"I can't believe it, I mean --- I never thought I would have a baby, y'know? It just didn't seem like it was in the cards for us... We've been trying for two years, I was starting to think it would never happen!"
"Ahuh."
"I mean, listen, we have been trying, ya know? Real hard. I was starting to worry I couldn't have kids and my mom kept talking about how my biological clock was ticking, and then when I'd stopped thinking about it... bun in the oven!" Tara squeals, leaning back on the barstool and patting her very flat stomach.
You sip your fruity drink loudly.
You graduated college, but you, Tara, and Maura still meet up at least a few times a month to keep up with each other. Tara dropped out with a year left when she met her now husband, and Maura has moved on to medical school. You took your degree and found a good job --- it helped to have Cerulli's recommendation letter, admittedly.
Turns out that dating an older guy with connections in the world is pretty handy.
"Well, congratulations on motherhood," Maura says after a moment, stirring the straw of her drink. You are both drinking like always, and you knew something was up when Tara only ordered a soda --- she's usually like a sponge when it comes to alcohol. "It sounds like you're excited about it."
"Well, of course, I am! Adam has been nonstop about wanting a baby," Tara sighs, twirling a blonde curl of hair around her finger as she leans forward, propping her chin on her hand. "He's like, already in his thirties, and he's already so weird about being ten years older than me. He kept saying that he'd be too old to be a dad if we didn't start having one now."
"He didn't pressure you into getting pregnant though, right? Like you want a baby too, don't you?" Maura frowns, the dim lights of the bar glinting off her glasses. You're all sitting at your favorite round table in The Pub, and you're sort of glad that the tradition of meeting up hasn't died off --- as much as you don't always adore Maura's bluntness, she is the voice of reason in tumultuous times, and Tara is always bubbly and positive when it's a little too dark.
They're a perfect balance.
"No, I love kids, and my mom is right --- I want to have kids before I'm thirty, that way I still have the energy to chase after them." Tara shrugs her shoulders, but she's relaxed, so you believe her. She was going for a degree in education, so she must like kids to some extent. You know she's mentioned on and off after getting married about having them, but she and Maura are closer than you are, so you suppose that it would be something the two of them would discuss.
Sometimes you still feel like the third wheel in their friendship, but at least you're included. You've never had an easy time making friends, even in high school you only really had one and the two of you haven't spoken since graduation. You don't even have a clue what he's doing now.
Life just... moves on that way, you suppose.
"Are you going to finish your degree, though? You were almost there." You ask after a moment, moving the straw around in your drink, staring at the ice clinking together. You were disappointed when she dropped out, but she had it in her mind she wanted to be married and stay at home. Honestly, it's fine so long as she's happy --- and she seems to be. She sports around a nicely sized ring on her finger, gushes about her husband and the trips they seem to go on, and tags you relentlessly in cat memes on social media.
All in all, same Tara. She's still bubbly and happy, you and Cerulli even went to her wedding together --- it's a special memory for you since it was the first real event you'd gone to as a couple. She'd looked so pretty in her long white dress --- which had been such a joke between the three of you, had you giggling, a little tipsy on champagne, the entire reception. You've never really been happy for someone before, but you'd also never seen two people so obviously adoring of each other; plus it did make you feel better with her husband being older and nearing his forties, just like Cerulli.
"Mmm, I dunno. Maybe I'll finish it up, since I was so close," Tara looks thoughtful, tapping her full lips with a straw. "Buuut --- not sure if I'll have time to with a baby. I mean, I know plenty of people do, but I've never been that good at multitasking."
"Well, you're so close to graduating, I hope you decide to finish. You know Maura and I will be at your graduation throwing confetti," you tease, distinctly aware that the confetti she tossed over the two of you on your big day is still clinging to your graduation gown. She'd been like a parent with her kids, taking photos, bossing the two of you, making everyone gather around; since neither of your parents came, and Maura only has her mom, it had made the day easier on you.
"I know," Tara groans, pouting a little. "My mom is so naggy about the fact I didn't finish and I have all these school loans --- but I'm not working yet, so it's not been terrible. Reporting that Adam is the only breadwinner makes the payments like, super low."
"Isn't he rich?" Maura asks, cleaning her glasses. She has the longest eyelashes hidden behind her black frames, and you've always thought she has the prettiest eyes. Albeit they're highlighted by black circles at the moment from lack of sleep, but medical school is no joke you've heard. "He's an attorney or something, right?"
"I wouldn't say rich, but he doesn't do a bad job. He has his own firm." Tara sounds proud of her husband, which you guess is how it should be. "He mostly deals in family court, like with divorces and things like that."
You're not sure if that's a good thing if they do decide to divorce, since he'll know all the ropes, but you're not going to say that.
"That's a steady income, with how high divorce rates are these days," Maura responds, checking her phone as it goes off. She scowls at whatever message she's received, quickly typing back.
"He's always busy." Tara stifles a yawn behind her hand, straightening up. She stretches her arms above her head with a sigh. "He said he's going to take some time off when the baby is born, though, to help me out."
"How far along are you?" Maura asks, glancing up from her phone. She's still dressed in blue scrubs, her black hair tied back in a loose bun. You don't know how she makes time for meeting with the two of you with how busy she is with med school, but at least she proves that your friendship is valuable to her.
