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Today is the day.
Today is the day that means independence is on the horizon. It’s close enough that Rey can almost taste it, like if she could reach out just far enough, she could graze it with her fingertips.
Today is the day she is free of childhood and all its painful shackles. No more homework, no more studying, no more anxiety-inducing standardized tests.
And best of all, no more Unkar Plutt.
He isn’t in the crowd as she walks the stage. She hadn’t expected him to show, but part of her still worried that he might barrel in at the last minute, grunting as he pushed his way into a seat, smelling like cigarettes and stale beer. Part of her worried that he’d make the effort to embarrass her one final time in front of her classmates by booing when her name was called, loud enough for an entire stadium to hear.
Instead, there are cheers from her friends as they sit in folding chairs with their own caps and gowns, and there are cheers from her friends’ parents, standing up in the family section, clapping for her and whooping loud enough that she can hear them all the way on stage. Rey looks up and waves after she shakes the principal’s hand, and she can see them all—tiny, faraway figures that yell her name and whistle as she shoots them her biggest, toothiest grin.
The Damerons are just as loud for her as they were for Poe. The Ticos made her a sign on poster board to match Rose’s that Paige waves proudly over her head. The Jacobs are practically jumping up and down, waving at her with the same excitement they gave Finn. And though she’s too far away to confirm, she’d even bet that Mr. Solo, the only divorcee of the group, Kaydel’s notoriously grumpy, perpetually single father, is cracking a smile for her, too.
It feels good to know that even though she has no family, no money for college and basically no future whatsoever, she does have people in her corner. She has people that will stand and cheer and be proud that she made it through four years when she could’ve easily dropped out. No one at home would’ve cared if she left and got a job instead of going to class—in fact, Plutt probably would’ve encouraged it, if he ever deigned to have an actual conversation with her outside of barking at her to clean and cook.
But that isn’t her life anymore. Not after today.
Because today, Rey graduates from high school.
Today, and every day after, she is free.
- - -
They go to La Tapatia for a celebratory dinner. The kids order mountains of beef nachos that come topped with sour cream and guacamole and pickled jalapenos. The adults order pitchers of margaritas, and Mrs. Dameron slaps Poe’s hand when he tries to sneakily pour some into an empty water glass.
Rey sits next to Kaydel, who sits next to Mr. Solo. In the parking lot, he’d graciously offered to pay for Rey’s meal, and when she’d objected, insisting that she saved up lawn mowing money for this occasion, he just shook his head and waved a hand. “Consider it a graduation present,” he’d retorted in a low voice that sounded scratchy and warm and authoritative all at once.
She hasn’t argued again, even if it makes her slightly uneasy, letting someone else foot her bill. It makes her think too hard about what to order, noticing the price of the nachos—as delectable as they look—is far greater than the price of a bean and cheese taco. That’s only two dollars, and if she gets water instead of a Dr. Pepper, that’d probably be—
“I’ll have the chile relleno. They’ll both have the beef nachos,” Mr. Solo tells the waiter. When the waiter asks if they want guacamole, Kaydel nods excitedly. Rey opens her mouth to object, because it says that guacamole is two extra dollars, but Mr. Solo cuts her off. “Yes. Guacamole on both.” He orders them both a Dr. Pepper, himself a margarita on the rocks with salt, and then hands the menu to the waiter without a second glance.
Rey’s heart pounds against her ribs. She’s not used to this kind of outright generosity, even from her friends’ parents. Sure, they’ve all fed her in their own kitchens more times than she can count—a spaghetti dinner here, an omelet there—but not Mr. Solo, and certainly not at a restaurant as nice as La Tapatia.
She leans forward, slightly embarrassed, and catches his eye.
“Thank you, Mr. Solo. You really didn’t have to.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, Rey. You deserve it.”
Her stomach flips under his gaze. She wonders idly how she’s never noticed how intense his eyes are, and how they’re flecked with green and gold, just like hers.
Beside her, Kaydel is oblivious as ever. As much as Rey loves her, she’s never been particularly observant, nor has she ever been especially considerate of Rey’s home life or financial situation. Many times over their four years of friendship, she’s asked Rey to go with her to the mall, or to get a pedicure, or to a double feature at the movie theater that would’ve cost Rey a whole week of lawn money. She’s tried not to hold it against her, because at least she’s inviting her places, but saying no over and over again because she didn’t have enough money was frustrating. It reminded her time and time again that no matter how clean she kept her clothes, and how diligent she was about keeping her hair trimmed so it wouldn’t look stringy, and how carefully she picked through each item in the Goodwill bin to find shoes that didn’t look like they were from 1987, she wasn’t like all of her friends.
It reminded her that no matter what lengths she went to to hide it, she was dirt poor.
