Pynch Week 2017 Day 4: Fake Dating…more like accidental dating
This was meant to be a one shot but it was getting longer than I expected and I wanted to be able to post on time. So here is part one of two!
Ronan was laying in bed trying not to think about his date tomorrow night. He didn’t even want to go on the date, he was considering not even going, but Gansey had promised that if he went on this one date he wouldn’t say anything about his street racing anymore. Ronan guessed he could endure one terrible date in order to get Gansey to shut up. All he had to do was show up and be himself and surely the other person would want to end the date early.
Ronan rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow, letting out a groan. Why was he even giving this any of his attention. He kept trying to imagine the person Gansey would think was his type. He was relieved that he had come out to Gansey not long ago and wouldn’t have to sit through a date with a girl at least, but what kind of guy did Richard Campbell Gansey III see as compatible with Ronan Niall Lynch? Ronan groaned again and rolled out of bed. He shoved his feet into his boots and grabbed his jacket and keys off the floor. Halfway through the common room on his way to the front door he heard Gansey call after him.
Summary: A month after your day with VIXX, you’re still slaving away at your office job but a surprise leads you to a big change of pace and the discovery of your number one supporter.
Author’s Notes: Honestly, this chapter focuses a lot more on you rather than your relationship with our dear Hyogie, so I hope you’re not disappointed! I’m developing our characters as we go along. This was a tougher chapter to write for me, but I hope you all still enjoy! As usual, my inbox is always super open to making new friends, comments about my fanfic so far, anything about VIXX! I’m pretty open to VIXX prompts! I’ve received a couple of new followers and messages since the last chapter and it’s made me really happy! Please keep them coming, I love to hear from you!
If you also use AO3, I would appreciate any comments/kudos there!
You are sitting on a toilet seat in one of the stalls of your office bathroom. You shift your weight, adjusting your scrunched-up pencil skirt and fuss with your button-down top, before hunching down closer to your phone, trying to unscramble letters in a word game. You glance at the clock on the top of your screen and feel the time ticking down from your break.
You jolt as your phone buzzes. You receive a text from none other than Ara.
Sent you something today! Tell me when you get it! You always hear her voice in her texts, even if you don’t mean to.
You frown and scroll up and down your conversation history. The last time you spoke to her was a month ago, the morning after the photoshoot and drinking session with VIXX. You remember the day after clearly: waking up with a hangover, lying about feeling sick, getting an earful from your superior, and diving straight back into the worst of work with difficult clients and a clogged up to-do list.
You read your messages. You thank her, She brushes it off and praises you, you get embarrassed, and finally she asks you when will you “quit your damn job so you could pursue your photographer career”. No replies afterwards.
You sigh deeply, trying to expel the pang of guilt in your chest. Your mind is still as blank as it was a month ago.
You straighten your body, stretch your arms over your head, and stare at the door in front of you. You look at the bathroom door, a dull gray with no scratches or markings. The view reminds you of the countless days you’ve spent plopped on this seat either hiding from your boss, playing games on your phone, or just crying.
“What was I doing here? Why am I wasting my time? How can I do this while my old classmates are succeeding?”, You would ask yourself regularly in this exact spot, confronted by this blank door, and the answer would always be the same, the crippling combination of financial, family, and societal pressures. You fantasize about a resignation letter you wrote months ago on your computer, waiting to be dated and printed.
You pull up your phone again and stare at the blank reply line, your thumbs hovering over the keyboard. But before you could begin making a reply, you hear the bathroom door open and high-heeled steps shuffling in. It was your cue to leave so you flush the toilet, wash your hands, and exit the stall. You return to work.
“Are you (Y/N)-ssi?”, A young man asks.
You’re standing at the entrance of the dark, empty office, in front of the young man, who’s dressed in a rain jacket, jeans, and sturdy sneakers, lugging a hefty backpack. He smells like a mixture of sweat and the outside.
“Yes, I am.”, You reply. You were in the middle of getting ready for your noontime nap, a rare quiet moment in the office, until the young man knocked on the glass door. You fidget in place, standing uncomfortably in another pair of cheap flats.
The young man smiles and nods. He hands you a little clipboard with two small slips of paper.
“Kindly sign both, please!”, He says while pointing at the lines at the bottom of the receipts.
