Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

When you think about Ethan Winters the first thing that comes to your mind is his hands. Palms on your face pulling you in for a kiss. Pressing against your bare skin as they caress down the line of your body. They’re pretty. The prettiest you’ve ever seen. On a man, that’s saying a lot. They’re soft, never rough unless you specifically beg for them to be. You swear he gets regular manicures but he denies it, says “I just like looking after my skin.” They always have to be on you. Gripping your hips when you’re sat on his lap, even when you’re asleep beside him. His palm will rest on your shoulder. He’ll often dig his fingers into your flesh, with the utmost gentleness. He always rubs your back with soothing circles when you feel sick, squeezes your thigh when he’s nervous. In public that’s when it’s the most noticeable how much he’s persistent for you to be close. When he has an unspoken desire to keep you attached to the hip, an arm wrapped around your waist and his palm massaging into your side. Proof that you’re here, solid. Not leaving. You’re not going to fade away. 

It started with said soft palm on your ankles, digits of his fingers massaging into your supple skin. It tickled. His hand traveled up toward your calf, he massaged the meat there. You squirmed, giggling in protest. He only kept going, purposely trying to get you to laugh. Or annoy you. He was good at that. He used his index and middle finger, pressing them down and dragging the pad of his fingers up. You were fed up with the tickling sensation. You gently lifted your ankle and kicked him in the side. 

“Quit it.” 

It’s hot out. A sticky humid type of hot. The perfect weather to lounge in, the perfect weather for a pitcher of ice cold lemonade.

What the two of you expected as relaxation, and it was for a while turned into an unpleasant sweaty mid-afternoon. 

You both managed to make a mess in the kitchen. Okay, maybe it was just you. With Ethan making sure to clean up after your every move. It wasn’t his house, after all. 

He insisted his recipe was better than your method. Your method being: squeeze a bunch of lemons and add fucking sugar to taste. Ethan was being a little pushy. He was hot when he was bossy. Kinda like if he was babysitting you rather than fucking you. 

“It’s too sweet.” He complained after you slipped a spoonful of it into his mouth.

“Hm. Make it the way you want then. Big baby.” 

He did just that. The best way to make Ethan quiet was to let him do what he wants, his own rules. 

You can’t deny it was fun having him over, doing domestic minuscule activities. You caught yourself staring at him more frequently, at his fingers when he was peeling the lemons, his hair when he ran a hand through it, him rinsing every single utensil you two used.

You were perched up on the countertop while he finished washing up in the sink. He flicked the excess water on his fingers at your thighs. 

“Not surprising that you make me do all the work.” He quips. You only grin, sticking your tongue out. He leans in to get snug between your thighs. One hand landing on your knee to massage the skin there and the other on the counter top. Your lips meet in a kiss, sweet and tart. Your heart threatens to burst out of your chest when he slithers his tongue into your mouth. 

You can’t think that way. You’re a rebound. 

Ethan had sweat glistening on his hairline, thin white tee with khaki colored cargo shorts. Classic older himbo thing going on.

It was a one night stand. At least it was suppose to be. You woke that morning. His his bed felt so much like yours, like home. You overslept. Irresponsible as always. Panic set in when your eyes had fluttered open, you’re usually up and gone before sleazy one time partners are aware. To your surprise, a hand was draped over your body. It was Ethan’s. 

It felt nice, someone cuddling up to you like that. He made it worse when he started to speak, with that hot raspy voice. Offered you his shirt to walk around in because he had already put your clothes in the laundry for you earlier.

When had you ever slept with a stranger so considerate?

He made you breakfast, his cooking was amazing. He had jokes, albeit total dad humor he still had you giggling and trying to catch your breath. You couldn’t turn him down the second time he asked for your number. 

The age gap, right. 

It’s the biggest cliche, a twenty-something college student who’s home alone for a couple of weeks while her parents are on vacation. First thing she does is sneak in her older boyfriend or lover. You can’t really put a label or even try to with whatever this was, the guy just exited a bad marriage almost a year ago now, or maybe two. You try not to think about it. 

You think you’re his coping mechanism.

No, you know you are.

You tell yourself that it doesn’t hurt your feelings because this isn’t something that is going to last. It would never work out between you. It’s out of the question. Simply too outrageous to become a lifelong thing. You also have to admit it, if this did become a thing. You would never be able to face your parents and tell them you’re dating someone older than you by that many years. Especially not someone who was married by the time you were in high-school. They’d be disappointed, and they would probably want Ethan dead. 