“You’re coming over tonight, right?” Kaydel asks, pulling Rey out of her self-pitying spiral.
Her brow furrows. “What?”
“Rose and Jannah are coming over to spend the night. I thought you said you’d ask?”
Right. The end of year sleepover tradition—how could she have possibly forgotten? They’ve rotated who hosts each year, though Rose ended up doing it Sophomore and Junior year after Rey’s vehement insistence that they not step within fifty feet of her trailer. There wasn’t anything in the world that could’ve convinced her to show her friends the shoebox she called her bedroom. Even if she did what she could to keep it clean, it never stopped smelling like an ashtray, and there was no telling how Plutt would behave at the sight of a bunch of teenage girls in his living room. Rey didn’t even want to think about how bad that could’ve been.
Rey takes a long sip of soda and clears her throat. She didn’t actually have a chance to ask Plutt—he’s been on a bender since Monday, sleeping in the bed of his pickup outside of the bar instead of coming home. Not that she has to ask him for permission anymore, but it still feels like she does. She can still feel the lingering anxiety of doing something without his knowledge, and the horrible sinking in her stomach that came with him finding out and punishing her.
Even if Rey’s eighteen now and fully capable of making her own decisions in the eyes of the law, those kinds of things don’t just stop being felt. She’s halfway convinced that she’ll feel the residual effects of Plutt’s unique brand of punishment for the rest of her life.
“Yeah,” she says to an expectant looking Kaydel, and nods firmly, mostly to herself. “Yeah, I can come over. Of course. I wouldn’t want to miss the last end of the year sleepover.”
Kaydel beams. She holds up her soda and taps the plastic cup against Rey’s, then leans in and whispers, “We’re going to break into my dad’s liquor cabinet.”
Rey’s eyebrows shoot up. She’s never had a sip of alcohol in her life, for fear of Plutt smelling it on her breath like a bloodhound.
But, today is the day she stops having to answer to Plutt.
Today is the day she starts making her own rules.
“Okay,” she whispers back.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
- - -
The trailer is blissfully empty when Rey walks in, and she thanks her lucky stars and The Sugar Saloon for keeping Plutt busy and far away from her. She planned on tomorrow being her last day under his roof, but had stupidly forgotten about the sleepover, so she has to resort to a different, more expedited plan. Thankfully, she had the foresight to strategically pack everything she wanted to keep into one duffel bag. All of her least threadbare clothes, her journals, and the books from her nightstand, even though they made it heavy. Everything else in her room is too tainted, too laced with the stench of Plutt and his hellhole. She can live without all of the meager, off-brand possessions she’s acquired since she got here ten years ago, but she makes sure to grab the tiny baby blanket at the edge of bed. The pink stripes that used to line it have faded into near whiteness with age and use, but it’s the only thing she has from her past—the same blanket she was wrapped in when they found her outside of the firehouse eighteen years ago. The blanket her parents tucked her into so she wouldn’t get cold on that dark September night. She stuffs it haphazardly into the duffel bag and walks out of her room.
Beyond getting out of dodge with all of her most valuable items, Rey isn’t sure what comes next. Finn offered to let her sleep on his couch until he leaves for his summer camp job in a week, but after that, she doesn’t know where she’ll go. But that doesn’t matter. She’d rather sleep on a park bench than spend another night under this rotting roof.
Maybe some part of her hoped that she’d have one last conversation with Plutt, where she could give him a piece of her mind and tell him what a piece of shit he is. She’d threaten to kill him with her bare hands if he ever brought another child into this place. Maybe she’d even hit him with the baseball bat she kept to keep under her bed, just to let him know that she wasn’t kidding. Just to watch him bleed.
But he’s as good as gone, probably at the bottom of a bottle of cheap whisky, and she doesn’t need to hurt him to feel satisfied.
Leaving without a word and never looking back is satisfaction enough.
- - -
Riding a bike with a duffel bag full of clothes and books is less than ideal, but thankfully, Kaydel doesn’t live that far from the trailer park. It’s kind of crazy, actually, when Rey stops to think about it, how it just takes riding over the train tracks at Mercer road to feel like you’re in another town. The streets are no longer littered with potholes, there aren’t weeds growing over the sidewalk, and the streetlights actually work. Rey turns to look over her shoulder and sees the other side, getting smaller and smaller as she pedals forward. How strange it is, to be so close to something and yet so incredibly far away, all at once.
She pulls up to the one-story house at a quarter past seven. She’s still in the same outfit she wore to graduation—the nicest dress she owns, though it’s a little too big for her in the chest area—because she’d left Plutt’s in a mad dash, eager to put as much distance between her and that place as quickly as possible. It wouldn’t matter, except that it and her shoes are now streaked with mud from a pothole she hit on the way over. She looks exactly the way she always tries so hard not to look—dirty.
