summary — an unexpected layoff forces you to move in with a random man you meet on the internet—who just so happens to be ryland grace. a blind date forces the two of you to finally acknowledge your true feelings for one another—and just how deeply they run.
pairing — ryland grace x f!roommate!reader
content — fluff, slight angst, smut (mdni), oral f!receiving, subby!ryland, dirty talk, they (try to) ignore their feelings for each other, confessions of feelings, reader works at a library, ryland works at grover cleveland middle school
word count — 8.3k (it just kept growing!! my longest fic ever)
a/n — i want to preface this by saying that this is my first time writing for ryland and i have not yet fully read the book so if any of my writing for ryland seems out of character, i apologize! if there are any mistakes, please let me know & i hope you enjoy the fic! feedback is always appreciated <3
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A year ago, you never would have imagined needing to live with a roommate just to get by at nearly thirty years old, but life had other plans.
A layoff from your corporate job and taking a new position at the local library with a drastic pay cut had changed that, which is how you found yourself becoming roommates with Ryland Grace.
It was by chance, choosing your roommate. An online search that yielded only two results.
The first—a man in his fifties who was, exclusively, looking for women in their twenties to share an apartment with. That one was easy to ignore, which left you with only a single other result that you had no hope for after reading the description of your first choice.
To your surprise, the description of your second option for a roommate was exponentially better.
Male, thirties, no pets, open to males or females. I occupy one bedroom in a two bedroom apartment and am looking for someone to occupy the other. You will have your own room, but a shared living room, kitchen and bathroom. My occupation is a middle school science teacher, so my schedule is set. I would prefer someone with a similar work schedule, but am open to other options as well. Rent and utilities will be split equally. If you are interested, my contact information is listed.
A year later, you can’t help but be grateful for giving your second option a chance.
If you hadn't, you never would have met Ryland Grace.
You and Ryland had clicked almost instantly. He was kind and accommodating, even taking a whole entire Saturday to help you move all of your boxes and furniture in when you made the big move. The two of you also built your new dresser together that first weekend, which is the first big test of any relationship, platonic or romantic. It didn't end in arguing about who was right and wrong, instead the time was spent laughing together and getting to know how each others brains ticked. Admittedly, though, it did take the two of you entirely too long to build that dresser.
The two of you fell into an easy rhythm of living together. It helped that your schedules were similar, giving you more time to spend together after your workdays to get to know one another past just the surface level details. You had expected your roommate to be someone you were cordial with, spoke to in passing, but never went out of your way to get to know on a deeper level, but with Ryland it was different.
You found yourself looking forward to coming home and being able to debrief about your days together, which quickly became a habit. Ryland always speaking of the students in his classroom and you, always the kids that came into the library. Sometimes they overlapped, his students coming into the library after school to work on projects. You had heard stories about their fantastic science teacher, which you later learned was Mr. Grace. On one occasion, you let it slip that you knew Mr. Grace, which didn't seem like a big deal at the time, but you later realized was a mistake.
Ryland came home the very next day with a story about the huge rumor that had dropped that day about Mr. Grace’s secret girlfriend who worked at the library. The two of you spent the rest of the evening laughing about it, and it turned into one of your favorite inside jokes that you shared.
You did find yourself becoming attracted to the scientist-turned-science-teacher, but that was something you would never confess to, at least not to Ryland. It was too nice of a living situation to risk things turning sour, so you bit your feelings back and swallowed them down the best that you could. There had been hints of reciprocal feelings, small gestures and comments that never went any further—nothing physical or concrete to really go off of.
Which is why you found yourself hooked up on a blind date—someone a friend had said you might like. You didn’t have high hopes, but you still agreed.
You just hadn’t told Ryland yet.
You make your way towards the kitchen, freshly showered and dressed, but still stifling a yawn against the back of your hand as you cross the threshold into the kitchen.
“Good morning, sleepyhead. Did you snooze your alarms again?” The familiar cheery voice of Ryland greets you. He has his back turned towards you, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He's already dressed, wearing his knitted fox cardigan that you love, and had, admittedly, stolen a few times to wear to work. You received lots of compliments on it, too. It also was more ammunition to feed the secret girlfriend rumor at school.
“It’s not even seven yet, Ry.” You argue, pulling the chair out from the kitchen table and taking a seat. You did snooze your alarm, but you wouldn't dare to tell him that. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of being right this early in the morning.
“You’re usually showering by six, I didn’t hear the faucet turn on until quarter after six this morning.” He states matter-of-factly, finally turning to face you. He’s holding two cups of coffee, you notice one of the mugs as his—a mug you bought him for his birthday that says I make horrible science puns, but only periodically.
The other is yours—a mug he bought you for Christmas that’s speckled with stars, and in the center it says you’re the star of this story. He places the mug in front of you without a word before bringing his own mug to his lips and taking a large sip of his coffee, drowning almost half the mug in one go. You're positive it's probably already his second cup this morning.
“Wow, Ry, that’s a bit creepy, don't ya think? I think I might need a new roommate who hasn’t memorized my shower schedule.” You tease with a smile, wrapping your fingers around the mug and letting the hot porcelain warm your palms. Truthfully, you liked that he had memorized your schedule. Knowing that you take up space not only in his apartment, but in his mind too makes your stomach flip with what you can only describe as butterflies.
“C’mon, after a year of living together I know your routine and our rhythms. You’re trying to paint me unfairly as some freak and I do not appreciate that, thank you very much. Especially this early in the morning.” His eyes crinkle behind his glasses as he laughs, watching as you take a sip of your coffee. You hold it in your mouth, the sweetness of the creamer mixed with the bitterness of the coffee coating your tongue deliciously before you swallow with a content sigh.
He has your coffee preferences down, too. He used to tease you about how much creamer you consumed, saying that you liked the sugary taste more than the coffee itself, which while it was definitely true, you always argued that that just wasn't the case.
Though, recently, you’ve noticed that there's always an extra unopened container of your favorite creamer sitting in the fridge, waiting specifically for you. He doesn't acknowledge this new habit, doesn't hold it over your head. It's just Ryland being Ryland, doing something for you and expecting absolutely nothing in return. Just one of the many reasons why you've found yourself holding a certain fondness for him—a crush? That sounds utterly ridiculous for your age, so you'll stick with fondness.
“Good?” He raises his eyebrow expectantly, his glasses have slipped down his nose, so he's staring at you over the lenses rather than through them, waiting for your response.
“Perfect.” You answer, placing the mug back down, a soft clink rings out as it hits the table. He smiles and nods, already knowing what your response would be.
"It's Friday, so you're off at four today, right?" He asks casually, bringing his mug back to his lips and finishing off his coffee before turning and placing the empty cup in the sink basin.
"That would be correct." You nod even though he can't see you. "You know, you're really not helping those freak accusations we talked about. First my shower schedule and now my work schedule? It just keeps piling up." Your voice is light, your smile shining through the words.
"Can't a guy just have a good memory?" He teases, spinning back around to face you. That slanted smile you've grown attached to is plastered on his lips.
"Maybe." You return with a shrug of your shoulders, smile still on your face. Everything pauses as the two of you just look at one another, taking each other in. The moment is soft and fleeting, but it still makes your heart clench. Before you know it, he's pushing himself away from the counter and coming to pass you, reaching his hand up and ruffling your hair as he passes by.
"Hey!" You protest, swatting your hand at him and missing, which earns you a childish laugh from him as he carries himself to the living room, entirely too pleased with himself.
The conversation lulls as the two of you go about your morning, existing side by side, but not exactly together. His presence is always near, but never overbearing. It’s nice, comfortable even. You finish your coffee off before standing and making your way to the sink to set your empty mug beside his in the basin. His footsteps sound in the hallway, old floorboards groaning under his weight as he makes his way back to the kitchen where you still are, grabbing your lunch from the fridge to pack it away.
When he reaches the kitchen, he has his bike helmet in his hand and his backpack on his back, signifying that he’s getting ready to leave. “Did you want to get food from that new Thai place tonight? I’ve heard good things this week in the break room about it. I can grab it on my ride home if you do.” He offers, pausing by the table as you zip up your lunchbox. Your movements still as you take in his words.
Your date is tonight.
You know you're not doing anything wrong by going on a date, but your stomach still flips with a weird sense of guilt for Ryland and the fact that you haven't told him yet.
“Actually, I won’t be home tonight,” you start, and you can see the confusion wash over his features in real time. “I have a date tonight.”
Your heart just dropped to your stomach.
You're sure of it.
It takes a few seconds, but he responds. “A date?” He echoes the word, voice slightly frayed at the edges. He tilts his head, shifting his weight between his feet uncomfortably as he waits for your response.
“Yeah,” you laugh nervously, picking at the zipper of your lunchbox. “A blind date. One of my friends set it up, it’s silly really.” Your cheeks start to warm as you finish your sentence. That guilt that started in your stomach is working its way up to your chest, and it's moving rapidly.
Ryland recovers swiftly, nodding his head and giving you a small smile, but you're not really sure it reaches his eyes.
Are you making things up? Seeing things that aren't there?
You have to be.
“It’s not silly. Is he picking you up?” He questions, but you think you know what he’s really asking. Am I going to meet him?
“No,” you shake your head quickly, “I’m taking the bus. Meeting him at the restaurant. I didn’t want him to know where I live just yet. I know my friend knows him, but I just didn't really think that was a good idea. You never know." You know you were rambling, but you just couldn't stop yourself. It's something you do when you're nervous—a trait you've found out you share with Ryland.
“Yeah, you never know really. That’s smart. Definitely very smart. I'm proud of you. Well—uh, I’ve got to head out. I'm going to be late if I don’t get going now. I’ll see you after work? Will I see you? Before your date?” He's rambling too, the both of you just word-vomiting all over the place from nerves. It could be funny if these weren't the circumstances.
