🌶️🌶️😩😉SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT
Spring
Assaulting bands of blue light reflect against your eyes from the screen of your phone. The dim ambiance of the bar had allowed your eyes to adjust to the darkness, which were now under the attack of an LED display. Mercilessly you have been ripped from the warmth and welcome against the flickering lights of Gus' pub and pulled down to earth as you face the people you had left behind... person.
Shockingly your father hadn't sent many messages post to the few he'd written during your first week in Pelican Town. What had appeared as a frenzy of concern and genuine "giving-a-shit" had quickly subsided when your lack of available modern communication had been cut slack. Only two more emails had hit your inbox after that first week, bearing no mind to the others you simply open the most recent.
(Y/N),
I hope the farm is treating you well and you've adjusted quickly. If the work does prove too difficult, I can always offer you a starting position at the firm.
Your mother would be proud that you've fulfilled her wishes, your grandfather as well.
If you feel no need to speak to me, please disregard my messages and continue on as you have.
Best, Dad
Phillip Morgan, COO.
You scoff at the inclusion of his title and the daring mention of "generously" offering a starting position at the firm. Being the overseer of all corporate functions, you'd imagine he could be gracious enough to offer something respectable... then again, he was the type to believe that people belong where they are meant to be.
Daring to scroll deeper into the dumped messages, the seething resentment is hard to suppress. A stein of pale ale heavily hits the tabletop of your booth, briefly stealing you from the bubbling rage.
"It looked like you needed another, your dinner should be out soon." Emily informs you as she wipes her hands against a grimy waist apron.
"Oh, thank you, please keep them coming."
She bumps a hip into the table edge and asserts herself, "Uff, one of those nights huh? You want anything stronger?... or maybe I shouldn't be encouraging you to drink as a coping mechanism."
"Isn't it your job to sell drinks to me, Emily?" You tease.
"Yes, well, I think my concern for you is more important than Gus making a buck." Her fingers tap softly on the tabletop, "Are you okay? Seriously, you've got yourself hidden in this booth." She crouches to your level.
You up the chipper lilt in your voice, "Really, I'm okay, just a long day."
Her hand grips gently onto your shoulder with a gentle shake, "Okay, I'll have your maki roll out soon, Gus gets kind of anal about slicing them perfectly." She shakes her head.
"Well, it's Gus, what can we do?" You joke.
With a scrunch of the nose she's off back to collecting empty glasses and ushering regulars to their preferred tables. It's nice to have this usual gathering of neighbors, the routine is anything but mundane. In the dark corner beside the fireplace however, the usually brooding Shane is still absent. He should arrive soon enough, it's already 8:00.
Anxiously your thumbnails tap against the glass of your phone screen as you think whether it be best to reply to dad or not. It would be so much easier if he were willing to use any social media that offers messaging, but he fears interacting with anything that could tarnish his image. This of course also effectively created a stronger sense of the distance that he wants to stay from you.
A deep swig of ale later, you are typing a reply in a bit of an anger-induced haze, letting the second serving of beer do the bulk of the talking.
Dad,
Everything is well on the farm, I've settled in and have been making friends. The work is hard but manageable, I'm entirely capable.
I have no internet at the farm, I can only reply when I'm using wi-fi at the pub, I'm not ignoring you.
-(Y/N)
But is that entirely true? This is not the first night you've spent in the saloon nor the first opportunity to have replied to his somewhat reluctant messages. Still, you hit send without changing anything and swig down more ale. The drink is not sitting well in your empty stomach, you can't help but curse Gus (just this once) for aspiring to be top chef.
Ringing emanates from the bell hook on the saloon door, and a small posse of adults around your age, maybe a year or two younger, crowd into the saloon. They bump against each other in a careless manner and two speak much more loudly than necessary. You recognize a girl with purple hair as one of the participants from last week's egg hunt. She makes a clear effort to stick by the side of a quiet boy dressed for a wake. An avoidance to be near her is clear as he sidesteps or changes pace to detract himself from her. His face is almost entirely blank, seeming like he hasn't a care in the world.
However, quite willingly, the boy in black laughs subtly alongside yet another villager you recognize from the egg festival. The carefully styled mullet of blonde hair would be hard to mistake for anyone else. Of the three he is the most energetic, essentially carefree.
