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col0rlord · 4 months ago

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do you wanna make somethin' of it (Robert "Bob" Floyd x fem!reader)

pairing: bob floyd x fem!reader (no y/n)

synopsis: turns out, our favorite WSO has a side hustle, as quinn's favorite cowboy.

word count: 10.4k

warnings: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI: audio porn, a truly unhinged amount of dirty talk, overuse of pet names, bob's raging size kink, overstimulation via vibrators (and otherwise), unprotected PiV sex, an unrealistic number of orgasms, some dumbification, as can be expected.

A/N: this is way late bc i had to make sure the people who reblogged the moodboard were legal, thanks everyone for the patience and support! esp thank you @hangmanssunnies for being so encouraging, @sometimesanalice for being a gem and betaing thank you @laracrofted for coming up with bob's (ahem) inspirational reveal, and thank you everyone else for letting me be feral. there were a couple people who reblogged the moodboard but I couldn't tag them, so for the record, if you ask to be tagged, pls do make sure you're taggable AND ALSO THAT YOU HAVE YOUR AGE IN YOUR BIO I AM NOT KIDDING. the title is from Jo Dee Messina's 90s country bop, "Do You Wanna Make Something Of It" -- okay enjoy!

You paused, halfway into your flight suit, looking down at your phone.

It was probably a bad idea to open an audio erotica app forty minutes before you had to be in the debriefing room with the rest of the aviators in your unit.

But.

You were ovulating, your vibrator was charged, and you’d just gotten a notification that BullRiderRhett had posted a new audio.

Before you knew it, you were grabbing your headphones and folding your flight suit by the door, leaving your tank top and sports bra on, but shimmying out of your panties. You set an alarm on your phone, connected your headphones and opened the app.

Quickie During the Rodeo

After my ride, I don’t have much time before they call up the winners…but you look so damn good in that sundress. We have to be quick, though. [M4F] [Short Audio] [Established Relationship] [In Public] [Strong Language] [Moaning] [SFX]

Yeah, you thought to yourself, that’d do.

You slid into bed, pulling a muting blanket over the lower half of your body as you settled into your bed and clicked play.

Immediately, the sounds of a rodeo pushed through your headphones.

You heard the shuffle of hundreds of feet, a rowdy crowd cheering, and distant country music over a speaker. You could almost imagine the dusty air, the smell of fresh hay and sweat, and the clamor of barrel racing in another arena.

There was a steady clanking of spurs as a pair of boots walked towards you.

“There y’are,” a low voice said, the perfect combination of fond and gravelly. You heard a shuffle of fabric, and a soft inhale, like the cowboy was wrapping you in his arms. Your eyes fell closed so you could immerse yourself in the fantasy.

“How’s my girl doin’?” he asked, his voice muffled like he had buried his head in your shoulder.

You never responded verbally to these things; it broke the illusion to speak to an empty room, but you liked that Rhett paused, as if waiting for your answer.

“Ah, well, I always ride better when I know you’re in the stands, cheerin’ for me,” he said. He had such a fantastic voice, low and soft, with this drawl that was so unpretentious and alluring. His canvas jacket rustled like he was hugging you tighter.

“Just let me hold you for a sec, yeah?” he asked, as the ambient sounds of the rodeo seeped back in. You found yourself just listening for the sound of Rhett’s breathing over it, a slow and steady rhythm that was deeply centering.

You heard when his breath caught, followed by a shuffling sound and a choked gasp from the cowboy.

“Whoa, whoa,” Rhett’s voice was warm with surprise and delight. “Cut that out, darlin’, we can’t, they’re gonna call me back–”

His voice broke off on a low moan that had you biting your lip.

Why did guys in real life never moan?

It was such a pretty sound, deep and masculine, and full of desire. It was one of your favorite things about Rhett. Your hand slipped under the blanket, rubbing over your pussy gently, getting yourself used to the pressure.

“Darlin’,” Rhett’s voice had gotten deeper, like a warning. “Ya can’t tease me like that, ‘s not kind.”

Your hips shifted at that voice, and Rhett laughed, low.

“Y’just can’t help yourself, can you, sweet girl?”

It was your favorite pet name he used, just the way he said it. You were obsessed with the gravel in his voice, the melodic twang coupled with a gentleness that belied all his ruggedness. It was like he was being quiet to make sure no one overheard him, like his words were for your ears only.

His spurs clinked as the noise of the rodeo faded, as though he was leading you somewhere away from prying eyes. A second later, there was a gentle, wet sound, like he was kissing you.

How would he taste, you wondered. Would his lips be soft? Or would they be chapped? Would he be ravenous, turned on from the adrenaline of the ride, or would he be slow, savoring your taste?

You turned on your vibrator, on a low and warming setting. You traced it lightly over your pussy, acclimatizing, as Rhett’s voice and the soft vibrations sent a heat under your skin.

Rhett’s breathing was heavy, like being near you made him breathless.

“Shameless,” Rhett chided, amused and fond. “I know I can’t stop you, but I’m not about to let anyone see ya like this. You’re mine.”

Your hips canted up into the vibrator, spurred on by the idea of being his.

“Oh, you like that, huh, sweet girl?” Rhett practically purred, his voice like a caress, “You like being mine?”

Rhett’s words washing over you, and vibrator’s motions met less resistance as you felt yourself growing wet.

“What if I…” he asked, and you heard fabric shuffling, like he was reaching down and under your dress. “Fuck, darlin’, are you wet for me already?”

You pressed your lips together to trap in a whimper.

You knew it was formulaic, but that didn’t make you less turned on. In this fantasy, you were Rhett’s girlfriend, you were already wet for him, you were needy enough to risk being caught to have his dick inside of you.

“Ya sure about this?” Rhett asked, and you could hear the intensity in his voice. Like he needed you too, just as desperately. “Yeah? Yeah, me too…fuck—yeah, feel me through my jeans. Feel how hard I am for you.”

You turned the vibrator up, imagining the rough texture of denim against your pussy. How hard Rhett would be, how good it would feel to rock up against the dirty fabric. Probably not the most hygienic, but he’d be so hot, even through his jeans, impossibly tempting.

“Go on, take me out,” Rhett directed, his voice a low whisper.

He moaned in your ear as a belt buckle came undone, and your head fell back as you circled the vibrator over your clit. God, he sounded so good, he sounded unraveled. You imagined the weight of him in your hand, and you shifted your hips, wishing you could feel the heat of him.

“Shit, okay. We hafta be quick,” Rhett panted. “I know, I know, turn around for me, darlin’. Brace yourself against the wall here…Christ, you look so good like this…ya ready for me?”

You couldn’t help yourself; you slid a hand down your body, changing the angle of the vibrator so you could run a finger through your folds.

Rhett held his breath, like it was too good, too much, and you waited.

Then came his strangled, relieved exhale, and you pushed a finger into yourself as you imagined him sliding into you.

“That’s right, sweet girl,” Rhett praised, his voice breathless, awed. “Let me into that tight pussy, nice and easy...”

Your mouth fell open as you imagined him filling you.

Would he be thick? Long? Maybe a slight curve to his cock? Cut or uncut? You licked your lips, your mind spinning with possibilities, your fingers a paltry imitation of the thing you wanted so badly.

“Ah, that’s it, that’s it,” Rhett murmured, and you couldn’t help but add another finger. “Such a good girl, for me, aren’t ya?”

You wanted to be his good girl.

Rhett was breathing hard, and the rhythm of it was perfect. You circled around your clit with the vibrator, and you were panting now too, your hips canting up as you fucked yourself on your fingers. You could imagine him driving into you, his hips thrusting his cock into you. It would be thick, you decided, broad and heavy.

“Ah, you’re taking me so well,” Rhett grunted. “You were made to take this fat cock, weren’t you?”

His breaths were coming faster, and you could hear him slamming his hips into yours. You could imagine his balls swinging, could imagine him driving into you to reach that spot your fingers just couldn’t brush against.

“This pussy feels so good, darlin’,” Rhett whispered, “the way you’re clenchin’ around me…”

Your thighs fell farther apart as you tried to time your fingers’ thrusts to his cadence. He was grunting after each thrust, this beautiful soft sound of exertion and pleasure.

A faint cheer rose above the sounds of your panting; another event had concluded.

“Shit, we hafta hurry, they’re gonna–” Rhett broke off, his hips snapping faster. “C’mere, let me play with that clit, let me feel you–fuck yeah, clench around me, just like that.”

You turned the vibrator up, your fingers faltering inside of you at the increased vibration and his words. Rhett’s grunts were getting higher pitched, a delicate thread of need seeping into them and you were going to lose your mind; it was perfect.

“Ah, such a good girl,” Rhett groaned. “God, I don’t deserve you, ya feel so good…are you close, darlin? Tell me you’re close, I need to feel you cumming on my cock, will ya do that for me?”

You were bucking into your hand, chasing a release that had come on so fast, so strong and you were so damn close, you just needed–

“There ya go,” Rhett breathed, his voice tight. “You feel–oh, sweet girl, don’t stop clenching me like that. Oh, you’re gonna make me cum with that tight pussy, fuck, are you gonna come with me, darlin’? Please come with me, please…”

You pumped your fingers in time with his pleas, Rhett’s voice growing hoarse as his hips sped up. You were so close, he sounded so good, you were almost there.

“Feels so good…Ah, I’m coming, I’m there– ah, shit,” Rhett moaned, his voice choking, and you orgasmed along with him, collapsing back into the pillow.

Your legs shook and you jerked the vibrator away from your sensitive clit, stroking gently over your pussy with your other hand and easing yourself down.Your body felt like it was humming and you turned the vibrator off, sated and pleasure drunk.

Something about Rhett always had you timing it perfectly, feeling so in sync and so primed, and when he came, it was like your permission to.