“Yeah, I’ll be here. I’ll see you before I leave. I hope you have a good day.” He's walking past you and to the door as you speak, planning his exit as quickly as he can. With his hand on the knob, he pauses and turns his head over his shoulder to look at you once more.
“Yeah, you too. Sounds good. I'll see you tonight.” Then he’s out the door, leaving you standing alone in the middle of your shared kitchen with the feeling that you're doing something entirely wrong.
───
Your shift at the library seems to drag on and fly by simultaneously. It’s probably the nerves. At this point you don't know if they're from your date, or seeing Ryland when you get home.
Probably both.
───
Before you know it, you’re home and changing into your dress for the date that you're not even entirely sure you want to go on anymore. You don’t feel the need to make any drastic changes to your makeup, so you just do a small touch up on your makeup from work. Taking a final look in the mirror, you exhale a deep breath and work up the courage to make your way to the kitchen where you know Ryland will be waiting.
When you reach the end of the hallway, you see him sitting at the table, a pen in his hand and his focus on the stack of students’ tests that sit in front of him as he works through grading each of them thoroughly.
“You know you really shouldn’t be bringing work home, Mr. Grace.” You tease him like normal, because it's the only thing you know to do. Smoothing the skirt of your dress out, you close the distance to the kitchen table where he's stationed. His focus flicks up towards you, you watch the way his eyes take in your appearance, the way they linger on your dress before moving up to your face.
“That’s the life of a teacher. Overworked and extremely underpaid.” He responds casually, placing his pen down and stretching his arms out. You hear something pop, probably his back from being stiff and him sitting crouched over the table.
Something you've gotten on him for plenty of times.
“Isn’t that the truth.” You smile faintly, tapping your fingers against the table.
He only nods, so you continue, “Well, I’m getting ready to head out. Do I look okay?” You question him quietly, pulling your arms to your sides so he can get a good look at you. You find yourself wanting his validation.
“Yeah, you do,” he nods, giving you a small smile. “You look very pretty in your dress. I like that color on you. It looks good with your skin tone.” His voice is soft and sincere, almost shy in a way as he speaks. It makes you smile, a real grin that you can’t contain.
“Thanks, Ry. I appreciate that.” And you do. More than he will ever know.
“If you need anything, just call me, okay?” His voice has grown serious now. “If anything at all goes wrong—don’t hesitate. Call me and I’ll be there to get you, even if I have to sit you on the back of my bike and peddle the both of us home.” You let out a small laugh at the mental movie your mind creates for you. It's ridiculous, but you're one hundred percent positive that he's telling you the truth.
“I’ve got you on speed dial. You're my emergency contact if it goes south.” It sounds like a joke, but he really is your emergency contact.
Just the same as you are his.
“And you better use it if you need to.” He smiles, voice full of sincerity.
“I will. I’ll see you soon, yeah?”
“I’ll see you soon. I hope it goes well.”
“Thanks, Ry.”
Then you're out the door, leaving Ryland sat at the kitchen table wondering why his heart feels like it's been broken into two.
───
You knew the date wasn’t going anywhere almost as soon as it started. The man was nice, the conversation flowed, but you just didn’t click.
It also didn’t help that you kept comparing him to Ryland all night. Comments he made, jokes he said that you just knew Ryland would never say. He didn't have that same effect on you that Ryland had. That easy connection that blossomed between the two of you almost instantaneously just couldn't be replicated with the man you met tonight, but that didn't surprise you, not really. Ryland was one of a kind, the type of soul that you could never find in another body no matter how hard you looked.
You knew your feelings for Ryland were there, constantly lingering and slowly growing, but you hadn't realized just how deeply they ran until tonight. All your date had shown you tonight was that you never wanted to go on another one if it wasn't with Ryland.
───
You turn the doorknob to your shared apartment and let yourself in—the apartment is dark and quiet, except for the sound of old reruns playing on the television in the living room. Your eyes flick to the time on the clock and you furrow your brows.
It's late.
Ryland is usually sleeping by now.
You slip your sandals off slowly, careful to not make any excessive noise. Cautiously, you make your way towards the living room, your steps are quiet just in case Ryland has fallen asleep accidentally on the couch. It's not common, but it has happened before. You peer into the living room and see him on the couch, but he's not asleep just yet. His eyelids look heavy, half-lidded, trained on the television, but you're not sure he's actually watching it. You see an empty takeout container of what you can only assume is the Thai food he spoke to you about this morning. The old floorboards creak under your foot as you step on a particularly touchy spot, giving you away. His head turns quickly, eyes opening wider as he sees you standing in the entryway.
"Are you trying to sneak in on me?" He teases sleepily, that easy humor threading itself through his voice as he speaks.
"You caught me red handed." You sigh dramatically, raising your hands in mock surrender as you carry yourself further into the living room, not focused on being quiet anymore.
He watches you, silently, but you can tell there are words sitting in his throat that he won't let come out just yet. He waits, ever so casually, as you take a seat on the middle cushion of the couch, curling your legs up under yourself.
"Did you wait on me?" You know those aren't the words he wants to hear right now, but you ask anyway, eager to hear his answer.
"Yeah, well—I tried to. I think I was about half asleep when you came in. Didn't even hear the door open." His response was what you were hoping to hear. A smile forms on your face as you watch him shift his body to face towards you. He props his elbow on the top of the back of the couch, leaning his head against his hand, the movement causing his glasses to slightly shift.
"I was quiet. I thought you'd be sleeping so I didn't want to disturb you." You shift now, scooting in deliberately closer to him. Your knee knocks into the side of his sweatpant clad thigh and he feels it, glancing down at the contact before bringing his eyes back up to find yours again.
Neither of you move.
"You never disturb me." He tells you softly, the words dancing around in the air for a moment as you pause.
"I don't think there will be a second date." You finally say, giving him an entryway into the conversation he's been waiting to have.
You swear he almost looks relieved when he hears confirmation that the date didn't go as planned. His shoulders loosen ever so slightly and he nods his head. "I'm sorry it didn't work out." The words sound sincere enough.
"No, don't be sorry. I didn't have high hopes anyway." You shrug casually, sighing lightly. "We just didn't click very well—you know?" You scrunch your brows together while you think and he gives you a nod to continue. "Sometimes you just click with people and you know it will lead somewhere. That didn’t happen.”
"Yeah, I understand what you mean. Completely." A pause, then he opens his mouth to speak again, closes it, and the words wither up and die on his tongue before he can even spit them out.
"Like, you and I, we click. I just didn't feel that with him." You're hoping he catches the hint you're throwing him, but knowing Ryland, he probably hasn't.
"Yeah, we clicked very well. We're very good friends."
There is the confirmation that he hasn't caught the hint. It makes you laugh, how oblivious he can be to things sometimes. Your laughter confuses him, his brows now knitting together as he thinks.
"What?" He questions, letting out a nervous laugh because he feels like he's missing out on something.
He most definitely is.
"He just wasn't you, Ry." The words are quiet, but they're out there now. Hanging between the two of you like a bridge, an invitation that you hope he will accept.
"What? I'm sorry—what was that?" He's leaning his head in closer to you now, as if he'll understand what you're saying if he can just close the distance between the two of you.
You try again.
More straightforward this time.
"He wasn't you. I think I knew it wasn't going anywhere before I even met him. I kept thinking of you, and he just wasn't you. The way he made me feeling isn't the way you make me feel. You make me feel things I've never even experienced before. This date just made me understand what I've been too stubborn to acknowledge for awhile. I have feelings for you, Ryland." Your nerves have caught up to you, evident from the lengthy explanation you give him. He's quiet, taking your words in and trying to digest them—make sense of them.
Your heart is trying to make its way outside of its home in your chest as the seconds tick by.
"You don't know how long I've hoped to hear those words from you." He breathes, his words dripping with honesty. "I think I've had feelings for you since about the fourth month of you living here. It was so hard not to, but I didn't want to make you uncomfortable so I just tried to push them down." You think he's finished, but he continues. "I almost went crazy tonight, sitting here thinking about that awful date and worried you would come home with good news. I know that makes me a horrible person, but I don't think I care anymore."
His confession has you melting, your legs turning to jelly where they sit beneath you. You lean closer into him, reaching your hand forward, not realizing where it's about to land, and place it on the top of his thigh. The two of you look down to where your hand has landed, its place on his thigh that is so dangerously close to his dick. You both look up at the same time, eyes locking on each other. You find no indication that he wants you to move, so you leave your hand there.
The energy between the two of you has shifted, becoming more charged.
You're close now, so close that you can feel his breath fanning across your face. It's warm, heating your cheeks. His breath smells like the spearmint toothpaste that sits in the holder alongside both of your toothbrushes. His eyes are searching your face, looking for any indication of you not wanting this.
Not wanting him.
He finds none.
And still, he asks, because that's just who he is. Always needing one hundred percent certainty.
"Is this okay?" His voice is soft, scared almost, breaking quietly near the end.
Your brain is short-circuiting, all dizzy and fogged up from the closeness paired with his scent. You can't get any words to form, so you do the next best thing—you nod.
"No," he shakes his head, "Words, please. I need to hear you say it, okay? Please?" He finishes with your name, whispering it so delicately, so softly, as if he's afraid he'll break it, break you, if he doesn't treat it with the utmost care.
"Yes," you manage to mutter, still nodding your head, "Yes, this is okay. Please." You finish stronger, the words coming out louder than the first.
There's a pause, a nervous breath, then his lips are on yours. It's not a perfectly practiced kiss you'd see in movies, it's clumsy, noses bumping into each other and breathy laughter throughout. Two people beginning to learn each other in a different way, a more sacred way.
His hands are hesitant, finally raising them to slide up your thighs and settle on your hips. He pulls away, his eyes are dazed and his pupils are blown wide. "Still okay?" He questions again.
