the whiskey fog. Then a slow, crooked grin split his face, sloppy, uneven, showing too much teeth.
âHot, huh?â His voice came out thick and slurred, gravel dragged through moonshine, every syllable running into the next. âWell goddamn⊠look at you, angel. Cominâ all the way down here in the dark just to feed a sorry olâ pig like me.â
He took another pull from the bottle, longer this time, throat bobbing visibly, Adamâs apple working under the skin. When he lowered it, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a shiny streak across his knuckles.
âCâmere,â he rasped, patting his thick thigh with a heavy, meaty slap that echoed in the small room. âCome closer, sweetheart. Let me see what kinda sugar a pure little thing like youâs offerinâ a dirty old man on a night when heâs half-drowned already.â
You stood frozen for half a heartbeat, the paper sack crinkling softly against your chest like a shield you werenât sure you wanted to lower. The room felt smaller now, hotter, thicker with him watching you like that, bloodshot eyes half-lidded but burning. Your knees pressed so tight together you could feel the tremor running up your thighs but something deeper, something curious and fluttering low in your belly, made your feet inch forward anyway.
One slow step. Then another. The soles of your sensible Mary Janes whispered across the grime-streaked floor until you were close enough that the heat rolling off his body mixed with the vanilla steam from the donuts and the sour whiskey haze clinging to him. Your gaze, wide, innocent, unable to help itself dropped to the thick, insistent bulge straining the front of his uniform slacks. The fabric looked ready to split; a dark, damp spot had already spread at the tip like ink on blotting paper.
A tiny, involuntary gasp slipped past your lips before you could catch it.
âOh⊠goodness,â you breathed, voice so small it barely carried over the lampâs buzz. âYou⊠you look so uncomfortable, Sheriff. Like itâs hurtinâ real bad.â
Leeâs laugh came out low and filthy, more a rumble in his chest than anything clean. He spread his thighs wider with deliberate slowness, heavy boots scraping the dirty floor in a slow, grating drag that sent a shiver racing up your spine. The motion made his belly shift, his open shirt gaping further to show more sweat-damp chest hair.
âUncomfortable donât even come close, baby girl,â he slurred, words thick and running together like spilled syrup. âBeen sittinâ here hard as iron since that sweet little pussy-scent floated through the door. Like heaven walked right into hell and didnât even knock.â
His meaty palm slapped down on his own thigh again, denim smacking loud in the quiet room. âCâmere. Bring them hot little treats over here where they belong. Letâs see if that sugar fits right where I been dreaminâ about it.â
Your cheeks burned so hot you thought they might catch fire. You could feel the flush spreading down your neck, across your collarbones, even under the crisp white apron.
But your body moved before your mind could argue, slow hesitant steps closing the last foot of distance until you stood trembling between his spread knees. Close enough now that you could see the individual dark hairs curling over his knuckles, the way his chest rose and fell a little faster, the faint tremor in the hand still wrapped around the neck of the Jack Danielâs bottle.
Lee watched you squirm for a long moment, savoring every nervous flutter of your lashes. Then a slow, crooked, filthy grin spread across his face. He took one last sloppy pull from the bottle, throat working visibly, before setting it aside with a careless clatter.
âAngel⊠you know whatâd feel real good right now?â He patted his thigh again, slower this time, the slap of his palm echoing in the small room. âThem hot little donuts you brought. Warm, sticky, sweet as sin. Iâm thinkinâ⊠slide one right down over this achinâ cock of mine. Let that glaze melt all over me while you watch. Dress me up pretty, like Iâm some kinda filthy present just for you.â
Your eyes went huge, shock, confusion, and a tiny spark of dark curiosity flickering behind the innocence.
âYou⊠you mean⊠put a donut⊠on it?â you whispered, voice barely audible over the fanâs hum. âLike⊠like a ring? But⊠but thatâs so⊠so naughty, Sheriff. I donât know if thatâs⊠proper.â
He chuckled low and ragged, the sound vibrating through his chest like gravel. âProper? Baby girl, we passed proper the second you walked through that door smellinâ like vanilla and church. This ainât about proper. This is about feelinâ somethinâ nasty-sweet. Come on⊠just try it. For your poor, lonely sheriff. One little donut. See how it looks. See how it feels.â
You swallowed hard, fingers tightening on the sack until the paper crinkled loudly. Your eyes were locked on the bulge now, wide, fascinated, a tiny tremble in your lower lip.
âI⊠I donât knowâŠâ you breathed but your body leaned forward just a fraction, betraying you. âItâs⊠itâs so big already. And it looks so⊠mad. Wonât it⊠hurt the donut? Or⊠or you?â
Lee groaned at your words, half laugh, half curse. âHurt? Darlinâ, the only thing hurtinâ right now is how bad I need that warm sugar wrapped around me. Ainât gonna hurt nothinâ. Just gonna make it feel like heaven and hell at the same time.â
Without another word, without even breaking eye contact, his big hands moved to his belt. The buckle clinked open with a sharp metallic snap. The zipper rasped down in one slow pull.