Back to the cliche. Said college student met this white dude at a bar she was forced to go to during a night out with her girlfriends.

You caught him gawking at you several times. It was a huge ego boost, really. 

You did enjoy looking at older men but that always came with the disgust you feel when you find out most of them are married, trying to score with a poor girl they come across in these types of atmospheres. The last thing you wanted was competition involved. And the idea of not being able to have someone fully to yourself disgusts you. 

And so Ethan, fresh from divorce. Touch starved, probably hadn’t slept with anyone in months. You were a goldmine. The first time he fucked you it was sloppy, and a little sad. You relive the memory in hot flashes. His hands leaving bruises on your hips as you struggled to keep a rhythm. He was apprehensive at first, but surprised you as he started to bounce you on his cock with ease. You couldn’t keep your mouth shut, neither could he. He was mewling in your ear, chanted the same words over and over.

“Fuck, oh fuck. Thank y-you, fuck.”

”Feels so fucking good.” 

Each time he thanked you, your heart would flutter. You took pity on him, you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t say it was incredibly endearing. Said pity would dissipate as his hands wrapped around your throat. It was definitely the best sex you’d ever had, and Jesus Christ this man knew how to finger a woman. The first time you gushed all over his fingers and bedsheets. You were embarrassed. You apologized, all while he planted kisses along your temple and down your neck. Your brain caught up a while later, realizing no one had ever made you squirt before. Now you do it every other week he sees you. 

When Ethan isn’t around, touching you. You let your mind wander, how is she living life every day without him? Women don’t need men to survive by any means, you’re fully aware of that. It’s just that…Ethan is kind and selfless. Anyone, any woman would be lucky to have him. He cooks for you, amazingly. His apartment is always tidy. He cleans up after himself well, he has a good job, treats you to shopping sprees. He urges you to follow in good habits. He’s smart. Maybe some of it is expected out of a man, but not like the ones you’ve had the displeasure of having around for a romantic fling in any way. He puts thought into your feelings. Hell he even drives you to class in the mornings when you don’t have a ride. He even fucking picks up your favorite coffee order. He got it wrong the first few times. It resulted in him going on a rant about how you really need to watch your sugar. That you’re drinking a dessert and not real coffee.

But this isn’t about how good he treats you. This is about how good he knows how to fuck you. He knows what a woman likes. You think he gets off on pleasing others more than pleasing himself. 

You’re as much as Ethan’s secret as he is your own. Sometimes you’re unable to keep it fully hidden. It results in getting pushed against a wall near the restrooms in a grocery store. Having him bend you over in the backseat of his car down the road from your house. This is far from what someone would call a regular relationship, it’s codependent on his part. He relies on you for relief and you are willing to provide for actual orgasms. 

It’s fun to brag about too, how sweet you’re treated, how good you get fucked by this older guy to your girlfriends. 

You’re both resting on the swinging bench on the wrap around porch. You sit up against the arm of the bench, Ethan opposite you and your legs are over his lap. You’re in a tank top, short shorts that barely cover anything. It’s just too damn hot. Your hair is tied up and you groan.

“We should've gone to the beach. You know what I’m craving? Those fancy shaved ice thingys.” You’re rambling, holding a cold glass of the lemonade in your hands while he’s making himself busy touching your legs. Rolling his thumb over your sore ankle again, then your calf.

“Didn’t I tell you to quit?” He’s not listening, he’s definitely zoning out. 

“Can I ask you something?” He suddenly responds, not making eye contact. His hand catches your foot as you attempt to kick again. He pins it back down onto his lap. 

“What, something wrong with my feet?” You grin, he smiles and shakes his head. 

“They’re pretty, like the rest of you.” He says, dragging his two fingers across your skin. His other hand is still gripping your foot. It tickles when he starts to rub his thumb in circles against your sole.

You let out a squeal, “Ethan seriously, quit!”  He ignores you. 

Then he turns to face you, eyes meeting.

“I was thinking…there’s…something new I want to try.” 

You play with the bendy straw in your mouth with your tongue. He’s staring at you like a hawk. Your thin strap slides down the slope of your shoulder. You glisten with a sheen of sweat. Unaware that this it’s taunting him seeing you like this. You look like a sweet summer treat he wants to suck on, to feel melt in his mouth.

He clears his throat, looking away, “I-In bed, I mean.” 