You don't respond immediately, instead, you shift your weight, bracing your knees against the couch cushions and raising to balance on them before you swing one across his lap so that you're now straddling him. His hands keep their place on your hips through your movements, rubbing soft circles against the fabric of your dress as you get yourself situated on his lap. Your hand that was on his thigh moves to rest at his side. The skirt of your dress has risen up, bunching up around your thighs from your movements. You can't help but feel the way his hardening length presses into you.
"Yes," you tell him, raising your hands and placing them on his broad shoulders, gripping the fabric of his t-shirt between your fingers. "Is this okay?" It's your turn to question now, to confirm that he wants this, wants you, just as much as you want him. You watch his eyes flutter shut for a moment, his chest heaves as he takes in a long breath. Exhales, then his eyes are open again.
"Yes," he says, voice still slightly shaky with residual nerves, "this is more than okay." He confirms, a sheepish smile making it's way across his lips.
A smile tugs at the corner of your own lips, then you're leaning back in and capturing his mouth with yours once again. His lips are soft, softer than you imagined they would be. You're both still shy, almost unsure of yourselves when it comes to this new territory between the two of you. You take a chance, moving your hands from their place on his shoulders to his head, threading your fingers through his blonde locks. You tug, just hard enough, that he gasps into your mouth.
You swallow the sound down greedily, wanting to hold onto it forever—keep it locked away in a place only you have access to. His fingers tighten, ever so slightly, around your hips.
You pull away this time, getting a good look at his face. His cheeks are tinted red and his lips are a darker shade of pink than usual from your kisses. You bring a hand around, placing a finger under his chin and making him tilt his head back. He obeys so easily, tilting his head back quickly with no resistance at all.
"Did you like that? Me pulling your hair?" Your voice is sweet, honey coating every word.
"I think—" he pauses when your lips find his jaw, "I think I like anything you do to me." He breathes, hands tightening around your hips instinctively. You let out a small giggle, your breath fanning across his cheek. You continue to kiss along his jaw, then down his neck. The collar of his shirt has been pulled down slightly from the bottom edges being trapped under your thighs. You continue, kissing down to his exposed collarbone, pausing momentarily before nipping lightly at the sensitive skin that stretches along the bone.
He groans softly—then, subconsciously, his hips buck up into your panty-clothed core. The friction is nice, pulling a soft gasp from your throat. His hands still.
"I'm sorry—I didn't mean to. I really didn't mean to." His words are quick, full of remorse at his unintended actions.
"No, it's okay," you whisper, trying to console him. You begin to make your way back up his neck, planting small kisses against the base of his throat as you move. "Can we take your shirt off? I wanna see you."
"No."
Oh.
The word makes you pause, pulling away from him almost immediately. Your skin grows hot from the feeling of embarrassment. He tilts his head back down so the two of you are face to face again. When he sees your expression, his eyes go wide and he scrambles to correct himself.
"No—I mean, yes, we can." He sputters, using his hands on your hips to pull you even closer to him. "Yes, I want you to see me. I want to see you too. I just—if we're going to go further than this I don't want it to be here—on the couch I mean. I want to do it right, in bed." He clarifies quickly, trying to salvage whatever he can of this interaction. His thumbs begin to circle your hips again in hopes of calming you.
You finally let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.
He wants to do it right.
"Okay," you whisper, nodding your head in agreement. "Can we go to the bedroom, then?"
"Yes, please." He nods, tapping your hips lightly with his fingers to signal for you to get up.
You place your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, swinging your leg off of him and placing your foot on the floor. He keeps one hand on your hip, steadying you as you stand. Your dress falls back down, no longer bunched at your thighs.
It's his turn to stand and he does so quickly, bumping into you on the way up.
"Sorry," he hums, "Just excited." The honesty makes you laugh.
"Excited to have sex with me?" You tease, tilting your head up to see his face.
"Yes—excited for that reason. To have sex with you." He smiles shyly, the light from the television allowing you to see the tint of red that spreads across his cheeks.
You shake your head with a smile before turning to make your way towards the bedrooms. He follows closely behind, keeping a hand placed on your hip to tether himself to you as if he's afraid one of you will float away if he lets go. You continue, coming up on the first bedroom in the hallway—which just so happens to be his.
You reach for the handle and turn it, pushing the door open to step into his room. You've been in his room a handful of times before to grab something for him or to turn off his fan, but never for a reason like this.
His room isn't fully dark, a small lamp sitting on his bedside table illuminates the room just well enough for you to see. He has a bookshelf in the corner where dozens of textbooks on molecular biology, DNA, chemistry, and other sciences sit.
Just light reading for him.
His desk sits along the wall, the chair pushed halfway in. Papers and pens are scattered all across the face of desk. He has an unfolded basket of clothes sitting on top of his dresser. Folding them is the worst part! His voice pops into the back of your head. You swear you've heard him say that at least one hundred times by now. He watches the way you take in his bedroom, the way your eyes linger on certain things. He finds himself becoming self-conscious when he notices the clothes on his dresser.
"Sorry, I wasn't expecting visitors." He says truthfully. He never would have imagined that he would be ending his night with you in his bedroom.
He surely wasn't going to complain, though.
"With the amount of times I've heard you complain about folding clothes, I'm honestly surprised you only have one basket that isn't folded." Your voice is light, you're smiling as you talk. He laughs from behind you, his hand running from your hip up your side.
"Ry, can you unzip my dress?" Your voice is quieter now, the gentle humor that was there just a moment ago has faded into something softer.
He doesn't speak, but you feel his hands trail up your back to the zipper that sits at the top of your spine. He grabs it in his hand and you swear you can feel his fingers tremble slightly before he works up the courage to pull the zipper down, down, down, all the way to the base of your spine. His hands raise back up, pushing the fabric from your shoulders and down your arms. The dress drops, and you're left standing in your bra and panties, facing away from Ryland.
His hands hesitate before they move down to the clasp on your bra, it takes him a moment, but he unclasps it for you. You shrug the straps from your shoulders and down your arms to let it fall to the ground, joining your dress in a pile by your feet. You have one final article of clothing to shed, which you do so yourself. You hook your fingers into the waistband of your underwear and bring them down your legs before stepping out of them. The pile of your clothes on the floor is now complete.
You take a breath before turning around to finally face Ryland. Your nerves disappear the second you see the lock on his face.
His eyes are wide and his lips are parted. There's something so soft about the way he's taking you in. You think you're going to have to reach out and poke him to bring him back down to earth, but then he speaks.
"You are absolutely beautiful." He reaches his hand out to your hip, finally touching you without the barrier of clothing. His fingertips are soft as he squeezes the flesh between his fingers—it almost seems like he's testing you to make sure you're real. His fingers trail up your stomach, leaving goosebumps in their path. He pauses at your breast, looking towards your face once more for an invitation.
You nod.
He continues.
His touch is soft, ghosting over the flesh of your breast. He grabs a hold of it, holding it in his palm. His fingers close around your nipple, twisting the hardened bud between his fingers. Your body is on fire under his touch. You whimper softly, heat coiling down low that has you squeezing your legs together to get any amount of friction you can.
He takes note of that.
"You like that?" He questions, wanting to take his time to learn you.
You nod.
You're becoming impatient, wanting to see him and feel him.
"It's your turn now." You urge him softly, your fingers coming up to grip the hem of his shirt. He nods, his hand moving away from you and grabbing onto his own shirt. You help him raise it up and he maneuvers it off of himself—it joins your pile of clothes in the floor.
You knew Ryland had a nice build, but you didn't expect this. His biceps are large, and the skin on his stomach lays tightly over his muscles. It's now your turn to bring your hand up and run it across his stomach, feeling the warmth of his skin and the way his muscles contract under your fingertips. Your hands glide around before settling down low on the waistband of his sweatpants.
"Is this okay?" You say the words that have become habitual to the two of you at this point.
"Yes, please." His eyes meet yours through his glasses as he confirms. You nod, hooking your fingers into the waistband of his his sweatbands along with his boxers and pull the both of them down his thighs at the same time. He steps out of them, and now the pile of your clothes on the floor is truly complete.
You're able to take him in now—all of him.
He's bigger than you imagined. Not huge, but a good size and thickness. You know the stretch is going to hurt so good. He's hard, his dick is poking out and red at the tip. You reach your hand down to grasp him in your palm, then pause. You raise your eyes to his and he's already watching you.
He nods.
You continue.
You grip him in your hand, running your thumb over his leaking slit to gather some wetness. He's sensitive, already twitching in your palm with minimal effort on your part. You stroke from the tip to the base of his dick and it has him groaning, a sound pulled deep from his chest. That heat, the need, coils low in your stomach again.
"You're so gorgeous, Ry." You tell him, watching the way his eyebrows knit together in pleasure. His eyes catch yours again and you see the way his cheeks turn that familiar shade of pink. He's so responsive it makes you weak in the knees.
"Gorgeous." he repeats, like it's a foreign concept to him. He doesn't really believe it.
"Yeah, really gorgeous." You confirm with a simple nod of your head, like it's the most obvious thing you've ever said to him.
To you, it is.
You stroke him languidly a few more times, enjoying the feeling of him twitching against your palm.
The feeling curling deep in your stomach is becoming too hard to ignore.
You need him.
"Lay down on the bed, please." You tell him softly, giving him one final stroke before taking your touch away from him completely. He whines at the loss of contact, his hips jerking closer to you. His eyes are open and watching as you step closer to the bed.
"Wait, no—I want," he pauses, unsure of himself, then, "can I taste you, please?"
His words land hard, a pulsing sensation flows through you, right where you need him the most. Who would you be to deny him?
Especially when he asks so nicely.
"Yes." You nod, eager for the contact with him. You face the bed, crawling onto it before turning yourself around and laying on your back. The air from your movements causes a waft of his scent—a mix of his aftershave, shampoo, and that detergent he swears by, to blanket you, enveloping you in a nice little cocoon of him. He follows you, making his way onto the bed and lodging himself between your legs, his arms hook under your legs and his hands rest so gently against your stomach.