"About twelve weeks, I think. I go to the doctor on Monday to find out --- ooo, Maura! As soon as you start practicing, you can be my doctor!" Tara grins, batting her long, fake eyelashes. "I just realized I can tell you all my bullshit and you can legally give me medical advice now!"
"You tell me all your bullshit now, nothing will change." Maura chuckles, propping her chin on her hand. She sounds as tired as she looks. "But seriously, congrats. Are you going to have a baby shower or anything?"
"I mean, probably? You two will have to help me plan it, though, I'm shit at that. (Y/N), you'll have to help me big time, okay?" Tara reaches across the sticky table, taking both of your hands in hers and making you look at her. She widens her eyes dramatically, puffing out her lower lip. "You won't let your bestie have a shitty baby shower, will you? You're good at design stuff!"
"I --- I'm not a party planner, but I'll help." You say, biting your lip. You have a degree in design, but it's for marketing for companies, not parties. "Why don't you look up a bunch of baby shower ideas on Pinterest and let us know about those, okay?"
"Oh, that's a good idea, actually." Tara frowns as she lets go, reaching for the hot pink phone resting by her drink. "I'm gonna start a whole tab right now! It'll take me ages to get it all figured out."
Ahuh.
Tara babbles on for a few more minutes, talking about a nursery and all the things they'll need to start buying for a baby. The more you listen, the more overwhelming it sounds, and you're suddenly quite glad you're not the one pregnant.
You don't even entertain the idea, since Cerulli can't give you any children, so you don't worry about it. You love him for who he is, you don't care if you have kids together or even get married; it took you years to convince the stubborn man to even move in together. It just seemed the most logical move since you spent almost every night together anyway.
You still remember the moment Maura and Tara realized you were banging their old professor, you'd wished you'd taped it. The way their mouths had gaped, eyes widening --- in horror or awe, you're still not sure. You suppose you should have told them before just showing up at Tara's wedding with him as your plus one, but you'd been so nervous and you hadn't known how to say it.
Tara did high-five you, so they hadn't been against it.
Maura never said a word either way, but you get the feeling she was a little disapproving, which you understand. She doesn't know the full history between you and Cerulli, there are some things you've chosen not to share, and you never will. You like to keep your life private, you don't want a lot of people prying or getting too involved. Drunk you may have blathered way too much information at times, but you're not sure how much your friends even remember from your college days.
It's just... you're addicted to the man, almost for an entire decade now. There's hardly been a day in the past ten years that's gone by that you haven't thought about him. He's like Adonis, perfect and handsome, with so many good qualities that make you smile... although his stubbornness is not one of them, you find he can be petty and begrudging, not to mention he still has his own insecurities to work through from his past marriage.
But if Cerulli ever asked you, you wouldn't hesitate to say yes. Admittedly, you do want a pretty wedding. White dress, family on either side as you walk down the aisle towards your husband --- you're picturing a white arch with black ribbons trailing down, rose petals guiding you forward. Maybe an outdoor wedding? No, Cerulli isn't a very outdoorsy person, but he doesn't like churches, either.
Oh, what are you even wondering about? Cerulli has no interest in a second marriage, he's said as much many times, and the man rarely changes his mind. You're content being his girlfriend and living with him, there's no sense in dreaming over something you won't have. You almost ruined your relationship last time by wanting more than Cerulli was willing to give at the time --- but really, would it hurt for him to compromise with you a little more?
Not everything has to go his way all the time.
You finish off your fruity drink, barely tasting it; drinking so much with your friends through college, you gained a decent tolerance to alcohol, so a few drinks aren't going to get you wasted anymore. In fact, you're going to get another one, just to celebrate in Tara's stead.
You're happy for her, genuinely, but you're not any sort of party planner. Her parents are pretty involved in her life, so you're sure her mom will want to be right in the middle of everything. You haven't spoken to your own parents in years; you haven't a little brother whose graduation you were excluded from simply because you don't live up to their ideals.
They're wonderful people, but deeply religious; anyone who doesn't abide by the rules they set isn't involved in their life, daughter or not. You drifted out of their lives in college, they don't even know you've moved in with Cerulli nor do they know you're dating him; which, considering he was your former teacher, is probably for the best.
Sometimes you miss them, though; you always end up missing family, because you have so many good memories with them and you know they love you. Love doesn't stop, it just gets overshadowed by other things.
"So, (Y/N), what's new with you this month?" Maura nudges your arm, pulling you out of your thoughts. You look up from studying the scarred table, giving her a blank look before you register her words.
"Oh, nothing really. Still working the same job, nothing interesting has happened." You shrug your shoulders. You just work the eight-to-five desk job, slaving away at a computer all day and drinking too much coffee to stay awake. "I feel like I'm the boring one in the group."
"Boring? Are you kidding? You were secretly fucking our lit teacher for years and never said a word." Tara scoffs, but she looks amused. You get the sense she finds the entire situation hilarious. "I wouldn't have been able to keep my mouth shut for a second about it!"
Your face flushes. "Well, I... couldn't really say anything at the time."
"It's good you didn't, it would have cost him his job, fraternizing like that with a student." Maura comments, frowning. It's not like she can really judge, you distinctly remember her saying she messed around with a TA or something, that's how she passed one of her classes. "I can't believe you were talking about him all that time we were hanging out, though. I feel I know way too much about his dick."