“Oh, like what?” You expect him to suggest something completely out of your comfort zone. You work up in your head that it’s an explanation as to why the topic is brought up during such an innocent exchange of intimacy. Maybe whatever it is needs a little convincing before diving in. You’re not opposed, just a little worried. You’ve done the works, even learned new positions just for him. His tongue pokes out, he licks over his lips. He ignores the burning heat between his legs, the growing hard-on he’s about to sport from all that touching. 

Your legs are so pretty. Dirty thoughts hidden in deep corners of his brain coming to light in front of him, all the times when he’s had to pin them down to stop you from shaking, or to hold you in a position he’s bent you into. It doesn’t help that you were teasing him with your tongue, purposely bobbing the straw in your mouth. Your lips shine with the liquid, and he imagines you must taste like sugary tang with that small hint of fresh mint. 

“You don’t have to agree to it. I’ll uh, I mean, if you’re not into it I’ll understand.” He scratches behind his neck, shifts several times and you know he’s uncomfortable because his hands start to traverse your upper thighs mindlessly. He continues to drag on with his rambling of doubt. Your brows furrow in confusion. 

“Hmm? Come on, just say it.” You scold him. You unintentionally used a bitter tone. 

Ethan looks at you then, his hands gripping your thighs tightly. 

“I want you to call me daddy.” 

You were mid sip when he blurted out the word. You gagged as the lemonade went down the wrong pipe resulting in a coughing fit. It spilled down your chin in a spurt. The material of your top dampened in various spots. 

Ethan leans forward. His eyebrows furrow at the sudden sound of you spitting up. “Hey, you alright?!” He’s also very protective of you. He uses that worried tone when you do something stupid. An example being; you tried to prove him wrong about you still being able to do a cartwheel earlier. You ended up twisting your ankle. He was right about you not being flexible enough. You got a mouthful of his lecturing. 

Ethan leans a little closer to you to place his fingers underneath the glass and tips it up toward your mouth. You follow his directions. You drink a huge gulp of the lemonade from the rim of the glass to try and combat the irritation. His hand lands on your shoulder blade and he lightly starts to pat your back. You shake your head in protest, he pulls his hand away.

“I’m fine, uh…all good.” You managed to say, though a single tear falls down your cheek. You burst into laughter. Ethan’s concerned gaze fades away. His hands return to his sides, fingers fidgeting together so he avoids touching your feet again. 

“You want me to,“ You start, breathing heavily, “you want me to what?!” While your lips glisten. You account for the look on his face. You recognize it. Pure embarrassment. He’s shriveled in on himself and it pulls at your heart strings. It resembles the expression you saw before once, when he had spilled wine on you after inviting you to his place for another “date.” You were at the dining table, he had insisted on making you this pasta dish you love. The whole apartment was set up like you were in Italy, no joke this guy went all out. He hung up decorations, had his record player playing tender melodies in Italian. You couldn’t deny—it was romantic. More than you expected it to be. You were being swooped off your feet. That was until…when trying to fill your glass something spooked him, to this day you’re not sure what happened but the wine bottle’s neck ended up tilting your way and wine poured onto your lap. That dress was ruined but you didn’t really care. 

You tried reassuring him, held his face when he fell to his knees in front of you. “I’m—I’m sorry I haven’t done this in so long and I—shit I’m so fucking sorry. I understand if you want to leave.” It was confusing, but you knew deep down he was just stressed, probably very lonely too. He needed someone around. You refused to leave that night. Just like when you refused not to give him your number the morning after you met him. 

"I’m sorry Ethan. I didn’t mean to—you—don’t feel bad okay? I was surprised, that's all.” He can’t blame you. Quite an odd request. He bows his head, shrugs.

“Your ex?” You wanted to laugh off the awkwardness, and maybe also take a blow to Mia. Petty, cause she irritated you just a bit. 

He looks at you like you’ve poured salt in the wound. Yup, don’t ever bring up the big ex unprompted.

“God, no. She has nothing—it’s not—you can forget it. Let’s talk about something else. I’m sorry for asking. It was a bad idea.“ 

The idea wasn’t so bad. You’re more so against it because you can’t imagine yourself sounding that pathetic while someone—well, while someone railed you. Though if you’re honest, you always sound pathetic when he fucks you hard enough. So the longer the idea permeates in your brain, something clicks. 

It’s not that bad is it? Plenty of your girlfriends do it, with men who aren’t even deserving of the title such as daddy. Sure the age gap is large between you and Ethan but it’s not that large for him to be considered fatherly toward you. It’s just a word. Just a kink. It’s not like anyone would know. Ethan has never requested anything from you that was unsavory. The least you could do is help him with this single favor. 

