*a Chris Evans fan fic*
After soccer practice, a single mom gets an eventful ride home…
NSFW, with my trademark fluff; “fluffy smut”
Word Count: 6737
“Just go talk to him. You know he’s here every week, and he’s always watching you behind his shades.”
“Bullshit; he is not,” she blushes. “He’s here to help his brother-in-law coach the team, and spend time with his nephews. I’m not gonna butt in on that.”
“Speaking of ‘butts,’ look at his ass in those sweatpants, I mean damn,” says a third mother.
“I can’t, I’m too busy thinking about his thighs,” she laughs.
The sound must reach the field, because Chris looks up and waves at the group of moms.
“You really should talk to him,” says the brunette.
“Why me?” she asks.
“Well, first of all, you’re single. I’m a lesbian, and Tamara’s married. And if anyone of us needs to get laid soon, it’s you.”
She hides her face behind her hands. “Shh… There are children around! Someone will hear you.”
“Hey, I’m just saying, if you don’t try to tap that soon, Carrie and I are considering asking him to join us.” The brunette wiggles her eyebrows and the women dissolve into another fit of laughter.
Practice ends and she stays to help the head coach’s wife clean up snack. Tommy’s dad had showed up and offered to take him to dinner and wanted to keep him for the night. The two women discuss arrangements for the upcoming bake sale at school and generally catch up on details with one another’s busy lives. She is surprised when the portly woman budges her arm as they clean up the empty juice pouches and announces, “He can’t take his eyes off you.”
“Who?” she asks.
The woman tilts her head toward the field were Chris and his nephews and dog are running around laughing and chasing after the ball.
“You think so? Someone else said that same thing about an hour ago.”
The coach’s wife looks inside the abandoned cleats for the owner’s name. “These belong to Miles. Why don’t you walk them out there?”
She shakes her head. “Oh, really. Y’all are being ridiculous. He could have any pick of all the women in the world. He wouldn’t want me.”
The older woman throws the shoes inside her big utility bag and throws it up onto her shoulder. “You might wanna rethink that. He was at the house the other night and asked about you…” The woman’s words trail off as she walks away.
Her phone buzzes and she smiles towards her son’s teammates and calls goodbye to another family leaving. She looks down at the silly photo her son sent from his favorite restaurant, helium balloons tied to his ears. “God, he’ll be so hyped on sugar he won’t sleep tonight,” she mumbles as she walks to her car.
The days are shorter now and the streetlights flicker to life as it finally begins to get dark. A minivan honks at her as it drives past and she waves goodbye to another family. Chris’s laughter draws her attention back to the abandoned field. His nephews and brother -in- law have left and he’s just enjoying time with his dog. The scene is reminiscent of the reunion video that recently went viral when he returned home from a long engagement overseas. She’s not a fangirl and doesn’t keep up with his happenings anymore, although she knows their mothers are still friendly at church. But even she saw the video.
The whoop whoop of her keys echo against the trees and she sees Dodger jerk his head towards her. His car must be the other in the lot, she thinks as she climbs into her vehicle. She’d like to leave quickly and avoid a confrontation, although her friends put some positively sinful images into her mind. Turning the ignition, cool air blows from the vents and a classic 80s song fills the tiny sedan. But not the sound of the engine. She turns off the music and tries again. Nothing. Something flashes on the dash and the ‘check engine’ light angrily fires back at her. She hits her head back against the seat, watching him start to jog over to her car.
Sighing, she climbs out of the vehicle, reaching for her laptop bag in the back seat. Closing and locking the door, she leans against the trunk until he’s in closer proximity. She feebly calls out, “Hey, can I get a ride?”
His stride stops short. He pulls off his baseball cap and runs his hands through his longer hair. She’s known him their whole lives and realizes this may be the first time she’s seen him without product in it. Her fingers itch, wondering if his hair is as soft as it once was… She blinks away the thought and shoves her hands down into her pockets, fighting the desire to flex them.