He quickly twists his bag towards his front and rummages through. You can hear the contents roughly rustling together as his hand sifts the inside. You sign the papers and hand the clipboard back to him.
“Thank you!”, He takes the clipboard, slips it into his back pocket, and hands you two plastic-wrapped magazines, with your name labeled on both. He bows and bids you goodbye.
You look at the magazines and see the title emblazoned on top, “CHICK”, in a bold font. The cover was a colorful photo of a trendy actress and model, sunbathing on a roof in nineties-themed clothing. You see a few headlines littering the cover but your eyes fall on one, “Your next boyfriends, VIXX”. You couldn’t run any faster to your desk.
You turn on the lights, skid onto your desk chair, and quickly open up one of the copies. You flip through the pages and there you see it, in its printed glory, VIXX standing the way you precariously envisioned and in white letters beside them, “Photographed by (Y/N)”. You stare at it in disbelief, clapping your hand over your mouth.
You quickly take a picture of the first page and send it to Ara, your sheer excitement overtaking any anxiety. You carefully turn the pages to see the whole editorial: a close-up of N with one of his signature expressions, a full-body of Leo, looking to the side, soft and sentimental, a portrait of Ravi artfully slouched on a chair, Ken and Hongbin laughing while play fighting, and Hyuk gazing straight to the camera. You feel your face growing warm and you trap a scream in your mouth.
Your phone buzzes and it’s a reply from Ara, “Congratulations on your first editorial!! I told you they would turn out amazing!!” Your mind races, thinking of how to repay her.
You feel your heartbeat pounding, sending adrenaline all over your body. You stand up and pace near your desk, trying to calm yourself down. You check the time on your phone, you have a few minutes until everyone returns from their lunch break.
Fuck it. You sit back down in front of your computer and the whirring sound of a printer fills the empty room.
When you step out of your office building, you feel light, the lightest you’ve ever felt in a while. You begin walking with a skip to your step and you resist the urge to do a little jig. You look at your phone and your eyes widen when you see that you have hundreds of notifications from one of your social media accounts, the account you used to share your photography.
You furrow your eyebrows. You haven’t touched that account in months. You open the application and see that you’ve been flooded with a huge number of new followers and comments on your older works, none of these people you recognize.
As you scroll through the commotion, you begin smelling a delicious aroma. You look up from your phone, and notice that you’re already outside of the little, casual dumpling place you and Ara agreed to meet at. You peep into the windows and notice she isn’t there yet so you decide to wait for her outside of the restaurant while sorting through the sudden attack on your social media.
Your thumb feels a growing cramp as the timeline of notifications seem endless. You groan as the list goes on until an unfamiliar username catches your eye. You tap on their profile.
You see that it’s Hyuk’s verified profile, followed by hundreds of thousands of people. You refresh the page to make sure the number is correct. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t change. Besides his selfies and rare glimpses into his personal life, his latest posts are him showing off the editorial in the magazine, him showing off the pictures you took, and crediting you as the photographer.
“Look at my hyungs! Thank you for having us, CHICK magazine!” His caption reads on the pictures of his fellow members, tagging you and CHICK magazine’s social media account. You hold your breath as you see sixty-thousand likes and sigh in relief when you read most, if not all, the comments were positive.
You press on another post, his solo portrait and blink when you read fifty-thousand likes. “Was really nervous during this photo shoot, but it was an unforgettable day!”, He wrote, tagging you and the magazine again.
You laugh and think, “That makes the two of us”, and smile.
After finding out that Hyuk was the cause of the fuss online, your stomach grumbles, a sign that Ara is ten minutes late. You look towards one end of the street to the other and can’t seem to spot her in the distance. You think for a minute and decide to get a hold of the man himself.
“Good evening, Hyuk-ssi. Are you busy now? Can I call you?”, You type and send off to Hyuk, hoping you weren’t disturbing him in anyway. In the back of your mind, you considered the possibility of him changing his number but surprisingly, you get his reply.
“I’m not busy, go ahead and call. :)”, He says.
Your heart skips a beat, but you call him anyway. You listen to the ring twice before he answers.
“Good evening, Hyuk-ssi! I’m glad I was able to catch you. I’m sure you have a full schedule.”