“Really, you don’t have to, I was—it’s ridiculous. Also, Mia did call me earlier. I should probably see what she wanted.“

So he could ditch you for 40 minutes in another room while she rants to him? No way. 

He looks down to stare at your calves. It’s involuntary at this point, his hands traversing back down your legs from your thighs. He traces shapes into your skin. It’s uncomfortably hot but your skin is riddled with goosebumps. Ethan notices quickly, raises his head to meet your eyes. They’re wide as saucers. 

“We can try it.” Spoken with true determination. The way he speaks his ex-wife’s name with so much tenderness enrages you so much it’s not the sun thats making you hot anymore. Ethan being the funny man he is has this puzzled look on his face, as if shocked by your approval. 

“Uh? You…mean it?” He suddenly squeezes his hand around your knee. It feels so good. You almost want to tell him to keep tightening, to leave a pretty bruise.

“I mean it. You should probably leave your phone alone for now. Don’t call her back.” He takes it as his fling giving him advice, but you truly meant it. You don’t want him calling her. Her loss. 

“Yes ma’am.” He quips, a playful smirk on his lips, making you feel like you’re fully in control. 

That’s where that conversation ends. You get carried away, as he sweeps you off your feet and back into the house. Kiss after kiss being exchanged until he finally pins you against the wall near the bottom of the stairs. 

Ethan is skilled with his mouth and even though you might be the smallest bit jealous you admit that some of that knowledge had to have came from age and undoubtedly other women. You silently thank them. You snake your arms around his neck, hands moving to caress and massage through his hair. His tongue curls against yours. In the heat of the moment, when you pull apart strings of saliva break. You let out a whimper when he suddenly uses his hands to grip the indents of your hips to lift you up.

You realize it’s a little cold. The AC was a blessing. It was better than sweating your ass off.

“E-Ethan hold on..” you plead. He lets you take your moment. You look so pretty to him. Sweaty, barefoot, nipples hard and poking against the fabric of your tank top. He likes seeing you this way, breathless because he can’t get enough of your mouth. 

“Cold?” He asks. You signal a no with your head.

"No, refreshing.” You both bask in the seconds of comfortable silence. His lips press to the crown of your head. He inhales your scent. Lingering smell of perfume, sweat, and your lotion. His hand moves the loose strands of hair out of your face.

“Let me get this out.” His fingers pull and tug at the elastic hairband until all your hair falls down your shoulders. “So pretty.” He mumbles, his hand cupping your cheek. You lean into the warmth of his palm. This was soft and innocent. You’re praising yourself mentally for managing to convince him to stay here for the week. 

A grin appears on your face. “Okay ready.” You both slot into place, Ethan lifting you as you leapt into his arms. He holds you tightly, your legs wrap and lock around his waist. He takes one step and his lips immediately press to yours. He’s still trying to kiss you, idiot. You pray that he won’t miss a step for being so mindlessly horny. You can’t blame him, you’re feeling the same way. Wouldn’t it be the worst way to go out? Your parents coming back from a holiday and finding their daughter splayed out on the bottom of the stairs dead next to her lover who’s half her age. You’d be such an embarrassment even after death. 

Your back presses on another wall. You made it up all the steps without a single slip or stumble. He pries himself away from your mouth. You’re about to question him before he answers unintentionally, “W-Which…one is your room..again?” Sounding like he’s drunk off desire you mentally want to facepalm. Instead, you roll your eyes.

“Ethan, seriously?” You mutter under your breath. He’s been here for the last two days and can’t remember? It’s fine. Older himbo kinda thing goin’ on. You point to the door. He lets you put your full weight on him again. His tongue suddenly darts out and starts to lap against your neck. It earns him a quiet gasp from you.

“You taste like lemonade.” He manages to whisper against your skin, and you start to snort.

You imagine the tart is mixed with sweat. “Cause you!” 

He doesn’t bother shutting your bedroom door. He waits until he’s close enough to your mattress. You’re starting to hate that he’s so gentle or maybe you hate that you’re growing incredibly fond of it. He lays you down slow, nurturing by default. His mouth peppers kisses down your jawline to your neck. You let the overwhelming swarm of butterflies erupt in your stomach. Little moans leaving your mouth.

Your eyes idle around your room. You’re drawn to the shit on your wall, drawings you made back when you were a kid littering it, dozens of posters of your favorite movies and bands, photos of you and your friends on the mirror. Your makeup a mess on the countertop of the dresser.