He hauled his cock out shamelessly, no hesitation, letting it spring free and slap heavily against the soft swell of his belly: thick as your wrist, veined and ridged, flushed an angry purplish red. The fat, bulbous head was partially hooded by a thick, wrinkled foreskin that had retracted just enough to expose the glistening, sensitive tip, already slick and shiny with a dayâs worth of trapped sweat, pre-cum that had gathered underneath, giving off a heavy, masculine musk.
The sudden raw sight made you freeze mid-reach, your hand halfway into the sack, fingers brushing the warm edge of the first donut. Your breath caught audibly; your eyes went impossibly wider, pupils blown as you stared at the heavy, uncut length now bobbing openly between you.
âOh⊠oh my goodnessâŠâ you whispered, voice cracking into a tiny squeak. The donut slipped slightly in your shaking grip, glaze sticking to your fingertips.
Lee wrapped a loose fist around the base and slowly stroked, working the thick foreskin back and forth over the leaking head.
âLook at that,â he rasped, voice thick with lust. âSee how itâs covered up? Thatâs the foreskin, baby girl. Pull it down for me first. Nice and slow. Show me you can be a good little helper.â
Your fingers trembled as you reached out hesitantly, barely brushing the warm, heavy shaft.
âLike⊠like this?â you whispered, voice tiny and shy.
âThatâs it, sweetheart,â he rasped, voice dropping lower, coaxing. âSlow. Real slow. Wrap those pretty little fingers around the skin⊠yeah, just like that. Now ease it back gently. Donât yank it- nice and easy⊠there we go. Good girl.â
You obeyed with shaky hands, gently tugging the thick foreskin down until the fat, glossy head slipped free, flushed dark and glistening with pre-cum. A thick bead dripped from the slit and ran down the underside.
Lee groaned deep in his chest, hips twitching. âFuck⊠look how pretty and wet it is now. Perfect for your warm sugar.â
He gave you a filthy, encouraging smile. âNow⊠line that hot donut up with the head, angel. Slow. Let it melt on me. Watch what it does.â
Your fingers trembled so badly the paper rustled like dry leaves as you finally obeyed, pulling out the first glazed donut. It was still steaming faintly, sugar glistening wet under the flickering lamp, already melting a little at the edges from the heat of your palm.
You held it up between you like something fragile and forbidden, eyes darting between the donut and the thick, twitching cock now fully exposed and shamelessly waiting.
âLike this?â you whispered, voice small and trembling. âJust⊠slide it down?â
âThatâs it, sweetheart,â he rasped, voice dropping lower, coaxing. âSlow. Real slow. Line it up with the head⊠yeah, just like that. Donât be scared. Let it melt on me. Watch what it does.â
You hesitated, eyes flicking from the donut to his face, then down to the leaking tip, then, biting your lip hard enough to leave a mark, you eased the warm ring down over the swollen head.
The glaze immediately began to melt from his body heat, running in slow, sticky rivers along the shaft, coating every raised vein, dripping in fat drops over his heavy, drawn-up balls.
Lee groaned like heâd been gut-shot, deep, ragged, head falling back against the creaking chair with a loud creak. His hips jerked up involuntarily as the warm, sugary heat enveloped him.
âFuuuuck- thatâs it, baby,â he slurred, voice thick and wrecked. âGoddamn, feel that hot glaze meltinâ all over my cock⊠slidinâ right down under my foreskin. Look what you did, angel. You made my dirty old dick look so fuckinâ pretty and sweet.â
Your breath hitched. You stared, transfixed, at the obscene sight: the donut slowly collapsing, sugar melting and sliding down his length in glistening trails. Something fluttered low in your belly, shame, curiosity, a spark of dark fascination.
âItâs⊠itâs meltinâ all over you,â you whispered, voice soft with wonder. âLike⊠like itâs hugginâ you. Does it⊠does it feel nice, Sheriff?â
âNice?â He laughed, ragged, dirty. âSweetheart, you got my old dick throbbinâ like itâs gonna burst. Never felt nothinâ this nasty-sweet in my life. NowâŠâ He guided your trembling hand back to the sack. âGrab another one. Stack it. Make me a real pretty tower. Show me how good you can be.â
Your breath caught.
Stack⊠more?
On that?
Your face felt like it was on fire, hotter than when the oven timer went off too late and everything came out singed at the edges. Youâd already eased one warm glazed donut down his thick, leaking length like some shameful bakery display. Now he wanted a whole tower?
âI- I donât know if theyâll stayâŠâ you whispered, voice tiny, eyes darting up to his for any sign you were doing it wrong.
Leeâs grin stretched slow, whiskey-rough. âThey wonât, angel. Thatâs half the fun. Go on. Be good for me.â
Kneeling between his spread boots, skirt fanned out on the gritty floor, you swallowed. Heart pounding loud enough to drown out the distant bar jukebox. You reached into the sack, pulled out another still-warm ring, glaze already tacky and shiny and hesitated. Leaned in close. The head of him glistened, one donut already perched unevenly at the base, starting to soften and slide from his heat.
You bit your lip hard, then carefully slid the second one down. It caught on the ridge, glaze smearing in a thick, amber streak before squishing into place with a soft, wet schlup.