He puts the cap back on and removes his sunglasses now that the sun has disappeared over the tops of the trees. He chuckles. “Ah. This looks familiar. I seem to recall a day I needed a ride home and you left me standing in the rain.”
She laughs at the memory. “You were being a really jerk that day,” she recalls. “Come on, Chris, ya can’t be serious. You can’t leave me here in the dark, at night.”
Dodger trots over to her and sits at her feet, turning his head side to side between them. She laughs at his floppy ears and pulls a hand out for him to sniff.
“JoJo, it’s not up to me. His decision. You’d be taking his seat in the car.”
Her stomach flip flops at the use of the old nickname he had for her. She crouches down to the mutt. He nuzzles into her neck and his whiskers tickle. She giggles and looks up at Chris. “Not sure, but I think your dog just got to first base.”
The look in his eyes is unmistakable. A flicker of desire rises up in her belly. She rises tall. When she speaks she can’t deny the words sound sultry even to her ears. “So, about that ride?”
“I can give you a ride, no problem,” he says, blushing at the implied sexual reference. He nervously rubs the back of his neck. Nodding towards the car, he asks, “What’s wrong with it? Want me to take a look?”
She throws her head back and laughs. Dodger jumps up, his paws on her waist, barking. “Your daddy is silly; he makes me laugh,” she sing-songs to the dog, grasping his white paws in her hands and moving in a silly dance before gently pushing him down. “Chris, you know jack shit about auto mechanics. You can help in two ways- call me a tow, or take me home.”
“Come on,” he motions, reaching out his hand to take her heavy bag. She slides it off her shoulder, handing it to him and is instantly transported back to sophomore year, when he carried her bag to class every day. She swears to herself she can even smell the cafeteria in the air. “I’d never hear the end of it from Ma if she found out I left you in a dark parking lot.”
“How is your mom? I haven’t seen her in a while,” she asks, following him to the politically incorrect gas guzzler he drives.
“Then you aren’t attending Mass,” he gathers from her comment.
She sighs. “Oh? You can’t see the scarlet ‘D’ on my chest? Half the church threw a shit fit when I left Nathan… Your mom was cool about it though. I guess she remembered how difficult divorce can be when you’ve got kids to worry about. Thankfully, I just have the one, not a houseful, like she did.”
He sucks in a breath, and hisses out. “Yea, I don’t attend Mass much either.” He tugs at the St. Christopher’s medallion rested against his tight pecs, pulling it out away from his neck and looking down at it before tucking it back into his t-shirt. “Hard in this day and age to buy all that, sometimes… Divorce doesn’t make you evil, JoJo. You know that, right? You did what you had to do… Good to know Ma was supportive.”
Her arm burns from his brief touch as he reaches out to her in a physical display of solidarity. He opens the back door and sets her bag on the floor. “Dodger, up!” He commands. The dog jumps up and turns a quick circle on a towel on the bench seat before laying down and curling his paw over his nose. “Good boy,” Chris compliments, scratching behind the dog’s ears.
“So, uh, Nathan?” Chris asks, opening the front door of the sleek black vehicle. “Is the local gossip true? I heard some of the parents talking about it…”
She moves between him and the door, climbing up into the leather seat. “Yes, he got his secretary pregnant… We co-parent fairly well, but I don’t give a fuck what he does in his private life anymore. His mother came to the house to visit Tommy a few weeks back and said the woman realized if he cheated once, he’d probably do it again, so she called off their wedding. I think the kid is about a eight months old now? He’ll probably end up paying child support to her too.”
“Shit,” Chris murmurs. “And I thought my relationships were kinda fucked up. At least I don’t have moms and kids everywhere.”
His sadness hangs in the air, trapped inside with her when he closes the door. She watches him walk around the front of the car, seeing only the upper half of his body, hidden under that ridiculous retro sweatshirt he often wears. She shakes her head and a small smile graces her lips.
“What?” he asks, opening the driver’s side and peering in at her.