"Or not enough!" Tara grins, seeing you squirm a little on your stool. You know she likes teasing you, that hasn't changed. "He likes the kinky stuff, doesn't he? You never did say how Fifty Shades he likes to get."
Your mind flicks to the tie wrapped around your wrists, the blindfolds, the roleplay --- you decide to sip from your drink instead of answering. Cerulli has a very sophisticated aura about him, he's worked hard to appear prestigious and suave. You don't want to do or tell anything that would tarnish that image, even if it's just talking about how kinky he likes to get. Especially after a few glasses of wine --- Professor Cerulli likes it when you're the one in charge then.
You smirk against your glass, thinking about the other night. You're not a very dominant person, but sometimes it's exciting to switch the rolls, to pin your old professor to the bed, and have your way with him. He didn't seem to mind too much, but that was also after three glasses of wine to celebrate his tenure.
Cerulli seems genuinely happy with his career. He loves what he does, he's doing such a good job and he doesn't talk about how dumb his students are when grading as often now. You're proud of him, and he's excited that a colleague of his is coming to town as well. You're excited that you're finally going to meet someone important to him --- the man is so private, you feel like you still don't know everything about him.
Speaking of which.
You see your phone light up with a message, a photo of you and Cerulli as your background. You'd never been so pleased in your life when you were able to change it to a good photo of you both; being an official couple made your anxiety over your relationship disappear. You didn't like hiding it, pretending to not know each other in public or at school.
Now that you've graduated college, you can stop by sometimes and bring him coffee, have lunch together in his office, mess around in the janitor's closet, and nearly get caught --- it's a good thing you'd already had your skirt pulled down by the time the old man opened the door; he didn't even look surprised to see the two of you inside, he'd just reached over Cerulli's shoulder for the bleach and shut the door again.
The things that man must have seen in his closet.
"So, there's supposed to be a big medical seminar this weekend at our old college. A bunch of professors is supposed to be in town to talk or something." Tara taps her bright red nails against the table. "Do you and Professor Cerulli have any plans?"
"What? Why would we?" You glance up from her phone as you text your boss, your fingers quick across your screen. You have some logos you need to work on tonight, they're due tomorrow but you've been dragging your feet. Sorry you're not that excited to design the symbol for a pig farm, but it's work, and you're still too new to ask for different assignments.
"Well, Professor Cerulli is old, right? He should know all of them coming into town."
"Jeez, he's only twelve years older than us." You snort; Tara's husband is ten years older than her! "But no, he only knows like one of them I think. We're supposed to meet him this weekend for drinks."
"Well, he's nearly forty. What are you guys going to do when his junk stops?"
"Tara."
"I'm just curious." She giggles, tapping her fingers together with a grin. "I mean, isn't that when guys' stuff typically starts losing its... fervor? Maura, you're our resident doctor. When do guys' dicks stop working?"
"Jesus, could you ask that any louder?" Maura grimaces, and you swear her cheeks turn pink as she glances around. The music is loud from the jukebox, plus you don't think anyone really cares about the conversation you're having. "And I don't know, it's not really something I focus on."
"God, are you going to make me google it, seriously?"
"Tara, can we please stop focusing on my boyfriend's dick? Your husband is just about the same age as Christopher." You remind her, pointing a red straw in her direction. "Are you projecting because you're worried his junk isn't going to keep working?"
"Touche." Tara shrugs one shoulder. "I mean, I guess it has crossed my mind. He's not the best I've ever had in bed, but he's sweet. Still, I don't know what I'll do if he suddenly can't get it up anymore --- I want a lot of kids."
"They make pills for that, Tara, it's not that big of a deal." Maura tells her, patting her friend on the shoulder. "Don't worry about Adam's dick so much. Worry about being pregnant and taking care of yourself. Have you found a regular doctor yet that can see you?"
"Yeah, I did. I went to the one you suggested, that lady over on Hampton street." Tara bobs her head. "I'm supposed to see her soon, so she's going to do some ultrasounds and tests. Everything so far has looked perfect." She perks up slightly with a smile. "You know, my sister started showing like, really early. So far I'm still flat." She glances down at her stomach. "I'm dreading not being able to wear my clothes."
"Everyone is different, you still have time. Definitely invest in some sweatpants."
"Yes, doctor."
You smile, listening to your friends chat back and forth. You need to head out soon so you can start on your logo, but you're not going to rush the visit. These girls were your sanity in college when Cerulli was driving you crazy, you were able to talk to them and they were there for you. You hope you've returned the favor through the years, you try to be as good of a friend as you possibly can.
"I need to get going," you say after a few more minutes, gesturing with your phone. "I have some work stuff to finish up."
"Aww, okay. Text us when you get home, okay?" Tara hops to her feet as you stand, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You hug her and Maura bye before heading for the parking lot, your uber already waiting for you. You rattle off the address of the apartment building --- you'd moved in with Cerulli, since your old apartment wasn't really fit for one person let alone two.
At least Cerulli has a spare room he uses as an office, and a majority of your clothes are hanging in there. The man has a lot of clothes, fancy suits that he's proud of, some of them a little more expensive than necessary but he finds it important to look good.
It's one of the things you like about him.