The sight only seems to make you grumpier, having such giddy patrons so close to your little bubble of growing upset. As they dip into the side room of the pub, you hope they stay there for a while and allow you the peace necessary to wallow in rage. The only company you are hoping to find tonight is that of Shane, he could be easily confided in. Even if he didn't respond verbally to your grievances, he would be sure to listen intently.
A notification dings from your phone as you're tossing down the final bit of your ale. Promptly you find Emily across the room and waggle the empty glass in the air, she nods in understanding. With a new rush of liquid courage coursing through you the idea of speaking to your father is less dreadful, in fact, it's a bit thrilling to be so brash.
(Y/N),
The offer still stands, though I know you have the need to make your mother proud, think realistically about the choice you've made. I know you are entirely capable of looking to my example and following suit, but you are your mother's daughter.
There is no need to explain your reasons for not communicating with me, I already have a good enough understanding as to why you've decided not to do so.
-Dad
Phillip Morgan, COO.
With that, your mood is entirely topped off. Slamming your phone onto the tabletop earns a side glance from a very circular man masked behind an unpleasant goatee. There is little decency left in your mind now and you reward him with a sarcastic sneer. He looks taken aback and turns to his drink, alone at a large table.
With impeccable timing Emily is back at your table with a third ale and two small glasses of brown liquor. Though showing genuine concern for your mood, she really was serious about giving you something a little stronger.
"Okay we have another of your favorite, my love, and two shots of Gus' good stuff. Single malt orange whiskey, home distilled." Expertly she transfers drinks from a tray balanced on her hand to your table. She glances briefly to the goateed man drinking alone, "If Clint is bothering you please let Gus know, he's known for trouble."
An exasperated sigh forces through you as your fingers curl slowly around a shot glass, "Just what I needed, thank you." Without another thought you knock back the first of the two whiskeys. A ferocious burn fills the back of your throat but is soon remedied by the aftertaste of fresh, sour orange.
You shoot a side glance to the man in question, "What kind of trouble do you mean?" You ask with a puzzled brow.
She sighs in exhaustion, "He's had a few incidents with bothering us ladies in town. Gus only allows him in the saloon anymore under the condition that he drinks alone... and not too heavily."
Rambunctious laughter billows from the side room of the saloon, an accentuated type belonging to what can be assumed a female guest. Undoubtedly the purple haired girl. Trying to focus your energy on brooding, you shuffle deeper into the corner of the booth and pull the stein of ale along with you. Without a friend still, the alcohol in your stomach begins to be somewhat unbearable.
All your life your dad had been the way he always is, concerned with no one other than himself and his own gains. The idea had ran in your mind more than once that he married your mother for no reason other than having a showy trophy wife. She was without a doubt the envy of your dad's colleagues. Dinners at their luxurious condos had been grueling as you sat silently on stiff sofas and watched as the men eyed your mother as she passed. Usually they had leaned into each others' ears and whispered what you could only guess to be grotesque, scandalous thoughts about her. Those form fitting cocktail dresses your father had always dressed her up in were surely for flaunting what he had and they didn't.
She was beautiful, there was no denying that fact. When your mother had abandoned the farm and her parents she became the wish of all the boys in her college. Frequently to you she had edited snippets from stories of parties she had attended and dates she had been taken on by only the most attractive men on her campus. But none of them, your father included, had considered the fact that there was substance beneath that dewy skin of hers.
Every day of her life she had been the wife most could only dream for. Willingly she did all she could to woo and continue pleasing your father. All of her Monday afternoons were always spent cooking and cleaning to make ease of his evening after a long day of work. Nearly every time however he had ridiculed her cooking, stating he had a distaste for every dish she cooked, and criticized the one speck of dust or streak on the floor she had missed while cleaning. Every joy she had in her life had been sacrificed in trying to please him, but eventually her efforts had to fall.
Even with winning the most attractive wife of them all, she hadn't been enough for your father. Even as she continued to abandon her life in the valley, it was never sufficient. Begrudgingly she was willing to make the summer trips to Pelican Town alone with you by her side. It was hard to decipher whether it truly was the grime of farm life that your father had disliked, or the fact that Miriam thrived when she was there. All of her best qualities and skills came to light beneath your grandfather's roof and by the seaside. Jealousy being his most dominating trait, her brilliance may have been cause for his absence.
