dad bf cptn price who tells u gum is bad for ur teeth and u donât listen. so when u catches u chewing n chomping away he marches over, hovers a palm beneath your chin and says âspit.â you always do, blinking your guilty doe eyes up at him as he takes it, along with a glob of your drool. he tosses the gum before offering you a scratch behind the ear like youâre his puppy. âgood girl. no more, yeah?â
Nasty older boyfriend John price who waits until the hot, leaking tip of his aching hard cock is pressed right up against your cervix to say âtheeere she is. Thereâs the girl Iâve been wanting to kiss all night.â
Nasty older boyfriend John Price who calls every creampie âpainting the nurseryâ
Simon doesnât make the same mistake twice. Especially not with you.
When you told him to stop walking inside with his dirtied boots, he didnât even step foot on the porch with them on after that. Knocked them against the wall of the shed until the rubber soles emptied crumbs of grime and dried mud onto the grass. Rinsed them off with the hose then left them in the garage to dry.
One time is all it takes, on the rare occasion that he needs to be told anyway.
In tears, you asked him to double check the color sorted laundry after one of your white shirts was stained blue from his jeans. It never happened again.
When bedsheets filled your palms, and your lips sang, âPlease donât stop, pleasepleasepleaseââ, he listened.Â
So when you told him to never talk to you again, he didnât.
And Simon does good on his promises â usually, anyway. When it counts. Matters.
Papers with a big, bolded âDivorce/Dissolution of Marriage Petitionâ plainly labeled at the top were signed when thrusted into his face. Zero complaints. He didnât fight you on it. He didnât mention the damp dots scattered across the sheet or the redness in your eyes. He didnât say anything at all during those six and a half months, cordially attending the required legal meetings with you, even paying all of the remaining fees.
In retrospect, maybe he should have said something. If not when you gave him the form in the first place or long before any of that, he should have done it some time during the entire week you spent packing your things because you insisted that he keep the house for himself.Â
Even when you stood in front of your car, waiting for any last words he had before you drove off, all he offered was a bland farewell. He doesnât blame you for the curses that left your mouth as you slammed your car door and left without a second glance, leaving your ring with him.Â
At first, he assumed time would dust over it all like normal, fill the scars in with collagen, and make it easier for him to wake up in a bed that just felt too big now. Maybe itâd drown out in the amplitude of time.
Itâs not an active effort Simon makes to forget it, but heâs also not fond of the way he keeps looking at closed doors, expecting you on the other side.
Heâs been staring at you since youâve gotten here.Â
Three hours have passed, and his eyes are still trained on you.Â
Itâs been a long seven years.
Time has treated you like royalty, and he almost hates that it has. You donât seem to be looking for him at all, despite returning to the same neighborhood you left him in. He studies you from afar, leg bouncing on his chair. You wonât see him embedded in the fringes of the yard, covered by people shuffling around in aromas of marinated meat and vegetables.
Nice view anyway. Chiffon flows down your chest to your calves, summer air whispering through the silk, and Simon drinks up the sight like an oaky bourbon. Years unburdened by him, and youâre prettier than ever. Happier too, looks like.
Something peels apart in his ribcage.
Tender, pulpy, mush like a rotting peach when he sees you move around, interacting with his world again.
Smiling at friends with those lips (he wonders if they still taste like pink grapefruit) and hugging them with warm arms (will they flare out and open wide for him too?). Crystallized sugar sparkling in your eyes. He hears them coo your name â their voices and faces surprised, elated, hugs wrapping around you tight. Confirming youâre real and just a few yards away.
The itch swirls around until it grows out of its cage again. Swells up with pus and singes until itâs deformedâwaiting, waiting, waiting, screaming to be unfettered.Â
Shame, because heâd been doing a pristine job at keeping it locked. Stuffed it away into the corners. Kept it hiding in the backs of his knees. Behind his ears. Between his fingers. All of it comes melting into the open the longer he stares â a mangled escape he allows himself from penance.Â
He watches how care-free you are, as if all your doubts and troubles have been solved. He doesnât look away when your eyes wander through the brushes of people and do land on him. Your voice thins out with whoever youâre talking to and youâre quick to excuse yourself. Simon watches you skitter away to the side of the house where the light blackens out.