You also like having a closet all to yourself as well. You can arrange your clothes how you want, it's like your own little dressing room since it's a walk-in closet with a large mirror taking up one wall. It's also where you can safely hide your surprise presents for Cerulli since he never goes in there, too.
Of course, there are other perks to living with him. Waking up every day knowing he's right beside you, his warm arms wrapped around you, or your legs tangled in his. You always seem to find a way to each other in the middle of the night, even if you sleep far apart. You like how he always kisses your forehead when he gets up, even if you're asleep, and how he has you a cup of coffee ready when you eventually stir.
He doesn't mind that you're not a morning person, or that you don't enjoy cooking. He typically ends up making dinner all the time and making sure that you're up on time to go to work. You did struggle a little finding a job right out of college, no one wants to hire someone with no experience --- but how do you get experience unless someone does!?
Cerulli didn't get you the job, but he knew someone at the company who at least got you an interview with your now boss, so he helped you get in the door. You've been there for a few months, and although you're not exactly thrilled with the work you're doing, it's a steady paycheck and you like the casual office environment. You like that they have birthday parties in the breakroom, that they decorate for holidays and supposedly have a kickass Christmas party at the end of the year.
You can get your boyfriend to go with you to it; it makes you smile just to think about it, introducing him to your colleagues. You're proud of Cerulli, you want to show him off to the world and announce to everyone that the stubborn asshole is your boyfriend and that you live together; you honestly feel accomplished that you've gotten so far with him!
It took you years.
Hell, you moved in with him before he begrudgingly admitted that he was your boyfriend. You know he has an issue with titles, that he thinks somehow labeling your relationship, it'll only lead it to its doom, but that's not been the case. Hell, you'd marry the man if he asked you, you're definitely committed.
You'd follow him to hell if he asked.
Thankfully he hasn't, of course, because that would be terrifying as fuck, but you'd do it.
You'd do anything for him.
~~~~~~
"Hey." You stifle a yawn as you step into your apartment, kicking out of the heels you're wearing and leaving them by the white door with your other shoes. You lift the strap of your bag over your head, absently setting it on the edge of the sofa like you always do. Cerulli glances up from his laptop, his feet propped on the coffee table in front of him, long legs lightly crossed.
His apartment hasn't changed any since you moved in --- like you told Tara, you're no decorator and his style suits you just fine. There's a large gray sofa situated in front of the fireplace, and a coffee table separating the space; your only addition is the multitude of pillows that now decorate the sofa and the chairs, mainly because you felt the room was a little stiff and boring without them. The far wall is simply windows overlooking the city, black curtains pulled to the side so you can see the nightlife below.
The carpet is still a soft white, maintained thanks to the cleaning lady that comes once a week since neither of you has time to religiously deep clean the space. The TV sits on top of the fireplace, photos of you and Cerulli hanging on the wall on either side; it makes you smile every time you see them, especially since it was your boyfriend's idea to display them in the living room.
"You're early tonight," Cerulli responds, his eyes flicking to the clock above the fake plant by the door, several pairs of your shoes circling the black base. He always takes his shoes off at the door and puts them away, but it's never a habit that you've picked up. "I thought you were out with your friends."
"I was, but I have some work to get done." You sigh, tugging on the band that's holding your hair up. You pull it loose, letting the long strands fall against your shoulders before you lean down to kiss your boyfriend. He tilts his face up automatically, black hair framing his pale cheeks. "You're still grading the midterms?"
"Unfortunately," Cerulli sighs as he shifts, lightly closing his laptop. He sounds annoyed, so grading must not be going too well. His black hair is loose, falling to frame his face instead of smoothed back, so he must have been running his hands through it. You can always tell when he's aggravated. The firelight glints off the piercings in his ears as he glances at you, hazel eyes shadowed. "I have a large class this year, so it's taking some time to read through their essays."
"Want any help?" you offer, although you don't really want to. He teaches more advanced classes than what you took, and reading through the longwinded papers makes you want to fall asleep!
"No. Last time I let you, you gave them grades they didn't deserve." Cerulli chuckles lightly, seeing your nose curl. Two of the students should have failed, but you gave them grades just enough to keep them passing. You're too soft-hearted for your own good. "You're much too lenient."
"Well, maybe you're just too strict," you huff, sitting down beside him on the sofa. You thought you did a good job, and the papers weren't bad at all! They made fair points and didn't use such large words that you couldn't understand without pulling out a dictionary. Plus, they clearly put a lot of effort into theirs with sources and the like, which is more than what you did for your own essays.
Well, to be fair, fucking your teacher made it a lot easier to pass the class, even if it wasn't the solid grade you wanted.
"Strict? I thought you liked it when I'm by the book," your boyfriend sounds amused, lifting his arm so you can snuggle into his side. You lay your head on his shoulder, curling your arm around his waist. You love how warm he is, and you inhale his familiar cologne, feeling your entire body begin to relax; you went straight to the bar from work, and you hadn't realized how tense you felt until now.
"How was work today?" Cerulli asks, his tattooed fingers lightly playing with your hair. You always thought it was odd that you had a teacher covered in black ink, considering the conservative town you lived in, but Cerulli is charismatic; he could probably convince a man with one foot that he needed two shoes.