The whole stack wobbled immediately. You added a third, gentler this time, pushing until the dough yielded and molded around him but the glaze was melting fast now, dripping in slow, sticky threads down the veined shaft, pooling warm against his balls.
Four donuts clung in a lopsided, glistening mess. Already the bottom ones were getting soggy, dough turning dense and tacky from body heat; glaze ran in rivulets, making everything slick and obscene. You stared, wide-eyed, lips parted. It looked ridiculous. Wrong. Hot. Your thighs squeezed together under the skirt.
Leeâs chest rose and fell heavy. âPrettiest damn sight. Now⊠taste it, baby. Eat a little. Make it good for me.â
Your tongue flicked out, then froze. You looked up, cheeks blazing. âLike⊠bite it?â
âJust a nibble, angel. Show me you wanna please your Sheriff.â
Heart in your throat, you leaned forward. First, just a tentative brush of lips against the top donut. The glaze was warm, almost liquid now, coating your mouth in sticky sweetness. You gave a small, experimental bite, teeth sinking into the soft, pillowy edge.
Dough crumbled immediately, warm and slightly chewy, glaze pulling in sticky strings between your lips and the pastry as you pulled back. A chunk broke off, tumbling down his shaft, smearing more mess.
Lee hissed through his teeth. âFuck- yeah, like that.â
Encouraged, just a little, you went back. Nibbled another small bite from the top ring, letting crumbs flake onto your tongue, mixing with the salty bead of pre-cum that had leaked up through the hole.
The flavor hit messy and overwhelming: hot sugar, soft fried dough, sharp musk, him. You chewed slowly, shyly, eyes fluttering shut for a second, then licked the broken edge clean, tongue dragging over crumbling pastry and slick skin beneath.
More glaze dripped. The stack shifted dangerously. You reached up with tentative fingers, steadied the wobbling tower, then bit again, this time lower, teeth grazing the side of the second donut. A bigger piece came away; you swallowed it down with a soft, surprised hum, lips brushing his shaft as you did.
âGoddamn, baby girlâŠâ Leeâs voice cracked. His hips twitched, making the whole precarious pile quiver.
You pulled back just enough to look up, face flushed, lips shiny with glaze and spit, a few crumbs clinging to your chin. âIs⊠is this good?â you whispered, voice trembling with real uncertainty. âI just wanna make it feel nice for you. Itâs so⊠messy. But warm. And sweet. And you taste⊠mixed in.â
Leeâs hands flexed, knuckles white, veins standing out on his thick forearms. His voice came out wrecked, slurred, dripping with raw need.
âYouâre killinâ me, angel. Keep goinâ. Eat âem off me slow. Be my good girl. Clean every last crumb off this filthy cock with that sweet little mouth.â
You nodded, shy, eager in a way you didnât comprehend, then leaned forward on your knees.
Leeâs thighs shook. âJesus fuckinâ Christ- look at you, angel. Eatinâ my cock like itâs the sweetest thing you ever baked. You even know what youâre doinâ to me?â
You pulled back just enough to look up at him, face a wreck of crumbs, glaze, spit, cheeks flushed crimson, eyes glassy and dazed. A stray bit of dough clung to your lower lip like obscene lipstick.
âI⊠Iâm just tryinâ to clean it up,â you whispered, voice trembling, small and lost. âItâs⊠itâs all over you. And⊠and it tastes like⊠like you. I didnât know it would taste like that.â
He stared down at you, breath ragged, pupils blown black. Then, voice dropping to a gravelly whisper:
âYou pure, baby girl? Still got that little cherry waitinâ for somebody to pop it?â
The question hit you like cold water. Your eyes widened further; your whole body went still. Heat flooded your face so fast it hurt. You looked down. suddenly mortified, quiet, shoulders hunching like you wanted to disappear into the floor.
You didnât answer. Couldnât. Just gave the tiniest, shakiest nod, barely perceptible, cheeks burning, lashes wet.
Lee groaned like heâd been punched in the gut. âFuck. Thatâs what I thought. Still pure as fresh snow⊠and here you are on your knees, face covered in my mess, eatinâ donuts off my cock like a good little girl.â
The words made something twist low in your belly, shame, want, confusion all at once. You whimpered, soft, needy, thighs pressing together under your skirt.
He guided your head forward again. âDonât stop now, angel. Finish cleaninâ me up. Take the rest.â
You obeyed, diving back in. The remaining donuts gave way under your teeth: crumbling apart, dough and glaze smearing everywhere, across your cheeks, your chin, your apron, dripping down your neck in sticky trails. You moaned softly around mouthfuls, half pastry, half him, tongue swirling to chase every ridge, every vein, swallowing greedily like it was the best thing youâd ever tasted.
When the last crumbling ring finally collapsed, nothing was left but his thick, glistening cock, coated in spit, glaze remnants, crumbs clinging to the shaft like filthy decoration.
You didnât stop.