Not until your mother's passing did you learn how far he had taken his dissatisfaction for his marriage. Two summers before you left for college, it had been only a few months since mom fell to her demise caused by her marriage. Without a second thought you planned to venture to the valley on your own, especially knowing your grandfather needed company in his grief. While settling yourself into preparation for leaving you'd discovered your father's summer fling. A glamorous woman who simultaneously looked cheap and priceless was standing outside the apartment door, suitcase in hand. The summers spent alone hadn't been lonely at all, not even in mourning.
In aggravation you try and shake the memory from your mind, and your father's tarnish on Miriam's life all together. Quickly the second shot of whiskey is down your throat much to the dismay of your still empty stomach. A telltale churning of your gut prompts immediate remedy for the hasty drinking. Heavily you lug yourself out of the booth and to the counter to claim a basket of peanuts. Without much energy you wait out your food on a barstool and toss shells onto the floor.
A stool scrapes across the floor and is claimed by the blonde mullet from the side room. His chipper disposition is not what you need at the moment.
He waves cheerily, "Hey Emily, can you grab me a beer when you have a sec? Maybe two, actually."
"Give me just a minute Sam, I need to get these dinners out to people." She shouts over the growing noise of villagers drinking their week-ending beverages.
"No worries, I'm not in a rush." He leans comfortably into the top of the bar.
Peanuts continue crackling beneath your aggressive fingers as you channel some of the energy into them. The salt of the shells slightly sting your cuticles, but it's nice to have a fair fight for once.
"Oh hey, I don't think we've met? I'm Sam, good to meet you." The blonde speaks from beside you.
Between a mouthful of peanuts you try your best to greet him politely, "I'm (Y/N), the new owner of Sunset Lake farm. I moved in a few weeks ago."
"Aw man that's awesome, I can't believe we haven't bumped into each other yet." His face delights in your greeting.
Granules of salt dust roughly off of your hands onto your jeans and you turn to him, "Well, I did see you at the egg festival... you were helping Vincent find his eggs?" You offer.
An obvious red tinge washes across his cheeks and he holds the back of his neck in embarrassment, "Oh, yeah, I'm his brother. I always help him out with the festival games... if not to be a good brother it gives me an excuse to participate." He laughs.
You remember the look Mayor Lewis had given Maru and the purple haired girl as he called competitors to the town square. A disguise behind a child would look much better (and frankly more fair) to viewers.
"If you're not with anyone, we're just in the back playing pool. Sebastian, Abby and I..." He sighs, "I'm not very good. But Seb loves it so I keep playing."
You can't help but laugh at his honesty, not for shame, "No that's okay, I'm waiting on my dinner right now."
Two glass bottles of beer clink onto the bar, dripping with condensation.
"Here you go Sam, give me a holler if any of you need a refill. Has Abby had much to drink yet?" Emily implores.
Sam laughs in his throat, "Nah we didn't even pregame tonight, she hasn't had anything yet."
"Okay well just keep her away from the arcade machines if she's too tipsy, you know how she gets." Emily gives a stern look and dries the inside of a stein with an old cloth.
Sam stands swiftly to return to his group, "You got it 'Em." He's gone in a flash.
Gus finally brings out your food as you are nearing halfway through the basket of peanuts. Your fingers praise in joy to be freed of the salty shells and stake their claim on an ice cold plate.
Gus hands it over to you cooly, "Here you are kid, fresh maki and some spicy eel. Eel is experimental so it's on the house tonight with the condition of a thorough review." His knuckles knock against the countertop and with a wink he disappears back into the kitchen.
Working through the ice cold sushi and the remainder of your beer, you can't help but allow your mind to venture back into the complicated relationship of you and your father. It can't be narrowed down to being how he was raised or how he chose to live to be the cause of his blatant inconsideration for his family. Overcrowded by the negative, there are few times you can recall being happy around him. Every second spent growing up in the city had been plagued by his presence.
In the corner of the booth you wait impatiently for Shane to arrive at the pub. Though absent for the festival (and a lack of phone calls), you were sure he could be depended on to arrive at his usual hangout. Between finishing slices of the spicy eel and sips of your beer you continue to peer into the corner by the fireplace in case you had missed him walking in. Ticking closer to 9:00 it's obvious that he makes no intention of appearing in the saloon.