“Just thinking about that sweatshirt,” she blushes, moving a script out of the front seat for him as he lifts up into the seat. “I nearly choked on my popcorn when I saw you wearing it in that movie.” She pinches her lips together and on a whim, reaches out and caresses the well worn fabric between her fingers as he settles his arm over the center console. “You thought you were hot shit when you bought that thing.”
He nods, a faraway smile on his face as he rests his head back against the leather seat. He turns his head and looks over his shoulder as puppy snores come from the back seat. Chris himself lets out a puff of air. “Of all my movies, you saw that one?”
“Not your best, but really a bit like you, I must say,” she laughs, laughing even harder when he flips her off.
“Get outta the car, you’re walking,” he teases, looking down to where her hand still rests on his arm. “JoJo-” His tone is full of long forgotten emotions.
Pulling her hand away, she quietly says, “Please, just take me home.”
He grunts and pushes a button on the dash to silently start the ignition. He eases the car back, exiting the parking space before shifting into drive. “Ok, fine, but I don’t know where home is…”
She gives him directions and he slowly enters into the moving traffic headed deeper into the suburbs. “Pretty fancy neighborhood,” he clucks.
“Pretty damn good lawyer,” she states. “I got to keep everything. Even the boat.” She turns to him with a grin. “Wanna buy a boat?”
He laughs, “Aw, man, that bastard shoulda known better.” He watches her from the corner of his eye as he maneuvers through the traffic. “The men in your life have to learn lessons the hard way, huh?”
She ignores his veiled commentary. “Chris? What are you doing? You just missed the turn.”
“Yes, Miss Fancy Pants Lawyer, we’re gonna get dinner first. Text DeMineo’s and order whatever kind of pizza you want, and an order of garlic bread sticks. And a calzone, pepperoni, extra cheese. And don’t tell me you don’t have Sal’s number in your phone. Everyone in the old neighborhood still does.”
“Chris, we don’t have time to drive all the way out there,” she says, already placing the order on her phone.
“Nathan’s got your son, and I bet you didn’t eat before the game, or you had some wimpy salad while he ate a kid’s meal. I sure as hell haven’t eaten and my stomach feels in knots. We can get it to go and take it back to my place; it’s closer. I’ll call Bobby to check on your car and I’ll get you home, all before the late news starts. I promise.”
“God, you’re still a bossy pain in the ass,” she swears under breath, looking out the window to hide her smile.
“Yea, and now I’ve got the money to use to get what I want.”
Quiet settles between them, and she ponders his words. On the social ladder, her family had been a step up from his, and his mother had always kept the Evans’ kids on a short leash, tight curfews and a long list of chores before allowances were doled out. If she only knew how many nights those kids snuck out the back window of the guest room over the garage. She wipes her tongue over her teeth; hell, Lisa knew. She always knew everything. Chris probably told her. She remembers the summer he cut grass to buy that ugly sweatshirt and how proud he was to wear it and give it to her.
It had broken her heart to give it back.
She’s shocked he still has it after all these years. She rolls her head around her shoulders, trying to get the kinks out, wishing she’d remembered to set an appointment at the spa. She needs to take a day off work; to find some time for herself. She’d forgotten how to be anything more than a lawyer and a mother, and she felt like she wasn’t very good with either one right now. Lost in her thoughts, she’s surprised when they pull up under the bright red lights at DeMineo’s. “Does he still have the red and white checkered cloths?” she asks, her voice melancholy and full of memories from long ago. “I haven’t been inside in years.”
“Wanna eat in tonight?” Chris asks, shifting the car to park.
“Nah, not really up for the noise, but thanks. I’ll have to bring back Tommy sometime. I bet he’d love it.”
“He would. I know the kids love it here when we come with Carly and Ryan. Sit tight. I’ll be back in a minute.”