The door is painted red, and there’s a big, bronze knocker in the middle. This porch is as far as she’s ever gotten at The Solo house, so she knows that the knocker is louder and more effective than her fist would be on the heavy wood. A gush of cold air hits her face as Kaydel swings the door open. She must try not to look confused or disgusted by Rey’s appearance, but she’s never had a very good poker face.
Before she can ask, Rey supplies the answer.
“I hit a pothole on the way over. But I brought clothes. Obviously.”
Her friend smiles, and then steps back to welcome Rey inside.
It’s not that she’s surprised at how well decorated it is, nor does she have any actual idea of what it means to be well decorated, but the Solo house is…not what she expected. Kaydel’s always been neat—her clothes are never wrinkly, her shoes are always pristine, and she’s never gotten yelled at by a teacher for a messy locker. To Rey, that meant that her house would be much the same, if even a little cold and stark. But this place is warm and lived-in, like something out of a Better Homes and Garden magazine, but with little touches of personalization and quirkiness that make it feel like a real home.
It’s inexplicable how immediately at ease Rey feels upon entering the foyer.
“Wow,” she breathes, taking it all in. “This is so nice.”
Kaydel grins. “Thanks. My dad is really into mid-century modern,” she says, using finger quotes.
Rey’s brow kinks. Why she thought Kaydel’s mother would be responsible for the decor, she has no idea. She doesn’t even know if Kaydel’s mother ever actually lived in this house. But to think of quiet, taciturn Mr. Solo hanging up the strange, colorful art that lines the wall, and picking out the olive green chair that sits next to the couch, fills her with a strange, unrecognizable feeling.
She follows Kaydel to her bedroom with her duffel bag in tow, and smiles widely when she sees that Rose and Jannah are already there, both holding orange gatorade bottles. They both jump up to greet her, and when the hugging is done, Jannah hands Rey her own gatorade. Rey unscrews the cap and takes a sip, and it takes every bit of willpower she has not to spit it out right then and there, all over the carpet.
“Oh my god, that’s disgusting,” Rey groans, wiping her mouth. “What is that?”
Kaydel holds up a bottle of Svedka and wiggles her eyebrows.
Rey shakes her head, already regretting the little bit she got in her mouth.
“Come on,” Kaydel whines. “You’ve gone through all of high school without ever getting drunk. Live a little!”
Absolutely not, she wants to yell, never in a million years would she get drunk off of her friend’s parents’ stolen liquor. Not when the consequences would be so—
Oh. Right.
She doesn’t have to answer to anyone now. It’s an odd thing, getting acquainted with freedom when it’s been so out of reach.
“Okay. Fine,” Rey says, and she can see it in her friends’ faces, how excited they are.
She could get used to this—making her own decisions, actually saying yes. It feels good.
They sit around and look through their yearbooks, and when they get bored of that, they decide to put on makeup and try on basically every article of clothing that Kaydel owns.
Rihanna’s discography is on shuffle, and Rose and Jannah sit in front of the full length mirror, applying winged liner and lipgloss while Rey’s trying on one of Kaydel’s denim mini-skirts. A thought occurs to her as she tries—unsuccessfully—to tug it down.
“Is your dad even here?”
Kaydel nods absently, looking Rey up and down and tapping her lips as she considers what top to pair with the skirt. Rey hasn’t heard a peep from anywhere else in the house, which is only a little bit strange. Mr. Solo is quiet, but he’s also massive, and she figured she’d be able to hear him trudging around in the living room or kitchen.
“He’s in his office,” Kaydel supplies, and Rey nods. “He said he would lock himself up in there to give us space. He’s probably just working.”
Rey chews on the inside of her cheek. “What does he do?”
She isn’t sure why she’s asking. It’s not like it makes a difference.
Kaydel’s back is to her as she rummages through her closet, surveying all of her tank tops. “I don’t really know, honestly. Some kind of analyst. Maybe an engineer.”
“You don’t know what your dad’s job is?”
“Ah! Yes! I knew this was lurking around in here somewhere,” Kaydel beams, pulling out a ribbed dark green tank top with brown buttons. She tosses it in Rey’s direction and then kneels down to look at her massive collection of shoes.
“I just know he works for a guy named Snoke and he doesn’t like him very much,” she says.
Rey tamps down the urge to ask another question. There’s no reason why she should be interested in Mr. Solo’s occupation, but it’s weird to her that Kaydel knows so little about her own father. If Rey had a father, she would want to know everything about him.
Must be nice, she thinks, to be able to take that kind of thing for granted. To know your father will be a consistent provider, and to not care about anything beyond that.
Rey tries to ignore the tinge of resentment that flickers in her gut.