Still dazed, still trembling, you opened your mouth wider and took the head inside. The thick tip pushed past your lips, stretching them; warm pastry remnants smeared across your tongue as you sank down inch by inch. Your throat fluttered, soft little gags muffled by the mess but you didnât pull away. You kept going, eyes watering, until your nose brushed the coarse, sweaty hair at his base.
A soft, contented hum vibrated around him, like you were savoring something holy and filthy at once.
That sound broke Lee completely.
âHoly- fuck- angel-â His hands fisted in your hair, not rough, just desperate, holding you steady while his thick thighs shook. âThatâs it- fuckinâ take every inch down that sweet virgin throat. Look at you⊠swallowinâ my dirty cock like a good little church girl. So fuckinâ tight- milkinâ me so good, baby.â
Wet, filthy sounds filled the room: your soft, needy moans around his girth, the obscene squelch of spit and melting sugar, his ragged, whiskey-rough breathing. Glaze, drool and crumbs dripped in slow, sticky strings from the corners of your mouth, landing on his open fly, his boots, the floor between your knees.
You bobbed slow at first, learning him, savoring every ridge, every vein, tongue pressing hard against the fat underside, dragging up and down, coaxing more pre-cum to leak onto your taste buds. You swallowed around him greedily, throat working like you were starving for every drop.
Then faster, cheeks hollowing, taking him to the root over and over. The last remnants of the donuts had long since smeared into a warm, sticky ruin along his shaft and balls; every thrust of your head pushed more of the mess across your face, dripping in thick ropes onto his lap.
Leeâs control shattered.
âFuck angelâ His hands fisted tighter in your hair, not rough, just desperate, holding you steady while his thick thighs shook. âThatâs it- fuckinâ take every inch down that pretty throat. Such a good little cocksucker⊠didnât know heaven had a throat this tight and greedy.â
His hips jerked up in shallow, helpless thrusts, fucking your mouth while his hands anchored you.
âGonna cum- gonna fill that sweet virgin mouth full- swallow every thick drop like the filthy little angel you are- fuck- here it comes, baby-â
He came with a broken, guttural grunt, thick, hot ropes flooding your mouth in heavy pulses. You swallowed eagerly, innocently, like it was communion wine on Sunday morning, lips sealed tight so not a drop escaped. Pulse after pulse coated your tongue, slid down your throat; you hummed in soft delight, milking him with gentle swallows until the last weak spurt painted the back of your mouth.
Only then did you pull back, letting the final rope catch on your tongue before it dripped down your chin in a pearly string, streaking your ruined apron. Crumbs clung to your lashes; glaze and spit smeared your cheeks like obscene war paint.
You sat back on your heels, face flushed and sticky, apron a disaster of white, sugar, spit, cum and dough, eyes still huge and shining with dazed wonder. You licked your swollen lips slow, chasing the taste, then gave him the softest, shyest smile.
âGoodness, Sheriff,â you whispered, voice trembling with real shyness creeping back in now that the haze of hunger had ebbed. âYou made an awful big mess. I didnât know a man could⊠give so much. Itâs all warm and thick and⊠everywhere.â
Lee stared down at you, wrecked, sweat rolling down his thick neck, chest heaving, cock still twitching half-hard against his belly, smeared with the obscene remnants of glaze, spit, cum and crumbs.
He hauled you up by the apron strings, rougher now but still careful crushing your sugary, cum-smeared mouth to his in a deep, sloppy, whiskey-soaked kiss. He tasted himself on you, salt, sugar, sin and groaned into your mouth like a starving man finally fed.
When he pulled back, he was breathing hard, eyes glassy but focused, pupils blown wide.
âYou really are an angel,â he rasped, voice wrecked and slurred. âA sweet, perfect, filthy little angel who just sucked the goddamn devil right outta me.â
His big hands were already hiking your skirt, bunching the fabric at your waist in a crumpled wad, exposing the simple white cotton panties youâd put on that morning, the plain, modest ones your mama always bought you, with just a tiny pink bow at the front. They were completely drenched now, the innocent white fabric turned dark and clinging wetly to your swollen folds, soaked through like it had been waiting all night to betray how needy you really were.
Lee dropped to one knee in front of you, big rough hands gripping your hips to hold you still. His face hovered inches from your dripping center. Slowly he hooked two thick fingers into the waistband and peeled the soaked panties down your thighs, sliding them all the way off. He held the drenched cotton in one hand, stretching the wet gusset wide between his fingers right in front of your flushed face so you could see the dark, shiny stain of your own slick glistening in the flickering lamplight, sticky strings of it stretching between the fabric.
Your eyes went huge, clueless, horrified, cheeks flaming scarlet. A tiny, mortified whimper escaped you; you tried to look away but his grip on your hips kept you frozen.
âLook at this, angel,â he growled low, voice thick with dark lust. âLook how fuckinâ wet you got for me. This little scrap of cottonâs soaked clean through with your cunt juice. Smell it, smells like sweet vanilla and desperate pussy, donât it?â
He brought the drenched patch closer, close enough that you could feel the warm, musky heat radiating off it.
Then he leaned in and dragged his tongue flat across the soaked gusset, slow, filthy, sucking hard enough to pull the fabric into his mouth. He groaned deep in his throat, eyes rolling back for a second as he tasted you, sharp, tangy, sweet, lapping at the wet cotton like it was the last drop of something precious.