She nods. Reaching over, she turns on the radio and turns it her favorite station, listening to local radio. The announcer’s voice comes through loud and clear as the station switches over to play the late game. She checks her watch quickly and realizes the time is later than she thought. Reaching in her pocket, she pulls out a twenty dollar bill and places it in his glove box, just like she did when they were teens. He’d always insist on paying, even when she knew he was scraping by, so she always found a way to pay him back. Chris never said anything about it, but he had to have known it was her all those years. She jolts at the weight on her shoulder, and chuckles when she realizes it’s just Dodger. She wraps her arm over the top of his head and rubs the tender spot above his eyes. “You have doggie breath,” she whispers. “He’s lonely, isn’t he, Dodge?
The dog’s quiet whimper answers her question.
She rolls the car window down when he exists the little Italian eatery and approaches the car with a giant box and a bag precariously balanced on top. He hands the items to her and scolds Dodger, telling him to get back in his spot. The dog nuzzles her cheek again before doing as told.
Chris crawls back into his seat and they are back on the road, heading to his house. “I already texted Bobby, and he’s gonna send one of his guys over to see if he can get it to start. If not, they’ll tow it to the shop and look at it tomorrow. He said he’d call later and let me know, and he could arrange a ride to work tomorrow if you need it.” He shrugs. “I’d say if the car is broken down, use it as an excuse to take the day off. You look like the type of woman who works too hard; when was the last time you had a vacation, anyway?”
The box is warm in her lap and the smells from the bag are too enticing. She reaches in for a breadstick. She rolls the bag back down, tearing it in half and offering some to Chris. He reaches across with his left hand and takes it from her. “I’ll have you know, Tommy and I spent two weeks in Florida with my dad this summer, and really enjoyed time at both parks there- holy shit, I forgot how good these breadsticks were-” she giggles along with him, “-and went out to Cape Canaveral, did the space stuff, and spent a few days on the beach. I can relax and have fun; I’m not always an uptight witch with a stick up my ass. That’s just at work,” she explains.
“I never said that-”
“Chris, come on, I know what everyone says about me. I know we don’t see each other a lot, but we still run in a lot of the same social circles.”
He licks his lip and doesn’t comment on the gossip. “Other than the soccer field, when did we last see each other?” Chris wonders aloud.
“Some wedding, I’m sure. It seems like someone we know is always getting married. I think you had a girlfriend with you, and she kept pulling you away from your pals.”
“Well, damn, that could have been any number of times then,” he scoffs.
“Always a groomsman, never a groom,” she teases.
“Ain’t that the truth,” he laments.
She eyes his sad profile and wishes she could take back her words. She exhales quietly. “Sorry; I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Nah, maybe I need to hear it; talk about it; get my shit together.” He signals a right hand turn and takes the car down a quiet lane, not far from the old neighborhood. “I had a lot of time to think while I was away. South Africa is an interesting place, but, man, it was a long time to be gone. Almost too introspective for me. Too many demons to deal with…”
He signals another turn down a shaded driveway and parks in front of the garage. She looks out the large front window and realizes it’s the house he always liked, the one he always said he’d own one day. “Your dream house,” she whispers.
“Yea, well… I guess I made at least one or two dreams come true. It’s kinda too big for me and the dog, but when it finally went up for sale, Tara helped me get it.” He exits the car, jogging around the front and taking the items from her hands. With his own full, he looks perplexed that he can’t be a gentleman and offer her a hand. She shoos him back away from the car and steps down onto the pavement, reaching around to open the door for Dodger to bound out. “Couldn’t give up on all my dreams, I guess,” he states matter of factly. “I still haven’t given up on settling down one day.”
“Always the dreamer, Chris. That’s actually an admirable quality,” she compliments, grabbing her bag from the back seat and taking the food sack into her hands. “Lead the way,” she commands.
Dodger pounces past them both, trying to trap a cricket under his large paws. Chris chuckles at his antics and whistles to him. The dog snaps his attention to his master, and follows up the path to the front door. Chris balances the box on his hip and types in a key code to unlock the door and dismantle the alarms. “I like you’ve kept it very unassuming, like no one famous lives here.”