Itâs the hottest heâs felt since summer started.
âDidnât know youâd be back âere.â
Your body jumps when the familiar timbre swallows your ear, and you do your best to ignore the vertigo filling your world, adjusting your purse that shook off your shoulders at his arrival. Begrudgingly, you turn to face him, sweaty palms awkwardly clasping together.
âSi-Simon!â You gulp, managing a polite smile. âHi.â
âHey, love.â He half-expected a bitter response, something cold-shouldered that specially lacked any clemency for him, but his heart is pleasantly throbbing at the radiant smile you offer him.Â
An olive branch. He uproots the tree and keeps it in his pocket.
Something else throbs when he sees your dress up close. The dress youâre trying to tug at now, covering yourself up. It doesnât do anything to stop him from staring.
âYou look well.â he says.
âThank you. Um, you too.â
A sundew curls over you. Uncomfortable, you clear your throat, dragging his gaze back north.
He smiles. âYou visitinâ someone? OrâŠâÂ
ââfriends. Yeah. Iâm just visiting for tonight. I was just about to leave.â
A gruff hum.
Your molars clamp over the meat of your cheek. You spoke too much, gave him too much information. Itâs written on your face, in your features; you regret coming here. Visiting your old friend and attending the barbecue for her sonâs birthday party. You had to have known he still lived in the same neighborhood, that he was still mates with your friendâs husband.Â
It only makes sense that you wanted to see him too. For him to see you.Â
âAh, mâsure youâre a busy bird.â he comments. âLikinâ the city then, eh? You find anyone worth your time there?â
â...Sorry?â
Should be, he wants to say. But itâs alright. Mistakes happen. Everyone makes them. Heâs taught more correctional exercises than heâs received, and he wonât mind passing those lessons over to you.
âJusâ want to know if anyoneâs been keepinâ you busy.â
The humid breeze in the air does little to cool the heat flowing into your face.
âBusy, as inâŠâ you trail off, mind working to find the purpose of his words. You avoid the gleaming center of it.
âYâknow what I mean, pet.â
No small amount of disgust enters your eyes, and he doesnât hide the flash of amusement his own gaze responds with. Each step youâre taking back is just another step he takes closer. There are no witnesses to the broadness of his indecency, not with the two of you stashed into the darkened part of the yard.
âIâm not sure itâs any of your business.â you clip out. âIâm happy now, genuinely. I didnât come here to reconci-â
Your back bumps against the wall. The space around you is instantly crowded by his mass. You feel the air surrounding your body being inhaled by him, but youâre too distracted by his musk to notice that. Oud and bergamot rip through your body when he comes close, but he doesnât touch you. Itâs too hotâtoo volatile to breathe, to fight back.
His voice is lower now, eyes raking over you once more. ââCourse itâs my business. Should be knowinâ if some other bloke is fuckinâ my wife.â
Thereâs enough room for you to slip out. You donât, nor do you correct him about not being his wife anymore. He doesnât wonder why. He already knows why. Salivates at the troubled look in your avoidant eyes.Â
For a long time, heâd been waiting for this â a shift of the universe to let gravity pull you back to where you belong. Time has baked the waiting dry out of him, and he canât find a reason to keep the desire at bay anymore.
âGoinâ to answer?â He ducks his head, forcing you to meet his eyes. âCâmon, canât blame a man for wantinâ to know âow âis girlâs gettinâ on without âim.â
You want to slap him.
You want to claw at his face and tell him to leave you alone.
No matter how traitorously warm you become between your thighs from his words and how hard he tries to crawl back into your lap, you wonât harbor that same love for him ever again. Never again.