“Nah, I’m just eating dinner,” his voice, warm and familiar through the phone, “What’s up?”
“Nothing much, I just wanted to thank you for sharing the photo shoot and tagging me! I got a lot of new followers and likes and I’m sure the exposure will help a lot!”, You say while bowing your head to no one in particular.
“Ah, it’s no big deal, (Y/N)-ssi,” He laughs, “I really hope it does help you and…Um, I should be thanking you for taking such nice pictures.”
“What! You made my job easier by being so handsome!”, You laugh and there’s a deathly pause, you horrified by what you just blurted out and Hyuk completely silent. You feel each second painfully pass between the two of you.
You look around awkwardly, trying to find something to say, but all you hear is handsome ringing in your head. Unluckily, at the turn of your head, Ara is in your face, her loud makeup emphasizing her growing sneer.
“(Y/N)-ssi? I was-”, Before Hyuk could finish his thought, you interrupt his thought as you watch Ara’s grin get wider and wider.
You swiftly turn your back on her and cup your mouth over your phone, “Hyuk-ssi, I’m so sorry, I have to go now. Good night!” You hang up on him and look at Ara, whose grimace has somehow gotten worse.
“So, who could that handsome person be?”, Ara says as she creeps closer to you.
“No one, Ara!”, You laugh nervously, “Let’s go in, it’s so cold!” You rub your arms and shiver with a dramatic flourish as you brisk walk through the restaurant’s doorway. Ara follows behind you, whining your name.
Ara doesn’t let up the whole night, asking who this secret lover of yours is. You valiantly attempt to protect your privacy and Hyuk’s by dodging her questions and denying her sordid assumptions. You hide your phone in your bag, despite the constant buzz of notifications, in fear of Ara snatching it the moment you pull it out. Eventually her focus turns to drinking rather than interrogating.
The two of you eat and drink merrily, surrounded by the fog of tasty dumplings. You clink your glasses together in celebration of your first work in a major publication and your first step towards pursuing your dreams. You don’t hold back, as you and Ara hop from bar to bar, feeling untethered to any of your worries.
When you finally get home, you stumble straight into bed, still dressed in the wrinkled button-down and your most hated skirt. You fall asleep in a happy haze, knowing that you never have to wear this outfit, that you don’t have to hang out in bathroom stalls, and you’ll never be obligated to touch a spreadsheet ever again. You groan in your sleep as an alert rings off your phone, a text message from a certain, flustered idol.
“(Y/N)-ssi, are you alright? I got a bit worried since you hung up so fast! I know it’s already pretty late, so I just hope you’re safely asleep but text me when you wake up, so I know you’re not dead or something. Good night!”
Another alert follows.
“By the way, let’s work together again soon, before I’m no longer handsome, haha! ;)”
“I have just found out that I am a witch. That my sisters are witches and that we have powers that will apparently unleash all forms of evil. Evil that is apparently going to come looking for us. So excuse me, Phoebe, but I’m not exactly in a homeopathic mood right now!”
You stepped out of the steaming shower, excitement buzzing through you as you reached for your towel. You were getting ready for a dinner date with your boyfriend, Ashton. You bent over so your hair created a curtain around your head. To whisk the moisture out of your damp hair, you towel-dried it carelessly. Alongside the poor job you’d done drying, you were too jittery to do anything correctly.
It’d been a while since you and Ashton went on a proper date. Usually when you went out, it was with friends or his bandmates. You loved seeing them, honestly, but you wanted to go out with Ashton, and Ashton only - not Ashton and your best friend. Sadly, you couldn’t recall the last date you two had, which shocked you.
They were once unforgettable, mostly; now, you couldn’t remember a single second of any. Ashton, if he was the one planning the date, would be so meticulous with perfecting the tiniest details. Sometimes, he had to point out the little things he’d done for you because you had accidentally overlooked them.
The safe assumption was: the last time you went on a date with Ashton was more than four months ago - four months too long.
Quickly wrapping the towel around your body and knotting it to secure it, you opened the bathroom door. You didn’t want to rush getting ready, but you didn’t want to take too long either. Ashton secretly hated when you’d spend a solid hour dolling up for him. He didn’t mind if you wore make-up; quite frankly though, he believed you were perfect without it.