Just as your luck goes, there is little that can't be remedied by the frantic hunger that he had kissed you with before. Though not a solution, the mind-numbing affects are undeniable. Without his presence however, this proves to be difficult. Not that you have intentions of using him persay, it's just a fact that his way of kissing you has magical affects on your body. Affects that you alone can't recreate.
In defeat you carry what remains of your dirtied dishes to the bar and pay off the tab you've worked up. Emily provides you with a small notepad and pen as she tallies up your spendings.
"What's this for?" You question and hope it wasn't entirely rude.
"Gus was serious about you giving his food a review, just write down some things you liked and didn't like and he'll be happy enough." Emily explained before disappearing with your dirty dishes.
On the notepad you make lengthy descriptions of what you enjoyed about Gus' newest experiment, and have no room for anything negative. You make a specific emphasis on how the spices made you feel invigorated. Just as you're finishing a loud ruckus from the side room calls your attention. Sam triumphantly brandishes his pool stick above his head while hollering in victory, he made a single shot.
Sam slaps a sharp high-five onto Sebastian's hand, "Aw man that's what I'm talking about! Did you see that?" His voice giddy.
Sebastian is flamboyantly supportive and looks to be less moody than he had been when they entered the saloon, "You got it, nice one."
Just as Emily returns to claim the gold you owe, Sam approaches the bar proudly wielding his pool stick as though it were a sword of a king. His confidence leeches out of him but not smugly, simply out of triumphant pride. Riding on this confidence he isn't hesitant to stand closely beside you and butt into your transaction with Emily.
"Hey Em! Tonight's the night, I finally made a shot and Gus owes me a drink." He leans an elbow against the counter.
Emily chuckles to him, "Okay, well, did Gus see you make the shot?" She raises an eyebrow.
Sam glances to the side room, "Um... no, but I did make the shot!" He's adamant.
Emily just shrugs to him remorsefully, "I can't give you the free drink unless Gus saw."
"Aw Emily, c'mon, do you know how long it'll be until I can do it again?"
Frankly Sam's confidence is not calming you from the angry stupor, but it is appealing in contrast. Perhaps the best thing to do would be surrounding yourself with people who can ease your mind.
"I'll buy a round for everyone, four more please and then we can close my tab." You glance from Sam to Emily.
Sam lights up gratefully, "Are you for real (Y/N)? You're seriously awesome!"
Four more bottles of beer clank onto the counter and Sam grabs up three, you follow behind him carrying yours. In the side room the purple hair you recall being named Abby is sitting comfortably on a blue loveseat, talking frantically at the quiet boy leaning against the pool table. Sam passes the beers around and you claim a seat on the sofa opposite of Abigail's.
"Guys, this is (Y/N), she's the new farmer in town. Drinks are on her!" He gestures toward you and the others, "(Y/N) this is Seb, and Abby."
"Nice to meet you." You speak somewhat grumbly and nod towards them. Sinking deeper into the sofa you crack the top of your beer and take a swig. The accumulating booze in your veins has made your head fuzzy but manageable. The drinks you've downed are child's play compared to how you used to drink in the city.
"Abby, you should play a round with Seb so I can enjoy my victory beer."
She scoffs to him, "I wouldn't call it a victory beer, you made one shot."
He laughs heartily, "One shot to trump all shots, the world's best shot you mean." He plops down beside you and takes a heavy sip from the bottle gripped in his hand.
Reluctantly Sebastian resets the pool balls and chooses a reasonably sized stick for Abby to use.
"So how long have you been here?" Sam asks you.
You clear your throat and try to speak pleasantly through your father-induced anger, "Since Spring 1, not too long."
"Almost a whole season, we have the Flower Dance next week and then it'll be summer before you know it."
"Flower Dance? I think I saw that on the calendar outside Pierre's." You remember glancing at it on your last grocery trip.
He speaks between sips, "Yeah, It's pretty much "the big thing" for all of spring, the whole season leads up to it."
"I'll probably be there, I've got nothing much better to do." You grumble again with the bottle against your lips.
Sitting quietly now you both watch as Abby and Sebastian make shots back and forth. Abby asks Seb for help every now and then to which he adjusts her hand placement and aim as she tries not to giggle. Her attention to the game is lacking and Sebastian easily beats her. Sam drains the last of his beer and gathers the empty bottles to toss.
