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"never?"
it doesn't make sense to him. you're too pretty, too desirable.
andrew knows you've been with others both before and after him. the two of you have never been exclusive, but it's always been...different with you. has always meant more. has always felt as close to love as he's been allowed. an intimacy bordering on worship.
so when you make your confession, he almost doesn't believe it.
but there's so much sincerity in your eyes as you shake your head and say, "nope, never."
he moves just slightly from where he sits on the edge of his bed. you're laying on top of the sheets, head on his pillow, looking like you belong in it far more than andrew ever has. "so you just...what? ...fake it?"
a sound leaves you. not quite a laugh but something close. "not...exactly?" you pick at the tab on the can of your seltzer. "well, i guess sometimes, yeah. it depends on the person."
"and what about..." andrew shrugs, blinking. "what about with me?"
you purse your lips and your eyes narrow the smallest bit. "don't do that," you say.
"what? it's a reasonable question, isn't it?"
for a second, you say nothing. you just stare in that way you sometimes do, attention stuttering over his features. the shape of his mouth, the curl of his lashes, the freckle just above his left brow that you've claimed as your favorite.
"no," you admit softly. "i've never faked anything with you, andy."
"but you've still never finished, right?"
you shake your head in dismissal and set your drink on his nightstand. "it's not about just that, though. not with you."
his brows furrow, and he tries to understand but can't quite wrap his head around it. he wants to ask for clarification, but there's a part of him that fears the answer.
but you see it, even without a word spoken. you see him, the way you always do. the way you always have. "i just like being close to you," you explain. "you always make me feel...i dunno. special."
"you are special," he says. it's not meant as a compliment. rather just truth. but it makes you smile, and pope finds himself wanting to say it again.
he lifts his hand from where it sits at his side, not much more than a twitch, nearly reaching for you out of instinct. but then he puts it back down again, unsure of himself, unsure of...this.
the space between you feels precarious. a new layer of naked truth stripped bare. another curtain pulled back.
you notice, but you don't push.
andrew tries again, heart racing fast as he sets his palm on the inside of your knee. “we could…would you want to…to try?”
a smirk pulls at the corners of your pretty lips, glossy and strawberry flavored (andrew knew, because he paid for that lipgloss at the beauty store you dragged him to a month ago). “you wanna try and make me cum?”
he shrugs and strokes his thumb across the top of your thigh. “if you want. i mean, no pressure anything like that but…it just feels wrong. like, unfair or something.”
“you actually want to?” this time it is a laugh that escapes you. a pretty, heartwarming sound he’s adored for as long as he can remember. “like…here? now?”
craig and deran’s party thrums with life just outside pope’s bedroom door. you’d come here for a little bit of peace, some respite. only to make a confession that unsettled him more than the noise. “why not?”
“what if i, like…you know. can’t.”
a crease forms between andrew’s brows. “well you have before, right? like, by yourself?”
your smile grows. “uhm…yeah. yeah, i have. i mean i can, but what if i can’t today. like, here.”
“then we try again later,” he answers simply. and then quickly amends, “i mean if—if you want.”
for a moment, you sit in the quiet together. you’re considering, pope knows. weighing the offer. his thumb still rubs tiny circles into your thigh casually. it’s an intimate touch but not sexual in nature, not suggestive.
not until you nod and say, “okay, yeah. we can try.”
and then he moves his hand upwards, slowly snaking his fingers between your legs. he presses against your hip, pushing you onto your back, and feels the metallic button of your jeans.
pope nearly pops it open on instinct but forces himself to slow down. tells himself he needs to take his time with this.
so he slips his hand beneath your top instead, cracking a small smile when you squirm as his fingertips ghost over that ticklish spot just a few inches below your rib. he finds the swell of your breasts and massages gently over the fabric of your bra.
you lean forward just enough to pull your top up and over your head, discarding it on the floor at his feet.
andrew reaches around your side and unclasps your bra, albeit a little clumsily, before adding it to the growing pile of your clothes.
when you lay back down, he follows you. presses his soft lips against the corner of your mouth first, a quiet asking for permission.
you turn your head to kiss him fully, lips parting to let him inside. andrew has never really felt good at much, but kissing you, specifically—he feels confident in. he's had a fair bit of practice, and knows just how you like it. messy and a little frantic, a clashing of tongues and lips and teeth.
you moan into his mouth and it feels like a victory. andrew bites harshly at your bottom lip, but he's quick to soothe the ache with his tongue.
he crawls further onto the bed, settling between your thighs, and moves his lips just a little lower. laying wet, open mouthed kisses down the curve of your pretty neck, over both of your collarbones, and sucks a blooming bruise at the side of your breast. easily covered, but still a tangible claiming. a mark of his possession.
he laves his tongue over each of your nipples, licking and sucking until your spine bends off the mattress. and then he moves even lower, littering kisses down your abdomen, breathing the scent of your soft skin deep into his lungs.
only now does he allow himself to unbutton your jeans, pulling the zipper down with his teeth. you're wearing a pretty, blue pair of panties beneath, and he presses a chaste kiss to your pubic bone over the fabric.