âIf you donât get away from me, Iâll scream.â
The words hurriedly claw out of your mouth and you regret them instantly. Itâs scarce on his face, but you can feel the excitement shooting up and simmering beneath his skin. You shrink into the wall. He breathily laughs at the pathetic lie.
âYou wanna scream?â he rumbles, âGot a bed you can scream jusâ fine in, love. You should know.â
âIâm not⊠Iâm not interested. I have a new husband now.â
âAnother lie, pet.â he tuts with a faint smirk, shaking his head at you like youâre just some petulant child. âI ainât dumb. Tellinâ me thaâ if I check your cunt righâ now, itâll be bone-dry?âÂ
His hand dips and you smack it away before it can get too low.Â
âDonât fucking touch meââ
âSo youâre wet.â
âNo, Iâm not anything!â you hiss at him, finally gaining the strength to push him off. He doesnât budge, grabbing your trembly wrists in one hand before you can pull away and holding your hands against your abdomen, his body indifferent to your squirming.Â
Still crude and blunt.Â
The fronts of your bodies are pressing on each other now, the feel making your cheeks burn. Several little breaths escape you as you try to push in vain. Rendered flightless, you droop.
âThen feel it for me.âÂ
âWh-what, feel what?â Youâre confused, the whimper in your voice quelling the firmness of his grip by a fraction.Â
âEither you slip your fingers into your cunt and show me thaâ youâre not wet right now, or I can do it at âome.â He gently pushes your hands towards your hips. âGo on. Iâll even lift your dress for ya. Or I can jusâ go ahead anâ fuck you âere. Let everyone hear âow much you missed me, yeah? Doubt youâd beââ
âNo! No, okay, okay, please, okay!â you softly cry, your voice so hushed and warm. âLetâs go, okay. Please.â
Light resumes in his eyes and he lets go of you.
He knows you arenât stupid. You could run off, you couldâve done that minutes ago. You shouldâve yelled the moment he started getting too chatty with you, but you didnât. You donât want anyone to see how shameful you look when youâre getting breathless, pressing into his contact. He doesnât want anyone else to see it either. Itâs for him. All of it. Always has been. Eternity knows it, but you seem to have forgotten.Â
Even when youâre tucked in his arm and back in his placeââour homeâ, he insistsâyou still find ways to protest.
You donât know why you stay. You donât know why you donât want to run.
The door clicks shut and you shiver at the view inside.
Almost everything is the same. From the walls down to where you last left the fruit bowl on the kitchen table. Of course, the fruits have changed, fresh. Everything kept prim like he runs a restoration business. You tear your eyes away, an ache weighing in your belly when Simon palms your hip and guides you in.
The couch is the same. The carpet. The television and the stupid worn out controller youâve told him to replace too many times.Â
You blink and stop walking, feeling tears, wondering if itâs too late to get away.
âI⊠I slept with someone after you.â you try, breath catching when he turns you to him. âPeople, actually. Mul-multiple.â
He scoffs at you, âMultiple what, multiple of your fingers anâ silicone pricks?âÂ
All your next words are shushed away, but youâre still clinging to the weak vestiges of the fight you have left in you. Your chest rises and falls deeply when he kisses the top of your head and rubs your sides down. He scowls as you tip your face away from him.
âAlright. Iâll play along.â he murmurs, cupping your face and turning you toward him. Heâs not amused by the endless string of lies, you can tell. But he doesnât look crestfallen â not at the slightest. âYou slept with a bloke. Fuck, multiple of âem. Leâs say, ten. Twelve. Tried to fuck the thought oâ me out your âead. Didâya like it? Did it work? They take good care oâ my girl for me?â
You begin to whisper, shaky. âI loved it, theyââ
The words are lost from your mouth when his lips seal over yours. You cry into his mouth. The lies untangle and melt on your tongue when he kisses you rough and long.Â
He grumbles and nips at your chin. âEven if yâdid, bet youâd âave tâfake it with âem all the time. Bite your lip to keep from crying out my name instead of theirs when you came.âÂ
A flustered hand smacks his arm. He laughs back into your mouth and apologizes by squeezing your ass.