“What should I wear?” you asked yourself. Eyeing the clothes poking out of your closet, you couldn’t decide. You knew you weren’t going to an overwhelmingly fancy restaurant. Still, you did want to look nice, yet not too nice. The problem was creating a common denominator. You’d barely started getting ready, and you wanted to give up nonetheless.
You flipped through your clothing like they were pages of a novel. You skimmed through them, having no intention of observing them cautiously. You stopped to stare at the plastic hangers, wondering which of them beheld the perfect outfit.
It is freezing outside, you thought. I shouldn’t wear a dress.
With ease, you’d knocked out a third of the possible candidates. You reached for your favorite pair of dark wash denim jeans and tossed it on your bed. The simplest part of your outfit was finished.
Now, you had to pick a blouse that was warm enough to withstand the temperature outside. To stall doing so, you sauntered over to your dresser. You fished out a bra and panties from the drawer that stored them.
You shuffled back to your taunting closet, simultaneously putting on your panties, then your bra. They were matching, because you’d assumed it didn’t matter as much as every other aspect of your outfit. Afterwards, you wiggled into your jeans.
Instead of overlooking ninety-percent of your clothes like you did previously, you pulled out shirt after shirt. You examined them carefully, desperate to pinpoint redeeming qualities about them.
You’d groaned aloud as you threw the sheer blouse, that was clenched in your hand, on the ground in frustration. “If only it wasn’t so damn cold outside,” you growled.
It was close to five degrees Fahrenheit. You remembered, before stepping into the warm, inviting shower, seeing a frenzy of snow zip past your window. That sight made you nervous. You loved snow, but not enough to sacrifice your date for it. You’d been hoping that it would subdue. You didn’t want to be trapped in your home because of white flakes of frozen water.
The front door slammed shut, and you jumped out of your thoughts and into reality. Ashton was home from a songwriting session with the lads. “Babe?” he called from downstairs. “Are you home?”
“Yeah, I’m upstairs.” Once the sound of Ashton’s feet pounding up the stairs rung in your ears, you’d realized you were only dressed in jeans and a bra. You didn’t want him to walk in the bedroom and see how mildly naked you were.
If he saw you like this before the date, he’d be antsy throughout the duration of it. He’d only focus on which article of clothing he wanted to tear off of you first, not on the actual date. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you cursed.
You looked down and saw the pool of clean clothes surrounding your feet. You grabbed the first shirt you saw on the floor and slipped it on. It was an asymmetric crop top that was worn-out and tattered. Tattered for a reason, it was only seen on you around the house. Not once had you worn it outside of the house.
Not to mention, it was an old tee-shirt of Ashton’s. You’d stolen it from him one day because it had been your favorite of his collection. A week later or so, you were bored enough to grab a pair of scissors and cut half the fabric off.
Though he was upset that you’d taken it from him, he couldn’t lie: it looked hot on you.
You tried to kick the remainder of the clothing in the closet before Ashton entered the room. However Ashton was leaning against the doorframe as soon as you sent the first shirt flying.
Watching you speedily clean up, he couldn’t help letting out a giggle. A gasp escaped your mouth, the last item - a sheer blouse - hanging off your foot.
“Hi,” you greet dumbly.
“Did I interrupt something? I can come back later…” he suggested. You rolled your eyes and planted your foot on the ground again. Suddenly forgetting about the blouse, you walked to Ashton and kissed him.
“How’s it looking outside?” you questioned to switch to another topic besides your own embarrassment.
His face fell; that wasn’t a good sign, obviously. “It isn’t too great, babe.”
You wrapped your arms around his waist and strained to look at him. His face was drained of color; his nose was as red as stereotypical superhero’s cape. He pulled you closer to him, and you swore Ashton was shivering. “Are you… Are you shivering, Ashton?”
“Maybe,” he replied. Once a wave of chills crashed down on him, his arms enclosed tightly around you. You buried your face in his chest, but only your cheek could flatten against it. His beating heart was pulsing rather fast, which caused you to hug him tighter.
“Why are you shivering?” you asked.
Ashton scoffed. “Because I was out there for two seconds, and I almost got frostbite.” At the attempt to rub your back, you flinched away from his touch. His hands were chilled to the bone. From the way his fingers made contact with your skin, you’d concluded they were too numb to bend properly. “Sorry. My hands are kind of cold.”