Ethan’s bag and shoes in the corner by your closet. You want this bliss to last. His hair tickles your neck. It hits you now, the entire point of you two fucking right now is because the deal you made with him. How does one attempt to call their partner daddy in bed, do you wait for a sign? The idea of sex with him is suddenly intimidating. The last thing you want is to fuck up and say it at the wrong time. Could there even be a wrong time to say it? 

Shit. 

Ethan’s soft lips suckle on your tender skin. You feel his teeth suddenly grazing. He bites. You sway your head to the side, giving him full access. He takes it with pride. Biting, sucking. It makes your stomach churn with delight. Your cheeks turning rosy red from being flustered. He’s marking you as his. Your brain goes haywire at wanting to know if he saw himself as yours.

Can’t think about that.

At least your jitters are gone. One of his fingers hooks into the strap. A single downward tug of the fabric and your breasts spill out with ease. You sigh, fingers finding their way into his blonde hair. You grab a fistful of it for preparation. It’s routine. His mouth is attached to one of your nipples. He swirls his tongue then sucks the sensitive bud into his mouth. His right hand massages the other breast. His fingers pinch and roll the nipple. “Ethan…” Eyes roll to the back of your head as your lids flutter closed. You want to sink. Letting yourself drown in the sensation. It’s a gentle pleasure, pulling you in. He’s buttering you up. Your hair is a mess as it spreads under you against the pillows. Ethan’s eyes gaze over your face. He feels himself twitch underneath his shorts and briefs. He needs to get you off. 

He has no idea behind your lids you picture him. Making you dinner, with one of those cheesy aprons on. Him holding your hand. Kissing your temple. Picking you up from class on campus in his cool car. Mia doesn’t exist in these fantasies. His feelings toward her don’t exist, no baggage, no missed calls, no turmoil, he’d be yours for—

“Hey, sweetie?” 

He coos with concern. You open your eyes and prop yourself up on your elbows to see his wide eyes staring back at you. Your nipples covered in his spit.

“Y-Yeah?..” You’re dizzy. Lost in the idea of having him permanently, for life if you could. 

“Making sure you’re still with me.” He plants a kiss on your forehead. He lets his lips linger over yours. He tortures you this way. You watch him squirm, then maneuver himself between your thighs. Throughout your daydreaming he got rid of your tank top. Your bottom half still clothed. 

He’s got you soaked, the moisture threatening to seep through the material soon if he keeps it up. And he will. He snakes an arm down your torso, slipping in between the valley of your thighs.  A single finger traces over the seam of the shorts. You watch intently. Your breathing heavies. The sly bastard knew where to touch you. Even with your clothes on. Now with two fingers, he presses them hard against your crotch. He wants to rip the damn things down your legs, giving your skin red marks from how harsh. But he doesn’t. He won’t do that. He’s gentle. He’s soft. You hate it and love it. He rubs for only a few minutes until your protest begins. Which he knew was coming. 

“Ethan….” More annoyed than desperate, you want him to hurry. He knows. Doesn’t want to keep you waiting after hearing your little plea.

“Sorry, sweetie.” Oh god. Your knees wobble and you feel a shiver crawling up your spine at the sound of his voice. Both hands, he uses his fingers to slip into the waistband of the tights shorts. It takes a moment but he tugs them down while you lift your hips off the mattress for an easier removal.

“I’ll clean the mess after, we know you won’t.”

You give him a pouty lip, and he smirks.

“What? It’s true. This room was a damn mess before I got here.” 

“Oh my God.” You groan. You sit up straight and move your leg and he grabs it. Pins it down onto the mattress and before you could pretend to try and get up he tugs your thighs toward him.

“Uh uh.” His hand wraps around your knee, softly massaging it. Your plain cotton underwear has a wet spot in the middle. Ethan’s cock twitches again. Throbbing behind the zipper, yearning to feel relief. He sighs, he just needs a taste of you before being inside. 

“Be nice to me, please.” He ignores you. You watch as he sinks down low between your hips. Under your navel he starts darting his tongue out against the soft skin there. It burns. Makes your mind go numb again. You don’t mean it to, that thought starts creeping into your brain. It distracts you too much and you start to squirm. Until Ethan taps on your shin. He’s on his knees at the edge of your bed. You're spread open for him. His hands snake up and pull at the waist of your underwear. You let out a huff of air, a hot feeling in your stomach coiling. He pulls the pair up and over your thighs. He drives you wild without even having to do anything. Both your knees bend and your heels rest comfortably on the mattress. 