The promised bed doesnât come; he can barely get you to the living room couch when he starts stroking his hand down your torso to yank your dress up. Itâs you who drags him down to the couch, getting him to lower himself onto you. The springs in the couch squeakâa sound that takes you back to those numerous, weary nights.Â
Simon grunts when his kiss is reciprocated with a fervor. This is what should have happened years ago. This is what he should have had. Kept. Time doesnât matter anymore. He has it now. Heâs the one youâre back under â thatâs all he really cares about. His mouth sucks and presses around the shape of yours before smothering them down to your neck, hand deftly sliding out of your dress to tug at your straps.
Same fucking lotion. Perfume. Shampoo. Feel. Noises. Everything. His heartbeat is tachy, licking and greedily suckling at your skin to taste you.
Dulcine on his tongue, mouth dripping with drool over you. A pang darts through the inside of his mouth from how hard heâs been sucking at your skin, licking spots dry before kissing them. Four, five, six kisses down, and you feel him making whorls on the swell of your breast with his tongue. Your body arches into his and he pins you back down with his hips.Â
You groan. âSimon,â Â
âCryinâ for it now?â he quips, low-lidded when he gazes up at you from your collar. His hand doesnât go near your hips, and you burn with such impatience that itâs absurd. Whines of desperation leak from you. Your hips buck, trying their best to gain some relief.Â
When he notices the soft grinding on his thigh, he chuckles.
âChrist, baby, whatâve you been livinâ off of these past seven years?â
âDonât ask me that.â
âDidâya aâ least touch yourself while thinkinâ âbout me?â He kisses back up to your face, an uncharacteristic cockiness about him. âCan picture it already, pet. You lyinâ awake at night all alone in your bed, touchinâ yourself, wishing it was my cock splittinâ you open instead of your fingers."
âDonâtâŠâ You look away, wanting to kick him off. âDonât say that.â
A raspy chuckle melts into the warmth in your skin, lips pressing your closing eyelid. âStill keepinâ that up? What am I allowed tâsay then?â
When you open your eyes, youâre looking at him fonder than you should. Sniffly with snot and a teary voice.
âTell me you missed me.â
His hands are everywhere as soon as you say that with a sadness glossed over your eyes, thick and sinewy thigh lodging up between yours until thereâs no more space between you, giving you the contact you need. Simon feels everything â your tremulous hips pressing harder with each roll, huffs of humiliated and wanting breaths exploding on his skin, hands pulling at the shoulders of his shirt.Â
Coddling fingers rub over his muscles, tough and taut like a cinder block. Stress radiates from him. When youâre tossed away and abandoned, itâs not something you can help. It builds up like a landfill, drags on his steps.Â
An approving grumble comes from him as you pet his head down on the sides and kiss him like you never left.
He hooks his arm under you and raises you just enough to pull your dress off, stripping you down to your undergarments.Â
ââCourse I fuckinâ missed ya.â he mutters, sliding his tongue through the seam of your lips. He kisses you and kisses you until youâre sharing one breath, a throaty moan floating from him to you. âEâery bloody day. Bed was too cold, too empty. House too fuckinâ big. Never stopped needinâ ya. Wantinâ ya.â
âShouldâve stayed away.â he tells you, licking back down the valley of your breasts, raising your pulse to a prestissimo. He pulls his thigh away from between your legs. âYou knew Iâd drag you back âere if I saw you again.â
You donât have a response. Just the tight line your lips form to suppress the moan fighting its way out, that coil in your lower belly squeezing tight as he cups your left breast through your bra, his other hand working your panties down your legs. Phosphenes sprinkle around your vision from squeezing your eyes shut too hard. His fingers crawl under the cup of your bra to slide it off, the tips of his fingers cold, turning your skin rough with goosebumps.