You jolted, a high, shocked whimper tearing out of you. Your thighs shook violently; you couldnât speak, only tiny, trembling gasps escaped.
He pulled back with a wet pop, lips shiny with your slick, eyes locked on yours.
âTastes even better than it smells,â he taunted, licking his lips slow and deliberate. âSweet little virgin cunt drippinâ like a whore in heat. You been leakinâ all over these pretty panties the whole time you were on your knees eatinâ my load, huh? Bet you didnât even know how bad you wanted it till now.â
Your face burned so hot you thought you might cry. You stared at the ceiling, biting your lip hard, thighs trembling, unable to form words, only a soft, mortified âSheriffâŠâ slipped out.
He balled up the warm, dripping cotton in his fist and rose back up between your legs.
âOpen that pretty mouth, angel,â he growled low.
You barely had time to obey before he pushed the drenched panties between your lips, stuffing the wet fabric deep into your mouth. The taste of your own slick flooded your tongue. Your eyes widened in shock, a muffled whimper vibrating around the cotton gag.
âAtta girl,â he rasped, dark satisfaction in his voice. âKeep those innocent little panties right where they belong. Now spread those pretty legs wider on my desk, baby girl,â
You blushed scarlet, deeper than youâd ever blushed in your life. Your thighs trembled violently as you nodded, the words coming out soft, wet, and completely muffled against the soaked gag.
âYesh⊠SheriffâŠâ
The garbled, innocent little plea made Lee groan low in his throat, his cock twitching hard against your thigh.
âFuck, thatâs adorable,â he rasped. âEven with your dirty panties in your mouth youâre still sayinâ yes like a good girl.â
Lee didnât give you time to breathe. He stepped between your spread thighs, forcing them wider with the bulk of his hips. His cock, still half-hard from your mouth, glistening with the ruined remnants of glaze, spit, cum and dough crumbs bobbed heavy and obscene between you. The thick, wrinkled foreskin was still partially covering the fat head, shiny and slick.
He fisted the shaft lazily, slowly working the foreskin back and forth a few times, pulling it down to fully expose the swollen, leaking tip before sliding it back up again. Sticky strands of glaze, spit and cum stretched between the skin and the head as he smeared the filthy mess along your bare, dripping folds, coating your clit and slit with it.
âGonna get this pretty virgin cunt nice and messy too,â he growled, voice low and filthy. âFeel how slick that foreskin is, angel? Thatâs all for you.â
The sight ripped a low, guttural growl from deep in his chest. His nostrils flared wide; he could smell you even stronger now, sweet vanilla undercut by the sharp, musky reek of your dripping cunt slicing through the stale whiskey, cigarette ash and sex haze of the office.
âLook at that sloppy little mess,â he rasped, voice thick with liquor and leftover cum. His thumb dragged over your swollen clit, pressing down hard enough to make you jolt. You whimpered, high, needy, thighs quivering uncontrollably. âAngelâs cunt already cryinâ rivers for it. Soakinâ like a desperate little whore whoâs been dreaminâ about this fat cock all damn day. Bet Mommy donât know her sweet baby girlâs leakinâ like a faucet in the sheriffâs back room, does she?â
Your face burned hotter than the fryer at closing time. Shame and want twisted together in your belly until you couldnât tell which was winning. But your thighs parted wider anyway on instinct, surrender, hips tilting shamelessly toward his hand like your body had already sold you out.
You tried to answer but the soaked cotton panties stuffed in your mouth turned your words into soft, wet, muffled sounds.
âI- I couân hewp it, SheriffâŠâ you mumbled around the gag, voice cracking and barely intelligible, drool already starting to leak from the corners of your lips. âYou⊠you make me feeâ so funny down dere⊠hot anâ achy anâ⊠empty⊠like I need somethinâ bad⊠somethinâ I donâ even unâerstanââŠâ
Lee chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours. He hooked his big hands under your thighs and lifted you fully onto the edge of the desk like you weighed nothing. Papers scattered in a chaotic flutter; the half-empty Jack Danielâs bottle tipped sideways, rolling slowly across the wood but not quite falling.
Instead of leaving you there, he kept his grip on your thighs and adjusted you, pulling your ass right to the very edge of the scarred desktop so your hips tilted up and your legs fell open wider on either side of him. He pushed your knees back toward your chest slightly, spreading you obscenely open, completely exposed under the flickering lamplight.
Your ass hung just off the edge now, cunt presented like an offering, slick dripping down onto the wood below.
âThere we go,â he rasped, voice thick with satisfaction as he looked down at your helpless, spread position. âNice and ready for me. Just how I want my angel.â
âIsh⊠ish gonna be too bigg,â you tried to say, but the soaked cotton panties stuffed deep in your mouth turned the words into a wet, garbled mumble. âSheriff⊠ish it gonna hurt?â
Lee froze for a second, then a slow, filthy grin split his face. He braced both hands on the desk beside your hips, leaning down until his whiskey-sour breath fanned over your soaked cunt. Without warning, he bent lower and pressed a slow, sloppy, open-mouthed kiss right on your throbbing clit, lips sealing around the swollen bud for one long, sucking second, tongue flicking once before pulling back with a wet, obscene pop.