“It’s okay.” Ashton turned his head so he could settle his cheek atop your head. His racing heart was slowing down the longer you cuddled into him. You’d relaxed him, but failed to heat his frosty skin. You knew the weather was severe; it shouldn’t had shocked you to see Ashton react this horribly. “Is it really that bad, Ash?”
“Oh, yeah, it’s really that bad,” he confirmed. “I’m sorry, babe, but I don’t think we can go out tonight.” At that, you weaseled out of his grip and stared at your pale, goosebump-ridden boyfriend.
“Y- You’re serious?” you mumbled. He’d sighed heavily as he reached out for you. His hand cupped your cheek, though his frigidity made you wince. Though a few minutes ticked by, you’d gotten used to it and sighed as dramatically as he.
Ashton caressed your hot flesh, the genuine look of sadness etched over his stiff features. “It’s awful out there. We couldn’t get out of the driveway, even if we tried.”
Your hand hovered above his, but they didn’t touch. Ashton grinned and took initiative by curling his slender fingers around your wrist and tugging you to him. You prevented crashing into him by placing your hands on his chest. “That really fucking sucks,” you’d said once you’d situated yourself in his arms.
“It does, but I think it’s a good thing we’re snowbound,” he chirped. His hands, now slightly warmer, tickled up your spine and crawled under your shirt. You shivered at his touch, and he chuckled lowly.
Despite your reactions to his actions, you hadn’t comprehended what he’d said and meant. In confusion, you furrowed your eyebrows. “How so?”
“You can help me warm up,” he suggested. His forefinger tapped a single helix down your back, dot-by-dot, until it met up with the hem of your top. “Also, babe…”
He gathered a fistful of the frayed edge. “Yes?” You forced a large lump, forming at the base of your throat, to drop to the pit of your stomach. A knot replaced the lump, and you felt your stomach muscles tighten.
“You definitely weren’t going to survive the weather in this shirt,” he stated, thus generating a bright blush on your cheeks. “Arms up.”
You’d accomplished what you were told without thought, and the shirt was ripped off of you. He dropped it on the floor, beside your left foot. “After I’m done with you, my love, you’ll forget about the date completely. It’ll be the last thing on your mind.”
“And what’ll be the first?” you purred while running your hands down his torso. One hand roughly groped your bum. The denim prevented him from kneading it suitably, and that surely irritated him.
“Why don’t you find that out?” You could tell, by the rasping of his voice, that he was getting wound up.
Luckily, you knew the perfect thing to set him off fully.
“Show me what you got…” you paused to inhale noisily as a way to build tension, “Daddy.”
What you’d said worked better than you thought it would. With his hands still massaging both cheeks, he breathily moaned. Ashton’s eyes darkened visibly. “Be a good girl for Daddy, and I will.”
You nodded in response, biting your lip to suppress your laughter. Whenever you excited him, his reactions were never the same. One day, he would take it lightly, not put too much thought into the kink. On another day, like today, he’d play it out to the fullest extent, never break character. How different he’d make your antics in bed, it astonished you.
Doe-eyed and batting eyelashes, the tiniest details were driving him crazy. A devious smirk had masked his delightful smile as his nails drilled into your waist. They raked up gently and slowly, but down your body mercilessly and heavily. A whimper of pain trembled through you like an earthquake; it hadn’t subdued until the pads of his fingers collided with the thick waistline of your jeans.
His hands crept to your front and begun fiddling with the button of your jeans. “Wait, Daddy,” you blurted mindlessly.
“Hmm?” he addressed. His movements abruptly stopped, and his attention reverted to you. Your timing was off, because he had popped the button of your jeans already.
“You still have your shirt on,” you pointed out. His hesitation opened up the chance for you to grab Ashton’s shirt and pull it over his head. His mop of hair bounced every-which-way while you did so; shortly after, you ran a hand through his curls to slick back some of them. “That’s better.”
“Nothing’s going to get better until you’re naked on the bed, baby,” he whispered. The delightful smile, recently overpowered by the devious smirk, broke through willingly as he dragged the dark denim down your smooth, moisturized legs. Once you’d stepped out of the fabric pooling at your ankles, his hands trailed upwards, all the way up to your hips.