He takes in the sight of you sprawled out and ready for him and he swears he's in heaven—or as close to heaven as he will ever get. He places a kiss against your thigh.
"You look so pretty." His breath fans over you as he says it, causing your pussy to clench around nothing.
You shy away, covering your face so you don't have to look at him. "Hey, no—I want to see you, please." His voice is so soft it makes your heart ache. You oblige, uncovering your face so your view is now Ryland between your legs.
With your attention now on him, he gets to work quickly. He flattens his tongue, licking a stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit, circling the bundle of nerves with his tongue. You gasp, which only encourages him more. His tongue moves back down to your entrance, prodding your hole to get a better taste of you.
He devours you like a man starved, scared that this will be his first, and last, meal. Though, at this point, the both of you know that this isn't going to be a one and down type of encounter. He's attentive, quickly learning what you do, and don't like. He licks back up, focusing on your clit, finding that spot that makes you keen and arch your back from the sensation.
"I'm gonna come." You manage to choke out, your thighs flexing tighter around his head. Your voice, those words, are music to his ears. His tongue becomes more precise, flexing to a taut point and circling around your clit to help pull your orgasm from you. Your eyes shift down, the sight of Ryland between your thighs paired with how deliciously he's sucking on your clit are enough to send you over the edge. The coil in your stomach snaps, hot pleasure coursing through your limbs. You reach your hand down to grab a handful of his hair, trying to pull him away from you, but he doesn't let up.
Your grip on his hair paired with tasting you on his tongue has him moaning, sending vibrations through your already overly sensitive cunt. He lets you ride out your orgasm on his tongue, his movements eventually slowing to a halt.
Neither of you speak for a moment, you because you're still too blissed out, chest heaving as you suck in deep breaths. Ryland because he can't believe this is happening. He has stilled, his head resting against your thigh. You feel a few light taps, Ryland's fingers against your stomach, and you look down. His fingers are still wrapped around his hair and his glasses are crooked, but he doesn't notice. The mixture of spit and your release are coating his lips and chin. He's smiling up at you so sweetly it makes your heart ache that familiar ache.
"Good?" He asks, voice unsure. You want to laugh. You just came on his tongue and he's still worried he didn't do good enough of a job.
"Great." You breath, giving a light tug at his blonde locks to signal him to come up. He wastes no time, unhooking his arms from your legs and crawling up the bed, caging you between his arms. Your hands move to his face, fingers grabbing at his glasses to correct their placement. You catch his eyes with yours.
His eyes are soft as he stares into yours, so full of something you can't quite name yet. Your fingers run down his cheek and settle on his jaw, thumb brushing against his skin. He leans into it. The yellow light from his bedside lamp catches his skin so perfectly, casting a warm hue across his face that paints him as one of the most beautiful paintings you've ever laid eyes on. He's so beautiful like this, face so relaxed and carefree.
You think he's an angel—something otherworldly for sure.
You feel his length twitch against your lower stomach, hard and leaking from the slit with desire. That familiar heat is already forming in your belly again. "I want to feel you," you tell him, voice quiet and sure. "All of you, Ry."
"Okay," he nods, "I want you, too."
You smile, removing your hand from his face and snaking it between the two of you, grabbing his length and stroking him. "Can I be on top? I want to see you."
"Yes," he nods, quicker this time. "You can have me anyway you want me. Anything you want." His voice is so certain and he's moving before you can say another word. Taking his position with his back flat against the bed, you raise to your knees and sling one leg over him, straddling him once again. His hands find your thighs, resting near the top of them like that's exactly where they were made to be.
You raise again, giving yourself room to take him in. Your hand raises to his lips, fingers splaying out expectantly. There's a flicker of confusion in his eyes.
"Spit." He does so without another command, so eager to please and be good. You gather the spit on your fingers, using your thumb to get the residual saliva left on his bottom lip. You reach down again, grabbing ahold of him once more, fingers now wet and ready to help lubricate him. You give him a few pumps, coating the spit along his length. His hips buck at the contact, a quiet groan leaving his lips as his eyes screw shut. His tip prods at your entrance and you sink down ever so slightly, dragging the moment out.
He whines, a sound so beautiful you want to have it on recording so you can play it whenever you want.
Slowly, you sink down further, taking him in inch by beautiful inch, until you're fully seated on him. A quiet moan slips past your lips at the stretch, the fullness you feel. He fits inside you so perfectly, completely made for you, and you, made for him.
You quickly decide that this is it, you're complete.
Ryland Grace has been your missing piece all along.
You just can't believe it's taken you a year to realize this.
His hands grip your thighs, fingernails marking crescents into your skin. "You—you feel so good," he gasps, swallowing hard. "I know I'm not going to last long." Embarrassment weaves itself into his words, but he shouldn't feel that. To you, it's endearing. He's going to come quickly because of you.
"That's okay," you start to shift your hips, raising up, then back down slowly, setting your own rhythm. "I want you to feel good." Moving quicker, you place your hands on his stomach to steady yourself, the tight muscles under his skin flexing as you gain momentum.
He says your name, but it's broken off at the end with a moan, "I don't think I can have you like this just once and be done." A breathy laugh, trying to be nonchalant, but his words are anything but casual and he is literally inside of you, already twitching as your walls squeeze around him.
You continue your motions, the drag of him inside of you making that coil in your stomach already begin to tighten. "I can't either."
He whines at your response, hips bucking up into you as you come down onto him again. The tip of his dick hits a certain spot inside of you that has your vision blurring. You chase that feeling, moving up and down feverishly, trying to catch the sensation again.
Ryland is a moaning mess under you, caught between scrunching his eyes closed in pleasure and trying to keep them open so he can watch the way you get yourself off while using him.
"I'm gonna—" a low groan, "Come. Can I?" Come inside? He doesn't have to say the words for you to understand where he was going with the sentence. Nodding, you work quicker, grinding against him to help him reach his peak.
"Please," you beg, "I want to feel you. Please come inside me, Ry." The nickname paired with your movements help throw him over the edge. He's gasping, hips bucking as he releases inside of you. You continue to grind against him, milking him thoroughly as you chase your own orgasm now. Your clit rubs against his pubic bone, the friction helping that coil in your stomach get closer and closer to snapping.
Ryland knows you're close, feeling the way your walls are constricting around his twitching dick. He watches you move, working yourself up and using him to get there.
He thinks it's the most ethereal thing he's ever seen.
"There you go," he croons, rubbing soothing circles against your thighs with his large hands, "Use me. Let go for me, sweetheart."
Sweetheart.
Ryland has never called you anything other than your name before.
The unexpected use of the pet name and the sound of his voice is enough to let that coil snap. For the second time tonight, you're coming all over Ryland Grace. Crying out, you ride the high down until there's nothing left to hold onto anymore.
All that can be heard in the room is the sound of both of you breathing, heavy long breaths as you both try to get oxygen back into your lungs. His hands continue to work themselves over your thighs, then up your hips and your sides to help you ground yourself back to him.
Before you know it, he's wrapping his arm around your back and readjusting himself so he's sitting with his back against his headboard, still inside of you, but growing softer, as you straddle him.
His hands move to your face, fingers wiping back the sweaty hair that's sticking to your forehead. He looks happy, a sweet smile tugging at his lips while he watches you through his glasses.
He would do whatever you asked him to.
He's sure of that now. Maybe he always has been.
"What?" You question, scratching your nails lazily against his abdomen.
"Nothing," he smiles wider, "I was just thinking—" a pause, "does this change our roommate agreement?" That humor that flows so easily between the two of you is back, not changed by the events that just took place or the fact that he is literally still inside of you.
The question is so silly it makes you laugh, a deep sound coming up from your stomach.
"Yeah, Ry. I think it does."
Tomorrow morning the two of you will have a lot to figure out, but tonight, you’re just happy to be in each others arms.
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thanks for reading! feedback is always appreciated :)
Whenever he was asked in an interview ‘What’s the worst thing about going on tour?’ Arthur always gave the same answer.
‘Leaving my girlfriend behind.’ He’d say. The interviewer would laugh, maybe pat him on the shoulder or offer a hug of consolation, interpreting his words the innocent way, figuring that he must just miss having you around to talk to or hold in bed late at night after a show.
And to an extent, they were right. He did miss that. He missed having you there next to him when he woke up in the morning, he missed smelling your shampoo on the pillows and your perfume on the bedsheets. He missed seeing you in the kitchen as he made breakfast, still half-asleep and rumpled as you shuffled around the kitchen. He missed the feel of you under his hands as he hugged you before running off to the studio or to record something, missed the soft press of your lips against his as you gave him a goodbye peck, as per your routine. He missed the domesticity of it all.
It was a delicate balance to strike - giving all of that up for months on end while he gave himself over to performance and bright lights, late nights and loose limbs. More often than not, he found himself tipsy on whatever beer or wine his manager had procured, thinking of you, wishing he could feel your soft hand in his rather than the cold, unforgiving glass he found himself holding.
However, more often than not when he said he missed you, he really meant this:
He missed being able to fuck you.
He knew how that sounded, which is why he rarely told the truth when asked in interviews. But he swore up and down it wasn’t just about the sex, it was about the intimacy. He longed for the way your warm breath would fan over his face in a breathy moan when he bottomed out inside you, craved the scrape of your nails over his back and shoulders when he fucked into you at just the right pace. He yearned for the velvet heat of your cunt wrapped around him, at the closeness and vulnerability you awarded him and him alone.
Sure, he also missed the days where you’d shove him into the mattress and ride him until you were both breathless, or the days where he’d bend you over the nearest flat surface and pull your panties to the side before fucking into you roughly after a long day of teasing touches and heated looks. Who wouldn’t?