A sweet surprise greets him â he rubs your hard nipple with his thumb, brushing it over and over. A shrill squeak and moan garbles your voice, body flinching. Your hands fly to his arms and you grip, gasping his name.
âPlease,â you cry, mouth parting in moans. Not even you are sure what youâre begging for.Â
âMâgettinâ there.â He swirls his tongue around the soft areola before closing his mouth around it. You go stiff and cry out his name again. The ripened muscle in his chest skips a beat or two, its broken flesh healing over each time you cling to him tighter.
It feels sacrilege to do things so quickly after so long. If this were a perfect world and he were a perfect man, the savor would take until the next sunset. But neither are true, and Simon feels all the rotted parts about him dying off the longer you touch him.Â
Heâs already had long enough of a wait. So have you, he gathers.
Desperation drips from you through tears and syrup between your legs. The delicate fabric is pulled down your legsâdigits prodded into the gusset, brushing through the thatch of hairâand he feels the wet, sticky smear on his fingers. Slick puddled up on the gusset of your underwear. Simon does his best to not yank it off and collect it with his tongue.
âFuck, look aâ you.â he rasps, pulling the panties entirely off your ankles. Hot and gushing already. He slides a thick middle and ring finger into you with ease. Any semblance of logic in your head goes down the drains as his fingers stroke inside you, rubbing around and caressing your soft walls. "Never stopped thinkinâ âbout this little pussy. Wanked myself raw rememberinâ âow fuckinâ perfect you feel squeezinâ around my cock."
Again, a lush whine from you. Then some half-hearted grimace as you take in his words. âYouâre disgusting.â
âFelt ya squeeze up on me when I said thaâ.â
His hand sprawls over the back of your thigh and he pushes up. Apart. Opening you up to his sight with your calves scraping on the sides of his arms, he sees the slick glisten as it leaks down into your ass. His cock aches and grows rigid. With a rhythmic pumping and curl of his fingers, you mewl and bend in half.
Something degrading and teasing almost falls from his tongue, interrupted by your searching hands on his pants. Picking at his belt loops and muttering half-coherent sentences.
âWhat, pup,â he hums, perching your leg onto his shoulder, pressing a kiss on the skin above your ankle. âI know, I know, Iâll be quick.â
The heel of his hand crawls behind you and plants into the slope of your spine, drawing you closer as his fingers slip from you - already slathered with a sheen of frothed white. He spreads your slickened lips apart, patting your swollen clit and rolling circles around it, eyeing the ottar that flows from you without restriction. His fingers withdraw to his mouth, quickly sucking the taste of you off of them with a hum. Sweeter than he remembers.Â
Heâs about to forget about it all and just spend the night with his face buried between these legs, but his girl keeps pulling and tugging at the creases at his jeans and the hem of his shirt. Whining, little cat cries, desperation flooding over in pleas.
The side of your fisted hand weakly pounds on his thigh, impatient for his bareness. âYour clothes.âÂ
Simon feels bigger than before. Heavier. Warmer. The layer of fat over his muscles has thickened. Watching him tear his shirt from over his head makes you feel far away from your body. Everything looks glazed over with oil, sounds dimmed in your ears by your thundering heartbeat. Shameless, your eyes lick down his pectorals down to the trail of hair venturing into his pants.
Drool almost spills from the side of your mouth as he plucks his belt buckle apart, unbuttons, and then unzips.
Gentle is something he doesnât give himself, calloused hands abruptly pushing his pants and briefs downânot giving you time to enjoy the view. Your legs fall from his shoulders and you keep yourself spread, shy under his gaze, burning because youâve never stopped asking yourself why you let him take you home.