"Just another day." You frown. "I'm still working on the logo for that farm. I can't think of anything that works right, it's what I have to work on tonight."
"Isn't that due tomorrow?"
"You know I work best under pressure." You say lightly, picking at the buttons on his white shirt. You love it when he wears dress shirts, he always gets the expensive, soft kind that you like to feel. When he rolls the sleeves up, it makes the black ink on his arms stand out so much more. You feel like a blank canvas in comparison, especially when you're both naked in bed together. You thought maybe you should get some tattoos, but you simply don't know what you would like, and you're not sure if it suits you or not.
"More like you panic and stress yourself out. Is there anything I can help with?" Cerulli asks; he's not sure what he can do, really, but he doesn't like that you've been struggling with your assignments at work. You haven't said anything, but when you cradle your head and stare at your laptop on the verge of tears, he can tell something is wrong.
You said you like your job, but you don't seem happy with it. He's been tempted to mention that maybe you should find something else, maybe a different company or just --- well, he's not sure. He just wants you happy. He wants to support you and see you smile.
You act so seriously while working, but he adores you when you're silly, when you're giggling and teasing him. If he could have you in a playful mood all to himself all of the time, you'd never leave the apartment.
"Not unless you can make, 'a pig from our family to your table,' sound less cringy."
Cerulli snorts before he can stop himself, quickly clearing his throat when you cut your eyes up at him. "Ah, well, that's --- an interesting slogan."
"It's awful," you groan, burying your face in his neck. You don't want to think about work anymore, you feel so lost staring at the screen trying to make it work! You know it's due tomorrow, you have to do something, but what!? "I don't know what to do!"
"Perhaps you're thinking too much about it." Cerulli rubs light circles against your shoulders, feeling how tense they are. You weren't this stressed when you were finishing up your college tests, why is it getting to you so much now? It's just a job, you'll either be good at it or it won't --- again, there are other jobs in the world that you can do. There are probably a hundred different marketing departments you can work in, and he doesn't mind supporting you while you're looking --- he did when you were first out of college and could no longer work part-time at the library.
Although he does miss coming to see you at work.
"I'm not thinking enough, is more like it. I keep procrastinating and now I have to finish it tonight," you mumble, your voice muffled against his neck. Your eyes are squeezed shut as you wrack your brain, but nothing at all is coming to mind, just like it hasn't in the past two weeks! "I can't think of anything that's going to work with that slogan!"
"Mmm... how about a pig on a table with an apple in its mouth, but it looks happy about it?" Cerulli suggests, and he can practically feel the roll of your eyes. Your fingers flex against his shirt as you huff, leaning up just enough where you can breathe.
Well, it's actually not the worst idea, and you can sort of see a shiny pink cartoon pig in your mind, placed on a silver platter, a bright red apple in its mouth, and happy black eyes. There's a wooden table, and maybe it's a circle, with black words above it with the slogan --- or maybe circling it?
Well, it's at least something, you can make that work. You don't care if it's the worst design on the planet, at least you'll have something.
"Have you eaten? I made some alfredo," Cerulli says after a moment, his eyes drawn to his laptop; he needs to finish reading those heinous essays. "You'll need to heat it, but don't burn it on the stove this time."
You frown at him; that was once, and because you got distracted by a work message! You simply forgot the sauce was reheating! It scorched the pan, though, and admittedly wouldn't come out, so Cerulli had to toss it.
You're not very good in the kitchen.
"Don't look at me like that, I had to throw away my favorite pot." Cerulli doesn't look at you as he speaks, he can feel your disgruntled look. He pushes away a smile as he opens his laptop, intent on resuming where he left off. "Maybe if you eat something, it'll soak up all that alcohol so you can work."
"I didn't drink that much," you mumble, glancing at his screen. He has two programs open, and he looks so focused on his work, you're not sure he even hears you. Your eyes flick to the clock above the tall, fake houseplant, seeing it's not even nine yet.
You can think of a hundred things you'd rather be doing than work, and you're not hungry, either. When you're stressed you can't eat, but you know of something that usually makes you feel better --- you cut your eyes at your boyfriend.
"Christopher."
"Hmm?"
"Do you have to get those all done tonight?"
"The papers? No," Cerulli responds absently, his eyes scanning the words in front of him. This paragraph is full of large words that don't make sense in the context --- did the student just put these in here to sound smart? What the hell does Shakespeare have to do with a decahedron? "These are the ones submitted early."
Oh, good.
You bite your lip, shifting a little so that you're closer to him. Your eyes flick across his pale cheeks, admiring the curve of his jaw, tracing the lines of black ink on his throat. "Why are you working on them so soon then?"
"So I don't have to grade thirty-two of these all at once." He prefers to spend his afternoons free if possible, not slaving away over paperwork or student submissions. The fact he stays late for office hours on Thursdays is already the bane of his existence --- it's his least favorite day of the week.
At least you made his office hours interesting back in the day.
You would prance in wearing that little checked skirt and heels that made your legs go on for days, that white blouse with the buttons straining to hide your chest. You wore it just for him, and oh how many times he fucked you on his desk, bent you over and had his way with you ---.
Cerulli clears his throat as he shifts, squinting down at his screen; he needs to focus on work, not thinking about you underneath him begging him to go harder, faster, until you're cumming so hard he can't move inside of you --- oh, goddammit. Now his laptop won't stay flat in his lap.