Tonight was one of those nights, he was beginning to find out. The show had been amazing, as usual. The crowd had roared and cheered and hung on every single note, and the adrenaline had surged through him until he felt dizzy with joy and disbelief as he gazed out at the crowd and the blinding lights of the stage. His manager had pulled him into a hug the second he’d stepped off stage, ruffling his hair affectionately and pressing a kiss to his cheek. He hadn’t stopped smiling all throughout the post-show pub trip, dutifully accepting drinks from floating fans or his team, insisting on giving back through buying a round of shots that, in hindsight, was probably a bad idea.
But through it all, his mind kept circling back traitorously to you. He found himself wishing that you could be here with him, sharing in this moment of pure happiness and satisfaction. He wished that the raucous laughter he heard next to him could be replaced with your lovely voice, wished that the body next to him wasn’t the solid shape of his guitarist, but rather the soft curves of you he’d come to know and love so well.
Somewhere around his third beer, Miriam had sent him off to his bunk, finger in his face like a disappointed schoolteacher, yet the grin on her face betrayed her as she lightly shoved him back towards the bus, insisting that the ‘star needs his rest, Arthur!’. He’d listened, of course, never one to say no to the woman who literally had control over his life at this current moment, but also because he’d been hoping all night to sneak away and have a minute to himself to call you, just to hear your voice if nothing else.
He ducked into his room on the bus - miraculously, just his (at the insistence of his team after a not-so pleasant event on the last tour involving a pair of disconnected Bluetooth headphones and Arthur not being quite fast enough to switch off his phone after receiving a video of you from when you were feeling particularly frisky) - his thumb already moving to your name on his contact list, the phone at his ear before he had even sat down.
He let out a long sigh as he relaxed against the pillows, head knocking back against the headboard as he listened to the ringing. He didn’t know what time it was for you, but he hoped, selfishly, that you would pick up.
Arthur resisted the urge to jump for joy when he heard the telltale click of the call being connected, holding his breath as he waited for you to speak first.
‘Arthur?” You asked into the phone, sounding distant and muffled, the words accompanied by a fair bit of rustling of what he assumed were the bedsheets. But, he noted, you didn’t sound half-asleep. He’d probably caught you right as you were getting into bed.
‘Hi love. Just wanted to call and- and see how you were, I guess.’ He replied, suddenly feeling sheepish at interrupting what was probably a cosy night in for you. You hummed on the other side of the line, and he heard a little more rustling until your side of the call fell silent as you settled back into bed.
‘I’m good, thanks. How’re you? How was the show?’ You asked, and Arthur’s heart fluttered in his chest at how genuine you sounded. He’d had partners before who honestly couldn’t have cared less about his shows or music, only feigning interest long enough to keep him engaged before they could talk about themselves. You, on the other hand, were genuinely interested in what he did - you asked about chord progressions and lyric choices when he was showing you a new song, texted or called him after almost every show he did, religiously commented on his gig pictures and TikTok’s, and of course, modelled any piece of merch you could get your hands on from his store.
‘It was amazing, love. Genuinely probably one of the best I’ve had so far. The crowd was mental, someone threw their shirt on stage, I think.’ He said, letting his eyes close as he recounted the rest of what had happened that night. You hummed along as you listened, your mouth curving into an unconscious smile at the contented tone in his voice as he relayed the night to you. Your eyes drifted unconsciously to the empty space next to you in the bed, the side normally reserved for Arthur unusually neat and undisturbed, the white pillow just as perfect as it had been when you’d remade the best a few days ago.
‘That’s good to hear, baby. Did you go out afterwards?’ You asked, forcing yourself to focus on the conversation at hand. Arthur nodded before realising you couldn’t see him, and mentally kicked himself before replying.
‘Yeah, we did. Had a few beers before Miriam sent me to bed.’ He said. You laughed softly, the sound crackling through the receiver and into Arthur’s ear. He tilted his head up, chasing the sound before it disappeared into the open air.
‘Ah, of course she did.’ You said. Arthur exhaled heavily again, the uncomfortable restlessness of missing you stretching wide in his chest, paired with something else just beginning to simmer under the surface as he let his mind wander. He wondered what you were wearing - depending on whether or not you’d just had your weekly ‘everything shower’, you were either in one of your lace slips you loved so much, or you were wearing one of his shirts. Both options were equally as appealing to him, and he found his mouth getting considerably drier as he envisioned your plush thighs under the material, his gaze traveling up, up, up until he was imagining the panties you might have on, if any. The thought had his thighs twitching, his hand coming up unconsciously to rest on the soft shape of his cock over his trousers.
‘Arthur? You okay?” You said, the silence stretching between the two of you unusual. Arthur, for all his protests, was a big talker. He loved to chat your ear off about anything and everything as long as it meant you two could keep talking. You loved it, but for some reason the silence tipped you off that your boyfriend wasn’t all there.
‘Hm? What- sorry, love. Just thinking.’ He said, eyes flying open and cheeks heating at having been caught. You laughed softly, shaking your head despite the fact he couldn’t see it.
‘Yeah? Thinking about what?’ You asked. Truly, you had meant for this to be an innocent conversation. Arthur called you more often than not after a show, just wanting to talk and de-stress after riding the adrenaline high. Sometimes, however, things would take a turn. You were getting the sense this was one of those evenings, especially as Arthur let out a sigh that sounded a tad more laboured than usual.
‘I was- um, thinking about- about you.’ He managed to get out, voice already sounding wrecked. Arthur swallowed thickly, hand already moving to palm over himself as his blood rushed steadily south.
‘Me? ’S that right, baby. Anything specific?’ You asked, your own voice dropping now into a lower, teasing register as you settled in properly, your free hand ghosting over the edge of Arthur’s shirt that you’d claimed as your pyjama shirt for the foreseeable future.
‘Just- thinking about what you’re wearing, honestly. Whether or not you’ve got underwear on.’ He said, unashamed as he began to palm himself more firmly now, feeling the growing shape of him under his hand.
Your eyebrows shot up at his boldness. Normally, when you two did this, it took Arthur a little more coaxing to get him to admit what he wanted, but apparently he was feeling particularly needy today. You clicked your tongue, cooing slightly down the line at him as you lifted the hem of your shirt. You were indeed wearing panties today, a pair of Arthur’s favourites, your mind almost unconsciously reaching out to him as you’d selected them, some part of you knowing that this was going to happen today.
‘Yeah, baby? Well, I am wearing underwear. Your favourite pair, actually. You know the ones?” You told him, smiling to yourself as you heard him let out a breathy moan.
Arthur did know the ones. He knew them very well, in fact. They weren’t even anything fancy - a simple black pair that hugged your ass oh so nicely, framing your pretty cunt in a way that made his mouth water every time you wore them, the waistband sitting high on your hips and showing off the plush expanse of your thighs he loved so much.
He’d taken them off you on many occasions, even worn them on one, just to see how they felt. He doesn’t think he’d ever come as hard as he had when you’d jerked him off over the material, his cum shooting into the gusset and forever leaving his mark on his favourite pair of panties. He would never admit it, but his cock still twitched involuntarily whenever he caught a glimpse of them when you wore them around the house, as if remembering that encounter.
‘Wish you were here, baby, so you could take them off for me. I know you love doing that.’ You said, hooking your thumb into the waistband of your panties and pulling them down your legs until you could kick them off, spreading your legs more comfortably as you threw the duvet back.
‘I do, I love it. Wish I could be there too, love. Wanna taste you so bad.’ He said, surprising even himself with how wanton he sounded. He couldn’t find it in himself to care, though, not when he heard you moan in surprise over the line. He gripped himself through his pants, almost at full hardness now as he closed his eyes again, imagining you on your bed at home.
‘I know you do, baby. You feeling a bit needy today, then, hm?’ You asked, though there was no malice behind the question. Usually Arthur wasn’t this shameless without a little prompting, so you figured the distance and the lack of physical contact was getting to him.
‘Yeah- yeah, a bit. Just- fuck- missing you.’ He said, unable to stifle the curse as he traced his thumb over the leaking head of his cock, the rough drag of the fabric sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through him.
‘Aw, I miss you too, my love. ‘M sorry I can’t be there. Why don’t you touch yourself for me, instead? Does that sound good?’ You said, starting to trace a slow line up your thighs and back down again, relishing in the soft scrape of your nails that sent goosebumps across your skin.
Arthur’s breath stuttered out of him in a gasp as he heard his words, his hand already halfway to pulling down his shorts just enough to free himself. The cool air against the heated flesh of his cock pulled a whine out of him, his head knocking back against the pillows as he pressed the phone harder against his ear.
‘Yeah- yeah, ‘m doing it. Fuck- miss you so much.’ He said through pants, wrapping his hand loosely around himself and beginning a slow rhythm up and down the length of himself, dragging his palm over the head of him before coming back down.
‘Poor thing. What would you want to do if I was there, hm?’ You asked, straining your ears to hear the slick sounds of Arthur’s hand over the phone, heart fluttering in your chest as you heard the telltale rhythmic rustle of sheets and clothing.
‘I don’t- I don’t know. Anything you want, I’ll do anything.’ He gasped out, tightening his grip now as he began to stroke himself harder and faster, his mind spiralling with a million different scenarios of what he’d do if he had you here with him. Visions of him fucking you against the expanse of windows that ran along one side of the bus flashed across his mind. Images of the two of you cramped together in the shower, your hand on his cock and his fingers inside you as you worked each other to the brink.
‘Hm, I think you can do better than that, baby. You said you wanted to taste me, why don’t we start there?’ You asked him, your own hand now dipping beneath the waistband of your panties to trace your fingers over your clit.
‘Yeah, yeah- wanna taste you. You taste so good- missed it while I’ve been away. Want you to sit on my face- fuck- make me take it. Want you to use me to make yourself feel good.’ He said, fisting his cock faster now as he spilled his thoughts to you, the words flying largely unchecked as he lost himself in the slick pleasure of his hand. Every drag of his calloused palm across the ridges and veins of his cock had his breath stuttering, weak moans bubbling their way out of his mouth as his touch sent waves of intoxicating pleasure throughout his whole body.