He nods his agreement, stepping aside to let her into the lit entryway. “Straight on back and to the left,” he says, dropping his car keys and sunglasses on the little table by the door.
Walking past the open living room, she notices how the dark wood floors add a homey touch to the white space. Family photos in black and white peer out from the shelves, loaded with books and memorabilia- Disney, Patriots and Marvel. Walking into the dim kitchen, she finds the light switch and bathes the room in a warm glow. The barnwood table is a wonderful accent piece, and she finds herself a bit jealous of any woman who could someday claim the space as ‘hers.’ The feeling stabs her in the gut. “Whew,” she whistles out quietly.
“Sorry, what was that?” Chris asks, stepping up behind her.
She looks to him, confused, her head starting to pound and she feels flushed. “Um?” She licks her lips, taking the pizza box from his hand. “Chris, I’m not hungry. I don’t want pizza.” She sets the box on the counter. Her heart pounds in her ears and she can’t catch her breath. Before she can really think it through, she throws herself against him, pressing her lips hungrily to his. She flings her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her, and grabbing and tugging at his shaggy hair, his hat falling to the floor. After a moment of surprise, his arms slip around her waist, holding her tight, returning her kisses with the same fire and need. Splitting apart briefly for air, she whispers, “I want you.”
His tongue darts between his teeth and washes over her full lips. “Are you sure? I guess we could work up an appetite?” He bends over her and kisses again, pulling her lower lip between his, sinking his teeth down into the soft, familiar flesh. “You taste the same, JoJo.”
“Fuuuck,” she hisses through her teeth. “You’re good liar, but I’ll take it.”
He scratches his full beard along her jaw and down her neck. “I remember everything about you, babe, I never forgot.”
Her head spins with his touch, his scent, and she knows she isn’t a high school girl anymore, fumbling around on the couch in his parents’ basement. But damn, he can make her feel that way. It’s her chance to see if all the ‘what ifs’ in her mind actually could be true. One thing’s for sure, the beard is a nice, new touch. And he uses it to his advantage, as he burrows into her neck. “Been wanting to do this all night, since the damn dog beat me to it,” he whispers against her. Scratching his beard along her delicate skin, his lush lips find the sensitive spot behind her ear.
“Damn you,” she sighs. “You do remember.” The burn against her neck stings and awakens feelings deep inside she’s long forgotten. Chris always had that special touch, even as a teen, no other man has ever offered her. He knows all her buttons; he helped her discover them. They perfected them together.
She wonders what else he remembers as she digs her fingers into his biceps, his kisses harsh then soft, while she slides her hands over his collarbone. She reaches between them and unzips his sweatshirt, pushing the worn fabric back from his sculpted shoulders. In her mind, he was always the muscled man she sees before her today, always her superhero ready to fight her battles. He spins her around, pinning her against the table. Leaning his upper body away from him, he pulls the jacket off, swiftly turning it inside out and dropping it to the floor. She looks down, smiling at it puddled at their feet before lunging back to him, putting her lips to his. One of his strong hands lifts under her ass, boosting her to sit on the table, while the other slides under the back of her shirt, spanning across her spine. With a gentle nudge she falls into him, wrapping her legs around his waist. A perfect fit, as always. Chris holds himself steady, but she can feel how hard he’s growing, how desperate he is for her.
Like greedy kids, their mouths never part, and they share the same air. Her hands move down the back of his arms, gripping at the tight muscles, pulling back to laugh at the removed tattoo. “I told you it was stupid,” she reminds him, tracing her fingers over the faded marking. His eyes watch her hands and he bites his lip, waiting impatiently to have hers again. He pushes against the table, trying to hurry her up. She doesn’t give, enjoying his skin, and the smooth sensation under her fingertips, adoring all the little freckles and scars she remembers, curious about the new ones. Her hands snake under his heavy arms and wrap around his skinny waist, something she always teased him about, but secretly loved because it made him easier to hold on to…
No longer able to watch her hands as she scratches his lower back, he tilts his knuckle under her chin and turns her face back to his. He raises his other hand up and runs both over her cheeks, his fingertips massaging along her hairline, gently pressing against her skull. His blue eyes wash over her skin, his eyelashes long against his cheeks when his eyes drop to examine her mouth. “Hmmm… I had forgotten one thing. This scar on your lip,” he says, his thumb brushing across it, and pushing her lips in a sensual manner. “You were so embarrassed with the stitches, and you’d yell at me every time I’d make you laugh and it would pull.”