"Why are you scowling? Did someone compare Shakespeare's work to an onion again?" You ask, amused as you remember --- you're pretty sure they took the quote right out of Shrek, which you found hilarious and Cerulli did not.
"No." Cerulli frowns, glancing at you. He likes it when you wear your hair down around your shoulders, how it frames your face and your innocent eyes; he's corrupted you in every way possible, and yet your eyes still seem so soft, so warm and gentle when you look at him. No one has ever looked at him the way you do, and he can't help but let his lips curve into a smile. You're a little dramatic and over the top sometimes, you're distracted and can't focus in the kitchen, and you never put your shoes away, but he wouldn't change any of that about you.
You're perfect.
His eyes flick to your skirt as you cross your legs, watching the soft material rise up your thighs. It's a little short to wear to the office in his mind; he can just imagine you sitting at your desk, your male coworkers admiring the curve of your body as you work, those legs that go on for miles when you wear those black pumps.
The laptop is becoming increasingly uncomfortable to keep in his lap.
~~~~~~~
You're not quite sure who started it, but now neither of you is working, it's the farthest thing from your mind.
At some point, Cerulli's laptop was pushed to the side, and now you're straddling him, your skirt pushed up to your hips as your thighs clench against his. He's kissing you like he has all the time in the world, his tongue languidly meeting yours despite the fingers clenched in your hair, holding you to him. His other hand is casually stroking your body, fingertips trailing up your bare thighs teasingly, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
Every time with him is always so --- exciting is the only word you can think of. It's never the same, boring routine with him, your heart is always racing when he touches you, when his hot lips graze your fevered skin and his fingers caress every inch of your body. Sometimes it's like he's worshipping you, and other times it feels like he's punishing you --- you don't know which one you like the best.
As long as it's with him, it's always perfect.
You moan thoughtlessly against his lips as your hips push down onto his, feeling the bulge in his pants. He's just as excited as you are --- there's never been a moment when he wasn't. You don't think there's going to be an issue in the future, but even if there is --- they make pills for that, like the girls said.
Sex isn't the most important aspect of your relationship --- but it's certainly one of your favorite parts.
Your fingers clench in his collar before you slowly draw them down his chest, tugging on his shirt until it's untucked. You've accidentally popped a few buttons off his dress shirts before you'd been in such a hurry, so you do try to take a little more care --- although, Cerulli can't say a word, he's literally ripped your clothes before he's been in such a rush.
Your nimble fingers begin working on his belt, but you start as you hear something start to go off. Your lips pause on his as you lean back a little, glancing over at the end table where his phone lies, lit up and buzzing against the black surface. You can't read the name from where you are, but whoever it is needs to fu ---.
"Ah, dammit," Cerulli hesitates, seeing the annoyed look on your face as he reaches over, fumbling for his phone. He forgot to turn the sound down, but it hasn't made a sound until he was right in the middle of something. He squints at the name blaring across his screen.
"Is it something important?" You ask after a moment, shifting in his lap unhappily. He can hear the pout in your voice, and his eyes flick between you and his phone for a moment before he shakes his head, holding down the power button to turn it off completely.
"No," he replies, letting it drop back on the end table, "nothing that can't be dealt with later."
You brighten at his words, that warmth returning to your eyes as you kiss him again, cold fingers cupping his jaw as your tongue eagerly finds his. He realized at some point through the years with you, that as long as he shows you that you're important to him, that he chooses you over work or what else, his life is much easier.
Once you graduated and were no longer his student, he wasn't so worried about losing his job or contract with the college, it was a weight off his shoulders. It was only logical that you move in with him, considering you'd already taken over his closet space and more than half of his dresser drawers; it was a waste of income for you to keep renting that shabby apartment.
Now, Cerulli isn't sure that he could sleep without you every night, he's so used to reaching over to find your warmth, to pull you into his arms; he doesn't even mind the drool you sometimes leave on the pillowcases anymore. You sleep like a rock, are not a morning person, and can barely form a few sentences until you've had the sugar water you claim is coffee.
Cerulli doesn't mind any of it.
If someone had told him five years ago he would have a woman living with him, he would have scoffed at them. He swore off all relationships after his ex wife left him because he couldn't give her children, and until you, he was sure he would be alone until his last breath. You always tell him that you love him, and it's the way you look at him that he knows it's true --- Catherine never looked at him that way. It's the way your eyes soften at the corners, the warmth in them, the way you smile when you see him. It's clear to him and anyone else in the vicinity how you feel, but you've never been good at hiding your emotions, either.
Sometimes, you express yourself a little dramatically --- or a lot, actually. The first year he taught at your college and you resumed your former relationship, it was like hell. Cerulli was stressed the entire time, torn between what he promised himself and what he actually wanted --- which was you, it was always just you.
And now... well, he has you, and he's never been happier.
His cold fingers caress your bare thighs before roving higher, urging your skirt up around your waist so he can snag the flimsy material hiding your heat from him. You let him take control of the kiss, only for his mouth to leave yours with a gasp, his lips finding their way to your neck. A shiver runs down your spine as his teeth nip at your fevered skin, knowing all the right spots to excite you, to cause your thighs to tighten around his.