Eventually, they decide to watch a movie, and they all pile onto Kaydel’s queen bed. They argue for a little while about what to watch, but eventually decide on The Notebook, because it’s a classic, and they’re all tipsy enough to get a good cry in. “It’ll be cathartic,” Rose adds, and though Rey has no real interest in watching a movie with the intention to cry, her suggestion of Fast Five was promptly shut down.
Within the first hour, everyone is asleep except for her.
She’s slightly annoyed with them for drinking more than she did and not staying up all night like they promised they would. And she’s even more annoyed that everyone zonked out before they could get to the best part of the night: raiding the kitchen.
Rey watches the rest of the movie alone, and she’s proud of herself by the end for not shedding a single tear. It’s too sappy for her taste, anyway.
It’s almost one in the morning when she decides to disentangle herself from Rose’s unintentional snuggling to go to the bathroom. She needs to pee and brush her teeth, and maybe make a palette for herself on the floor so she’s not fighting for space on the mattress.
She sneaks out as quietly as she can and tiptoes down the hall, hoping that she won’t accidentally open the wrong door. The bathroom door is mercifully ajar, and Rey slips in and takes care of her business. When she emerges, she notices light flickering against the hallway, and can hear the low hum of voices coming from a television.
Maybe it’s the annoyance that all of her friends fell asleep before she did that pushes her toward the light and sound. Maybe it’s just pure curiosity, though she does know there’s only one other person in this house besides her friends.
Whatever the case may be, she walks toward it until she’s in the living room, where she finds Mr. Solo sprawled out on the couch.
When he spots her, he sits up.
“Rey?”
She approaches slowly and notices that he is more casual than she’s ever seen him—gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt, and his hair messy like he just rolled out of bed. It’s…unsettling, how young the attire makes him look. She thinks he might be pushing forty, but right now, he looks like he just stumbled out of a college dorm.
Rey gulps.
“Hey, Mr. Solo,” she murmurs.
His expression softens. “You’re an adult now,” he says, and Rey’s face must betray her confusion at the random statement, because he quickly adds, “You can call me Ben.”
Rey nods slowly. “Ben,” she repeats, and it feels strange and foreign on her tongue.
He gives an approving nod and runs a hand through his hair. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, I—I was just using the restroom.” Rey clears her throat, trying to steady herself. “We were watching The Notebook, but everybody fell asleep except for me.”
Mr. Solo—Ben—nods. “One too many shots of my vodka, I’m guessing.”
Oh no. She saw this coming from a mile away. Of course he would know, and of course she would be the one that has to lie to save her friends’ asses. Her bad luck truly is something behold.
But then he chuckles, looking at her mortified face with mirth and amusement.
“It’s fine, Rey. I’d rather you guys drink here than out somewhere that’s not safe,” he adds, and she feels relief instantly course through her.
It occurs to her then how exposed she is, standing in front of him in her pajamas. She’s always been a hot sleeper, sweating during the night regardless of the temperature, which has led her to wear boy shorts and a tank top to sleep. This night, unfortunately, is no different. She’d changed into her favorite PJs in the bathroom, ready to slip back into Kaydel’s room and force herself to fall asleep.
The television flickers beside her, and Rey turns to see that he’s watching Forrest Gump. One of her favorite movies of all time. She stares for a moment, realizing that it’s only just begun.
“Have you seen this?” he asks, drawing her back to the moment.
Rey looks back to him and nods. “It’s one of my favorites.”
Mr. Solo—Ben—smirks. “Mine, too.”
She doesn’t mean to linger, but she does love this movie. It’s one of the only movies Plutt had on VHS, and she used to watch it on repeat in middle school, when he’d leave her for days on end without any food. She’d stare at the box of chocolates and her mouth would water.
“You can sit, if you want.”
His voice cuts through her daze once again, and she figures there’s no harm in sitting and watching the movie until she gets tired enough to slink back to Kaydel’s room to sleep.
She sits down, purposefully arranging herself on the opposite side of the couch so as to not make him uncomfortable. She wishes she had a blanket, or a pillow—anything to cover up how bare she is in her sleep clothes.
When she pulls her legs close to her chest, she sees Ben turn to look at her out of the corner of her eye. “Are you cold?”
She’s not, but she’ll take the blanket anyway. She nods, and he stands, walking over to a stylish looking ladder that holds three blankets. He returns to the couch and, just as she thinks he’s about to hand her the blanket, he drapes it over her instead. When he sits down again, she can’t help but notice that he’s slightly closer than before.
The movie continues, but Rey has trouble focusing on it, especially with the way she keeps getting whiffs of Ben’s cologne as he settles himself, feet propped up on the table with one ankle crossed over the other. It’s woodsy and clean and masculine, and it’s more natural smelling than the Axe body spray that her friends like to douse themselves with. Ben smells like a man. Rey can’t help but breathe in a little deeper.