Rhett was groaning softly in your ear.

“So beautiful, darlin’,” he whispered. “God, I’m so lucky, look at you…so damn beautiful…”

The audio would fade out in another few minutes and you fumbled for your phone to turn it off, and turn off the just-in-case alarm that you’d set.

There was a bittersweet moment with audio erotica that didn’t exist in traditional porn– aftercare. Instead of just ending a scene, most creators seemed to enjoy winding down with their listeners, saying soft things, silly things, fond things. It straddled the line between soothing and demoralizing, and you couldn’t say you loved the contrast between the care in Rhett’s voice and the emptiness around you.

An emptiness that was interrupted by a loud pounding on your door.

“Hey, I can see your light under the door,” Bradley called from the hallway, “you better not still be asleep! If we’re late to Mav’s briefing you know he’s gonna have us doing laps around the tarmac.”

You stuck your tongue out at the ceiling on principle, grateful for the quiet of your vibrator and the distance between the door and your bed.

“Calm your tits, Rooster,” you yelled back, “I’m practically ready.”

“Damn better be,” you heard Bradley say, loud enough to be heard, soft enough to know he wasn’t actually pressed.

You gave yourself another ten seconds to revel in that perfect orgasm, and then swung your legs over the side of the bed. You cleaned yourself off quickly, dressed even quicker, and were out the door in no time.

Some might even say, with a pep in your step.

“Told you,” you muttered as you walked by Bradley’s row in the debriefing room, on time, and he huffed.

You settled into your normal seat, waving good morning to Callie and lifting your chin at Mickey, who grinned back at you. Bob was in the seat next to yours, as you’d all agreed early on that WSOs had to stick together, and you bumped his shoulder with yours as you sat.

The sweet man smiled, a hidden thing, and looked away quickly.

Sometimes, you felt like you knew there was more to him than he let on.

You’d seen him in action, seen him make split-second decisions that kept him and Phoenix in the air. You’d seen him crank out 200 pushups with Jake and Javy like it was nothing. But at the same time, he never seemed to hold your eye for longer than strictly necessary, seeming more comfortable to address the floor (unless someone pushed too hard, and he’d snap something so sassy it’d make you bite the inside of your mouth to keep from laughing).

When you’d first met him, you’d thought he was cute, in an Old Hollywood leading man kind of way, soft muscles and deep eyes.

You’d wondered if maybe you made him nervous. You’d thought maybe there was interest in those ocean blue eyes, but time went on, and he remained sweet and polite and kind. He was the same to you as he was with everyone else, and you were led to the reality that he was just an incredibly decent person.

Crushes came and went like water, especially in a group as gorgeous as the one you flew with, so you let him have his secrets.

The lights clicked off as Maverick strode to the front of the room, already talking and clicking his way through some kind of demonstration.

The hours in the room flew by.

By the time he finished, your head was spinning with a blur of parameters and calculations and mission expectations. You knew pilots felt the same way about your job as you did about theirs, but you were always grateful that at the end of briefings you only had to worry about systems and odds, not about flying a plane. As you were dismissed, everyone crowded to the center aisle, trying to get out and to the hangar as quickly as possible. Someone sneezed, or someone pushed someone; Harvard dropped his coffee.

It wasn’t full, and you were all in flight suits anyways, but you still startled when it fell, splashing over the row you were sitting in. Black coffee flew over seats and notebooks (thankfully no phones), and someone laughed as Harvard’s attempts to catch it just served to further empty the cup. Bob took the worst of it, on the end of your row.

"Ah, shit," Bob muttered, and you froze.

It wasn't that Harvard's spilled coffee had ruined Bob's notes, and yours too.

It wasn't that everyone in the briefing room was looking back at your row in surprise.

It wasn't even that Bob had sworn, even though you'd never heard anything harsher than "gosh" from the WSO's lips.

It was that that cuss, in that voice, in that same mumbled tone, had pushed you to orgasm four hours ago.

“Alright, it’s just coffee,” Maverick called over the clamor. “We’re burning daylight, people, come on.”

Harvard was apologizing profusely, someone was passing paper towels out, but you felt completely out of your body, in shock.

Bob was BullRiderRhett.

The WSO who asked for ginger ale when everyone else did shots at the Hard Deck, who cleaned his glasses when he got nervous, who stayed up all night to help Payback’s kid put together a Lego Statue of Liberty last time he was in town …was the guy who had talked you through the last few months of orgasms.

(Yes, you had an annual subscription).

(Yes, you deserved it).

When you let yourself back into your room at the end of the night, it still felt surreal.

In retrospect, you should’ve been a million times more dialed in– you’d had a $73 million machine under your hands, and the only thing on your mind all day had been this revelation.

How had you never noticed before??

Now that you were thinking of it, Bob did have that slight accent when he was tired, or when he was mad enough at something stupid Jake said…but what were you even supposed to do with this knowledge?

You moved through your skincare much the same way you’d moved through most of the day – on autopilot.

A knock on your door startled you.

“Now’s not the time, Bradshaw,” you called, automatically.

“Uh,” called a too-familiar voice, “not Bradshaw.”

You winced at your reflection in the mirror, trying desperately to decide if you recognized Bob’s voice from countless drills or from your Favorites list. You crossed your arms across your chest, your sweatshirt dragging against the hem of your pajama shorts as you slouched over to the door.

“Robert,” you announced, as you opened it, mentally smacking your palm against your forehead. You had literally never called him Robert; what was wrong with you??

Could’ve been worse, you mused.

You could’ve said ‘Rhett’.

“Hey,” he said, and if he was thrown by the use of his full name, he didn’t show it.

He looked the same.

The same, but in the way that had made you catch your breath when you first met him, when you were relieved that he was so unassuming and kind, because if he’d been any kind of authoritative, it would’ve debilitated you.

Tonight, he’d clearly showered after drills.

His hair was freshly combed and still damp, darker than normal. A tendril fell in front of his glasses, leaving a small line of fog against the outer corner of one of the lenses. He was in a plain white tshirt and light sweatpants, and you made yourself stop from looking further because you were not about to objectify your friend just because you now knew that he could dirty talk with the best of them.

And now you were thinking about that.

“Are you mad at me?” Bob asked, and it snapped you out of your spiral.

He was frowning at the sill, his hands shoved in his pockets, and his chest tight. There was a purse in between his eyebrows, and you really could not understand him, because how could a man who was objectively gorgeous, subjectively sweet, be this adorable? He looked up and the moment your eyes met, you looked away.

“No,” you said quickly, clearing your throat. “Of course not. Obviously.”

“I mean, not obviously,” Bob said, rubbing a sneaker against the carpet in the hallway. “You practically sprinted out of the briefing this morning, refused to speak to me over comms during drills, and you won’t look at me for more than two seconds, and that’s normally someone else’s line to me.”

It was a weak joke, but it was funny, and you could hear in his voice that he was trying to set you at ease, and that really only made you feel worse.

So you stepped aside and held open the door, not really trusting yourself to say anything else. Bob looked nervous, and you wanted to tell him it was you, not him, but instead you waited in silence as he stepped into the room.

You only had the light over the sink on, and the room was in soft shadows, but you thought it might be more weird if you turned on a light, like you were calling attention to it. You shut the door and Navy rooms didn’t really come with guest furniture, so you gestured to the foot of your bed, while you paced.

“This is going to be awkward,” you warned him, glancing in his direction, and wishing you hadn’t.

He was sitting on the foot of your bed, as directed, legs spread slightly and his elbows resting on his knees. You could see the muscles of his shoulders through the tshirt, and his eyes seemed especially bright, in the dim light from the room.

“Okay,” Bob said easily, and you appreciated that he wasn’t rushing you. Maybe he was starting to understand that this was something you were working through, rather than something he had done.

You switched directions, walking the length of the room, and then the length again.

You had to say it.

You’d just have to say it, and that would explain it, and then it would be out, and then you could figure out how to move forward. Bob was a problem solver, like you, and you were both smart enough to figure this out. You were also both adults. You could just say it.

You stopped in front of him, and Bob sat up a little straighter, like he wanted to be sure he was being respectful to the weight of whatever you were saying. God, he was such a good person, why did you have to be such a creep.

“Iknowaboutbullriderrhett,” you said in a rush, clasping your hands in front of you. The words seemed to echo around the room and you stared at Bob, waiting for him to react.

He didn’t, not really.

He nodded, slowly, and you watched him process the day through the lens of your revelation.

“So, you’re disappointed it’s me,” he said, like he was clarifying, and you shook your head.

“What?” you asked, confused, and Bob shrugged.

“Like if you were expecting a ranch hand from Wyoming, I get it, it’s weird that it’s just me.”

You blinked. “That…that’s beside the point; I feel guilty, like this is a weird invasion of privacy, and isn’t that what you should be asking, anyways, is if I’m going to tell anybody? I won’t, but–”

Bob shook his head, his expression still pretty guarded. “Whose opinion do you think matters to me more than yours?”

And how the hell were you supposed to respond to that?

“What?” you managed again.

Bob looked at you.

It was maybe the longest uninterrupted eye contact you’d ever had, and you weren’t sure if it was because he initiated it, or if something was different. But it made you curious, it made you stop rambling, it made you be still, and let Bob look, because you liked how he was looking at you.

He smiled, that familiar, bashful, expression, and it calmed you slightly.

It wasn’t like there was a demon possessing your friend, it wasn’t a dark secret, it was just a part of him that he didn’t bring out at work. His smile reminded you that you knew him, that you trusted him.

Then his head fell to the side, his eyebrows lowering behind his glasses, his expression turning inquisitive as he said, “You didn’t answer my question.”

It was still Bob.