You continue to sit and stew, the attempt at healing your anger through company has been lackluster. The unopened emails still taunting you inside your pocket, you let your mind fabricate whatever unpleasantry they must contain. It wouldn't kill your father to be at least a decent human being. Then again, he's stubborn and only sees his way.
Your fingers clink against the bottle rhythmically in unrest and a need to exert the built up anger. Sam returns to plop beside you lazily.
You lean into his shoulder and your leg bumps up into his, "You wanna go?" You ask.
His eyes are no less than surprised at your suggestion and it takes a moment for him to collect himself and reply, "Yeah, sure, it's getting kind of late anyway." He stands and addresses his friends as smoothly as he can possibly muster, "Hey guys I'm gonna take off, I think (Y/N) might need some help getting home tonight."
Waves and salutations are exchanged, and you make your departure known to Emily who looks to be annoyed while dropping a mug of Ale on Clint's table. Sam holds the door of the saloon open for you to step outside. Still the stewing emotions inside you are remaining built up heavily without a ounce of swindling. You scuff your feet against the stone paved path.
"You want me to walk you home?"
You nod in agreement and remain quiet for a while, to which he expresses no distaste. As you pass through the outskirts of town the path darkens expect for the occasional passing streetlights.
"Are you okay?" Sam asks to your continued silence.
You breathe heavily, "Yeah I guess, it's nothing new. I'll be fine." You aren't keen on discussing the subject as it may inevitably lead to you ugly crying or something unpleasant of the sort that Sam would fall witness too.
He nods and changes the subject, "Thanks again for the drinks, you didn't have to do that for us."
"Oh that's alright, it was worth celebrating and there's no way Emily would've given them to you. I saw your shot anyways, very well done."
The entrance of the farm comes into view in the dim light glowing from the bus stop. You're looking forward to just flopping into bed and falling asleep to your alcohol leaded mind. In the morning you could wake up without an ounce of grief in mind... at least to the forefront.
Aged creaks squeak from the old wooden steps up to the porch as they support the weight of both you and Sam, somehow the ancient wood still is going strong. A few moths flutter around the porch lamp in a twisty dance of wonderment. They're so free and can never know the burdens of being a human being. Somehow their free will only upsets you more.
Sam speaks behind you, "So I guess I'll see you aro—."
His words are cut off as you surprise him by taking his lips in yours, first frantically but then softening. You lean into him with his back pressed against the side of the house. His shock dwindles and he matches your movements, lazily but heavily his lips and tongue glide against yours. Without knowing how it happened your hands tangle into his soft blonde hair between skin and tresses of stiff styling gel. Quickly his carefully manicured hair is messed up beyond repair. Slowly you lean away and hold his eyes onto yours. It's only now as your gaze drifts downward that you notice he is wearing the same blue sweatshirt that Shane had also worn every day you saw him.
"Do you want to come inside?" You breathe and ask him.
His shock still hasn't subsided entirely and he struggles to form the words on his tongue, "Uh-huh."
Taking his hand you unlock the door and tumble into the house. Without question you pull him down the miniature hallway and into the bedroom. The giant handcrafted bed fills most of the space, nearly egging you on to find a seat there. And so you do, with a small jump you plant yourself just on the edge and Sam stops in front.
His eyes still glimmer in disbelief for your eagerness to bring him inside. Unsure what to do he nestles himself between your legs and wraps his trembling hands into your waist. You grab the collar of his tee shirt and pull him into another hungry kiss. His tongue gladly finds yours and circles against the wet surface, pulling you deeper into him. The soft fabric of his sweatshirt tugs off easily inside your hands and falls to the floor. He breaks away to look onto you as though he has been entirely hypnotized by the fact a girl like you really exists in this small village.
The anger coursing through your veins is finally leaving through him, granting a small bit of bliss with every touch. Your fingers find the hem of your own shirt and you tug it over your head, tossing it to the floor with Sam's sweatshirt. His mystified expression only grows stronger as he looks you over and savors every curve of you. His lingering study is not what you need to calm yourself, you are impatient for him.
"Sam, touch me, please." Your voice a shallow whisper.
"Okay—." his voice trembles.