No amount of repetition can habituate you to this.Â
It springs out like a jumpscare, the thickness unchanging from base to tip, the blunt head of it flushed and damp with precum. He handles it meanly, giving it a couple of dry tugs before scooting your hips closerâ
âMay-maybe we should go to the bedroom or something.âÂ
âNo.â
âThis isnât how I want this to go, and you donât even ha-â
âStallinâ now?â He frowns and bends over to kiss your cheek, prodding his cock against your pussy like itâs lost. âWeâve fucked too many times in different places for you to complain about this, pet.â
âIâju- Iâm just saying thatââ Your protest crumbles into a wordless whimper as he rocks his hips into the cradle of your thighs, coating the head of his cock with your stickiness. Shamelessly rubs his shaft down then back up between your messy folds, tip making slippery friction with your clit. âOhâŠâ
His jeans are scratching the backs of your thighs â you wish heâd at least do the courtesy of taking the entire thing off, but you donât think heâll hear anything you say now. A keening whine shreds your throat when the first few centimeters probe in, the loud noise kept inside your mouth behind pursed lips.
âLet it out, love, câmon,â he gasps into your neck. Whittles down the remaining slivers of your resistance with kisses up your neck back on your mouth. âLeâ me come home. Done this so many times before, âavenât we?â
It bullies into you in shallow thrusts, the drag so strongly stinging at first, despite how wet youâve gotten.Â
Finding an opening has stayed the same; Simon goes slow, sweet, soft until your arms raise and curl around his shoulders, pulling him close. When you do that again, his hips push upâ
Full. The word canât scrape the surface of the feeling of it â being stretched by familiarity, filled up until you can feel your spine tingle, so hot that you feel immolated and your only thoughts are messy prayers to the god upon you right now. You feel his balls pressing on the pillows of your ass. You feel where the head of his cock is inside you.Â
You feel him everywhereâyou want him everywhere forever.Â
âFuckâŠâ he groans into your mouth, swallowing your sigh.
With every nail you dig into his back, every moan you give him, every tendon you use to keep him tight against you, he gives you a stronger thrust. Perfect fit, he hisses into you. He braces a forearm next to your head, fingers sliding under your head to hold you as he increases his pace. Hard, dirty, deep strokes that make your body rock back into his. Makes you babble through fleece-soft lips.Â
âSi-Simon, oh fuck,â Those tears are finally streaming down, lids twitching and fluttering, mouth rounding into a cute shape as he finds the spot. âYesâyesyesyes, mmphââ
"There she is," he gruffly rasps, triumphant. "Righâ fuckinâ there."
Your guts feel hot, innards molten and barely kept together by your skin. Simon churns his hips, cock grinding on the gooey softness within you, and a squealing moan gets him to break the kiss, giving you air. It continues, the obscene drag back and forth, through your sobs and pawing.
Hit after hit, again and again, each thrust bruises inside you. You donât feel the ache yet â youâre sure you will in the morning. But you take it and squeeze, clamping around him. Instinct. Thereâs always an instinctive pull with him, no matter how long itâs been. Itâs why your eyes gravitated toward him earlier tonight, why you let him corner you until you were here all over againâitâs why you came back to town in the first place.
He grunts, beaded drool on his cuspids. "Gonna cream all over this cock, love? Jusâ like old times? Gonna soak the couch at this rate, filthy fuckinâ girl."Â
The taunt gets your legs around his back, ankles crossed and drilling into his back. His hand snakes down to rub your puffed up clit, already covered in slick, coating his thumb. The ascent walks a thread-fine line, neither of you willing to pull off or slow downâhis hips snap against yours and you take it with an upwards buck.
Most of these motions are old and trained between you â from the way he fits between your legs at all to how his hand strokes all your sharp edges into soft, rounded corners.Â
But when you inevitably come â arching with a tsunamic blow that sends a tart taste to your mouth, the orgasm pulling what fight you have left in you out â nothing touches your favoritism like the way he kisses you when you do. Unpracticed, sloppy-hot, undoing you for a second time. Ribbons of pearly white fill you, pushed deeper from his slowing thrusts, still thick and hard inside you. Your bodies are sticky together with sweat, lips sucking one another, tasting how much sweeter youâve both become.