But his voice was lower, his voice was softer and you knew that voice, but seeing it fall from petal pink lips was a revelation and you shivered. You pulled the sleeves of your sweatshirt down over your palms, hoping you could disguise it, but Bob saw it anyway.

Of course he did.

He could calculate projectile trajectories while at supersonic speed; of course he could see when his voice made you shiver. The expression on his face turned smug, and that was new, that was nothing you’d seen before and you were pretty much infatuated with it immediately.

Objectively, Bob was the best.

You knew it, everyone knew it. This was maybe the first time you’d seen him look like he knew it, and something like pride blossomed in your chest at the thought that it was because of you.

“I’m not disappointed,” you said honestly, and Bob smiled fully.

That was how he should always be, you decided, proud of himself, pleased by you.

He pushed himself off the bed.

He walked towards you slowly, slow enough that you could tell he was giving you time to back away, or tell him to stop, but you sure as shit weren’t going to do either.

Instead, your head tilted back as he came to stop in front of you.

“We have two options,” he said, almost conversationally, like you weren’t this close to melting into a puddle at seeing this side of him. “One: I go back to my room; we’ve learned something new today, but we go on like normal. Or–”

“Or,” you chose, not waiting to hear what the second option was. “Whatever ‘or’ is, that’s the one I want.”

It truly didn’t matter; if the choice was him walking out the door or not, you wanted whatever made him stay.

He huffed an exhale of a laugh, a soft sound that you’d heard a dozen times but it still made your breath catch. You’d grinned fondly when you heard it over comms, after Callie calmly roasted Jake, you’d shivered when you heard it in your headphones, but now that Bob was physically in front of you, you thought this was the best iteration of it.

“What do you like?” he asked softly, and it felt like a loaded question.

Like maybe he was asking which audios, or maybe the themes, or if him, in front of you, was enough. The room felt suspended, like someone had paused the film of your life and you could see everything outside of yourself. The heat in Bob’s eyes, the way his fingers, held loose at his side, twitched slightly, like he wanted to reach for you. The way your own breath caught, like you were careful not to break a spell, like you wanted it to never break.

You kissed him.

You probably could’ve been more graceful about it, but he was standing just there, and you needed to know, needed to feel him against you. You reached for his arms, your hands grasping above his elbows to pull him down and press yourself closer.

He was so soft.

The moment your lips brushed over him, you felt him bending, moving. His glasses bumped into your nose as he adjusted and then his hands were on your waist, spreading over your back and how had you never noticed how big his hands were? They felt huge, and his chest was strong and warm as he pulled you into him.

You could smell his shampoo, something earthy and sweet, and it was intoxicating how pure it was. He didn’t feel pure. He felt hot, kissing you back with an urgency that stole your breath away. Bob kissed you with certainty, with earnestness, and you were obsessed.

You pulled back, staying in the cradle of his arms, needing to be this close when you answered the question he’d asked. Long lashes fluttered against the tops of his cheeks as you broke the kiss, and Bob pulled in a long breath through his nose. When he opened his eyes, the blue of them was so bright, cutting. You didn’t know how he held it all, his sharpness and softness, gentleness and intention.

“Can I show you?” you asked.

He blinked, the motion slow, as he looked between your eyes, trying to focus with you so close. You saw the corner of his mouth turn up in that bashful smile, and his arms around you tightened slightly.

“Show me,” he said, your question but now a command, and your mouth went dry.

His voice sent a flush of heat over your skin, and whatever he wanted, you’d say yes, for this man who was your friend and your fantasy, and asking you so nicely.

It amazed you how you didn’t feel nervous.

This was arguably the most intimate situation you’d found yourself in in a hot minute, but instead of nerves or anxiety, you could only think of how much you wanted Bob to see how much he affected you. From that first moment you’d met him, to the crush you’d packed away, to the voice that haunted your dreams, you wanted him. And you wanted to see how that would affect him.

You walked over to the sink, grabbing the vibrator from where you’d left it after you cleaned it this morning. Bob walked back over to the bed, taking up his original post at the foot of it, but his eyes never left you. He toed off his sneakers, and you slipped out of your pajama shorts, leaning over to arranging pillows against the headboard.

You climbed into the bed and rested your back against the pillows, nudging Bob’s thigh with your toes before you bent your knees. He turned himself to face you, his long legs unfolding outside of yours. It was like he was being careful not to touch you, and you liked that this was how it was going to start– just his voice and your pleasure. You hoped once he saw what a tight string was tied between the two, maybe he’d get a little more involved. A part of you wished that you’d deepened the kiss earlier, but it was just as well to have the anticipation of it.

It was ridiculous that you were already turned on.

You’d had eight hours to come to terms with the fact that Bob was Rhett, but as he sat across from you, it was like his gaze was scorching you. His bright eyes ran over you hungrily, and you rolled your neck, enjoying being the object of his gaze.

You’d been bold when you suggested it, but now the silence of the room seemed to stretch. You wondered if you should ask Bob to talk, or if that would be weird. Bob looked at you, his damp hair falling in front of his glasses again, and he brushed it aside absently.

“Is this where you lay, when you listen to me?” he asked, his eyes tracing over the simple bed, the regulation bedding, the pillows you’d brought in to spruce it up. His voice was low, curious, and now that you were listening for it, you could hear the traces of a drawl, hanging on the edges of it.

You nodded, unable to look away from him, and his nose flared slightly at the confirmation.

“You’re so pretty,” he said, and it washed over you. It was such a simple compliment, but the truth of how he said it, like every fiber of his being meant it, warmed you.

“God, thinking about you…” he trailed off, “just lying here, looking like this…getting off to my voice…do you touch yourself first? Pet that pussy before you use your toy?”

Your mouth actually fell open hearing Bob Floyd say ‘pussy’ so casually.

And he said it sitting in your bed, his eyes on you, his voice dropping into a deep drawl and yeah, you were going to do whatever he asked.

You shifted slightly, a hand falling between your thighs to press over your clothed cunt. You cupped yourself, loving the way Bob’s eyes followed your hand with rapt attention. The kiss, his words, his eyes…you weren’t wet yet, but you could feel your body warming, turning towards Bob.

“Love that you take your time with your pussy, warm her up, slow. ‘s not a thing you have to rush, not when the building feels so good. And I bet you feel so good, don’t you, so soft and warm…”

It didn’t feel slow, not with how hot Bob’s voice was. How good it felt to have him in the room with you, not just an empty echoing in your ears but physically here. You continued to tease yourself over your panties and you felt when they grew damp, when your arousal slowed your fingers, made the fabric slick.

“Fuck,” Bob breathed, and you whimpered.

The sound was involuntary, a reaction to seeing sweet, wholesome, Bob swearing over the sight of you. It made you feel regal, and if you had to guess, pulling sounds out of you made him feel the same. At the sound of your whimper, Bob’s eyes dropped to your mouth, and you watched the tip of his tongue push through his lips, as he wet them.

“Ah, you sound so good, too, I can’t believe–” he broke off, laughing quietly. “Can’t believe I’m jealous of my own damn self. How many times have I made you cum, and I’ve never gotten to see it?”

It was your turn to laugh, not quite willing to reveal how much you listened to BullRiderRhett.

“That many, huh?” Bob’s voice was smug, and it was such a good sound on him. You ground your wrist over your clit, pressing into the hard bone, craving the friction.

“Take your panties off,” he said, “touch yourself, not the vibrator yet.”

You followed his instruction, pulling up your legs to peel off your panties and resettling. You extended a leg down the bed, pressing inside of Bob’s long leg, as you trailed your hand between your thighs. At the first brush of skin against your sensitive folds, your head tipped back against the headboard.

It was just your hand, but with Bob here, it felt like it was almost his. It was his bidding at least, and you explored yourself leisurely, dragging your fingers through your wetness.

“Yeah, that’s right, bet you feel so good,” Bob said, his voice so low. “Feel yourself, sweet girl, tell me how it feels.”

You gasped, your hips rising in a pavlovian response to the endearment. It was somehow even more overwhelming when it was Bob who spoke it over you, here, in the flesh. When he could see that your skin prickled, that your breath caught, in response to him.

“Say it again,” you whispered, hoping he’d understand, and when you looked back at him, the expression on his face was one of adoration and hunger, awe and need.

“Sweet girl?” he asked gently, but his eyes were so dark. “You like being that for me, don’t you? My sweet, sweet girl.”

You nodded weakly, your fingers suddenly not enough. You rubbed over your clit, trying to stop the truth from spilling out of you as heat fanned out through your body from your touch.

“Yours,” you corrected weakly, and you scrambled for the vibrator and switched it on, using the intense humming of the toy as an excuse to hide from Bob’s reaction to your admission.

You felt one of his hands wrap around your ankle, and his long thumb stroked from your heel up to the joint. It was the perfect touch, and just grounding enough to keep you from being overwhelmed by the vibrations.

“You sound so pretty,” Bob murmured, “those little whimpers you make, fuck.”

Were you whimpering?

You felt like you noticed everything a bit too late, too loud. You realized you were pulling the vibrator over your cunt in a mimicry of the strumming motion Bob’s thumb was tracing on your ankle, and your hips canted up. Pleasure swirled in you, hot and tingling, but you felt something missing.

“Bob,” you panted, god, how were you already panting, “I need–”

You turned the toy higher and broke off, writhing.

“Darlin’, love you saying my name like this,” Bob drawled, and it was a proper drawl now, and how he said darlin’ made you feel like you might combust. “Can’t believe I get to see you like this, you look so good…knowing this isn’t your first time working yourself to my voice, makes me so damn jealous.”

You whined, pressing the vibrator more firmly against your skin, your hips starting to grind into it.