“That was a lot of yelling,” she remembers, lifting the hem of his shirt and running her fingertips along the elastic waist of his sweatpants. “You always knew how to make me laugh.”
Pressing hard into the muscle tissue, he sighs at her touch, tenderly kissing the tiny scar.
The lightest touch, like the wings of butterfly, sends chills through her body. “What was that for?” she whispers.
He tilts his head. “You wouldn’t have gotten it if Scott and I weren’t fighting over that baseball bat,” he chortles, shaking his head at the stupid memory.
“How is it you were always an idiot in one moment, and my hero in the next?” She says, her hands dipping lower down his backside.
“Can I be your hero again? Tonight?” Chris asks, trying to mask his boyish grin when she nods her consent.
Stepping back, Chris pulls her back into his arms, her legs still wrapped around his waist as he lowers himself to the floor, into a seated position. Straddling him, she lifts her arms to hold the edge of the counter above and rocks her body against his, shifting her weight to free her legs and fold them back at his side. She pulls off her sweatshirt and t-shirt, somewhat grateful for the lady-like lace inserts on the sports bra she put on when she changed clothes after work. Chris whistles appreciatively, mumbling some throwback compliment to their high school days. She briefly wonders if she’s been dressing just for him for weeks, hoping to be alone with him. Avoiding the obvious answer, she reaches between them, subtly rubbing the back of her hand against her throbbing pussy, grasping the hem of his shirt and raising it above his head, chucking it in the pile. Freed of the cotton barrier, his arms fold across her back and he brings her to him, leaning forward at the same time and nestling his full beard between her aching breasts. His breath is warm and hot as he whispers his praises, “Always the perfect tits, JoJo; the stuff of fantasies.”
She arches into him, silently begging him to take her into his mouth. It’s obvious he plans to torture her as he slides his nose up one valley, licking along the lacy edge of clothing. His hands never stop roaming across the soft skin of her backside, climbing up and down her spine, her sides, and chuckling at the goosebumps he leaves in their wake. His hands grasp under her ass and lift her, pushing her closer to his mouth, his breath hot and wet as he laps at her nipple through the fabric. The bud reacts to his attention and she longs to free herself, but doesn’t want to rush his sinful tactics, lessons learned as a man, from the boy she loved. Her fingers card through his hair, and she manipulates his head closer, and then pulls his hair, tugging him away, guiding his touch. “Always were a tease,” he jokes as his fingers push under the tight elastic band of the athletic gear. Finding it restrictive, he gives up, instead grabbing the fabric near her shoulders. His fingertips dance over the top curve of her breasts, teasing her moments before yanking the fabric down, exposing her to the chilly evening air. Her nipples bud and the flesh rises from the cold, a gasp of desire and awe escaping her. His hands grope and fondle her full breasts, pushing them together and releasing them before whispering in her ear, “Tell me what you want, JoJo.”
A tiny whine releases from the back of her throat. “What I’ve always wanted, Chris; I haven’t changed, I want your mouth on me, biting and sucking. Please,” she begs, rising closer to him, giving herself to his mouth and shifting her weight across him to straddle his thigh.
He kisses her exposed skin, teasing in circles around her nipples, his own breathing heightened with need. They begin to rock in a rhythm, their rhythm, one they wrote years ago. She grinds herself against his thigh, the lace wisp of her thong pushing between her lips, the denim an added friction. “We’re not on the plaid couch; no one’s gonna walk in on us,” he quietly goads her. “You can have the real thing, not just my thigh,” he offers.