He straightened out his back, decreasing the difficulty of lifting you in the air. You’d wrapped your legs around him as he walked to the bed. Carefully, like you were easily broken, he laid you down in the center of the bed. His lips attached to your warm lips, and his cold stomach pressed against yours. The heat of the moment warmed you up, so you hadn’t shivered to his touch this time.
Too involved in the kiss, you hadn’t realized Ashton forced your back into an arch. Using one hand to keep your back curved, he struggled to unclasp your bra with the remaining hand. “Does Daddy need some help?” you joked mid-kiss.
His determination didn’t waver, despite the struggle. No response passed his lips, only moans, as he deepened the kiss. Within seconds, his perseverance paid off and, finally, unclasped it. “Daddy’s got it, princess.” He sat astride your hips, thus pulling the needy kiss apart. “Take it off for me,” he demanded kindly.
Striving to oblige to his every command, you removed your bra. You firstly had witnessed his eyes widen, which complimented his overall awe-struck appearance. The buds had hardened already because of his chilling touch and tense atmosphere.
Hungrily, his palms engulfed your breasts, and he then eagerly tweaked your nipples. As he was leaning down to kiss you, your head fell back into the mattress and you moaned hoarsely. “Oh, my little princess loves this, don’t you?”
Right as you were going to answer, Ashton had pinched the shrunken buds. The only real response you could give him was another moan.
But you’d regained your composure shockingly, it was hard to catch your breath. The little left of your air supply was barely enough to fill your lungs, let alone be sacrificed to talk. “M- More,” was the stuttering start of your sentence, “I need more.”
Ashton swooped down to your neck and kissed the most sensitive area, getting an immediate response from you. He had sucked generously as he pulled your panties down to your knees. He massaged your thighs, pressing his thumb into dense muscles and rubbing the stress away.
As the feeling relaxed you, you’d forgotten about your panties. The groan pulsing past his throat indicated that Ashton was getting impatient. “Take your panties off,” he exhaled over your jawline, “now.” The words traveled up your cheek and into your ear, so you received the message.
As you kicked off the lonesome piece of clothing on you, he used the time gap to slip off his sweatpants. The last item of clothing left was his boxers, but that wasn’t a concern to either of you for the moment being.
Ashton cupped your heat; you swiveled your hips against his hand, encouraging him to rub you. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” Ashton murmured against the hickey he’d formed. His breath was as nipping as his lowered body temperature. Goosebumps had snaked down your whole body as his breath fanned over your fresh hickeys.
You had squirmed under his touch after he bit down unexpectedly and harshly on your neck. “All for you,” you moaned. Struggle was out of the equation as he supported himself above you. He made it look easy, though you knew it wasn’t. The tension of his straining arm muscles made you whimper.
“What do you want Daddy to do, baby?” Your nails scratched down his biceps, and you could feel the thin coat of sweat cover your fingertips.
“Finger me, baby,” you begged, “please! Fuck me with your fingers.”
At your plea, he’d stopped rubbing you, though your hips were still rolling to the beat of your thumping heart. He placed delicate kisses across your jawline as two of his lanky digits teased your folds. You groaned, your hands racing up his spine and around to his chest.
An elongated moan left his lips as his fingers eased inside of you. He entered you quicker than he thought, so his pace was faster than what you’d prepared for.
When your groan was one of pain, he stopped his movements. Your walls clenched around his fingers solely from the immense discomfort you were experiencing. “Relax, relax. Daddy will make you feel so damn good. Just let me fuck you right.”
His words left you no choice; you calmed down. He resumed pumping, the pace so slow it was as if he was teasing you. “Faster, babe! Fuck me harder,” you urged. Ashton groaned as your hips picked up on his rhythm. You started grinding on his fingers, and Ashton looked down to watch.
When your heavy breathing and panting died down to small whimpers, he slowed his pace down. You knew exactly what he was planning to do.
Your heart had skipped a few beat as his fingers slammed into you and curled at the end. Your shriek of pure ecstasy split Ashton’s low moans into two, and he pumped faster now that you were more familiar with the feeling. “You’re close, aren’t you, baby?” Ashton asked.
All your strength could muster was a nod.