“Tell me,” you asked, your voice reedy, and Bob huffed a laugh, like you didn’t even have to ask. He ran a hand over his thigh, coming to rest at the seat of his sweatpants and you bit your lip as he adjusted himself through the thin fabric.

“So damn jealous,” he repeated, “thinking how many orgasms I’ve missed. How many times you came when I asked, how those thighs would tremble as you fucked yourself thinking of taking me…fuck, honey, you’ve heard me cum, and I’ve never–”

A moan pushed its way past your lips, as you realized that the groans and grunts and needy noises that you got off to weren’t incorporeal: they belonged to Bob.

You looked down at the foot of the bed where Bob was watching you greedily. His eyes roamed over your spread legs, the twitches in your thighs, the slackness in your jaw, and you looked at him too. His pale skin was flushed, color in pink splotches high on his cheeks, and his lips were parted. His chest rose and fell as he drew in deep breaths, and when he shifted slightly, you moaned again.

“Can you touch yourself?” you asked, almost shy, wanting to see him. You felt good, so insanely good, but the thing you’d always loved about the Rhett audios was how much pleasure it sounded like he was getting too. There was something so hot about knowing you were the root of someone else’s desire and pleasure, and you wanted so badly to be that for Bob.

“You’re gonna have to wait just a little longer, sweet girl,” Bob said, but he ran a hand over the thigh of his sweatpants, adjusting himself again, and your hips bucked up of their own volition. You guessed he was wearing underwear under his sweatpants because you couldn’t see an outline, but the idea of his dick hanging that far down his thigh had your mouth watering.

“Wanna see you,” you protested, hearing a sound like a pout in your voice and Bob’s hand on your ankle tightened. He looked at you hard, and you knew he was gambling, trying to decide if he wanted to play a card.

“I know, sweet girl,” he said, licking his lips, “but you have to earn my cock.”

Your eyes rolled back and your core clenched at those words. How many times had you heard Rhett tease you with that? But it was different now, because Bob was here. Because he was real, and his cock was real, and however many times you’d wondered about Rhett, your curiosity could be sated in Bob.

When you lifted your head to look back at Bob, he was slackjawed, watching you writhe. You were practically humping the toy, chasing an orgasm that suddenly felt so much closer. The vibrator felt stronger than normal, or maybe you were more sensitive, but you felt your climax building, and your thighs started shaking.

“I wanna see you,” you repeated, and it sounded pathetic, but it was true, you did. In a moment, this had switched from getting off in front of your friend to needing your friend’s dick, and you didn’t know how Bob knew it but he did.

He readjusted his grip on your ankle and before you could react he pulled.

You slid down the bed, your thighs parting around where he now kneeled; he braced himself over you, and you whined, needing his touch. He kissed you, his mouth wide and plundering, slanting his lips over yours. You moaned into his kiss, so different from the soft gentleness of your first embrace. This was Bob kissing you, and his tongue delved into your mouth and you opened for him.

“I’m too greedy for that, sweet girl,” he whispered, his lips against yours. “I know if I get between these thighs I’m going to lose myself, and I want to see how much you want it. I wanna be here, fully here, the first time I get to see you cum.”

He reached down, and you felt his hand trace over yours. You’d nearly dropped the vibrator when he pulled you down the bed, but now Bob tightened your grip, and guided it back to your cunt. You keened as the vibrator pushed between your folds, and Bob followed your lead, wanting to see how you fucked yourself for him.

It was better with him.

His strong hand bracketing yours, his other at the back of your neck, holding you steady. His hand was on yours but he brought his face close to yours again, and you drank in the reality that he was here, this close, holding you. His breath was hot against your skin, and his glasses were fogging up from how hard you were breathing.

“So are you gonna let me see it, darlin’?” he asked against your skin, and that voice, coupled with his touch, nearly had you there. “You gonna come for me, let me see what it looks like when my sweet girl gets off with just my voice and the toy we’re using on her? You’re almost there, honey, I can see it, come for me come on now–”

He sounded so good.

His voice was perfect and soothing and it felt like a dream but it wasn’t, it was real. He was holding you, feeling you, breathing the same air and working you. You’d never been so aware of your body and how it was tuned towards someone else. You cried out his name as you came, your back arching and your free hand fisting in Bob’s tshirt, reminding yourself he was there, he was there, he was there.

You felt like you were floating.

Pleasure coursed through your body and you could feel it pulsing in your fingertips, beating in your heart. You became slowly aware of the room around you. The air felt cold against your sweat-dampened skin, the hum of the refrigerator was the only noise other than your hard breathing. Bob was still over you, and he’d pulled the vibrator away from you, switching it off without really looking, running a soothing hand over your hip. The hand at the back of your neck was firm, holding you tightly so you could feel him.

“How’re ya doing, sweet girl?” he asked softly, and you felt him press a kiss to your cheek. “Did that feel good?“

You hummed in agreement, words still beyond you. His voice was so gentle, but had a raspy edge, like he was thinking over the last several minutes, holding them in his mind.

“You did such a good job for me,” he murmured, and you turned into his touch.

He was like sunshine, wasn’t he?

Just warm, and good, and you wanted to bask in him and his light like a dryad. His eyes darted away once he realized you were looking at him, and it made your heart skip a beat, that he could somehow be shy after coaxing you through one of the hottest orgasms of your life.

You were trying to think of how to say “your turn” in a way that wasn’t corny or cringey, but what you came up with was, “Can we keep going?”

Bob’s eyes snapped back to yours, and the world seemed to pause for a moment, hovering. Waiting, hoping, and Bob’s chin dipped, just slightly, and all was right.

“Baby,” he said, in the low, perfect, voice, “I’d like nothing more.”

When he kissed you, you were both smiling, somewhat giddy, and any nerves that had gathered during that pause dissipated, as you kissed his smile-thinned lips.

You shifted slightly, pushing yourself back up the bed and pulling Bob with you.

He moved easily, his long body spanning over yours, pressing you back into the mattress with the most delicious pressure. His hands were wandering, then, delicate fingers tracing over your sweatshirt, and when he lingered at the hem of it, you pushed him off. You didn’t want to be patient, didn’t want his chivalry, and so you pulled your sweatshirt over your head before you had time to second guess yourself.

The way Bob looked at you, you wished you’d done it sooner.

His tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip as he stared at your chest and you pushed yourself off the bed by your shoulders, so you could reach behind you and undo your bra. The moment the garment fell off, Bob’s hands were on you, his wide palms cupping your breasts. Your eyes fluttered shut at his touch, humming in the back of your throat as his fingers explored you. You felt the bed shift as he moved, and you gasped when a warm breath ghosted over your bared skin.

Bob kissed down from your sternum, wet kisses over you, and by the time he reached your nipples, he was practically lapping at your skin. You whimpered as his mouth closed over your nipples, his tongue swirling over you as his hand teased your other breast. When he hummed, you felt it all over, the soft vibration over your skin.

“Bob,” you gasped, and he moaned.

“Ya sound so pretty,” he whispered into your skin, “somehow better than I imagined.”

Your breath caught as his mouth moved to the valley between your breasts, and he laved the same attention to the other. He couldn’t have meant that how it sounded. As incomprehensible that this was happening, it was wilder still to think that he had imagined this, as you had.

“You thought of me?” you asked, your own voice sounding nearly breathless.

“Honey,” teeth grazed over your nipple, and Bob chuckled, that beautiful low laugh. “Who do you think I’m talkin’ to when I make those audios?”

His lips closed over you again, but the swirling of his tongue wasn’t enough to distract from the words he’d just uttered.

He wasn’t done, either.

“Y’know how many nights I’d wondered about the taste of your skin,” he murmured into it, “or what your tits would feel like in my hands? What sounds you’d make when I kissed you, how soft you’d be, everywhere? If you’d cry, or moan, or laugh when you came, or how you’d say my name…”

Your hand wound back into his hair and you pulled him back up to your mouth. This kiss was desperate, so much unsaid between the both of you. So much longing, so much wondering and now it was here. You couldn’t explore each other fast enough, and you were clawing at his clothing, trying to feel as much of his skin as possible. Bob was just as eager as you were, pulling off of you to shuck off his tshirt and sweatpants, and you reached for his glasses.

He blinked at you slowly as you pulled them off of him.

This sweet man.

He was so focused on you, his eyes so intent even as he struggled to focus, and you couldn’t believe how lucky you were. You leaned over to place them carefully on your nightstand, and when you came back to the bed, Bob’s arms settled around you in the most comforting embrace.

You loved the feeling of his skin.

He was so soft, pale skin covering deceptively strong muscles, and you were obsessed with the dichotomy. Your hands greedily traversed over his broad shoulders, thick biceps, taut stomach, and when you got to the hem of his boxers, you felt his breath catch as he shifted over you.

Fuck.

You’d thought it might’ve been a trick of the light, or a trick of sweatpants, some kind of trick, but under your hand, Bob felt hung. Your fingers rubbed over the bulge in his boxers, and Bob’s head dropped to your shoulders.

“We don’t have to–” he started, and broke off when your touch reached the end of him. You were just tracing the shape of him, but your breath caught when you felt his fat head, the cleft at his tip, even through the thin fabric.

“We do,” you said, swallowing quickly, not even trying to hide the way your thoughts were racing, “I really hope you have a condom, Floyd, because we really, really have to.”

He huffed, and then he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, pushing himself off you and reaching down to feel around the ground for his sweatpants. You loved that he had a condom on him – not because it meant that he was expecting this, but because it just confirmed for you that Bob was the type to look at birth control as shared responsibility, not just a matter of whether a gal took the pill or felt like risking going without. He fumbled for a moment, and you couldn’t help yourself.