Tugging the long hair at the back of his neck, she rises up and pulls his head back, looking into his eyes. “It worked then, and it works now. I spend a lot of nights thinking about riding your thighs, Evans, so shut up and let me.” She holds his head tightly in place and when he opens his mouth to speak, she shoves her nipple towards him. She quietly coos when he bites down tenderly. “It’s one way to shut you up,” she says, leaning into his affections as his tongue instantly knows what to do. His hands hold tight to her hips and force her back down upon his leg, bending it slightly, raising and lowering her, listening to the echoing whimpers in the room.
His power is stronger, and his ability to hold her up is fueling her need. She feels youthful and greedy, and wants all that he will give to her. But she has a power now that she didn’t have before. The ability to know what she wants and needs, and how to vocalize it- a power she didn’t have at seventeen. “Chris, I want you to fuck me, to truly fuck me and show me what I’ve missed all these years,” she whispers, as his bites follow the curve of one breast to the top of the next. His hands guide her hips as her thrusts pick up speed, and he cradles her, holding her tight to his leg as she rocks back and forth. When his tongue teases around her taut nipple and he sucks her in between his teeth, continuing to bite and suck the sweet button, her cries grow strained and she stops moving, the orgasm building from deep inside, clenching, grasping at nothing. Her need is unfulfilled and she’s insatiably left wanting more as a glimmer of sweat builds over them both.
“You come for me so beautifully, JoJo; you always did, my pet.”
His little name for her, words she hasn’t heard whispered in years and silently tears begin to the fall from her eyes, the emotions too much to bear. She can’t believe she’s in his arms again, even if just for the night. With a strength and confidence he didn’t have in his youth, he hastily flips her over onto her back, the tiles cold against her bare skin. Crouching back on his knees, Chris undoes her pants and pulls them from her body. In one swift movement, her jeans and panties are gone, and she wiggles out of her sports bra under his watchful eyes as he quickly shimmies out of his sweatpants. Resting on her elbows, still panting from before, she stares with wonder at his glorious cock, beautiful and more than she remembered it to be. She leans on one side, grabbing him in one hand tenderly and motioning him to move closer. His eyes watch hers, his own filled with mirth at her inspection as she runs her fingertips over the veiny ridges. Lost in thought, relearning every line and indentation, she jumps when his fingers enter her, not even bothering with a tease. “So wet, and slick; always ready for me.”
They might as well be hiding in the basement, snuggled under a blanket on the old couch as they caress one another, mutual hand jobs driving them to the edge. His fingers pulse in and out, teasing over her puffy lips before diving back inside her hidden well. Her fingers glide along his shaft, fingerpainting with his precum and enjoying the feel of him in her hands. “You’re killing me, JoJo. I wanna be inside you,” he whines.
With his free hand, he grabs at her wrist and releases his cock from her hand, and raises her arm above her head. He pulls his other hand from between her legs and raises it to his lips, waving his hand under his nose to catch her scent before licking his fingers clean. “That’s sexy,” she murmurs as he climbs between her legs, nudging with his knee for her to spread them further apart. He grasps her calf, leaning over her for a kiss as he slowly pushes into her. She gasps at her tight hole expanding to accept him, filling her full. He slides in again, deeper, sliding his sticky hand down her chest to fondle her resplendent breasts. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers into her ear, nibbling her soft flesh. She sighs peacefully when his cold medallion hits her chest and his beard tickles her neck.
“More,” she grunts, grabbing his ass with her free hand, and slapping it before pulling away again.
He flinches at her touch, pumping in and out again. He pauses, pulling all the way out, brushing his dick across her opening, teasing her now. “Sure you can take all this?”
“Willing to try,” she laughs as he pushes back into her, rocking against her again and again. He lets go of her hand and holds his weight off her, pulling her other knee up and with his arms, pinning both of her legs to his sides. Her arms wrap over his shoulders and she digs her fingernails into his back, biting at the Tolle quote on his collarbone. Her body starts to hum with pleasure, finding her release quickly. “God, I needed that,” she confesses.