His fingers pushed even deeper in you and bent as much as they could. When his thumb stretched to your clit and rubbed you in short, heavy circles, your back arched as you screamed. At this point you were nothing more than a writhing, sweaty mess.
“D- Daddy, I’m-” The last words were replaced with a shrill cry. Ashton’s head snapped up as your orgasm sent your body into overdrive. The constricted knot in your stomach unraveled completely; your head burrowed into the bed sheets, and your eye squeezed shut; your hips had continued to gyrate as Ashton helped you ride your orgasm out.
Even when he stopped and exited you, you were rolling your hips still. Ashton laughed and held your hips down with one hand. He licked and sucked his fingers clean, but hadn’t swallowed a hefty portion of the cum on his tongue. “You taste so sweet, princess,” he praised as he straddled your hips again.
Both of his hands squished your cheeks, and your tongues meshed together, desperately searching for more friction they couldn’t get. In a wet, sloppy transition, your juices transferred from his tongue to yours.
After swallowing what Ashton had passed to you, you smiled with the bittersweet aftertaste under your tongue. You propped yourself up on your elbows to watch Ashton drop his boxers.
His cock sprung free, and his head fell back in relief as he pumped it a few times. You eyed his erection, barely able to process how big he was. “Lay down,” he ordered.
Doing as you were told, you couldn’t see Ashton roll the condom down his member. He crawled on the bed and looked down at you. “Are you ready, baby girl?” he questioned.
Once you nodded, he spread your legs apart and wrapped them around his waist. Your toes curled with anticipation. “I’m ready.”
Ashton lined himself up at your entrance at your spoken approval. He had pushed himself in, feeling your walls stretch to accommodate his length, and he moaned. “You’re so fucking tight, princess… Fuck,” he growled. He hadn’t heard your pleas of discomfort because he was too wrapped up in what he was doing.
Pain had slammed down on you instantly when he was in you fully. “A- Ashton, it hurts,” you whined. Your eyes clenched closed, and Ashton halted his movements.
“I’m sorry, baby. Let Daddy make love to you. I promise, it’ll feel so damn good, you’ll beg for more,” Ashton encouraged. It took you a while to agree to what he said, but you trusted him. Also, with him so involved in sex, there was no way you could refuse.
“O- Okay, move,” you said. At that, Ashton started thrusting at a sluggish pace. He was already moaning, but it took you some time to feel the pleasure.
Once you did, a gasp poured out of your mouth. “That’s it, my love. Just feel it,” Ashton instructed through his panting.
Your eyes peeled open, and saw how focused he was on you. A smile crept on your lips as you brought him down for a kiss. Your moans had synced up with his as your hips rolled easily to his steady rhythm.
The passion pulsing through Ashton was a passion so tangible that it seeped into your own skin. You whimpered against his lips, his thrusts speeding up and his tongue poking at the unknown niches in your mouth.
“I can tell you’re close, baby. Let it go. Come for me,” Ashton said. “Come for Daddy.” Sadly, you hadn’t realized your walls clenching around his length, signaling your approaching orgasm. Honestly, you were too focused on the pleasure he was giving you.
Your breath mixed with his as the kiss was inevitably broken apart. You buried your face in his neck, and your hands were roaming his body. Ashton whispered, “Let Daddy know how good he makes you feel. Scream for me.”
That set you off completely. Your head dropped back onto the mattress, moans turning raspy and hoarse. “D- Daddy!” you shouted, mouth agape and back arched sharply.
Seeing and hearing your euphoric state, Ashton groaned as his load filled up the condom. His arms, on either side of your head, tensed up and struggled to hold his weight; they were as strong as jelly at this point.
Your nails scratched down his arms softly, and Ashton’s breathing calmed down. Sweat met sweat where you were connected, and Ashton pumped in you slowly to relieve yourselves of your highs.
You couldn’t help but whine once he pulled out. He smiled, running a hand through his damp hair to remove the curls that had stuck to his forehead. Speedily crawling off of you and disposing the condom afterwards, Ashton slipped on boxers.
After you changed into the panties and his tee-shirt he’d tossed you, you held out your arms for him. He giggled and melted into your arms immediately. Purposely, he pecked one of your hickeys, and you jumped. Laughing harder, he’d lain you down as you cuddled up to warm body.
With silence to help, you spoke up, “Can all of our dates be like this?”