While he was distracted (admittedly, this was probably a task you could have thought of while he still had his glasses on) you leaned over and traced your tongue over his collarbone. He smelled so good, and you could just taste the salt of his sweat. Bob’s breath grew ragged, and you loved the sound of it, kissing up his neck and finding that tempting spot where you could feel his pulse. You loved how frantic it was, loved the steadiness of him.

He found the condom.

You shifted back to your elbow, watching with blatant interest as he shoved his boxers down his thighs, tore the wrapper open and rolled the condom onto his dick.

Holy. Shit.

He looked like a work of art.

A beautiful flush had worked its way across his chest and throat, the tendons on his arms and hands stood out in stark contrast, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his cock. He really was that big.

“What is it?” he asked quietly, and your eyes darted back up to his face to find his brows furrowing slightly, since he couldn’t read your silence or your expression.

You pushed yourself up to kneeling on the edge of the bed, Bob still standing beside it, and reached for him. He stepped into your embrace easily, mollified by the shared warmth between your bodies, as you reassured him with soft kisses wherever you could reach.

“I thought it was a line,” you admitted, somewhat embarrassed at how wantonly you’d just been staring at him. “Just a cliche ‘oh, you want to choke on this big dick’, but…but you’re actually, you know…”

Bob smiled, somehow bashful, as you pitched your voice lower in an approximation of Rhett’s drawl.

“Is that an offer?” he asked, and oh you liked this side of him– teasing, relaxed, a little cocky.

And the thought of choking on him…it was a really great fantasy. He’d hurt your jaw something fierce, but you wanted to see if you could draw those breathy whimpers out of him. Figure out what your tongue could do to him, see how much he could take, push him a little further, and make him cum down your throat.

“Honestly,” you said, and yeah, your throat was dry just from the thought of it, “I really want to try that, sometime.”

At your tone or your words, you couldn’t be sure, Bob’s hips pushed forward slightly. With the height difference of you kneeling and him standing, his cock brushed against your ribs. You were both suddenly so aware of him, his thick cock resting between you, and Bob’s hips pushed forward again.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured, and his hips slid back, slowly. His hands were on your waist, holding you still as he ground against you. Your mouth fell open at the heavy motion, the promise of it, and the duration of it.

“You’re so big,” you whispered, another truth that should’ve sounded like a cliche, but instead was just a fact.

“You’ll fit me,” Bob said, with such confidence and certainty that suddenly you didn’t care if it was in your mouth or between your legs, you needed him in you.

“Please,” you asked, and Bob groaned, actually groaned, like you asking was the best thing he’d ever heard. His hands were so tight on your waist, like he needed that control and you knew how you wanted him.

You leaned up to press a quick kiss to his lips, and then turned back to the bed, your hand sliding up towards the headboard, your ass lifting like an invitation. Bob wasted no time, climbing back over the bed and shifting you so you were lengthwise on the bed again, and then draping his long body over yours. Your head rolled between your shoulders; he felt so good. Warm and strong, and all around you, and then you felt his big hand between your thighs. He opened your thighs gently, and then a thick finger traced between them.

“So wet,” he murmured, so close to your ear, and you shivered. “You’re gonna feel so good around me, aren’t you?”

You nodded, words failing you in your anticipation. But Bob wasn’t in a rush. His calloused finger teased through your folds, smearing the remnants of your orgasm up over your clit, playing with your cunt, until you were shaking.

You whimpered, your arms trembling as you braced yourself on the bed. You pushed your hips back into his touch, and you felt Bob’s breath shutter from his chest pressed to your back, but he didn’t move any faster.

“Don’t rush me, honey,” Bob said, his voice low, and you tried to hold still, you did, but his teasing was too much.

He alternated between spreading your folds, circling your clit, dipping his finger into you just enough to tease you, then pulling back entirely. You felt like you were aching, desperate for him, needing him. Bob spread you open with one hand, and you felt his thick head at your entrance, seeking. You saw the hand that wasn’t playing with your clit drop down to the bed beside yours as he braced himself, and you pushed your hips back, weakly.

“Ask me nicely, sweet girl,” he said, his voice so low, and you swear you nearly came on the spot.

“Please,” you managed, your voice sounding entirely too weak, “please, please, I need to feel you–”

You broke off when he pushed into you.

A steady, overwhelming pressure as that beautiful, enormous cock pushed into you. Your back arched and you gripped the sheets as he stretched you out, the gentle, even pressure nearly blinding. He was so thick, you felt like you could feel his heartbeat, like you’d been lit on fire, and the only thing you knew you needed was more, more.

Your head dropped to the sheets, even as your hips worked weakly back into his, welcoming him despite the burn.

Bob’s hand covered yours, his thick fingers tangling with yours on the bedsheets, and you felt cherished, you felt wrecked, you felt perfect.

Fuck, he felt so good.

You were full to the point of overwhelmed, and you realized he’d stopped pushing, was fully seated inside you. You felt so connected, so whole, even though you were heaving like you’d run a marathon.

Bob‘s nose traced your cheek, his soft lips kissed your jaw as his breath tickled your ear. “Does that feel good, darlin?” he asked.

You nodded, wordless, it felt like a dream come true. You felt every inch of him in you, every inch of him over you, and it was perfect.

“So,” Bob whispered, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear, “what do you say?”

“Thank you,” you moaned, you’d never been so grateful for anything in your life. “Feels so good, fuck, thank you–”

Bob groaned, and his hips pulled back before he slammed back into you. His thrust would’ve pushed you up the bed, except for his body over yours, holding you steady.

“Sweet girl, it’s like you don’t want this to last long,” he said, almost angry, and the sound of his voice had your eyes rolling back in your head. He sounded so good, he felt so good, he was so perfect, you were so full… “Like you’re trying to drive me mad with this tight cunt, with those sweet little whimpers, you feel so good, baby.”

You couldn’t do anything.

You were a molten mess of heat and driving need, your body aching and craving and sated by the thick cock pressing inside of you. Bob was thrusting so deep into you, his fat cock head prodding against a spot you distantly registered wasn’t made up, but might’ve been, for how perfectly he was hitting it. You weren’t aware if you were making sounds or just lying there, all you knew was how fucking good he felt in you, how you needed him to never stop.

“Feel so full,” you gasped, and Bob pushed into you again.

“Damn right,” Bob muttered, his voice dark, “full of my dick, like you’re fucking meant to be. Gorgeous girl, bent over, taking my cock like you need it.”

You whimpered, clenching around him. “I do, I do,” you babbled, “need you.”

Bob moaned, and it might’ve been the prettiest sound you’d ever heard. How was he real? How could he be this good, this kind, this fucking hot??

The sounds in the room were dizzying.

Bob’s hips slapping into your ass, the squelching sounds where you were joined, your gasps and his breathy grunts. It was perfect, and you felt the heat around you condensing in your core.

He knew, somehow.

The fingers that had been spreading you for his cock, moved to the top of your cunt, teasing over your clit. Your legs jerked, your mouth dropping open as Bob circled your clit, his fingers tracing over it, gently pinching it and coaxing you higher.

“I’m gonna cum,” you panted, heat and need rising.

“Christ, please,” Bob said, his voice so earnest, so dear, as you pushed back into him. “Let me feel it, sweet girl, let me feel this pussy I’ve been dreaming about. Want to feel you milking my cock, so damn good, you can do it, come on…”

He pumped into you once, twice, and you shattered. Your legs gave out, shaking, and then Bob’s hands were on your waist again, holding you up. You moaned his name, trembling and lost, and he held you, ever steady. He kept working into you, his thick cock pressing into you, like he was the only thing tethering you to this pane, and you felt drunk off of him.

“There it was, that was beautiful…fuck, you’re so hot, that feels so damn good. You sounded so gorgeous, sweet girl, you did so well…”

You moaned as his words coaxed you back.

He was still pumping into you, that steady, punishing pace and you were so sensitive but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. He felt so strong, so hot, so close to you and you needed it. Needed him. His thick arms cording around you, his strong grip digging into your hips, his fat cock stuffing you, you never wanted it to stop.

“You’re so good,” you whispered, needing him to know. Not just how he felt, or how he sounded, but who he was. How he was, and how much he meant.

Bob’s hips stuttered.

You were aching, you were spent, but you tightened your core and clenched around him.

“Baby,” he groaned, “I’m close you can’t–”

You rolled your hips.

Bob grunted, and then he was moving, faster than lightning. He swept your hands out, pushing you down by your shoulders into the mattress, his body draping over yours. You turned your head to the side, and like he knew, he was there, kissing you.

It was sloppy, it was messy, but your lips and tongue tangled together, like you both needed the sweetness of a kiss to balance the savage way Bob’s hips were fucking into you.

Each press of his hips ground your pussy into the mattress and the pressure was so fucking unreal. You moaned into him, and Bob seemed drunk off the sound, off of you. You were so overstimulated, so out of your body that pleasure was the only thing that made sense. Only the way his hips rubbed your clit into the mattress, only the way his cock was stroking into the deep part of you, only the way he was panting against your lips.

“You’re everything,” Bob whispered, just a breath away. “So much better, so much – fuck, you feel too good. Will you come for me again, sweet girl? I want to feel it so bad, need another one from you, can you do that for me?”

You shook your head, wrung out, but you felt it building anyways. Fuck, how was that possible? But Bob’s thrusts, the pressure on your clit, the weight of his warm body, the need in his eyes, it was driving you higher.

And then.

And then he got close.

He broke off from the kiss, his thrusts growing almost frantic. Each breath he drew ended on a gasp, a soft whine that reached deep into your gut and set off something primal. He was fucking into you but he was whimpering, and you knew he needed it, needed you, like he said. He moaned, a needy, beautiful sound, and before you could feel his orgasm, yours broke over you.

You collapsed into the mattress, Bob covering you, and you distantly heard him getting louder as your thighs shook. He sounded so pretty, those sweet moans and the desperate gasps driving you mad. The world was just molten heat, desperate thrusts, echoes of whimpers and you faded into the vacuity of it.