All the drool pooled up in your mouth from him is swallowed as you drowsily pull back, sighs bouncing off his lips back onto your face. Foreheads pressed against each other. You keep your eyes closed, but you can feel him looking.
âI needâŠâ You muster all the poor pieces of strength you have left. âNeed to go homeâŠâ
âHome,â he muses with a dim smile, petting your head from hairline to the knob of your spine. âWeâre already âome, love.â
Depletion overtakes you in gentle waves.
In the beginning of morning, you awaken to early sunlight on your back. The only thing covering you under this blanket is a too-big shirt that you assume Simon slipped on you before he tucked you into bed. Youâre grateful he still has the decency to clean you up at all.
The only source of warmth near you comes from Simonâs chest against yours and his arms draped around you.
A pallid hue pales the room as you blink to take in the light, sighing tiredly. Feels like your body is tethered to the bed, each tiny movement meeting the refusal of expended muscles. Itâs the worst in your hips. Between your legs, a sore ache that was too busy taking his spend all night to get a break. Itâs fuzzy, but you remember a hand massaging your inner thighs as you fell asleep. Eventually, it became lips pressing over the skin.
âAwake already?â
You hear it from above your ears, the same lips kissing you on the ear.
âNo.â you sleepily answer, yawning into his chest.Â
Sleep greets you with warm arms again.
Eventually, the sun rises to its highest point, and Simon pulls you to sit up when you wake. Youâre more slouched against his chest as he leans back on the headboard, but he doesnât fix it, enjoying that more.
Dry lips licked moist, you open them to take the sliced bits of persimmon he hand-feeds you. But you keep your eyes closed, too tired to remember when he got up to harvest it. You planted that tree together years ago. The persimmon is crisp and honeyed on your tongue. He still takes care of the tree.
You eat what he gives you and he makes you hold his hand to suck his fingers clean.
And when you open your eyes, something catches light on the base of your ring finger. A golden band. The golden band you left for him to throw away.
Especially a little too intense a little too much Soap
My first anon I will not let you down
â
Johnny is too much and not enough, all at once. The way he treats you is bordering on creepy, making your skin crawl. However, itâs not enough to call him out on. The things he does have enough plausible deniability to make you look insane. Heâs just being friendly, hen.
The knuckles dragging over your ass as he pulls your skirt down from riding up your thighs. A hand on your lower back to move you out of his way. Hands brushing your breasts when heâs too tipsy and stumbles into you.
Itâs uncomfortable, but not enough.
What is enough is what you donât see.
Making alt instagram accounts to send you cropped pictures of his cock, begging for a rating. Getting his hand covered in his cum and wiping it on the back of your shirt to mark you, disguised as a friendly pat on the back. Helping you drunkenly take off your heels and licking the top of your foot because thereâs no way youâre remembering it in the morning.
thinking about daddy issues (into kink) from priceâs perspective thatâs like. vocal but not. and itâs not your thing but itâs his, and itâs slipping out in subtle ways.
price wonât call himself it (âdaddyâ) out loud, thatâs not what does it for him, but the desire to nurture you and to provide for you and to take care of youâthatâs what gets him going. and he knows that the torch that is thrumming beneath his skin isnât just a measly kink, but the pulsing desire is a tangled ball of hunger that is tugged at every time you find him.
the way you curl up beside him, rumbling in a quiet voice like youâre sharing a secret with him. the way you will always hold his hand in a crowded street. the way he is the first person you look for in every happy momentâyou can be with mutual friends but you will always meet each otherâs eyes in your laughter. the way you rely on him. the way you know that john has the answers for everything.
it leaves him breathless, undone by your devotion.
it makes him pull you close to dazedly rumble in your ear, âcâmere, baby. wonât you give this olâ man a kiss?â
âiâm so sorry- please forgive meâ while heâs holding you by the wrists and is pushing so deep into you that itâs causing your legs to tremble.