It feels good—maybe a little too good, sitting here with him. She's never been alone with him before, despite being friends with Kaydel for four years. She's only ever spent time with him in public places, where he always looks like he'd rather be anywhere else. But here, on his couch, watching one of his favorite movies, there's an energy that surrounds him, a sense of calm, and security, that radiates off of him in thick, intoxicating waves.
As the movie rolls on, she wonders what it would've been like to have that kind of presence around growing up.
She wonders if she'd be living an entirely different life, if he'd been the one to take care of her instead of Plutt.
Her body seems to act on its own accord as she stretches her legs out over the couch, not once taking her eyes off of the television. The blanket doesn’t reach past her knees, so her bare feet are maybe an inch away from him now. If she were to stretch, her toes would hit his hip. She can't name the exact reason why she does it, why her body seems to be drawn to him, but all she knows is that it still feels good—it feels better, in fact, the closer she gets.
Rey can count on one hand how many times she's felt good, or safe, or protected. Maybe it's wrong, or inappropriate, to want to bask in that feeling, but right now, she can't help herself.
The only indication Ben gives that he’s noticed her new position is a rough clearing of his throat.
As proud as she was to not cry throughout the entirety of The Notebook, Forrest Gump is another story. The part that always gets her—when Forrest tells Jenny that he misses her with his voice full of sadness and heartbreak—happens, and Rey can’t hold back the tears that bead in the corner of her eyes. She sniffles, reaching up quickly to wipe them away, and Ben turns to look at her. This time, she looks back, and lets out an embarrassed chuckle.
“Always gets me,” she says breathily.
Ben smiles softly, all dimples, and Rey’s heart flutters. Then he puts a hand on her ankle and squeezes, and a shiver runs down her spine.
She promptly turns back to the movie, hoping that if she ignores it, he won’t pull away. If she acts like it’s no big deal that her friend’s dad is touching her bare leg, maybe he’ll squeeze it again.
“This movie came out when I was ten,” he says, unprompted. Her eyes drift to him to find him staring at the television, and to her dismay, he lifts his hand from her leg and settles it onto his lap. She tries not to pout, or give any indication that she wants his hand back on her, wants to feel his warm skin against hers again. He goes on, and the deep rumble of his voice makes her belly twist into knots. “I used to watch it over and over again, when my parents would leave me home alone. It made me feel safe.”
Rey thinks that now she must be dreaming. Surely, she fell asleep on the couch and this conversation is just a gift from her subconscious. But then his grip tightens again, and she knows that she is awake. She knows that she is next to him, and that he loves this movie for the exact same reasons she does. Her heart feels heavy in her chest, picturing him as a young boy, sitting in front of his television, splintered by the same loneliness that she felt as a child. That she feels, even now, so many years later.
“I—I did too,” she stutters, and when a tear drips down her cheek this time, it’s not because of the movie. “I was alone a lot too, and my foster father had this on tape. I watched it so often that it got stuck in the VCR.”
He turns to look at her. “Will you stay with him?” he asks softly. “Now that you’re eighteen and graduated?”
Rey shakes her head, grimacing. ”God, no. You couldn’t pay me to spend another night there.”
Ben’s jaw tenses. “Where will you go?”
She shrugs. “Finn said I could stay with him until he leaves for camp. After that, I’m not sure. But I’ll figure it out,” she says resolutely. “I always do.”
Something pained washes over his face, and Rey immediately regrets going down this path of conversation. She doesn’t want pity, least of all from him.
But when he speaks again, it’s not shallow sympathy that he offers.
”You can always stay here, Rey. For as long as you need to. We have plenty of room. There’s a pullout couch in my office, and Kay’s leaving for her mom’s next week.”
Rey feels an onslaught of relief loosen the tension in her shoulders, though she can’t quite understand why. She shouldn’t agree, not without asking about the catch. There is always, always a catch.
But something inside urges her to trust him. Something inside tells her that under his roof, she’ll always be safe.
So, against her better judgement, and her years of acquired wisdom, she smiles and says, ”Thanks, Ben. I might take you up on that.”
He smiles back. “Good. I hope you do.”
For a long moment, they just stare at each other silently, though Rey thinks his eyes could speak a thousand words. Eventually, he turns back to the movie, but she doesn’t just yet—instead she studies him, his striking profile, the beauty marks that form constellations all over his face and neck. His lips, pouty and pink and perpetually frowning. She wonders what happened between him and Kaydel’s mother, why anyone would ever choose to leave his side, when it feels so good and safe and right.