When you came back, you were on your side.

You were drenched in sweat, you both were, and a sheet was covering you from the cool room. Bob had taken off the condom, you noticed absently, and had pulled your sheet up over both of you, tucking you into his chest. His arms were warm around you, and when you exhaled, you watched the blond hairs on his forearms blow back and forth.

“How’re you doing?” Bob asked softly, and you could weep. It was him, so familiar, so gentle, and so much better than any recording, any fantasy, anything. Your arm swung halfheartedly in his direction.

“You jerk,” you sighed, “you’ve ruined my subscription.” Bob chuckled, the bed shaking with his deep laugh. “Think you can content yourself with the real thing?”

You shifted, turning to face him. In the dim light of the room, he somehow still managed to look like an angel. His soft eyes were unfocused, his mussed hair was snarled from your fingers, and he was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

You leaned over to kiss him, Bob’s lips already thinning on a smile. “I think I can manage,” you said.

tagging: @withahappyrefrain @cheekymcgrath @mxgyver @lewmagoo @sebsxphia @callsign-fangirl @callsignspark @sometimesanalice @daggerspare-standingby @rhettabbotts @teacupsandtopgun @attapullman @yuckosworld @skteaiy @yanna-banana @briseisgone @gigisimsonmars @milesmillergf @katiedid-3 @hangmandruigandmav @3tabbiesandalab @marchingicenotes7 @callsignmedusa @ryebecca @tgmavericklover @cottagecori @becks-things @sorchathered @mulletmcghee @straightforwardly @high-speed-r @rcmupout @purelyfiction @fairyheart @sunsetsimpsblog @angelbabyyy99 @cremebruleequeen @marvel-djarin @sgt-barnesveins @supernaturaldawning @echo-ethe @sunlitide @alilstressyandlotdepressy @hughesvolpe @aczhang777 @saltsicklover

chances are high i'll do a part 2/followup with both of them recording an 'overheard' audio...let me know! comments and reblogs are the surest way to make that happen 💙

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col0rlord · 4 months ago

Text

I wish I could go back and read this for the first time again.

Do You Wanna Touch Me? | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You had been working at the bar for six months. And you'd been crushing on Rooster since the first night he handed you his credit card, called you Babydoll, and asked you to start a tab for him. And it only got worse from there, until one night you asked him about more than just his drink order.

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, age gap, and smut

Length: 5800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written for my Top Gun Rocktober playlist! Check out my masterlist for more!

"Oh, my god," you whined softly, drying and polishing the rack of pint glasses in front of you as Rooster Bradshaw came strolling into the bar. "Fuck me," you sighed, barely able to keep your eyes off him as you fumbled one of the glasses.

"Yeah, you'd like that," Lizzy said with a laugh as she cut up some lemons before the Friday evening rush.

You didn't even know you spoke out loud. That's how much of a ridiculous crush you had on that big, sexy man. But he strolled right past you on his way to the pool table, barely even sparing a smile in your direction.

"I really would," you told her, watching the flex of his bicep as he high fived Hangman. It wasn't like your coworkers didn't know you had a thing for Rooster. You'd been working here for six months, and you'd been crushing on him since the first night he handed you his credit card, called you Babydoll, and asked you to start a tab for him. And it only got worse from there.

He still occasionally called you Babydoll. He never called Lizzy or Jasmine by a pet name. Just you. And you held onto that little glimmer of hope that it meant something. That maybe one day, he'd look at you as more than just one of the bartenders.

"What's wrong with you?" Jas asked, waving a hand in front of your face. But then she looked where you were staring, and she asked no further questions. "Oh. Rooster's here."

"He sure is," you added, forcing yourself to focus on the customer in front of you who looked impatient for a drink. As you finished pouring him some tequila shots, you looked up eagerly, and Rooster met your eyes. It had been a solid week since you'd seen him, and he just always looked so good.

You pushed the shot glasses across the bar and collected payment, trying to stay as cool as you could. Because Rooster was heading your way now in his snug vintage wash jeans and bright tropical shirt.

"Hey, Babydoll," he rasped, and your whole body clenched with need as your eyes fluttered closed. When you met his gaze again, he was leaning on the bar, closing in on your personal space.

"Hey, Rooster," you replied, sounding a lot calmer than you felt. When he smirked and looked down at your shirt, your heart pounded even harder. Your name was embroidered on your Hard Deck top, just above your breast. He knew your name, but he always called you Babydoll anyway. So was he just simply staring at your tits?

He cleared his throat and asked, "Get me a beer? Please?"

"Am I starting a tab?" you asked, reaching for one of the pint glasses you'd just finished cleaning. He responded by humming and sliding his credit card across the bar. He held eye contact with you while you expertly pulled the perfect pint of his preferred beer. The way his lips parted in a soft smile that matched yours, the twitch of his mustache...it all felt like foreplay that had been going on for months.

"Thanks," he muttered when your fingers brushed against his. He winked at you before turning back to the pool table, leaving you with his credit card and a desperate need inside of you.

As you set up his tab, Jasmine ran her hand along your lower back so you wouldn't bump her as she walked behind you. "Why don't you just invite him to join you in the bathroom and fuck him out of your system?" she joked.

"Because," you sighed, "that would only make me pine harder. Getting a small taste of him would be worse than nothing at all."

"Oof," Lizzy replied. "You're a mess over Bradshaw."

"I wonder how old he is?" Jas asked.

You hummed and shrugged, watching him drink his beer across the room while you shook a vodka martini. "Gotta be at least thirty five."

"Ask him," Lizzy said. "Next time he comes over, ask him how old he is."

Your cheeks were warming up. He was bending at the waist, playing pool, and you were taking way too long to serve this martini. "No. What if he thinks I'm being rude? Or worse...what if he catches on that I like him, and he shuts it all down."

"Fine," Jas said, uncapping some ciders. "Next time Rooster comes up, I'll wait on him."

But that really didn't sit well with you. Rooster always came to you for his drinks, anytime he could. You liked that about him. You liked his attention. Jas wouldn't pour his pints quite as well as you could. You knew so well how much foam to let spill and how close to the top of the glass you could get. You loved pulling those pints of lager for him. And you loved pouring him bourbon when he asked for that instead. You knew which brand and that he liked it neat. You didn't have to ask. He didn't have to tell you.

No, you should always be the one to wait on him. And when he finished his pint and strolled back up to the bar after Phoenix beat him at pool, you stepped in front of Jasmine. "I got it," you said confidently, and Jas walked away chuckling. This time Rooster eased himself down onto an empty stool between two women who looked at him like they'd just won the lottery. But his eyes were on you.

"Lager or bourbon?" you asked, and you were rewarded with those perfect, white teeth and his deep laughter.

"You got everyone's regular drinks memorized?" he asked as you reached for his empty glass. But he didn't let you take it. He kept one hand on the glass for a few beats while your fingers met his.

He was making you feel bold tonight. He was even more gorgeous up close like this, with a few gray hairs at his temples and some laugh lines around his eyes. His eyebrows shot up, and his smile faltered when you said, "No, Rooster. Not everybody's regular drinks. Only the hottest guys. Lager or bourbon?"

He grunted and swallowed hard. "Dealer's choice." Then he finally let you take the empty glass, and it was a good thing, too, because you needed to turn away from him. You took a few extra seconds to reach for the bottle of Wild Turkey. Your nipples were hard, your skin felt like it was on fire, and you were turned on just talking to him.

When you turned back to face him, his gaze was neutral again. You uncapped the bourbon and poured it for him, neat.

"Thanks," he murmured, moving like he was standing to leave.

And then your mouth worked before your brain, and you said, "Anytime, Sexy."

You watched him pause halfway out of his seat, his eyes dipping down to watch you nervously lick your lips. If he left for the pool table, you really were going to have to let Jasmine wait on him next time. Embarrassment flooded your veins, leaving you uncomfortable with a sheen of cold sweat on your neck. But he eased himself back down onto the stool and kept his eyes on you. "Alright. Babydoll."

You laughed softly, pulling out some glasses for the woman who wanted two cosmos. Rooster sipped his bourbon and kept his focus on your face and your body. He grunted as you took a shaker in each hand, and as you poured them out at the same time, he asked, "What's your favorite drink?"

He was hyper focused on you now, leaning in just the slightest bit further as you served both pink drinks. "To have or to make?" you asked, taking more orders.

"Both. I want you to tell me both."

You smiled at him, and he matched it right away. "Nothing is more fun to make than an expertly crafted Bloody Mary, but those are best as breakfast cocktails."

He nodded, accepting your answer, and then he asked, "And what do you order when you go out?"

You shrugged. "I don't often get to have someone make my drinks for me, but when I do, I usually order a Manhattan."

"A Manhattan?" he asked, balking at your answer. "How fuckin' old are you, Babydoll? People in their seventies drink those things!"

"I'm twenty three," you told him, laughing so hard you were doubled over. He looked delighted when you were finally able to stand up straight again. Your smile was still bright as you leaned on the bar until you were only two feet from his face and softly asked, "How old are you?"

The song on the jukebox changed as Rooster rubbed his mustache and said, "I'm a lot older than you are." His little self deprecating laugh just made you want to get closer to him. He looked amused by you and also resigned to the fact that he thought his age was something you wouldn't like about him.

"How old?" you asked again, biting your lip.

His brown eyes found your mouth, and you thought for a moment that he was going to kiss you. Oh god, you wanted him to, so badly. "I'm thirty eight."

You hummed softly as Phoenix came to stand next to him, and you started to get her favorite kind of beer ready.