God. He feels himself unravel before you. He wants to groan loudly. The mere sight of it leaving him dazed. Puffy cunt glistening in the sunlight that shines through the window. It’s waiting—no aching to be touched by him. He needs to make you feel good. He kisses your ankle, then leaves a trail up toward your knee. Your eyes close again.

Ethan, Ethan.

He’s what you think about all the time. Every second of the day. You twitch when his lips press a kiss on the inside of your thigh, so dangerously close to your cunt. 

Mia. Why’d she call him? 

Your face contorts into a sour expression. Ethan’s mouth hangs open, while talking against your skin.

“Baby, you okay?” He’s so worried he might’ve done something wrong, his lips glistening with his saliva.

It’s just—you hate to think that she had this at one point and might miss it. Such a petty and pointless thing to be upset at. They’re not together anymore. There’s nothing to worry about. You gulp, forcing the image out of your head.

“Yes. Okay.” You whimper. It’s okay. He’s here right now, with you. Touching you. “Want your mouth. Please.” He rarely gets to hear you beg for anything, mainly because he’s impatient himself when it comes to pleasuring you. This only encourages him. You watch as his head dips in between your thighs. Your right hand reaches down and you run your fingers through the blonde strands of hair. 

He leans in, drags his tongue up the slit of your drooling cunt. His eyes immediately darted up to look at your face. Your eyes are screwed shut, knuckles turned white when your fist holds onto his head of hair. You tasted like pure heat. His cock twitches. He needed this. He’s been thinking about it since he saw you playing with your straw in your mouth while sipping your cold drink. Your lips and your tongue. How the glass had water droplets forming on the outside. Sweat on your skin, he needed to taste you then so badly. He would come right now if it weren’t for his self control and determination to fuck you. Ethan is much too impatient to wait for you to look at him. 

He needs more, he needs his mouth on you. Your thighs tremble beside his cheek. He pulls away strands of slick falling off his tongue like drizzling honey. Your pussy is literally dripping for him. The position he’s in, he can’t even try to attempt and feel friction. He ignores his aching cock. All for you. His index and middle finger came up to play with your clit, it looked so pretty swollen, desperate to be touched. His brain registers the noises you’re making. Mewls and breathy moans. 

“Ethan…” You call out for him, extra whiny. You want him. Want him to see you, look at you. His eyes meet yours. Glossy blue-grayish hues. His mouth was coated in your slick and his spit. The sight was nothing but arousing and magnificent.

“I’m here, sweetheart.” He coos, he rolls the bundle of nerves between his fingers. The pleasure is overwhelming. Your thighs involuntary squeeze together and Ethan is quick to smack the skin to prevent it. You shudder, a moan abruptly leaving your mouth. 

“Pretty. So wet.” His voice itself almost makes you come on the spot. You pull at the fistful of his hair and then your world starts to crumble around you. Without any warning. Slurping, sucking, kissing. The filthy sounds of Ethan completely devouring you fills your ears. Your head spins. Nothing else matters. Your hips lift, again Ethan smacks you lightly. His other hand pins you hard, you can’t move if you try. You can see his tongue occasionally, sliding back and forth onto your cunt. But it’s the sucking that gets you. The way he slurps up all the wet and sticky slick. Spits a fat glob back onto your clit. Uses his tongue to spread it across the length of your heat. Comes back up to suckle on your clit directly. 

“Oh—fuck, fuck, fuck.”  

It’s more than pleasurable. More than him just fucking you. It makes you delirious. You want this to be permanent. He stops in his tracks. His tongue licks a stripe up your inner thigh, breaking the onslaught of pleasure he was providing. “Please,“  You’re aware of how pathetic you sound, right now it doesn’t embarrass you. You’re too caught up, “please—ah—don’t stop.” Ethan being the giver he is. Obliges immediately, his tongue starts to press inside of your hole. He fucks you like this. Using the muscle and pressing it as deep as he’s able to manage. He moans, vibrations felt inside of you. It’s dizzying. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, lids fluttering closed. 

His cock is pressed tightly against the material of his shorts, he can feel a dampening where the tip is. If only you knew how rock-hard and throbbing his cock is. You’d make him stop and give him what he needed. Ethan is patient when it comes to himself. More than you are even if he can be demanding and bickery at times. It wouldn’t matter if you knew anyway. He loves eating pussy. He loves eating you out. He likes the way your fingers start to claw at his back. How you call his name, he’ll answer. He just wants to make you feel good. He wants to give you all of him. He licks fat stripes against you. You writhe underneath him. 