You jolted, back arching off the desk, a high, shocked whimper tearing out of you. Your thighs snapped together instinctively, trapping his head for a heartbeat before he shoved them apart again with rough hands.
âMight sting a little, baby girl,â he taunted, voice thick with dark amusement. He licked his lips, tasting you, eyes locked on yours. âBut look at this greedy little clit, puffinâ up and shininâ like itâs begginâ for more. Youâre so fuckinâ wet itâs drippinâ down your ass crack already. You really gonna pretend you donât want this fat cock to split you open? Gonna pretend that tiny virgin hole ainât clenchinâ and suckinâ just thinkinâ about beinâ stretched around me?â
Your face flamed crimson; you couldnât look at him. You stared at the ceiling instead, biting your lip so hard it hurt, thighs trembling violently.
âI⊠I donâ knowâŠâ you mumbled around the soaked panties, voice soft, wet, and completely muffled. âIsh scary⊠but⊠but I wanâ it too. I thinkâŠâ
Lee groaned, deep, animal. âThatâs my good girl. Scared little angel whoâs still drippinâ like a whore.â
He braced one hand on the desk beside your hip, the other guiding his thick length, rubbing the fat, glaze-smeared head up and down your slit, coating himself in your slick until every glide made wet, obscene noises that echoed in the small room.
âToo bigâs the whole fuckinâ point, baby girl,â he grunted, voice slurred and thick. His eyes were locked on where you were stretched just around the tip, watching himself disappear a fraction more with every shallow rock of his hips. âGonna stretch this tight little virgin cunt wide open. Make it remember the shape of me every time you sit down tomorrow. Every time Mommy asks why youâre walkinâ funny.â
He pressed forward again, slow, agonizingly slow, watching your face the entire time. Your walls fluttered wildly around the intrusion, trying to take more, slick heat sucking at him greedily even as your brows pinched and your lips parted on a shaky gasp.
The stretch burned, sweet, deep, overwhelming. You felt every ridge, every pulse of him as he sank deeper, inch by thick, veined inch.
When he met resistance, your body instinctively clenching, he stilled, breath ragged, forehead pressed to yours for a moment. Sweat dripped from his brow onto your collarbone.
âCome on, baby,â he rasped, voice dropping to a rough, pleading growl. âLet me in. Let your sheriff in that sweet little hole. You been drippinâ for it all night- donât fight it now. Open up for me⊠thatâs it⊠just like thatâŠâ
His thumb found your clit again, circling slow, firm circles that made your hips jerk and your walls flutter open around him. The combination of pain and pleasure made your breath hitch; another inch slid inside with a wet squelch.
You let out a broken little sob, half pain, half bliss. âOh- oh gooâness- Sheriff- ish so fuww- stings- burns-â
He pushed the rest of the way in with one long, steady thrust, bottoming out until his balls pressed flush and heavy against your ass, the last of the glaze and spit smearing between you.
You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders, legs shaking uncontrollably. The sound came out muffled and wet around the soaked panties stuffed in your mouth.
âI can feeâ you⊠ebârywhere,â you whimpered, voice garbled and lispy. âIn my bewwy. Wike youâre rearranginâ me insideâŠâ
He held still for a long moment, letting you adjust, letting you feel the sheer size of him splitting you open, owning every inch. His thumbs stroked slow circles on the trembling insides of your thighs, almost gentle despite the filth of his words.
âThatâs it,â he murmured, voice slurred but steady now, focused. âTake a breath, angel. Let that pretty pussy get used to beinâ owned. Youâre mine now- every tight little inch of you.â
The desk was rattling now, violent, rhythmic shudders that sent pencils rolling off the edge and the flickering lamp teetering dangerously on its base. Every brutal snap of Leeâs hips drove the scarred wood deeper into the wall behind it, the whole room seeming to pulse in time with the wet, obscene slap of skin on skin. The air had turned thick and humid, thick enough to taste on every ragged breath.
Your legs had wrapped around his thick waist as best they could, ankles crossing at the small of his back, heels digging into the damp fabric of his uniform shirt. The stockings had laddered further from the rough friction, thin runs snaking up your thighs like delicate scars. You clung to him, nails scraping down his meaty arms, leaving red trails through the coarse hair, trying to anchor yourself against the overwhelming tide of sensation.
âSheriff- pwease- â Your voice cracked, high and desperate, the words coming out as wet, garbled mumbles around the soaked cotton panties stuffed in your mouth. âI feeâ somethinâ- somethinâ cominâ- ish too much- I canât-â
Leeâs laugh was low, filthy, slurred at the edges but sharp with triumph. He shifted his angle, tilting his hips just right, so the fat head of his cock ground relentlessly against that swollen, secret spot inside you that made white-hot stars explode behind your eyelids. His belly pressed flush to yours with every deep plunge, the soft give of him trapping your clit between your bodies, rubbing it raw with every thrust.