Cerulli can feel your pulse jump against his tongue as he nuzzles your throat, pleased. You're squirming against him, tilting your head so he has easier access to your neck, letting him suck and bite until you know there's going to be a mark left behind. It sends a rush of heat through your body, even more so as his fingers coast down your stomach, pulling on the hem of your shirt and lifting, urging your arms above your head so he can remove it.
There's a rush of cool air against your chest before his mouth replaces it, placing soft kisses from your throat to the swell of your breasts. His nimble fingers quickly tug the straps of your bra off your shoulders, removing the offending material so he can have full access to you.
You bite your lip as his hungry gaze flicks across your chest, admiring the flush of your skin before his mouth closes around your breast. Your teeth dig deep as his tongue swirls around your nipple lazily, his other hand teasingly caressing your stomach, feeling your muscles quiver beneath his touch.
You're always so responsive to him, he adores that about you, especially after all these years together. Sex with you is always satisfying, especially since you're as adventurous as he is, reluctantly willing to try whatever he suggests at least once.
You've had some interesting times together.
You moan softly as his mouth leaves a wet, hot trail across your chest, lavishing each breast with ample amounts of attention. His teeth tug gently at your stiff peaks, distracting you as his fingers slip down your body, cupping the heat between your thighs. He smirks as he finds your panties damp against his fingers, and you jerk as his thumb teasingly flicks your clit. Your fingers curl tightly into the sofa cushions behind him as he toys with the bundle of nerves, pinching and rolling until small shocks dance inside your stomach.
"Fuck, Christopher," you whine, your hips pressing down against his hand despite yourself. He chuckles against your damp skin as you gasp, his tongue traveling up your chest, leaving a wet, hot trail behind until he finds your lips. He forces your mouth against his roughly, your cold fingers curving against his shoulder as he moves the damp material away from your heat. Your toes curl as one slim finger slips inside of you, thrusting against your tight muscles and making your eyes squeeze shut.
Your hips push down instinctively, and you're soaking his hand already, coating his talented fingers in desire. His tongue melds with yours as he pushes a second finger inside of you, his thumb still expertly brushing against your clit, making the sparks of electricity in your stomach grow worse ---- god, are you really going to cum so easily like this?
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
You tear your lips from his with a gasp, almost embarrassed by how easily he turns you on --- how is it always like this!? You told him once, in a very passionate, delirious moment, that he was a sex god, and you still stand by that --- no earthly man could make you cum like this, could make your entire body feel like it's on fire just at a brush of his lips.
Your fingers fumble with his belt again, and you lean back just enough so you can jerk his trousers open, eagerly slipping your fingers inside --- you love that he inhales sharply when you touch him, stroking his thick length. He's already hard, you don't have to do much at all, but it's the way his hazel eyes darken, his pale lips parting in a shuddering breath that makes you want to keep going.
You lightly rake your nails up his shaft, your lips nibbling along his jaw, feeling his fingers twitch inside of you as your thumb brushes against the precum on the head of his cock. This was just supposed to be a quickie, but the two of you are both drawing it out, you've gotten more stubborn over the years --- you like to tease and torment Cerulli just as much as he does you.
He created a monster.
"Goddamn, baby," Cerulli mumbles despite himself, his cock throbbing in your grip. He can feel how wet you are, and he wants to be inside of you, fucking you hard and rough, watching your tits bounce in front of his face. Your cheeks grow bright pink at the term --- he's not one for pet names, and it only ever seems to come out when you're fucking or messing around.
You sigh as his fingers slowly leave your heat, your lips parting automatically as his hand rises to your mouth, your tongue flicking out thoughtlessly to clean them. You can taste your own desire, and you suck, your eyes flicking to his as you clean every drop off his digits. Your hand Is still stroking his thick length, your thighs quivering from holding yourself above his lap so long, but from the look in his eyes, you won't have to wait much longer.
His hazel eyes are black with desire, his free hand cupping your ass. He gives a harsh squeeze as he pulls his fingers from your mouth with a pop, admiring the sheen left behind on your lips. His damp fingers press against your jaw, turning your face to his so he can give you a kiss, his teeth biting at your lower lip as he moves your hips to where he wants them.
Your fingers flex eagerly against the sofa as you feel the head of his cock brush through your desire, coating himself in the cream. He's squeezing your ass, and you whimper as he bumps your swollen clit, causing you to jerk --- just as sensitive as always.
Cerulli chuckles against your mouth, and he shifts his hips, the head of his cock pushing through your damp folds, teasing at your heat but not giving you what you want. You groan as he controls your hips, gently rolling them, creating friction that causes your entire body to burn, your nails digging deep into the sofa.
"You're --- such a tease," you whine, shuddering. "Christopher ---."
"I'm a tease, hmm?" he smirks, his fingers knotting in your long, loose hair. He forces your head back, already able to see the hickey forming on your throat, little marks appearing across your breasts. He licks his lips as he leans forward, flicking one sensitive nipple with his tongue before drawing it into his mouth, sucking hard just as he bucks his hips up into yours.
You cry out almost immediately as his thick cock enters you forcefully, his arm clamping around your hips and forcing you to hold still against him. Your muscles tighten around him instantly, soaking his cock as he makes your hips roll again, hearing your pants as your body adjusts to him.