His hand flexes in his lap into a fist, then spreads out, then back again. She wonders if he’s thinking about it the way she is—touching her. Feeling her. She wonders if he needs a little extra push, something to ensure that she won’t run away if he tries again. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once, to think that the ball could be in her court right now.
She makes the decision quickly before she can overanalyze and think better of it. She stretches, letting the blanket slide off of her just enough to reveal all of her legs. They’re tanned and toned from the Spring track season, and she’d thankfully shaved them the night before in preparation for the dress she wore to graduation.
Ben’s eyes drift slowly to the skin she’s revealed, and she watches his Adam’s apple bob heavy in his throat. He stares for a long moment, and she wonders if he’s talking himself out of this or into it. He picks up his chin to look at her.
"What are you doing?" His voice isn't accusatory. It's soft and curious, like he genuinely wants to know. She worries, for a minute, that she's read this all wrong.
"I don't know," she responds, but she doesn't move away from him.
Under any other circumstance, she probably would've run away by now. This is scary, and new, and could blow up in her face. The consequences could be dire.
But today is her day.
Even if it's past midnight and she technically graduated yesterday, today is still her day.
Every day is her day now, and she's allowed to speak up for exactly what she wants.
"I like you touching me," she tells him, soft and vulnerable. Her heart thumps against her ribs, her stomach knotting up, preparing for his rejection.
His nostrils flare, and his eyes flutter closed.
"Say it again," he demands.
The roughness of his voice makes her whole body shudder.
“Touch me,” she breathes, staring back at him with feigned confidence. In truth, she has no idea what she’s doing—she’s not a virgin, but she’s also never been this turned on like this before, by so little. She’s crumbling from the inside out, and all she knows is that she wants more. She tells him as much, knowing he needs the encouragement. “Please touch me again.”
It’s permission enough for him, it seems, because he uses both of his hands this time, slowly reaching for her calves. When his fingertips hit her skin, Rey’s eyes flutter shut. It feels lovely and dangerous, getting exactly what she wants.
He slides his hands up her legs hesitantly, barely squeezing as he grips her thighs. His hands drift toward the hem of her tank top, and he looks at her. He gulps, swallowing the question he’s too nervous to ask, so Rey answers it for him. She pulls off her tank top in one quick movement, revealing her breasts to him. Ben shudders, then stares for a long moment at the hardened peaks. Then his hands are on her, his thick fingers tracing her nipples with just hard enough that she feels it all the way between her legs.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, and Rey bites her bottom lip to keep from whining at the praise.
He releases her breasts so he can spread her legs further apart, one of her feet falling to the carpet and the other hiked up over the back of the couch. He pulls the blanket away from her entirely, and stares at the apex of her thighs with a burning intensity. She is somewhat self-conscious, knowing that she’s wetter than she’s ever been from his barely-there touch, and that the evidence is probably staring him straight in the face.
But before she has time to think too hard about it, Ben’s leaning forward, his hands skating up the sides of her thighs as his head dips between her legs. He presses his nose into the material of her boy shorts, right where her wetness is gathered, and groans.
Rey’s head falls back against the arm rest. Her entire body feels like it’s on fire.
The tip of his nose swipes against her clit, and the sound that escapes her throat is loud—loud enough to be heard over the movie. Loud enough to drift through the rest of the house.
Ben’s hand is at her mouth almost instantaneously. He grips her cheeks, pressing his palm roughly into her lips, and shakes his head when she looks down at him.
“You have to be quiet,” he whispers against her mound. His teeth scrape her pubic bone, and her eyes flutter shut. “Look at me, Rey.”
She complies, though it feels like an olympic feat.
“Promise me if I let you go, you’ll be quiet.”
She nods quickly.
He releases her. “Good girl.”
She should’ve known that voice and all its quiet authority would make her melt. She’s a puddle in his arms, and he still hasn’t really touched her.
He yanks at her shorts, and Rey is all too happy to help him, raising her hips up so he can dispose of them easily. He takes a moment to stare at her again, this time bared to him in the most intimate way, and nerves and anticipation flutter in her belly. No one’s ever been this close to her before, down there. She’s been fucked and fingered by graceless high school idiots, but no one’s ever taken the time to explore her the way he seems to want to. No one’s ever stared at her pussy like it should be hung in a museum.
“So pretty,” he says under his breath, almost to himself. Rey’s abs clench as his breath hits her soaked lips, the cool air a stark contrast to the heat that’s radiating there. “You have a perfect pussy, sweetheart. Can I put my mouth on it?”
She nods vehemently, without hesitation.
He uses his thumb and index finger to spread her open, and then he swipes his tongue from the top of her all the way to the bottom, and Rey sees stars. It feels criminally good—she has to bite the side of her hand to keep from moaning. His tongue works with expert precision, flicking her clit back and forth until she’s rocking her hips, pushing herself further into his mouth. He brackets her hips with one arm, pressing her down into the couch to keep her still, but she writhes beneath him as he starts to suck on the nub.