"You coming back to the pool table?" she asked Rooster, but he just grunted something about needing to finish his bourbon first. When you handed Phoenix her drink, Rooster told you to put it on his tab, and he looked relieved when she walked away.

"Thirty eight," you said, watching him down the remainder of the drink in his glass. "That's why you're so good at flirting? You've had time to practice?"

He coughed a little bit as he set his empty glass down on the bar top. "Babydoll, I'm fifteen years older than you."

"So?" you asked, pulling another perfect pint for him. "You don't want to flirt with me?"

"Now wait, that's not what I'm saying at all. Just surprised you don't want to flirt with someone your own age."

"I don't like boys my age," you told him fearlessly. "I like men."

"Oh, hell," he groaned, taking a long sip of his fresh beer. "Just look at you. You're gonna get yourself in trouble if you don't find a nice guy."

He looked flustered now. You were making Lieutenant Bradshaw flustered. His cheeks were pink, and he kept sipping his beer, avoiding your gaze. He looked adorable and boyish, and you didn't know quite what to do about this. Or about the fact that talking to him was making you wet.

"Hmmm," you hummed, and his eyes met yours immediately. "Are you a nice guy?"

"Fuck," he groaned, adjusting himself in his seat. "Sometimes."

"You're always pretty sweet to me," you whispered. "What's it like when you're not a nice guy, Rooster?"

You wanted to touch him for more than a few fleeting seconds. After six months, you thought you were going to. His long, thick fingers were just resting there in front of you. But then Fanboy came to the bar and asked you to close out his tab. And then you had to help Lizzy pour a massive round of shots. And then when Rooster asked you to close out his tab as well, you did it with a pout on your lips.

As you slid his credit card, the slip he needed to sign, and a pen across the bar, he smiled at you. "Aww, come on. Don't give me that look. You know how it is."

"I don't, actually," you replied, watching him sign the credit card receipt for you. "How is it?"

He looked up and studied your face. "You're too perfect to mess with, Babydoll. Too young. Too pretty to touch."

You chewed on your lip and squeezed your thighs together. You had to know. Your voice was soft and unsure as you asked him, "Do you wanna touch me?"

He didn't meet your eyes again as he scribbled on the receipt and then left it and the pen for you to collect. He stood up from his stool, gave a quick salute to his friends and then headed for the door.

You moaned helplessly. You blew it. He thought you were just a kid, and you never stood a chance. And now he'd probably never even look at you again.

But when you picked up the receipt, you read one word written there under his name. YES.

-----------------------------

When you strolled into the bar the next evening, you got right to work. You had no idea if Rooster would show up, and you weren't sure if you even wanted to see him or not. You'd torn off the bottom of his credit card slip and taken it home with you. That little scrap of paper on which he'd admitted he wanted to touch you was hanging on your bedroom mirror. But it was the fact that he was probably never going to touch you, even though he was more than welcome to, that was making you frustrated.

"What's wrong with you?" Lizzy asked as she arrived a minute later. "You look hot."

You glanced down at your Hard Deck top, denim skirt and beat up sneakers. "I look the same as I always do," you told her, continuing to dump buckets of ice into the cooler behind the bar.

"Maybe it's your makeup," she replied. "I think you're hoping Rooster comes in tonight."

You rolled your eyes. "I always hope he's going to be here. He's pretty. I like looking at him."

"I'm not going to dispute that," Lizzy said as she cut up the lemons again tonight. "But I think you actually like him. Not just the way he looks."

You didn't respond, because it didn't matter. You'd keep the flirtation to a minimum the next time you saw him. The last thing you wanted to do was make him think you were desperate. He wanted to touch you? He could go right ahead. But you weren't about to beg him to.

As the bar got crowded, Jasmine showed up as well. The three of you got into a nice rhythm. A lot of the aviators were back again tonight, and you were serving them drink after drink. And then it was like you knew he was there before you saw him. After you handed a couple their drinks, your eyes automatically shifted toward the doorway, finding it filled with Rooster's big body. And he was already looking at you.

"You want me to wait on him?" Lizzy asked you softly as Rooster approached the bar.

But you just shook your head and reached for two different glasses, holding them up as he took a seat in front of you. When he pointed to the pint glass, he said, "Lager. Please."

"Sure," you replied, setting the smaller glass aside and pulling a perfect pint of beer for him. "Start a tab?"

"Nah, I'm not staying long tonight," he told you as you placed the beer in front of him without meeting his gaze. "Just wanted to see you and get one drink."

"Mmkay," you said. But when you pulled your hand away, he reached for it.

Stunned, you let him take your hand in his large one, and then he asked, "Does this mean you're done flirting with the old man now? You got it all out of your system yesterday?" His eyes were guarded, cautious, and he held onto your hand, expecting an answer.

You shook your head slowly, running your fingertips along his rough calluses. "I was just getting started."

A crooked little smile danced across his lips. "I am too old for you, Babydoll. And it's a shame."

Your heart jumped in your chest, hand still tangled up with his on the bar top. You could hear Lizzy and Jasmine working extra hard to take all the orders, trying to give you a moment here. So you smiled back. "You think you're old. So what? You expect me to call you Daddy?"

"Shit," he grunted, squirming a bit in his seat but keeping your hand in his.

When he didn't respond right away, you leaned a little closer, one eyebrow raised. "I asked you a question."

His eyes were wide, and that little grin was back. "I could be a... Daddy. Maybe for the right girl."

You pulled your hand free of his and planted both palms on the bar top and leaned closer to him. "And just how is a girl supposed to know if she's the right one?"

But his cheeks were tinged with pink once again, and he looked flustered. It was flattering, such an ego boost. You were the one who made him like this. But he wasn't responding now, and you needed to help Jas pour some chardonnay for the impatient ladies at the end of the bar. You sighed and said, "Well, I work until eleven. So just think on it."

But he wouldn't let you leave. Rooster reached for your hand again, but this time he was the one leaning closer. "The right girl would be one that I can't seem to stay away from. You said you work until eleven?"

"Yes," you replied softly, his large hand completely covering yours on the bar top.

"Right. Then ask me again if I want to start a tab."

You pressed your lips together, trying not to giggle. "Would you like to start a tab, Rooster?"

"You're damn right I would, Babydoll. I can't get enough of you. Think I'll just hang here until eleven. If that's okay with you."

This time you did giggle. "Yeah. That's okay with me." As he pulled his wallet out and handed you his credit card, you asked, "Bourbon or lager?"

"Make it a Manhattan."

"I've been told these drinks are for people in their seventies," you said with a straight face as you reached for the vermouth, secretly pleased he wanted your favorite. "You're only thirty eight."

"Listen," he said, watching you fix his drink. "You said you don't like boys your own age. And maybe I'm a little older than you, but all the parts are still in working order."

You felt giddy. When you set the glass down in front of him, you couldn't help but ask, "Does that mean you'll let me take you for a test drive?"

You had to work to keep an innocent expression on your face as Bradley's blush deepened. He took a sip of his Manhattan, licked his lips and said, "I don't do test drives anymore."

"Oh," you said with a little pout. "You don't?"

"No," he replied a bit cautiously, taking another sip of his cocktail. "I'm getting too old for that. I like at least a little bit of commitment from the driver. Don't wanna feel like I'll get dinged up."

You shivered at his words, mesmerized by his voice and his demeanor as he looked down into his glass. Could you do more than a test drive? Of course you'd thought about it. You were crushing so hard, you'd imagined what it would be like if he was your boyfriend. But you'd barely even let yourself hope for a one night stand. Even that much seemed too good to be true.

"Oh," you said again in a softer tone. When he glanced up, his dark eyes were no longer guarded, and he was looking at you warily. Without giving it much thought, you pushed up onto the bar and leaned until he met you halfway in a kiss. It was just the softest brush of your lips against his. But the sound he made and the prickle of his mustache on your skin left you wide eyed and out of breath as you eased yourself back down. "No. You're too handsome to get all dinged up. I'm a great driver."

"Yeah," he said with a little laugh. "I can already tell. And that's what I was afraid of last night. There's just something about you, isn't there?"

"You have a thing for me?" you asked him, gripping the edge of the bar top. "Because I definitely have a thing for you." You had stopped breathing now, and your heart was pounding in your ears.

With a little grin, he said, "Yeah, I do, Babydoll."

"Well, what are we going to do about it, Daddy?" you asked with another giggle as Jasmine thrust a bottle of prosecco into your hands.

"We're going to go out my Bronco the minute your shift is over. We'll figure it out there."

You nearly dropped the bottle when you met his eyes. "A quickie?" you asked softly, but you were sure he heard you.

"No," he groaned, running his big palm along his mouth and shaking his head at you. Then he finished the rest of his Manhattan in one gulp and pushed the glass your way. "Nothing about this is gonna be quick. I'd like to take my time, especially with someone as perfect as you."

You sounded like a feral animal, thighs clenched together and gripping the bottle of prosecco with both hands.

"Shit," Rooster grunted. "You're making it hard to just sit here, Babydoll."

"Hard?" you asked with a grin.

"You'll find out."

After another embarrassing noise, you had to excuse yourself to the other end of the bar for a few minutes. Jesus, you needed to keep your job, after all. But his eyes followed you everywhere. Any time you looked his way, he was transfixed on you. When you pulled a pint of lager and set it down for him, he whispered, "Thanks, Babydoll," sending shivers along your skin again.

"Anything else you want, Rooster?" you asked him sweetly.

His gaze dipped down to your chest before returning to your face. "Nothing I'm allowed to have inside the bar."

"At least not when we're open to the public, sir," you replied, giving him a little salute that had him reaching for you across the bar. But you managed to skirt away from his grasp with another laugh.

"You coming back over here?" he asked between sips of his beer. "I didn't get a chance to ask you if you'll make me a Bloody Mary for breakfast tomorrow morning."