âYeah?â he growled, voice gravel dragged through smoke. âGonna come on this fat sheriff cock, angel? Gonna soak me like the greedy little thing you are?â He leaned down, whiskey breath hot against your ear, lips brushing the shell. âGo on then- come for me. Squeeze this dirty dick like you never wanna let it go. Show me how bad you needed a man to wreck you.â
It hit you like a freight train barreling through the quiet night.
Your back arched off the desk, sharp, violent, head falling back so hard your skull thumped against the wood. A high, keening cry tore from your throat, raw, reverent, almost prayer-like as your pussy clamped down in frantic, fluttering pulses. Slick gushed around him in hot, slippery waves, soaking his shaft, dripping in thick rivulets down his balls and onto the scattered papers below. The mess spread, mixing with the spilled whiskey and crumbling glaze into a filthy puddle that would stain the desk for weeks.
Lee cursed through gritted teeth, thrusts turning erratic, sloppy, losing rhythm as your walls milked him with greedy contractions. âFuck- fuck- thatâs it- milk me- Jesus fuckinâ Christ-â
He buried himself to the hilt one final time, deep enough you swore you felt him in your throat, with a guttural, broken groan that rattled his whole frame. His cock pulsed violently inside you; thick, hot spurts flooded your depths in heavy ropes, so much, so fast it immediately overflowed. Warm cum leaked out around his thick base, mixing with your own release and the last sticky remnants of sugar, running in slow, pearly trails down the cleft of your ass and pooling beneath you on the desk.
He stayed seated deep, buried to the root, panting harshly against the crook of your neck. His forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping from his brow onto your flushed cheeks. You trembled beneath him, aftershocks rippling through your core in weak, fluttering waves; your walls still weakly clenched around him like they were trying to keep him inside forever.
For a long moment there was only the sound of ragged breathing, the dying buzz of the lamp, the distant tick of the wall clock creeping toward eleven.
Then he began to pull out.
The drag of his softening cock through your oversensitive walls made you whimper, sharp, oversensitive pleasure-pain. When the fat head finally slipped free, a thick rope of cum followed immediately, gushing from your puffy, ruined entrance in a slow, obscene cascade. It dripped onto the desk in heavy drops, mingling with everything else youâd already made.
Lee watched with dark, possessive satisfaction, eyes hooded, lips parted. His thumb, still sticky with glaze and your combined mess, scooped up a generous glob of the leaking cum and pushed it back inside you. Your walls fluttered weakly around the intrusion; a soft, broken sound escaped your throat.
âKeep that where it belongs,â he murmured, voice wrecked but steady, almost tender beneath the gravel. âDonât want none of my mess wastinâ, angel. Gonna make sure you feel me drippinâ out of you the whole walk home.â
You whimpered again, too blissed-out, too overwhelmed to form words. Your thighs shook uncontrollably; your body felt liquid, boneless, pinned to the desk like an offering. The apron hung crooked and ruined, streaked with sugar, spit, tears, cum, your blouse half-unbuttoned from his rough hands, breasts heaving with every shallow breath.
Leeâs big palm smoothed down your trembling thigh, almost soothing before he reached up and hooked two thick fingers into the corner of your mouth. He slowly pulled the drenched, saliva-soaked panties from between your lips, the wet cotton dragging out with a filthy, obscene sound. Strings of your drool connected the fabric to your swollen lips for a second before they snapped.
You gasped softly, finally able to breathe properly again, lips parted and shiny.
He leaned in and crushed his mouth to yours in a deep, sloppy, whiskey-soaked kiss. He tasted like bourbon and sin; you tasted like him and the faint, musky sweetness of your own slick from the gag.
When he pulled back, his eyes searched yours, something raw flickering behind the drunken haze.
âYou okay, baby girl?â he rasped quietly, thumb brushing a tear track from your cheek. âDid I hurt you too bad?â
You shook your head slowly, eyes glassy, lips trembling into the softest smile. âNo, Sheriff,â you whispered. âIt⊠it felt like dyinâ and beinâ born all at once. Like I was waitinâ my whole life for you to do that to me.â
He exhaled a shaky breath, almost a laugh and rested his forehead against yours again.
âGood,â he muttered. ââCause I ainât done with you yet. Not by a long shot.â
But even as he said it, his gaze flicked to the old wall clock on the far side of the room, its face yellowed with age and nicotine, ticked past 10:45 with a slow, accusing rhythm that suddenly cut through the haze of heavy breathing and sticky skin. The sound seemed louder now, sharper, like it had been waiting for the right moment to remind them both that the world outside this filthy little office still existed.
His eyes narrowed, the drunken fog lifting just enough for reality to creep back in. Then his gaze dropped to you: sprawled boneless across the cluttered desk, skirt rucked up around your hips in a wrinkled halo, apron streaked with sugar, spit, tears and the unmistakable pearly evidence of what youâd done together. Your face was flushed crimson, lips swollen and shiny, hair mussed and clinging damply to your temples. You looked ruined, beautifully, thoroughly ruined and something possessive twisted hard in his chest at the sight.