It’s bliss, a euphoria she’s never known, and when he pushes a thick finger into her sopping wet hole, she thinks she may actually pass out.
The hand that isn’t keeping her quiet finds his hair, and fuck, if it isn’t the softest thing she’s ever touched. She runs her fingers through it, scraping her blunt nails against his scalp, and he groans into her pussy, shoving his finger even deeper inside of her.
She wants to tell him that she’s close, that she’s on the precipice of an orgasm unlike any she’s ever felt, but if she takes her hand away, she’ll start screaming his name. She doesn’t trust herself not to, with the way he’s eating her cunt like a man starved, like he’s finally treating himself to the thing he’s been craving for years.
So she comes, biting down hard enough on her hand that she almost draws blood, her body vibrating in his hold. She comes for what feels like whole minutes, so hard that she forgets where she is, forgets her own fucking name for a second. Each wave of pleasure colliding with a new, stronger one, until she finally goes limp and lets her hand fall away.
She gasps her air, her chest heaving, and he silences her panting with his mouth on hers. The taste of her is on his lips and his tongue as he licks into her, and it’s heady and intoxicating, her own flavor lingering in his mouth. His chin is wet with her and his eyes are hooded and glassy as he pulls back to look at her. “Did that feel good?”
All she can do is nod. If she opens her mouth, there’s no telling what will come out.
He leans forward and sucks on her neck. “I could eat your pussy every day.”
Yes, she thinks, please, do that. Please never do anything but that.
She bucks her hips into his, and nearly lets a moan slip when she feels how hard he is, how he’s tented his sweatpants with his sizable erection.
Ben gasps against her neck, then picks his head up and runs his hand over her forehead to grab a handful of her hair. He tugs until she’s looking at him.
“I want to fuck you.”
Rey’s eyes almost roll to the back of her head, just at the thought.
He chuckles, dark and low, and it goes straight to her cunt.
“You want me to, don’t you?” he asks, leaning down to kiss the corner of her mouth. “You want me to put my cock in you while all your friends are sleeping in the next room?”
She nods, grasping at his arms, her hands gripping onto his straining muscles.
He pushes his clothed cock into her, coating his sweatpants with her wetness. His eyes stay on hers as he grunts out, “Say it. Nice and quiet, so they don’t hear.”
Maybe it’s a risk, to let herself speak, but she wants to be good for him. She wants to obey.
“Fuck me,” she breathes, her arms locking around his neck.
His hips buck, making her whine.
“Say my name.”
“Fuck me, Ben. Please.”
He doesn’t take his shirt off, even though Rey would kill to see his bare chest. He’s so broad, covering her entirely so all she can see is him, and she wants to feel his skin, but there’s no time. They may only have precious minutes until someone stirs from the bedroom and ruins everything. The thought makes her stomach clench with fear, and it makes her cunt even wetter. He doesn’t pull his sweatpants off, either, only pushes them down far enough to pull out his thick, rigid cock. Rey looks at it with nothing short of awe written all over her face. She’s never seen one so big—she’s sure that she wouldn’t be able to touch her fingertips around it.
A pang of worry shoots through her at the sight of it, at the bead of precome leaking from the tip.
“Will it fit in me?” she asks weakly.
Ben’s head falls to the crook of her neck and he groans. He uses his hand to position himself at her center, and then he’s kissing her jaw—soft, gentle kisses that are meant to reassure. They make Rey’s belly heat up with something she can’t quite name.
“Yes, sweet girl. You’re so wet; you’ll fit me like a glove."
He makes good on that statement as he notches the head of his cock inside of her. Rey’s head falls back at the stretch. She’s been fucked before without being wet enough, and it’s uncomfortable at best, painful at worst. This is neither of those things—he slides all the way inside in one stroke because she’s wet enough to let him, and all she feels is full.
She clenches around him, and it feels so fucking good to squeeze him, to feel him pressed as far as he can go. She throbs around him and watches in daze as his eyes roll back in his head.
“Fuck,” he wheezes, sliding out just slightly and pushing back in. “You feel—”
He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. Rey understands, because she’s right there with him. She feels like an exposed nerve, like this pleasure is so abundant that it’s verging on pain. He pumps into her slowly, and she can feel it all, every vein and ridge of his cock as it slides against her walls, hitting as deep as her pulse.
“How do I feel?” he asks roughly.
Like freedom, she wants to moan into his ear.
Like the first taste of a life I never knew I could have.
Like a promise that everything is going to be okay.
“You feel—like—” she gasps as he pulls all the way out, only to plunge in with newfound force. Her eyes flutter shut. “Like I never want you to stop.”