"god, andrew," you say, kicking your sneakers off at the end of the bed. "i love when you touch me."
he pulls away just a little, enough to turn his eyes up at you. you look so beautiful from this angle, he thinks. eyes glassy and pupils dilated, breathing unevenly. "m'gonna need you to talk to me. tell me what feels good and what doesn't," he explains. and then for good measure adds, "and don't lie to me. i'll know if you lie."
you give him the prettiest smile and then nod. "yeah…yeah, okay."
he doesn't waste any more time, hooking his fingers around the waistband of your jeans and underwear and tugging them down your legs.
pope is already hard as stone, but the moment you're bared to him everything changes. you're so beautiful, and all he wants is to make you feel good.
he presses a gentle kiss to your clit first, pushing your thighs apart to spread you open. then he drags his tongue through the seam of your cunt, tasting all the sticky wetness he's created, unable to quiet the groan that rumbles through his chest.
you let out a dreamy sigh and your head falls back as your hands come to tug at the roots of his hair.
pope takes his time; there's no hurried movement to be found. he lets his tongue grow familiar with every hill and valley of the shape of you, the stubble of his day-old facial hair catching on the inside of your thighs.
when he sucks your clit into his mouth—no teeth, just all tongue and lips and softness—you gasp for air and he can't help the pride that wells in him.
his fingers flex around your thigh, a silent urge.
and like the special girl you are, you quickly say, "good. feels…s-so good. that's perfect."
he takes it a notch higher, tongue flicking over the sensitive nerve endings.
this time it's not a gasp you give him but a sultry, real moan. so pope stays there, circling your clit with his tongue, spelling his name and yours and hoping it does something in the cosmos to seal the two of you permanently together.
the crease between your brows is telling. he squeezes again, a little harder this time, and pulls away only long enough to order, "talk to me."
"can you—" he seals his lips around your clit again, drool and slick coating his chin. "oh god. can you…your fingers, too. can you—?"
pope untangles his limb from around yours, finding your opening with practiced precision. he carefully slides his index finger inside you, humming in response when the intensity of your moaning grows.
he adds his middle finger in beside the first. you're already so wet that he encounters no resistance, pretty pussy taking him greedily. andrew curls them inside you, feeling and pressing against different spots, different angles, until—
"fuck—jesus christ, don't—oh my god don't move just stay right there, please."
he wants to praise you, to comment on how good you're being for him, how perfect.
but pope does exactly as you ask instead—he stays right where he's at, fingers moving inside you, tongue circling your pulsing clit. he can feel the silky walls of your cunt constricting around him, squeezing tight and pulling him in deeper.
you're trying. chasing it. but he knows it needs to happen organically. knows that if you try too hard, you'll get in your head about it and never fall over the edge like he wants.
the words vibrate against your clit when he speaks. "stop thinking."
you let out a dramatic groan. "but i don't know if i can," you whine. "i'm so—hm—i'm so close, but…"
pope pulls away completely now, because though spoken in frustration, your words are still direction. and he heeds it like a dog called to heel. "let's try something else, then."
he leans back on his knees and pulls his shirt up and over the back of his head. he flushes beneath your acute attention, eyes unashamed as they drink up his bare chest.
andrew unbuckles his belt and starts to shove them down his hips. "do you have a favorite…way? something that feels the best."
"oh, uhm…from—from the back, i guess?"
"you guess?"
"well, that's what feels good for me but it usually means…"
you hesitate, embarrassment shining bright in your eyes.
pope urges, "means what?"
"people don't typically…last very long when we—"
andrew playfully clicks his tongue, grips you around your thighs, and wrenches you down the mattress. he presses a kiss to the inside of your knee and says, "don't worry, i'll last. now turn over."
he says it with confidence because this is a task for him. and a man like andrew cody? he's thorough.
but that confidence wavers when you arch your back, hands extended beneath the pillow in front of you. the slope of your body is mouth watering. graceful and feminine and yet still so sultry and sinful.
and when he pulls his cock out, lines himself up at your entrance, and pushes in real slow?
he starts to get it.
it's almost too much. too good. you're so tight and wet around him and with his hands on the decadent curve of your ass and the sight of you laid out before him?
yeah.
he understands.
it doesn't take him long to find a good rhythm, thrusting his hips forward and burning himself deep. he settles on his knees , finding an angle that elicits a moan he likes. "how's that, hm? there?"
you nod with your face pressed against the pillow. the next instruction is a single word and spoken in a quiet exhale. "harder."
pope obliges. adds a little more force behind his hips, grunting low to fight off the blinding pleasure that threatens to coil up his spine. you feel so good. "touch yourself," he orders.
with a little effort, you wiggle your hand beneath you to find your clit and pope groans when he feels you clench around him the moment you do.
he watches with panting breath and sweat beading on the back of his freckled neck as the muscles in your shoulders move, working yourself up, being the perfect girl for him. the sight of you a feast of grandeur that he devours.