You blinked slowly, lashes fluttering as the afterglow ebbed and the world came back into focus. Your eyes widened when they landed on the clock.
âOh no- Sheriff-â Your voice was small again, cracked and trembling, the shy sweetness rushing back in like cold water. âWhat time is it?â
Lee wiped a thick thumb across your cheek, smearing a lingering streak of glaze rather than cleaning it, before answering. His voice was still rough, gravelly from groaning your name, but quieter now.
âPushinâ eleven,â he rasped. âWhy, angel?â
âMy Mama said I could only be out till eleven,â you whispered, suddenly shrinking in on yourself despite the way your thighs still trembled around his hips. âSheâll be awful mad if Iâm late. Sheâll wait up- lights on in the kitchen, Bible open on the table- and sheâll ask where I was, why I smell like⊠like this.â Your gaze dropped to your ruined apron, then lower, to the sticky sheen coating your inner thighs. âAnd- and I canât tell her I was here⊠like this. Sheâd die of shame. Or worse- sheâd lock me in my room and never let me out again.â
Lee barked a rough laugh, low, almost fond but there was something tender buried in the sound, something that hadnât been there before you walked through his door. He eased back just enough to help you sit up, big hands steadying your waist as the room spun a little for you.
He reached down and picked up the ruined, soaked white cotton panties from the floor. A filthy little smirk tugged at his lips.
âHere we go, angel,â he murmured, voice gravelly. âOne leg nowâŠâ
He gently lifted your left foot, guiding it through the leg hole. You held onto his broad shoulders for balance, cheeks burning as he slowly worked the other leg through.
ââŠnow the other. Thatâs it. Good girl.â
He slid the damp panties up your thighs with surprising care, the wet cotton clinging obscenely to your slick, cum-filled pussy. He even adjusted them carefully over your swollen folds, patting the front almost possessively before tugging your skirt down as best he could. The fabric smoothed over your hips but the dark, wet spot between your thighs was impossible to hide and fresh sticky trails still ran down your legs.
âBetter get movinâ then, sweetheart,â he said, voice gravelly but softer at the edges. âCanât have Mommy cominâ lookinâ for her little baker girl with a flashlight and a prayer book. She finds you like this, sheâll have the whole congregation prayinâ over your soul by sunrise.â
You slid off the desk on wobbly legs, knees knocking together, thighs slick and trembling. A fresh trickle of his cum slid warm and slow down your inner thigh the moment your feet hit the floor; you pressed them shut with a tiny, mortified gasp, cheeks flaming anew.
Lee watched the motion with dark, hungry eyes, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. It was stained, crumpled, smelling faintly of motor oil and old smoke but it was the best he had. He stepped close again, close enough you could feel the heat rolling off him and dabbed gently at your chin, wiping away the worst of the glaze and spit. Then lower, across the streaks on your apron, the smudges on your blouse. His touch was careful, almost reverent, like he was trying to erase the evidence even though he knew it was pointless.
When he finished, he leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, breath hot and whiskey-sour.
âNext time,â he murmured low, possessive, âbring more donuts. A whole dozen. And donât wear panties. I wanna feel that sweet pussy drippinâ the whole walk over here- knowinâ youâre already wet for me before you even knock.â
Your cheeks burned scarlet, but you didnât pull away. Instead you nodded, small, shy, eager, biting your lower lip hard enough to leave a mark.
âYes, Sheriff,â you breathed.
He walked you to the door, big hand splayed possessively on the small of your back, thumb stroking slow circles through the thin fabric of your blouse. The night air hit you like a slap when he pushed the door open, cool, clean, smelling of pine and distant rain. It cut through the thick reek of sex and sugar clinging to your skin, making you shiver.
You paused on the top step, turning back to look at him. The porch light cast harsh shadows across his face, highlighting the sweat on his brow, the crooked badge, the crooked smirk but his eyes were steady on yours. Soft. Hungry. Something dangerously close to tender.
âThank you, SheriffâŠâ you whispered, cheeks still flushed. âFor⊠for lettinâ me stay with you. For makinâ me feel so full⊠and so dirty⊠and like I mattered tonight.â
Leeâs smirk softened, just a fraction, into something almost real.
âAnytime, baby girl,â he rasped, voice low and rough. âDoorâs always open for my favorite delivery. Matter of fact⊠you can come even earlier next time. The other deputies usually clear out by eight. After that itâs just me here⊠all alone.â
His thumb brushed your bottom lip, still swollen from earlier.
âSo come as early as you want, angel. The sooner you get here, the more time I got to ruin you proper.â
You gave him one last look, then turned and hurried off into the dark. Your skirt fluttered with every quick step; the cool air kissed the sticky trails on your thighs, making you clench involuntarily around the lingering ache of him inside you. His taste still coated your tongue. His cum still leaked slow and warm between your legs with every stride.
Behind you, Lee leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching until your silhouette disappeared around the bend in the road.
He didnât move for a long time.
The clock inside ticked toward midnight.
And somewhere deep in his whiskey-soaked heart, he already knew: this wasnât the end.
It was just the beginning of something heâd never be able to quit.
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