He continues to buck against her, drawing out her orgasm as she convulses around him, her muscles sucking him inside, deeper and wetter. The quiet sounds of their rapid breathing and their bodies slapping together fill their ears. She can’t hold back her laughter and shakes against him when he starts fussing at Dodger to go away just as he spills inside her. He collapses on top of her, his laughter and orgasm pushing her into the hard floor. A tennis ball rolls into her view and she tosses it towards the living room, the dog bounding away after it, his nails clicking against the surface.
When Chris finally catches his breath, he apologizes and carefully slides out of her. Her walls constrict and throb, wanting to be full again. “What are you apologizing for?” she asks, as he begins to wipe her clean.
“I didn’t… Well, I didn’t invite you over here for that. I mean, I was kinda hoping but…” His voice trails off and his cheeks turn pink at his admission. Rested on his side, still wiping at their mess, he kisses her shoulder. “But really, JoJo, I was gonna pull out, and then the damn dog distracted me, and I’m really sorry, and-”
She mentally does the math, wondering when she last worried about birth control. She has no clue, since it’s been so long since she’s had sex. Bells and whistles buzz inside her head, but he doesn’t need to know that at the moment. She’ll just stop at the drug store tomorrow, within the time frame the doctor once told her about. “Stop talking, Chris; I’m not worried, and… and you’re making a bigger mess.” She wraps her hand around his wrist, looking down and laughing when she sees it’s his old sweatshirt he’s using to clean them. She closes her eyes and rolls her head from side to side on the cold, hard floor. “That sweat jacket’s always been good for that, babe, hasn’t it?” she reminisces.
He chuckles, his smile indicating he remembers that day long ago too. “The couch was more comfortable,” he reminds her.
The front door of the house opens and slams shut, and Scott’s boisterous calls echo down the hallway. She punches his arm, scrambling to pull her clothes over her body. “I thought you said no one would walk in on us?” she hisses.
“Scott, FREEZE. Do not make one more step. I swear to God-”
“Dude, where are you?”
“I said STOP. Do not come into the kitchen!”
Quickly he rolls her to his chest, hiding her face from the room, depending on where Scott might be, covering her exposed ass with her t-shirt.
“Fuck, dude, all I see are legs, feet, clothes and that stupid ass sweatshirt. Hey, pretty girl!” Chris’s younger brother says.
“Hey, Scott,” she calls out.
There’s a moment of silence as he ponders something, and Dodger runs back into the room with his ball, bounding around the island and nuzzling the back of her head and she can’t help but laugh. “I hate you,” she whispers into Chris’s neck.
“No, you don’t. You love me,” he teases, pinching her ass and throwing the ball so Dodger will run away again. “You always have.”
“I know that voice; why do I know that voice?” Scott asks.
“Scott, toss me some towels from the laundry room, and then go outside to start the campfire pit. You can join us for dinner.”
“Oh my God! JoJoGirl! Is that you?”
“Hi, Scott,” she mumbles into Chris’s neck, embarrassed and amused at the same time. “Get the fuck outta the kitchen so I can get dressed.”
“Oh my God; this is so exciting!” He claps with glee and the towels drop to the floor next to them. “You know, I’ve seen your ass before; I don’t know why you’re hiding it.”
“Get out!” Chris commands.
Scott leaves the kitchen area, mumbling about not being wanted, and Chris moves to a squat next to her. He wraps her in the towel and picks her up in his arms, righting her to her feet. “Go upstairs, second door on the left. Just find something to wear for dinner and then I’ll send the idiot home, before we get sleep.”
“I thought you were taking me home.”
“I lied. I trapped you here, and now I never want you to leave again.”
“Are you telling me you’re looking for a woman and a kid? ‘Cause we’ve been looking for a man and a dog…”
“Hmmm…” He hums. “Tell me more about this boat you have.”
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