‘Fuck, such a good boy for me, Arthur. So good to me. What else, my love?’ You asked, your own breathing becoming more laboured now as your fingers slipped further down, gathering some of your slick before dragging it up to spread it around your clit in slow circles that had your thighs twitching together.
‘I want- want you here with me so I can fuck you properly. I don’t even care if anyone hears- fuck- just want you so bad. Miss your tits, your mouth, your cunt- shit.’ He groaned out, tightening his grip further and gasping at the heady pleasure, his hips thrusting upwards into his hand involuntarily. He could hear the sound of your heavy breathing over the line and, just under it, a twin rhythmic squelch of your cunt as you circled your clit faster now, the sound of your wetness audible even across thousands of miles.
‘I want you too, baby. Shit- you want people to hear us? Wanna let them know how good I make you feel?’ You said, your control slipping slightly as you applied more pressure, stars bursting behind your eyelids as you lost yourself momentarily in the sweet pleasure. Arthur moaned into the receiver, the sound further away now as his hand slipped slightly, limbs going loose under the onslaught of his hand on himself.
Arthur, when he jerked off, was much rougher with himself than you tended to be - he was messy, too, his palm coated in precum and spit from where he’d tried to smooth things along as he stroked himself hard and fast, grip tight around his cock. You preferred long, slow strokes, not wanting to rush things or run the risk of hurting him. But now, with you gone, Arthur had lost all semblance of control. The rough drag of his hand up and down his cock sent him reeling, moans and grunts falling freely from his lips that were nearly bitten raw.
‘Yeah, yeah- please. Make me feel so good, want everyone to hear. Want everyone- everyone to know ‘m yours. Want you to ride me- shit- wanna see your pretty tits- wanna taste them so bad.’ He rambled, eyes now screwed shut as he worked himself with fervour, the sound of his hand on his cock loud in the quiet of the bus, the smell of sex clouding the small room, making him feel as if he were in a dream as pleasure continued to sing through his veins.
‘Yeah, baby? Fuck- need you inside me so bad. ‘M so empty without you.’ You said, your fingers now having abandoned your clit in favour of thrusting them in and out of your thoroughly soaked cunt, the excess slick dripping down onto the sheets below and coating your palm and knuckles as you buried your fingers as deep inside you as they could go, crooking them desperately to rub against that spot inside you that had your eyes rolling into the back of your head.
‘Shit- love, wish I was there. Would fuck you so good, I promise- wanna make you cum on my cock. Shit- or my fingers. Just wanna make you feel good.’ He said, hips thrusting erratically up into his grip as he worked himself, cock red with need and slick with an obscene mixture of precum and spit as they met his fist with a wet slap. He couldn’t find it in himself to care that any member of his team could come back at any moment. If anything, the prospect of them finding him here, undone by just a few words from you, got him going more than he’d care to admit.
‘I know you do, my love. Such a good boy for me- listening so well. Wanna see your pretty face in between my thighs, I know you’d make me feel so good- fuck. Jesus, Arthur- need you so bad, baby.’ You babbled into the phone, completely losing yourself in the slick pleasure of your fingers between your legs, alternating between drawing tight circles on your clit and fucking into you, three fingers pistoning in and out of you leaving you breathless as your hips ground forward instinctively to chase the sensation.
‘I would- I would. Fuck- I’m close. Wish I could fill you up, love. You look- shit- so pretty all full of me, wanna see it, wanna feel you when you come all over me. Then I’d- I’d clean you up with my tongue, so I- I could taste all of you.’ He said, the phone clutched desperately between his shoulder and ear as he jerked himself, hips twitching up into his hand as he neared his peak. His hand wandered desperately, pinching cruelly at his nipples and gasping at the sharp pleasure, his cock twitching furiously in his grip as he took himself in his hand once again. The scrape of his shirt against his sensitive nipples had him gasping for breath as he pumped himself harder, listening to your desperate moans and whines over the line.
‘Jesus fuck, Arthur. Such a filthy mouth.’ You moaned out, rubbing your clit feverishly now as you felt yourself drawing nearer, pleasure crawling up your spine as you floated closer to that divine edge.
‘Sorry, ‘m sorry, just- miss you so much. Wish you were here- fuck.’ Arthur replied, pelvis thrusting up roughly as he ran a thumb over a sensitive spot under the head of his cock. Your laboured breaths and whines spurred him on as he jerked himself off, eyes shut tight as he imagined it was your hand or your mouth instead, imagining the soft pressure of your tongue on him or your pretty eyes glassy with tears as you took him all the way. He let out a strangled groan at the thought, squeezing the base of him so as not to cum before he wanted.
‘It’s- it’s okay, baby. I like hearing it. Shit, Arthur. You gonna cum for me, too? Yeah?’ You said when Arthur whined in response, resuming his quick strokes at the confirmation that you were in the same situation as him.
‘Yeah- yeah, gonna cum. Shit- gonna cum all over my hand. Wish it was your face instead-’ He said, words dissolving into broken moans and grunts as he drew closer and closer. You made a noise of agreement, your fingers circling your aching clit, sparks popping behind your eyes as you fucked yourself harder, edging closer to your orgasm with every passing second.
‘Please, baby- need you-’ You moaned, cutting yourself off with a loud moan as your orgasm crashed over you, your eyes rolling back into your head. Your fingers continued to rub at your clit weakly, driving you higher and higher until it all became too much, the pleasure dissolving into sensitive overstimulation.
Arthur groaned, the sound rumbling up from his chest as he listened to you come, picturing the visual of you spread out on your shared bed, fingers working tirelessly between your thighs. The vision of you fucking yourself in your shared bed, cum dripping down from your leaking hole onto the sheets and coating the whole bed in your scent, was too much for him. His hips slammed upwards to meet his fist, throwing his head back against the pillows as he came. His cock throbbed uncontrollably, shooting hot ropes of cum all over his hand and lower stomach, thoroughly messy and entirely perfect. His thighs trembled as he stroked himself slower now, bringing himself down from the high.
‘Shit- Jesus, Christ.’ You panted, breathing heavily as you moved your hand away from your cunt that continued to pulse with the aftershocks.
‘Yeah. Fuck.’ Arthur agreed, dropping his hand limply to his side. His cock lay soft against his stomach, spatters of cum cooling against the soft skin of his stomach. That was a problem for later, he decided. He readjusted the phone on his shoulder, tucking it more securely against his ear as he caught his breath.
‘That was not how I was expecting my night to go. You’ve got quite a mouth on you, you know?” You mused, and Arthur heard the muffled sound of the tap running as you presumably washed yourself off. You hated feeling sticky and gross after sex - Arthur had gotten good at managing that, always keeping a pack of wet wipes and a towel on hand next to the bed to minimise the time you had to spend feeling uncomfortable.
‘Sorry, love. I just- like I said, I just miss you.’ He said, a slight blush tinting his cheeks in the low light of the tour bus. In the afterglow, a small pit began to open in his chest, craving the warmth and solidity of you. He swallowed against the tears that threatened to spill over.
‘I know, angel. I miss you too. But you’re having fun on tour, yeah? And you’ll be back in the country before you know it for the final leg. I’m coming to every show, remember?’ You said. Arthur huffed out a laugh, a fond smile forming on his face at the memory. You’d promised to make use of the fact that you were on the guest list for every one of his shows, saying that you’d be coming to every one you could in the country to make up for not being there for the abroad shows.
‘Yeah, yeah, I remember you said. I can’t wait.’ He said, voice softening slightly. You smiled to yourself as you settled back into bed, sleep tugging at the corners of your eyes.
‘Me either, love.’ You said, adjusting the pillow underneath your head. You’d selected to sleep on Arthur’s side of the bed for the night, given that the other side was, well, ruined so to say. You buried your nose into the pillowcase, revelling in the small traces of his scent you could find there.
‘Yeah. Um- I’ll let you- let you get to bed now. Sorry for keeping you up so late.’ He said, inhaling quickly and standing up, making a beeline for the bathroom and turning on the shower. It took ages to warm up, so he knew he had at least a couple minutes until he had to go for real.
‘’S okay. I had fun. We should do this more often.’ You said, and Arthur’s heart clenched at the sleepiness he could hear in your tone. It made him want to jump on the first plane back and run home as fast as his legs would take him so he could gather you in his arms and hold you close as you fell asleep.
‘Hm, yeah. Okay, love. Goodnight, I’ll try to chat to you after the show tomorrow, if not before. Sound good?” He said. You made a noise of agreement, your eyes slipping shut of their own accord as you listened to the low rumble of Arthur’s voice from your phone’s speaker.
‘Sounds good t’me. Love you.’ You mumbled, sleep already making its way over you as you snuggled deeper into the sheets, drawing the duvet right up to your chin.
‘Love you more. Sweet dreams.’ He said. When he only got silence on your end, he laughed slightly to himself before moving to hang up. The weight that had been threatening to press down on him at your absence felt a little lighter now as he tossed his phone onto the counter and stripped off his shirt.
The warm spray of the shower calmed his buzzing nerves and mind as he washed himself off, content to amuse himself with the image of you wrapped up safe in your bed.
taglist: tags: @zo-05 @finchytv @mangoicecreamx @mattsfrenchtoast @themdera @lenneyswhore @peachmd @ghostwrittenbygrace @sillybilly4sillybilly @theoreticallythe - lmk if you want to be added!
Summary: Your first date with Ryland was a disaster. At least he thinks so. And he believes that he absolutely must make up for it at the end of the night. After all, he desperately wants a second date so… he apologises for being such a chaotic date in the only way he knows how. And hopes that it works.
a/n: blond man with the fluffy hair and nerdy glasses so fine he got me out of ‘retirement’
The date went horribly.
According to him at least.