"oh, fuck—that's good. that's so good, andy, i—" a soft sound escapes from between your lips, the sweetest, most carnal moan.
pope knows you're close. he knows because he can feel it, the warm, silken walls of your cunt pulsing around his cock. your fingers keep circling your clit, pushing you just a little further towards the precipice of release.
but then—
"i need—oh my god—i need to kiss you. i won't be able to finish unless i kiss you, please—"
it nearly breaks him, in truth. the sight of your pretty pussy swallowing down his cock like it was made to take him while begging for something as innocent as a kiss.
no one has ever wanted him like that before. not like you do.
and it makes him feel…changed, almost. like he's been on one path his whole life and here you stand in the center of it, changing his course.
pope groans, the sound guttural, his hips stilling. he leans forward, chest to your back, and presses his mouth right between your shoulder blades. the small affection is slow and measured and intimate. he counts each of your panting breaths as the oxygen enters and leaves your lungs.
"hey," pope whispers, easing himself out of you. "c'mere." he gently tugs you upwards, offering the strength of his hands as support when you lean back on shaking legs. "turn around for me."
pope leans back on his knees and turns you so your position mirrors his, face to face. he just stays there for a moment, looking at you, into your pretty eyes, finding himself grateful for this night and this stupid party and that stupid song they played that you hate.
the energy that passes between you is…profound. honest and intimate and aware.
"you're so beautiful," he says, and he doesn't even mean to. it just slips out. "come here. come sit on my lap."
with a slow nod you say, "yeah. okay." you shift forward, anchoring yourself with your hands on his broad shoulders.
he supports you with one big hand on the small of your back, and uses the other to hold his cock steady while you sink onto him.
your moans are in perfect unison; a heavy, desperate sigh. when you roll your hips, andrew shakes his head and says, "no. let me."
he thrusts upwards, hard. stretching you open on his length, forehead pressed to yours.
"oh my—fuck, andrew that's—"
"touch yourself," he orders again. "and don't stop until you cum."
white spots cloud his vision the moment you do, feeling you tense up, tightening around him. he presses his forehead to yours and his nose brushes your cheek. each of your breaths become shallower, more ragged, ghosting across his lips and tasting of peppermint and the remnants of your raspberry seltzer. "kiss me," you say again.
he does. kisses you hard, tongue finding yours and claiming your mouth. he thrusts his hips up into you, swallowing your moans and and groaning low.
the thought crosses his mind, for just a second—that he might disappoint. because andrew cody realizes very suddenly that he might be in love with you, might have been in love with you for some time. and having you this close is enough to have his heart beating fast and his cock throbbing inside of you. he's not going to last.
he's not.
and then—
"don't stop," you whimper against his lips. "don't stop, don't stop, i'm gonna—oh god. god, fuck i'm gonna cum—"
"there you go. give it to me," andrew urges.
your nails dig hard into his shoulders. "cum with me. please, andrew—please, please—"
that white-hot coil around his spine snaps. you beg so prettily he can't hold it back, spilling his release deep inside you, sticky webs of cum right up against your cervix. he kisses you again, squeezing you tight against his chest. "you're so perfect," he whispers. "my perfect girl. did so good."
his cock quickly grows sensitive. but he doesn't stop moving below you until your muscles go slack and you collapse in his arms, face pressed into the crook of his neck.
you hum, the sound vibrating against his skin, lips wet with his saliva and yours. and then, so gentle and so quiet, you say, "thank you."
pope strokes his fingers over your spine, tracing each one of your vertebrae. he sets you down against the mattress, over the top of his wrinkled but still perfectly made comforter. he lays beside you, observing for a few moments. eventually, he admits, "i don't want you to see anyone else."
a smirk forms. "yeah? that right?"
"yeah." andrew's hand finds yours, fingers closing around your knuckles. "i figured…y'know. since we're making confessions tonight."
you laugh, the sound light and airy. but then silence settles and it feels…heavy. real. "okay," you say.
a crease forms between his brows. "okay?"
"i won't see anyone else."
carefully, almost experimentally, andrew leans forward. his mouth finds yours, lips moving like it's his first time kissing a woman.
he feels you smile and a moment later you ask, "does this make me your girl?"
and he thinks yeah. of course it does. you've been his girl far longer than he'd realized.
"yeah." andrew nods. "my special girl."