You awoke something inside of him that he buried away when he was with Mia. It wasn’t like that at first, of course. Over the years she drained him until there was no passion. She’d even push away when he tried placing a hand on her soothingly for comfort. She grew tired of him. Ethan finds his mind wandering, all while his tongue is on your cunt.

Absolutely not groovy, he thinks. The taste of you brings him back to the surface and he pins you harder because poor needy thing you are. Trying to rut your hips and ride his tongue too early. He’s decided he wants to see you come already.

Your back arches when his fingers run up your folds again. They’re so fucking nice. His hands, his hands. His hands. Want them on you, inside you. You get what you yearn for. He slips two of them into your soppy hole.

“Fuck.” You hear Ethan hiss. He’s always shocked at how tight you are considering the number of times he’s shoved his cock inside of you. You’re so warm wrapped around him. This sight will never get old to him. There are instances where he had to sneak his fingers into you. Under tables, behind bookshelves, in the car after picking you up. His favorite had to be this way. Watching you come when you’re bare.  In a space where you didn’t have to be silent and clamp your palm over your mouth. His fingers piston inside of you at a rapid pace. He’s knuckle deep. Until the point his wrist starts to ache. 

White light flashing. Your back arches. Ethan doesn’t bother to halt your movements. Your body tenses, then seizes. He furrowed his eyebrows, wincing at how tight your pussy contracts around his fingers. Mouth agape, he whimpers. Eyes watching your body convulse. You gush around his fingers, spraying onto his palm and your bedsheets. His name leaves your lips several times because that’s all you can think of. All that’s able to come out. Ethan you cry out. His hand that was pinning you down starts to rub circles onto the flesh of your stomach.

“There you go honey. It’s okay. That’s my girl.” It’s the last thing he says before his tongue slips out of his mouth. He presses it flat against your already fucked out cunt.

To make it easier for you to recover it was an unspoken rule. You lift your leg , he grabs it by the soft tissue of your calf. He hikes it right above his shoulder. Your warm thigh against the side of his face as he lets you sloppily rut your hips against his face. You ride out your high against his tongue. 

“Y-You made me come so hard daddy.”  You’re squirming as you fall back down to earth. Slow stop of your hips. Ethan lifts his head up immediately, tongue still pressed to you. Holy shit he thinks. He’s going to come in his pants. It’s from the way your weak, post orgasmic tone sounds. The word was coated in honey.  You were in a daze, hardly realizing that you did it, you said it without waiting for the sign. “Shit.” He grunts, burying his face into your thigh. He needs you.

“Fuck, Oh God. Say it again.” He struggles and springs up from the ground. His knees are about to keel over from sitting on them for so long but the mattress is there for support. He crawls on top of your body. It’s still shivering, recovering from the intense assault of an orgasm. He hovers over you. He makes out that the tip of your nose is all flushed red and your eyes glossy.

“It was so good daddy.” You babbled, eager to please him. He made you see stars after all. Both of you have your legs dangling off the edge but he grabs you. His fingers dig into your flesh while he moves you up enough until your head falls onto the pillows. Small yelp from your mouth. You need to be comfortable. He wants to be nothing but gentle, at least for now. “Yeah, that made you feel g-good?” His voice cracks. It sounds like he’s actually concerned. Like he’s trying to make sure he was enough for you with the way he speaks softly.

Reminiscent of the first time, when you had come down from the high, he nudged you, pulled you close and asked, “Was that..? Was that good?” You were hardly able to speak, of course it was good. Mind blowing actually. You remember nodding, then dozing off, not thinking in a million years that you’d end up falling for him months after that one encounter. 

You’re tired of Ethan being dressed, especially after making you come so hard. “I wanna touch you, please let me touch you.” 

Ethan whines, nodding. “Jesus fuck. Please, please. Shit. Yes.” His pretty hands grasp at the material of his shirt. You can smell the faint cologne he put on today. He pulls it up and over his head and flings it straight to the floor. You rise from lying and lean up. Ethan is upright in front of you after mimicking your movements. Your mouths meet. You share a sloppy kiss. He tastes…like you. His mouth is wet, even wetter now as your tongues glide against each other. 