You hadn’t made up an excuse, or had a fake emergency phone call at any point that got you out of dinner. But Ryland knew he’d fucked it up tonight. He was genuinely surprised that you stayed till the end. It was a simple date, nothing too fancy. And yet he believed he had ruined your night by yapping your ears off. He talked about everything and nothing all at once. His kids at school, his classes, his new research, all of it and more.
He was a little embarrassed now upon realising that he’d been talking so much the whole night, rarely ever stopping. And he was so certain you’d never want to talk or even text him again. But then you asked him if he wanted to walk you home.
Ryland agreed a little too quickly. Then he felt embarrassed again. But you just laughed at his awkward little mumbles as he tried to play it cool.
The whole walk he promised himself he’d finally ask you questions and let you do the talking. But he ended up going off on yet another random tangent about why physical laws even exist at all. In his defense, your follow-up questions were so engaging that he felt like he could keep this conversation going forever.
Before Ryland knew it, you were both standing on the steps leading to your front porch. With the soft golden light like a halo all around you, Ryland knew in that moment that you were the most stunning woman he had ever and will ever meet. And he felt even worse about the evening.
He couldn’t keep it in anymore. So he rambled on.
“I’m sorry,” He said, followed quickly by, “I know I’ve been a– a mess. I am a mess.” He repeated and carried on talking. “I really wanted tonight to go well and I ruined everything by talking so much. About school, about my research, about my students and work and– and I didn’t even ask you anything about yourself, or where you are from. I barely even let you speak. Or tell me anything about yourself. On top of that I’m wearing this stupid shirt. That’s not even the worst part. I didn’t let you speak. Can you believe that? I went on a date with the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met and I didn’t even ask her where she was born. All I know is that you moved here, but I mean–,”
You cut him off by gently grabbing him by the collars of his blazer and pulling him in for a kiss. He wasn’t expecting it so Ryland was stunned for a second or two. Then he finally kissed you back, his arms instinctively finding themselves around your waist, pulling you into his warm chest.
Fuck, he thought to himself, it felt nice to have his arms around you.
When you pulled away, Ryland was still a little stunned. All he did was blink at you with his clear blue ocean eyes. He quickly reached up and adjusted his glasses which slid down his nose. But he said nothing. He just stared down at you.
You kept your hands around his shoulders, looking down quickly and noticed that some type of nerdy t-shirt peeked through the blazer. It only made him even more attractive. What a nerd, you thought, sighing with adoration.
“Listen here, Dr. Grace.” You teased him playfully, “I wouldn’t have agreed to go on a date with you if I didn’t like a passionate, awkward, kind of nerdy, incredibly handsome, and talkative man. Okay?” You smiled up at him.
“Okay?” He sounded just a little confused. Poor thing.
You leaned in and gave him yet another sweet kiss on the cheek. His rough stubble tickling your mouth as you did. Ryland spoke then, yet again apologising, “I’m sorry. I know that was a terrible first date. But I would really like a second one. Please, I’ll be better. I promise.” He said, giving you those sad puppy eyes. The depths of which one could write endless poems about.
“You wanna come in for a bit?” You suggested. “And maybe we can talk about that second date?” You spoke, your hands deliberately trailing down his body. From his shoulders to his chest. He was nice and tall, the right amount of lean and muscular. Lots and lots of terrain to explore.
Ryland was quiet, apparently captivated by the way your hands delicately roamed down his chest. His breathing deepened. His brain was short circuiting. All he could do was silently follow your hands and fingers as they drew random shapes all over his chest. He was certain you’d be able to feel his heart thundering inside his chest by now.
“Ryland?”
“Yeah. Yes? I’m listening.” He said, then cleared his throat. He hadn’t been listening.
Fuck he was so adorable when nervous.
“Do you plan on lingering out on my front porch, or will you please come inside so I can kiss you like I’ve been dying to all night?”
—
Stumbling into bed with Ryland crashing into you as you fell made you feel like you were floating. Like you were on a cloud and everything was perfect. Ryland was almost as giddy as you were. His touch was gentle, and a little hesitant. He waited for a greenlight from you each time his touch and kisses got more and more heated. He’d do that thing where he’d reach for you, but then look at you over his glasses to see if it was okay, then he’d proceed enthusiastically.
It made you all warm and fuzzy inside each time he did that.
Contrary to what Ryland thought, you would say you had a great night. Nice food with a gorgeous, intelligent man who was gentle and kind and cared about his job and the environment. Who also happened to be a passionate speaker, and who spent the whole night entertaining you with his silly stories and elaborate scientific theories and more. What bliss!
“We can slow down,” Ryland said, in between steamy kisses, “If you want.” Another quick kiss. “We can watch a movie, or–,” He cut himself off by kissing you harder, pulling you closer. “We don’t have to, I mean I want to, but it’s not like I’m expecting you to–,”
“Ryland. Shut up and kiss me.”
“Okay.”
When you finally got him out of his blazer, you had to take a moment and giggle over his dorky t-shirt. One with a giant cat sitting on the Golden Gate Bridge. He looked down and let out a dramatic sigh.
“Please tell me you have another one of these.” You said, already working to get him out of the t-shirt.
“I… I do.” He sounded defeated as he tossed his shirt over his head, messing up his glasses.
“Good,” You fixed his glasses for him before you climbed onto his lap as he sat on the edge of your bed. Looking glorious, even more so than before now that he was shirtless, just in his jeans. “Because you’re leaving this one right here. For me.” You laughed when he tried to hide his face into the crook of your neck.
“You can keep it.” His voice sounded all muffled as he spoke into your neck. Then he pulled away and looked up, his rough cheek tickling your skin in the process again. “As long as I get to take you out on another date.”
When you smiled and nodded at him, before leaning in and kissing him deeply, Ryland felt like the world around him had gotten a little brighter.
And he kissed you back with equal excitement, flipping you around and laying you down in bed as he hovered above you. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“It is a ‘yes’, Dr. Grace.” You confirmed, reaching to touch his face.
Ryland smiled and said, “Well then I better make up for tonight’s disaster.” He leaned down and kissed your neck. “I’m sorry again, I keep rambling anytime I have the chance.” He kissed further down your neck as he spoke. “Shut me up next time. Tell me to shut up. Please.”
You giggled as he kissed and carefully bit your skin along your collarbones, making you arch your back, pressing your body further into him. “I will.” You spoke, then gasped in pleasure and surprise when you felt Ryland’s warm hands on your inner thighs.
He pulled away from your neck and looked down at you, “Are you okay, baby? Is this okay?” He asked in a hushed tone, keeping his hands right where they were on your skin.
“Yes.” You whispered, then gasped again when he dove back in to kiss your neck while his hands caressed your thighs, massaging them gently. Almost lovingly. His touch was so slow in fact that you were getting more and more desperate the longer he took to touch you where you craved him the most. “Ryland?” You couldn’t take it anymore. He hadn’t even gotten you out of your dress yet. Meanwhile he was shirtless, all that body on display and torturing you.
“Hmm?” He looked up at you. Mouth mere inches off your skin.
You almost groaned at how he genuinely seemed to have no idea how badly you wanted him. “Please stop teasing me.” You began lowering the shoulder straps of your dress all by yourself. You needed him. Now.
But Ryland stopped you by carefully seizing your wrists and pinning them above your head. He did it so smoothly too. “Now, when did I say you could do that?” He whispered against your open mouth. “Hmm? Did I ask you to do that?”
You shook your head, looking up into his gorgeous eyes and wondering where that dominant tone came from. You weren’t complaining. Quite the contrary. “No. You didn’t.”
He nodded slowly. “That’s right. I said I was gonna make it up to you, didn’t I? Well, I am. So let me take my time. Okay, baby? I know you want it. I can feel it. You think I can’t tell how wet you are by the way you’re drenching my hand.” For emphasis, he pressed his fingers in between your legs, pressing against your very wet, very thin underwear. “Hmm? You think I can’t tell?”
“Ryland, please…” You whimpered when you realised he was purposely messing with you. And who knows for how long he intended to do that.
“Oh poor you.” He teased, leaning closer until your warm breaths mingled. “I’m gonna take care of you, don’t you worry. Just let me take my time. I’ve got you. I know what you want, and I’m gonna give it to you. Just… let me. Can you do that for me, baby?” He kissed the corner of your mouth, making you whimper again, “Can you let me take my time with you?”
“Fuck…” You mumbled. “Yes. Yes, please. Just… I need you to touch me, Ryland. Please.” You begged.
“I’ve got you. Don’t worry.”
He took his time in sliding the straps of your dress down your shoulders, dragging the soft fabric down your body, leaving you more and more naked and exposed under him.
“So beautiful.” He mumbled to himself as his kisses followed the fabric of the dress lowering down your torso.
You shivered once he left your dress bunched around your waist carelessly, not fully undressing you. It wasn’t just because of the slightly cold air that you shivered. It was because of how intensely Ryland was staring at you. His glasses had slid down that perfect nose yet again, he didn’t adjust it this time. And somehow it made him look even hotter.
Fuck. Being so attracted to a man’s glasses’ placement has to be a more worrying issue. But you didn’t care. All you cared about was needing his hands on you.
By the time Ryland finally got to actually touching you, you were a whimpering, panting, needy mess. Just writhing under him. Your brain all foggy. Your body aching with desire.
But he was such a fucking tease it was driving you insane.
He kissed down your exposed torso, your hips, your thighs, whispering, “Look at you, huh? So needy.” He kissed right above your clit, his warm breath making your body come alive. “Is this what you want? You want me to make you feel good? Huh, baby? Talk to me, come on. Use your words.”
You weren’t sure if you’d sound coherent if you spoke but you tried your best. “Yes, please. Ryland… make it feel good.”
“I will.” He whispered, as his hands spread your legs and you felt his mouth right on top of you. Hungry. Seeking. Wanting. His warm tongue licked along your slit, his hands spreading your thighs even further apart to give him better access.
It was rare to find a man who knew what he was doing down there. Especially with his mouth. But Ryland surprised you yet again with that skilled tongue of his. Your hand moved lazily, fingers sliding easily into his luscious, silky soft hair, messing it up even more than it already was.