His hands travel upward to beneath your arms and wrap behind to find the closure on your lacy bra. There is a bit of a struggle as he fumbles to release the hooks and you meet his hands to help him. Achingly slow he slides it from your arms and onto the floor. Your skin warms beneath his palms when he snakes them from your hips and towards your breasts. The touch is so soft, as if he's afraid to break you, and makes way to stroke every inch of your bared skin. His fingers circle your nipples softly before they give a small pinch.
"You're so beautiful, (Y/N), really, I mean it..." warm breath from his lips billows against you and closes into another passionate kiss.
Impatience beats your ability to take it slow and you've pulled him down to the bed. Perfectly your thighs enclose him, trapped against the mattress with you towering overhead. Quickly you pull off his shirt and begin to undo the fly of his jeans. The bare skin of his chest is soft and slightly pink, coordinating with the tinge on the tips of his ears. His stomach is soft but trim with small contours defined beneath his chest and bellybutton. Your fingers trace through a light sprinkle of babyish hairs decorating his chest which grow darker and thicker as your fingers travel downward to his jeans. With the fly undone you lift yourself only enough to yank his pants off and keep him squarely beneath you. Already his dick has made itself known inside his boxer briefs, straining against the cloth.
Catching on to your speed he undoes your bottoms and helps you remove them, leaving your lacy panties and his briefs the only things keeping you separated. Slowly you begin to dance your hips forward and back to feel the hardness of his dick pressing into you. Riding him dry intensifies your arousal and you feel yourself growing wetter with each thrust. Sam's hands have met your hips and guide your movements. His head falls back into the mattress and throaty gasps approve of you. He is turned on, agonizingly so, just by your teasing.
Leaning into his ear your whisper, "Does this feel good? Tell me how it feels."
"Yoba, it's so amazing, you feel so incredible." His words struggle.
With the need for him to continue on, you take a hand that is grasping your waist for dear life and guide it beneath your panties. The sensation of his fingers accentuates the ecstasy of him against you, making it unbearable. Heavily you roll both of your bodies to reward him control. His hesitant hands take time to touch you lightly, repeatedly, and peel your panties away. Up and down he traces a single finger against the folds and entrance of your pussy, his slow work is agonizing.
Small whimpers are delicately lacing every breath you take, "Sam, please, I want you."
"Oh my Yoba—."
A sigh of relief leaves his chest and he follows your demands. He quite gently begins to push a single finger inside you, testing the waters. Your whimpers turn to gasps that encourage him to push a second finger to follow along the first, making deep motions in and out. Matching the tempo your hips move in tune to him and build the intensity with which he is stroking his fingers in and out. Hungrily your hands grab at him and force him upwards into a furious kiss, your tongue dominating his.
His breath grows ragged with yours and whines force through his lips into you. Greedily your hand snakes beneath his underwear and finds hold of his hard dick. Your fingers discover a bit of sticky fluid ready to cover his hot skin. A small pulse warms against your hand while you grip him tightly and begin to stroke rhythmically. New whimpers cause him to pull away from your kiss as he shudders and braces himself on one arm above your head. His chest constricts and expands just inches from your nose with struggled breath. His fingers pull out to rip down his underwear and completely bare himself to you. The length of his cock springs free easily and presents itself. The length surprises you and curves upward to the top of his bellybutton.
You keep hold of his girth in your hand and trace the tip of it back and forth as he had with his fingers between the folds of your pussy, teasing yourself with it against your clit. Fluid motions of his hips match your movement and he leads.
After a few long moments of this, you unenthusiastically excuse yourself. Before standing you grab his chin and kiss him tenderly with intent to return. In the living room you find the tote bag with all of your essentials and claim it.
Lounging against your headboard, Sam takes you by surprise when you come back to the bedroom. His hand gripped tightly around his cock and stroking, eyes closed and entirely lost in the sensation. Quietly you rummage through the canvas tote in your hand and find a foil wrapped condom floating amongst the rubbish inside. Onto the bed you creep much similarly to a cat and plant yourself between his legs.
You giggle to him, "Couldn't wait for me?"
The shifting of the mattress and your voice shock him out of the trance he had induced. "I wasn't... no, I... I'm sorry." His words a jumbled flustered mess, face growing red.
"Don't be sorry."