"Breakfast?"

"Yeah. Breakfast," he confirmed with a smile. "At my place?"

You pressed your lips together to keep from screaming. "So since this isn't a test drive, what are my options, exactly? Am I looking at a lease? A financing package?"

"I'm sure you'll know what you want to do when the time comes. And I'm going to need you to stop saying package right now."

"Just go," Jasmine told you suddenly. "It's after ten, and you're useless. You and he have had hours of foreplay already. Go."

"Are you sure?" you asked, already reaching for your bag and Rooster's credit card.

"Yes," Lizzy confirmed. Then she looked at Rooster who was already standing up and told him, "Pay your tab next week. And get her out of here."

"My pleasure," he rasped, and you practically ran for the opening in the bar, ducking underneath the counter. And when you stood up again, he was right there. He was so tall and broad, and with a coy smile, you slipped his credit card into the pocket of his jeans. When your fingers trailed closer to his zipper, he grabbed your wrist gently.

"Just checking for myself to make sure all the parts are working," you mused as he raised your hand up to his lips and kissed your knuckles gently. In the middle of the crowded bar. Then he wrapped your fingers around the back of his neck, and you pulled him down for a kiss.

He kept it pretty clean as he promised, "Wait until we get outside."

"Now," you demanded, pulling him along behind you by his shirt collar. As soon as the cool, night air met your hot skin, he had your bare thighs in his hands, and your back was pressed against the side of the building. "Oh my god," you gasped. Your body was pinned between the siding and Rooster, and the rough denim of his jeans was rubbing you deliciously through your underwear.

"I told you I'm not going to rush," he whispered, pressing into you as you held onto his shoulders. He teased you with that delicious mustache and his lips on your neck before he kissed your ear and said, "Now, I'm gonna need verbal confirmation, Babydoll."

"Yes!" you nearly shouted. "Everything!"

He chuckled next to your ear and asked, "You wanna fuck in my Bronco?"

"Yes," you moaned so loudly, you were sure Jasmine and Lizzy could hear you.

"I don't have any condoms with me," he said, looking you in the eye. "Do we need them?"

"No, I'm clean, and I take the pill," you said, leaning in to kiss his lips. He tasted you, running the tip of his tongue along yours before pulling his lips away.

You whined for him, but he was undeterred. "I need you to tell me that you'll come home with me and make me that Bloody Mary in the morning while I make you breakfast."

He already wanted you to sleep over with him. He wanted to make you breakfast. He didn't want to have a one night stand. He was waiting for an answer. "You'll have to let me know if you want it traditional or extra spicy."

"Fuck," he grunted before his lips came crashing against yours. His big hands held your thighs wide as he rolled his hips gently against you.

"Rooster," you moaned against his lips as he let you gently slide down his body until your feet hit the ground.

"Please call me Bradley," he whispered as he wrapped his hand around your waist and quickly guided you across the dark parking lot.

When you saw the Bronco, you ran the last little bit hand in hand. His laughter mixed with yours as he unlocked the door. "Come on, Bradley," you sang, looking up at him over your shoulder before climbing up onto the driver's seat on your hands and knees. "Do you wanna touch me?"

"Babydoll," he moaned, keeping you still as he guided your skirt up over your butt and around your waist. You cried out as he kissed the backs of your thighs. He slipped his fingers inside the thin strips of lace fabric that made up your thong, and you couldn't ever remember being this turned on before.

"Bradley!" you gasped loudly when his lips and tongue met the globe of your rear end. He slid the lace to one side and kissed your slit from behind until you were panting. You might cum. You might actually have an orgasm on your hands and knees with your ass in his face. Boys your own age couldn't get you like this no matter what they did.

He gently swatted at you before palming your ass and saying, "Get in the backseat."

Oh yes. He was about to show you what else his age and experience had to offer, and you were already shaking with need. "Yes, sir," you whispered, and you heard him mutter a string of obscenities as you scrambled onto the backseat. As he slid the driver's seat forward and climbed in the back, you carefully pulled your underwear down your thighs. He helped you and then pressed the lace to his nose before pulling you onto his lap.

"I've thought about this so many times when I touched myself," you blurted out as he teased your clit with his thumb. "Bronco sex," you whined, head tipped back, enjoying the perfect pressure he applied to your body. "Bronco sex with Bradley Bradshaw."

"Forgive me, Babydoll," he whispered, voice harsh. "But last night was the first time I jerked off thinking about you. Too afraid to go there before that, thinking there was no way in hell you'd want me."

"I want you," you swore, meeting his eyes in the near darkness. If anyone else was out in the parking lot, you couldn't see them. And you didn't care if they could see you, because he was slipping one thick finger inside you. "Wanted you for so long. Months and months."

"Jesus, you're tight," he groaned, sliding your snug top up to your chest as you rode his hand. "And you skipped a bra tonight like a good girl."

"Bradley," you gasped as he cupped your bare breast in his big hand. He lazily swirled his thumb around your nipple before bending to take you into his mouth. "Oh my god!"

Your orgasm was already building. You had only been in the backseat with him for a few minutes, and he was still fully clothed. But now you were riding two fingers, and his thumb was delicious against your clit. As he licked and sucked on your breast, you started to clench.

"Damn," he muttered against your body. "Already?"

You just nodded before guiding his lips up to yours, and you came as you moaned loudly against his mouth. "Bradley." You raked your fingers up into his hair and kissed him. He was hard through his jeans, and when he withdrew his fingers, you felt them trail up your body.

"You're so pretty," he whispered, pulling your top over your head. "You'll look even better in my bed."

You wanted him to fuck you here first, but you'd be lying if you said you hadn't already thought about his place and what he might make you for breakfast. And as you sat straddled his hips in nothing but your skirt up around your waist and your sneakers on your feet, you felt adored by him. He was kissing a trail down between your breasts and rubbing his thumbs along your thighs.

"Bradley," you whined, rubbing your pussy against his jeans, already feeling a little wrung out. "Please."

The street light at the corner reflected in his eyes, letting you know he was looking at your face as he raised his hips and unzipped his jeans. And a few seconds later, they were down around his knees along with his underwear. Your lips met his as you felt the velvety soft tip of his cock resting against your core. As you kissed him and tugged on his hair, he throbbed for you. And suddenly you weren't in such a hurry either.

"Let me make you feel good," he whispered, and as you slid down around him, Bradley guided you with his hands on your hips. "You're so wet, my god."

"You always make me wet, even when you just talk to me at the bar," you admitted softly, your voice shaking as he kept pushing deeper inside you. "Oh. You're huge."

"Am I hurting you?" he asked, pausing where he was. But you just shook your head and rolled your hips slowly until he was completely inside you. He kissed you softly as you gasped and got used to him. "I don't wanna hurt this sweet pussy," he whispered next to your ear. "Perfect."

And then he brushed his knuckles along your clit and leaned his head back, watching as you rode him. "Take it off," you gasped, and he let you push his shirt down his arms and pull his tank over his head. You explored his broad chest with your hands and his shoulders with your lips. He was warm and rough and oh so sweet. His chest hairs brushed against your nipples as he guided your hips with his hands.

"Bradley?"

"Hmm?"

You wrapped your hands around his neck and kissed his lips. "Fuck. So good." He felt delicious, his big hands everywhere, sliding up to span your back and keep you close. He fucked you in long, fluid movements that just got faster and faster. His pubes were coarse against your clit. His little grunts and words of praise kept you going as you started squeezing around his cock.

"Don't stop, Babydoll," he coaxed as you got closer. When his lips met your sweat slick chest again, and he pulled your nipple between his teeth, you came for him.

"Oh!"

As your legs shook and your fingers went loose in his hair, Bradley fucked up into you until you were screaming his name.

"Good girl," he grunted, and suddenly you were on your back along the seat with your legs spread wide. He fucked you with long, hard strokes that made your tits bounce and prolonged your orgasm. His lips were everywhere, and you were surrounded by his voice in the dark, holding onto his biceps as he came inside you.

You scrambled to get your mouth on his as you both caught your breath together, and as your heartbeat started to return to normal, you pressed a dozen soft kisses to his lips, one after the next. "Will you take me home?"

His hands stilled on your thigh and your neck. "Yeah," he said with a tone of sadness. "I can drop you off at home."

When he started pulling away without so much as another kiss, you reached for him, keeping him firmly inside you. "No, no. Take me home with you, Bradley."

"My place?" His voice was still soft, but it sounded hopeful now.

"Of course," you reassured him, and his kisses returned. "I'll spend the whole morning tomorrow making you Bloody Marys with little heart shaped garnishes."

He smiled against your lips before he said, "I'd like that, Babydoll."

---------------------------

The Hard Deck was pretty busy the following evening, and you were so physically exhausted from your night with Bradley, you could barely keep up. The Sunday crowd was keeping you on your toes, and Jasmine wouldn't stop asking you how your night ended.

"Did you go home with him? You did. I can tell," she said as you just shrugged at all of her questions. "Are you going to see him again? Come on! Tell me!"

When you saw movement on the other side of the bar top, Jasmine's eyes went wide. "Hey, babydoll." The deep rumble of his voice was so distinct, you didn't need to look at him to know it was Bradley. He had whispered dirty, sweet things in your ears all night and all morning. You knew the sound of his voice by heart now.

When your eyes met his, you reached for a pint glass and filled it with his favorite beer. "Hey, Bradley. Wanna start a tab?" you asked with a soft smile.

You giggled as he reached for your hand and tugged you closer. Then he leaned across the bar and kissed you as his nose brushed against yours. "For you? Always. And don't close the tab until your shift ends."

---------------------------

No more test drives. I'm sure she's already considering her options to make him hers permanently. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32. Also, the pretty banner was made by Mak!

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