You felt like your body was melting under his touch. His hands rubbing your thighs adoringly while his mouth drove you insane. He was good at making you cry out in pleasure. His tongue, skilled and soft against your wet folds. His lips with the right amount of suction on your clit.
You held yourself up for a moment, your elbows digging into your mattress as you looked down at him. All that golden skin, that faint layer of sweat all over him… he looked divine.
Then there were those eyes…
Even through his glasses you could see the spark in them. You saw how they lit up each time you let out a higher pitch moan, or each time your fingers tugged on his hair, scratching his scalp so good he even let out a moan himself while he ate you out.
“Fuck. Ryland.” You cried out, writhing under him as he pushed his tongue deeper into you. Teasing you with the softest, deliberate licks. You couldn’t look away then. His stare was intense, giving you chills despite the heat inside you rising like never before.
He smirked then. The sound of his name leaving your mouth so desperately gave him such a rush. It drove him crazy. “Oh, you like that, huh?” He whispered, his rough stubble brushing against your skin, rough against your inner thighs. He slowly brought a finger up to your clit, sliding it agonisingly slowly down your slit, parting your wet folds. “What about this? You like this? You sound like you do.” He paused for a second, slid a finger inside you, stroking your walls gently while he placed his mouth back on your clit for a taste and said, “You sure taste like you do.” His tongue slowly circled your throbbing clit, then down, parting your wet folds with ease.
Ryland had you coming undone all over his tongue in no time. His deep blue eyes watched you in awe and how you lost control under his touch, legs shaking as he teased your clit and finger-fucked your ever so gently.
With his arms keeping you pinned to the mattress and unable to escape, he was so quick to figure out what worked and what didn’t. What made you squeeze his head in between your thighs and what made your back arch. What made you tug on his hair harder because he loved that and what made you breathless.
“Come for me.” He whispered, before latching his mouth onto your pussy. Devouring you. His tongue moved in a way that made you lose control.
You were gasping for air, moaning his name, wanting more, and more, and more… You came hard, all over his tongue, your walls clenching violently around his finger, your moans and gasps of pleasure filled the room.
Ryland finally let go of your shaky legs and kissed his way up your body, hovering above you again. He stared deep into your eyes. You couldn’t, no matter how hard you tried, look away from his pink, glistening lips. His hair was definitely messier now that you’d been so rough with it. You slid your hands back into his hair, massaging his scalp a little.
Ryland closed his eyes for a moment, savouring your touch. Then opened his eyes again and asked, “Are you okay?”
You nodded, looking up at him. “I liked that.” You murmured, giddy with pleasure.
Ryland smiled down at you. “I know you did. Pretty sure I have scratches all over my neck. Gonna have to wear some turtlenecks to work for a day or two.”
You both laughed.
Then you asked, “Can I touch you now?” Your hands were already reaching down for his belt. He nodded, but you were already undoing his buckle as you pushed Ryland down on the bed next to you and got on top of him, straddling his lap. The rough denim brushing against your bare thighs.
Ryland reached out to touch your face, caressing your cheek tenderly. “You can do whatever you want.”
So you did. In no time you were in between his legs, ass up in the air, with his cock in your mouth.
Ryland had that pleading look on his face, groaning as you took him into your mouth as much as you could. “Fuck, look at you.” He whispered, still caressing your face lovingly as your tongue teased him in the best ways. “Keep your eyes on me, baby. I like how you look at me.”
He held your head gently, in that same adoring manner you were starting to get used to, and watched you intently with parted pink lips, gasping in pleasure, as you took him. “There we go.” He said, “You’re so good at this, aren’t you?” His voice was so gentle. “You’ve been wanting to do that for a while, huh?”
You held his stare and nodded.
Ryland was so gentle with you. Even as his gasps and moans got louder and louder.
“Fuck.” He swore. “You want more, baby?” He lifted his hips up slowly, he held your head gently and pushed himself deeper into your mouth. “Yeah? Is that what you wanted?”
You squeezed your eyes shut, breathing through your nose, taking him in until he hit the back of your throat. You felt all of him, his smooth skin, his raw taste, and you couldn’t get enough. Your fingers clawed at his thighs through his jeans as he groaned and grunted, filling your mouth.
“Oh fuck.” He swore again. “God damn it, baby, slow down.” His voice cracked as he grunted while also moving his hips, shoving his cock deeper into your mouth and helping you swallow more and more of him. His head tilted back, his lips parted as he gasped for air while you moved your mouth up and down his cock. And he looked glorious while he lost control. Those damn glasses almost falling off his face.
You teased him as much as you could, but he soon began begging for you to stop.
“Come on,” He pleaded. “I can’t come yet, baby please.”
Followed by more pleas.
“Please, I really wanna fuck you.”
“Oh my god, please slow down.”
“Please don’t make me come yet.”
“Slow down, baby.”
All said in a desperate hiss.
You weren’t ready for the whimpers that followed his pleas. And you almost gave in and made him come because his moans and whimpers were so damn hot, but then you slowed to a stop. Pulling away and straddling him again.
Ryland did his best to catch his breath before flipping you two around, pinning you into the mattress again. Yet he was still panting as he looked down at you, his warm breath mingling with yours. “Had your fun?” He asked, using that playful, stern tone from earlier again.
He sounded so different from the man who was whimpering just a minute earlier.
You nodded, giggling, and clearly still riding that high from earlier. “You’re so hot when you beg.”
Ryland let out a little laugh as he leaned in to kiss your nose. Then the corner of your mouth, then along your jaw, and down your neck. “Can I make you feel good again now? Hmm? Can I please fuck you, baby?”
You whined before answering, your back arching already. “Yes, Ryland.”
“Well spread your legs then,” He made you laugh again with his sudden, straightforward demand.
But you obeyed quickly. Ryland cradled your head in his hands, holding you so tenderly as if he thought you were fragile.
“I’ve got you.” He said, as he held your stare, slowly sliding inside of you, both of you moaning softly as he went.
“Ryland…” You hissed in pleasure, unable to look away from his gorgeous blue eyes.
“Fuck, you feel so good.” He whispered, nothing but desire and love in his eyes. He leaned in again, whispering against the corner of your open mouth, “Where have you been all my life, huh?”
You felt his cock stretching you, filling you up. Every thick inch of him sliding into your tight cunt. “Oh fuck, Ryland…” You gasped.
“I know, baby. I know.” He said, pressing his forehead to yours. He held you close as he moved his hips.
“You… you feel so good.” You could feel your eyes tearing up at how snug he felt inside you.
“I know.” He almost whimpered again.
He pulled away to watch you. Ryland held your stare as he reached down to grab your legs and wrapped them around his waist. He looked down to where your bodies connected, he watched his cock slowly moving in and out of you then leaned down to give you a messy kiss, swallowing your desperate moans in the process.
“That’s it, baby. Let me in.” He whispered.
You couldn’t help your loud moans as he moved his hips expertly. You thanked whoever or whatever taught him how to do that. You could feel your walls clenching around him as he sped up and pounded into you.
You felt all of him stretching you, filling you up, moving rapidly in and out of you until he was all you could focus on. His eyes remained fixed on yours. Ocean blue, now familiar.
“You feel so good…” He whispered, pounding into you relentlessly, his hand instinctively wrapping around your throat as he bent down to bite your lower lip and tug on it. “So perfect for me. My pretty girl.”
His voice was driving you insane. You moaned at how perfect his lean body felt against yours, his weight pressing down on you. His slight stubble tickled your skin as he moved. And you slid your fingers into his hair, tugging on it even more now that you knew he liked it. He probably liked it a little too much since he wouldn’t stop letting out discreet whimpers each time you gave his hair a slightly hard pull.
Your legs trembled as you wrapped them tighter around his waist. His thrusts, relentless and unbearably good. The pressure around your lower body, tight and hot.
Ryland looked down at you as you tightened around his cock. “Hey,” He spoke softly, his thumb toying with your lower lip. “Look at me.” When you did, he whispered, “Just hold on, okay? Don’t come yet. Just a little longer, baby.”
You nodded, eyes half closed, but unsure if you could. He felt so fucking good and you were right on the edge… right on that fucking edge…
He must have noticed your eyes rolling back because he spoke again.
“Come on, baby.” He pleaded again, pressing his warm forehead against yours. “I know, I know.” He reassured you. “But just hold it for me, okay? Just a minute longer, baby. I know you can do it.” He murmured. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
The tenderness and care in his voice only made you clench around him again.
“Oh look at you. You can’t even hold it a little longer.” He gave you a lazy, cocky smile, “Are you gonna come for me now?” His hand squeezed your throat just a little, making you moan even louder. He gave you a messy kiss. “Come all over my cock then, come on.”
You whimpered, unable to say anything because of how good he felt sliding in and out of you. The familiar pressure formed at your core and you whined again when his hand let go of your throat and his eager fingers found your clit, toying with it while he pounded into you mercilessly.
“That’s it.” He cooed when your moans got louder. “You’re doing so well for me, look at you. Now come, come all over me,” He whispered and that was all you needed to hear before you came undone all around him. Whimpering and back arching off the bed as you came hard around his cock, tightening around him.
Ryland kept pounding into you as your orgasm washed over you, your walls squeezing him violently. Your body trembling under his intense gaze. You felt his thrust becoming irregular, and felt his cock throb against your walls violently. “Fuck.” He hissed again, then groaned as he quickly pulled out just in time and came all over your thighs.
You whined and whimpered as you felt his cum drip down your thighs.
“Fuck…” You whined as you caught your breath.
“Come here,” He whispered as pulled out and he laid down beside you, pulling you into his damp, but warm chest for a cuddle. You curled up against him in no time.
He panted, still catching his breath. “I think you deserve the t-shirt.”
You chuckled, still lust-drunk. “I think you deserve a second date.”