Your hand wraps around his where it grips the hilt of his dick while leaning forward and licking lazily against the length of it. A gasp echoes against the walls of the bedroom in response to your lips opening to take in the tip. Quickly you take the whole thing into the back of your throat with ease and continue repeatedly until you decide it to be enough.
The foil wrapper rips open easily and you fit the condom onto Sam expertly. Without hesitation your hips have found their place in his lap yet again while slowly pushing down the length of his cock. Sam's head falls back and a whole hearted moan yelps from his chest and causes you to follow suit. You take no time to ease in and begin heavily grinding his dick inside of you, the speed practically instant. Frequently you change the pattern from back and forth to up and down. Sam's breath continues unevenly and strangled, whimpering uncontrollably while his hands grasp the blanket white-knuckled.
"Holy shit, (Y/N), fuck." His words jumbled between breaths.
The encouragement is more than enough for you and gives you strength to hold the headboard for support as you ride him more heavily. The built up energy of rage has given you the power to mercilessly take him with aggression. Your own moans call out desperately and mingle into his, creating a symphony of bliss in the night. Your head buzzes and spins possibly from shortness of breath, or even just the pure sensation of your bodies mashing together. However, most probably, the sex and alcohol.
The confidence Sam had found at the bar returns to him and quickly he rolls you onto your back, trapping you beneath him. His thrusts become slower and deeper, relishing every spasm coming from you. His hand squeezes tightly around your breast and his fingers pinch at the nipple. The hard pushes into your tight pussy drive you to the edge slowly but consistently. Smooth circular touches of your fingers against your clit make it nearly unbearable. Soon the crashing buildup takes hold and your body reacts in gratitude beneath him. A generous dribble of cum coats you both freshly as your climax rides through. Shivers of satisfaction pulsate through your arms and down to your toes while spasms deep inside of you clench rhythmically around Sam's dick.
Louder moans and strangled breaths hint toward Sam's own climax. You take his hint and thrust yourself heavily and furiously onto him, repeatedly slamming up to his dick faster and faster to match his breath.
Panting, "(Y/N), oh my Yoba, I'm gonna to cum." His voice raspy.
Quickly he wraps his entire body around yours, placing his lips directly to your ear. His breath against your skin builds the knots in your stomach again. Sam's cries grow desperate and short as finally his thrusts cease and he releases himself deep inside you. As he does you fall over the edge again, clenching tightly around his wet cock and allowing another gush of fluid drench his stomach all while your agonizing moans turn nearly to screams.
Sam's now messy mullet softly conforms to the curves of your neck and face, it smells overwhelmingly of sweet citrus and musk. You can feel his breath slowing while his heart continues to race pressed against your breasts. His hand lazily finds its way to one and gives a soft squeeze before falling into a gentle hold. Small kisses against your skin trace upward to your throat while you wind yourself down from the dizzying euphoria in your head.
Your fingers comb through his messy hair, "Thank you, Sam... do you want to stay tonight?" You whisper to him.
"Of course I do." He responds as if you had asked quite possibly the dumbest question ever.
After what you can deem to be a long enough time spent holding him in your arms, you make work of cleaning yourself up and starting a shower. Beneath the burning hot stream of water everything is washed down the drain with it. Through the painful burn of the shower you can't help but find concern that you just treated Sam the same as the men in the city had treated you. But here, it doesn't have to be that way, it could be different.
The curtain pulls back suddenly and Sam finds you inside.
"Can I shower with you?" He asks like a puppy needing his person.
Standing aside you make space for him to join you beneath the water. His hair falls flat beneath it and is surprisingly long without being fixed up, falling into his eyes and caking against his neck. When you soap up a puff to wash yourself he steals it from your hand, taking time to lather every last bit of your skin. His hands slick back your wet hair and stop where your neck meets your back and hold you there. After what feels like an eternity of stillness you pull his head beneath the water and kiss him intently again, letting the shower rush between your faces.
And for that blissful moment, you really can't remember why you had been so mad.
💖🌸✨📝HELLO MY LOVES!! This chapter was extra long and I really hope it was all worth it in the end 🥹🥰 The Flower Dance is soon in the horizon and that's gonna be crazy fun to see pan out!!
Also: you get fan points if you understand the title reference LOL
XOXO💖💖🥰