Ben leans down to kiss her, and for a moment, they share each other’s breath. He grits his teeth after one particularly rough stroke, and Rey’s nails dig into his back.
“I won’t stop,” he growls. “I’ll fuck you on every surface in this house. Spread you out on my bed. Over the counter. On the kitchen table. I’ll fuck you everywhere. Anywhere.”
“Please,” she whines.
“Next time,” he whispers, voice full of promise.
Rey clenches down hard at the thought of this happening again. She can’t help it.
Ben shudders, pressing his hips flush against hers.
“You want that, baby? Want me to fuck you again in my bed?”
He starts to slam into her, each stroke rougher than the last, and then Rey feels his thick fingers at her clit. She’s never come during sex before, but she can already feel herself getting close. And with every filthy word out of Ben’s mouth, she moves further and further toward the edge.
“I will, Rey. I’ll fuck you anywhere you want.”
Her orgasm starts to tingle at the base of her spine, threatening to erupt and send her into oblivion, and Ben must feel it, because he leans down and kisses her roughly before he says, “Come on, sweet girl. Come on my cock. Wanna feel you grip me.”
If she’s learned anything tonight, it’s that when she obeys him, good things happen.
So she does. She comes all over his dick, legs shaking and vision going spotty. He slaps a hand over her mouth just in time, because she outright screams into his palm, overwhelmed and shocked that she could possibly feel this good. It doesn’t abate as quickly as the first one, and she clenches around him over and over until he starts gasping against her mouth.
“Shit—I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come in you.”
If she were anywhere in the vicinity of her right mind, it might’ve occurred to her that they should’ve talked about this before he put his dick in her. But thankfully, she’s been on the pill since ninth grade, when she started getting periods that left her bedridden and miserable for days on end. He probably should’ve asked, and she should probably care that he didn’t.
And yet.
“Come inside me,” she begs, because the thought of him coming anywhere else feels unacceptable. “Please come inside me, Ben.”
He presses his forehead against her neck and grunts as his rhythm stutters, and then he lets out a long, low moan as he presses himself as deep inside of her as he can go. She feels him paint her inner walls with his come, and it feels lovely, the way it warms her up and fills her. She wants to keep it there, wants to keep him there, forever.
They cling to each other as they catch their breath, her chest heaving against his. It could be minutes, hours, days that they hold each other—Rey has no way to know. All she knows is that she’s here, beneath him, and that he just made her feel as good as she’s ever felt in her entire life. He’s still inside her, getting softer by the second, and all she wants is for him to fuck her again. And again. She never wants him to stop.
Eventually, he picks his head up and looks at her, and the reality of the situation bleeds into the moment. Maybe she should feel panicked, or afraid, or worried that she just got the living daylights fucked out of her by her friend’s dad, but she doesn’t. She waits nervously for his face to shift, for one of those feelings to twist his expression, but it doesn’t. He looks at her with soft, wonderstruck eyes, and Rey can’t help but press her lips to his.
They kiss, slow and deep, for a while, before he slips out of her. He makes to stand up, but she grabs his hand and stops him. She’s not ready for this to be over yet. She’s not ready to go back to being just his daughter’s friend.
He resettles on top of her and chuckles, pressing a kiss to her nose.
“I was going to get a towel to clean you up.”
Rey smiles, running a hand through his hair, and relishing in the way her stomach flips when his eyes flutter shut. She doesn’t know how on earth she never realized it before, but he is beautiful. Every inch of him begs to be touched, kissed, loved.
“Don’t,” she whispers, and his eyes open slowly.
His brow furrows, and Rey bites her lip.
“I love the mess you made.”
He swallows hard. “You’re gonna kill me if you keep talking like that.”
She laughs softly. “Well, we can’t have that.”
Ben kisses her again, and his lips are against hers as he says, “You really want to go back to your sleepover with my come dripping down your thighs?”
Rey sighs. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I want.”
He hums. “Okay, baby.” He picks her up then, lifting her off the couch like she weighs nothing, holding her until her feet hit the carpet. He presses his lips to her neck as his big hands squeeze her ass. “Off you go.”
She giggles and turns around, giving him one last look over her shoulder before she sneaks quietly back into Kaydel’s room. As quickly and stealthily as she can, she makes a palette on the ground with an extra blanket she finds in the closet, and yanks one of the ten pillows off of the bed. She lays on the soft carpet, her body still humming with reverberating pleasure.
She makes it about fifteen minutes before she’s up, sneaking back out of the room, and leaving her slumbering friends none the wiser as she tiptoes down the hall to find Ben’s bedroom.
It’s not graduation day anymore, but somehow, freedom tastes so much better than it did yesterday.