It doesn't matter how many times you fuck him, it always takes you just a moment to adjust to his size --- and it's not that he's even that long! You squeeze your eyes shut as he pulls you close, his fingers tight in your hair and making it impossible to pull away.
"Move your hips," he breathes in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Fuck me, (Y/N)."
Oh dear.
Heat rushes through you, and your hips begin to move automatically, doing as you're told. You shift, his free hand clamping around your waist as you begin to ride him. "Just like that," he murmurs, urging you to go faster, your hands slipping down to press against his shoulders, "good girl, (Y/N)."
Your cheeks burn at the compliment, and you ignore his smirk as you press your face against his neck, --- you have a praise kink, you know it's obvious --- you love it when he compliments you and tells you how good of a job you're doing. It makes you happy to know you're making him feel good, that he's enjoying himself with you, even after all this time.
You flinch at the sharp smack against your ass, caught off guard by the sudden pain in the midst of pleasure. Your cunt clenches around his cock, and he groans into your hair, feeling your body hug every inch of him. You're soaking him, so wet that fucking you is easy, and you moan as he fills you over and over again, the heat building between your thighs.
Cerulli's soft pants in your ear let you know he's close, you can always tell by the buck of his hips, and the tight grip he gets on you. He always holds himself back though, he has admirable self-control --- a gentleman always lets a lady go first, after all.
His fingertips graze your sides, stroking and caressing your soft skin as he kisses across your chest, inhaling your perfume; you always spritz just a little of it on your neck before you leave for work, and it's usually faint by the time you come home. It's a soft, subtle scent, but it's one he associates with you, it reminds him of home.
You moan in his ear, your nails digging into his shoulders as your hips grind down into his. You're shuddering in his arms, your muscles flexing around him, he can tell you're on the verge, and he doesn't want to draw it out tonight --- you both have work to do, after all. His talented hand snakes down between your bodies, flicking your swollen clit and causing you to jerk with a whimper; he can feel your pulse race as he nibbles at your throat, your thighs tightening around his.
"I'm so close," you gasp, enjoying the heat rushing through you like a tidal wave. It seems to hit you all at once, catching you off guard as you cum, your skin flushing and your eyes squeezing shut in pleasure. You shudder in his arms, your heat clenching and milking his cock for all its worth until he gives a hoarse groan.
You relax in his grip as you feel the heat inside of you, nuzzling his throat contentedly. He's breathing hard beneath you, and you know he has to be burning up in all his clothes --- it seems like you're the only one who ever gets naked anymore, and you like seeing his tattooed skin. The entire man is a work of art, from the ink on his body to his perfectly sculpted eyebrows.
"I love you," you whisper in his ear, pressing a soft kiss against his stubbled cheek. You don't wait for him to respond before you shift, straightening in his lap; he's never said I love you back to you, not once in the three years you've officially been together. He always hesitates, or says "you too," as if that's the same thing.
Rather than fight about it, or make it into a big deal, you've just let it go --- you take what you can get with this man, even if it doesn't always make you happy. You figure you've got it good as it is, and you don't want to do anything that would jeopardize your relationship.
Not when you went through hell to even call it a relationship.
"Where are you going?" Cerulli asks in surprise as you roll off of him, getting to your feet. You start shuffling your clothes back into place, but your hair is a sex-tousled mess, and your makeup is seared at the edges. Usually, you stay with him for a few minutes, he's accustomed to the after-sex cuddles with you, why are you getting up?
"I need a shower, and then I have to make that logo, remember?" You sigh, stretching your arms above your head. You're a lot more relaxed, at least, and the idea he gave you earlier doesn't sound too bad. It'll be a little cliche, but if your boss doesn't like it, she can give the assignment to someone else, you're done stressing about it.
"I feel so used." Cerulli frowns, and you snort as he begins to stand, fixing his trousers. "What am I to you, just some sex god here for your pleasure only?"
"Oh my god, shut up," you groan, flushing as you turn away from him, embarrassed. That was years ago you said that in a time of weakness! "Are you ever going to let that go?"
"Of course not. It's perhaps the best compliment I've ever been given." he smirks, his eyes on the rising hem of your skirt as you lean down, lifting a few stray pillows off the floor and tossing them onto the sofa --- you're not sure when you knocked those off.
"I'm taking a shower," you mumble, making a beeline for the bedroom you share. You disappear behind the door, and he hears you open the dresser drawers, looking for fresh clothes. You usually end up sleeping in his t shirts anyway, he's not sure why you bother with pajamas.
He rolls his neck as he turns, grabbing his phone off the end table and turning it back on. His eyes flick towards the bedroom as he hears the shower turn on, the phone in his hand buzzing with unread messages. He needs to respond to that call he received earlier, it was from his old friend coming to town wanting to meet up, but all Cerulli can focus on is you in the shower, the hot water rushing against your skin, droplets slowly rolling down your smooth body.
He tugs at the collar of his shirt, dropping his phone on the sofa as he begins to unbutton. He could use a shower as well, and he's never satisfied having you just once, either. You make him want more, he wants to be inside of you, claiming you, fucking you over and over until you're whimpering and begging him to stop. The two of you are so busy with work, or just too tired, to really have the good old fuck sessions you used to --- he doesn't want to keep settling for quickies on the sofa.
Besides, a sex god's work is never done.