He moans into your mouth and you let him explore every crevice inside. It’s like two teenagers with raging hormones discovering making out for the first time. He’s pushing his hips forward against your hand when you palm over the bulge of his shorts. You feel guilty for making him wait so long for relief, you’ll make it up to him. A grunt emits from the back of his throat as he pries his mouth away from yours. He has to restrain himself in order to slide off the bed. You watch him stand on the floor for a few seconds, letting his clothes fall to add onto the messy pile. There it is, throbbing, spilling. It’s pretty, and thick, pink at the tip. Maybe it’s disgusting to think but it goes through your head again, it’s what she can no longer have. This man who treats you so well. Who makes your heart race. It hurts so much.  

“Ethan…” You feel it there, the words. They don’t come out. 

Though he’s not exactly in a position right now to hear you cry your heart out. He’s needy, desperate. He seems in a daze when he crawls back onto the bed, wincing each time his cock nudges toward his own belly. Your hands start touching everywhere you’re able. His toned body is incredibly dreamy. There’s been countless nights where you toss in bed, hand down between your thighs and imagine him manhandling you when he can’t come to your aid. Your mouths clash. 

“Ethan,” You speak in between messy kisses, teeth clicking. Slight ache felt before you finally reach down with your hand and wrap it around the base of his cock. You feel him shudder, pull away from the kiss.

“Oh. Fuck.” He says delicately, his eyes are closed and he looks angelic. 

“Lay down. Please.” He knits his eyebrows together, huffing loudly. It honestly sounds like he might start hyperventilating. You watch as he tenses, relaxes. He exhales and lays his back straight against your mattress. His eyes don’t leave yours as you position yourself sloppily between his legs. His hand reaches for your leg and it lands on your thigh, trailing up. “Please.” His face is flushed red. You feel an overwhelming amount of confidence and power. To see him crumbling like this. He grips the flesh and kneads it. Precum spills over the curve of the tip of his cock and slides down the shaft. 

“You want this really badly, don’t you?” You need to hear him say it out loud.

“Fuck—yeah. Please. I need you, sweetheart.” He babbles. It makes your mouth water. You let him continue to massage your inner thigh, inching closer and closer until you’re sitting on your knees in between his legs. If you could get rid of the urge to have your mouth stuffed full of his cock you’d ride him like your life depended on it. 

It’s painful to hear all those pet names. A fire is starting in the pit of your stomach, your eyes look down. You need to focus on pleasuring him. You have to give him what he wants. One hand wraps around his cock again, small in comparison. Ethan tilts his head back. He’s in your bed. Ready and willing to give himself to you.

You’re breaking your own heart again, thinking that if maybe, had Ethan or you been born closer you could’ve met in high-school or college. It would be something to talk about when you’re older, to hypothetical kids.  Married after graduation, sweethearts since youth. No Mia in the picture. You’d have him to yourself, forever. 

His mewling snaps you out of it, he’s making these hot little sounds, “Ah—fuck.” You were absentmindedly pumping his cock. “F-Fuck…that’s good.” You’ve barely touched him and he’s already praising you. Your lips curve into a smile instinctively. The man tenses underneath you as you lean forward. Your mouth opens. You let all the spit pool toward the tip of your tongue. Ethan’s body trembles. He watches you swipe your thumb over the slit, spreading your spit and coating his cock in the makeshift lube. It’s always hot when you jerk him off like this. The messy wet shlick sounds that fill the room. It makes the both of you blush. He’s gripping the fitted sheet with one fist, the other is tangled in your hair. 

If that was what he considered good you can only imagine how he’s feeling now. You look up at him through your lashes, eager to rile him up. “Does that feel good?” Ethan is the only person you’ve felt inclined to use this tone with, to drive him absolutely wild the way he does it for you. 

“Fucking amazing, s-sweetheart.” He’s sputtering his words, panting hard. You need more spit, you need him dripping if you want to ease him into your mouth before you actually die. He shudders when you spit another glob of it onto the tip. “Shit. Look at you—oh—Jesus.” You’re using two hands at this point, getting it all wet and glistening. Squeezing slightly when you come back up to the tip and you see all your spit gather at the top, the sight makes your cunt pulsate.

“Can’t wait to use my mouth on it.” You whine. 

It’s slow at first, when you finally lay between his legs, lifting your head enough. Tongue poking out, licking a stripe up the underside of his cock. Pure heat and slight saltiness to it. Your eyes close, you’re drenched, a trail of slick running down your thigh. You want desperately to appease yourself and this is the only way. You spit even more on the tip, Ethan groans. “God that’s fucking hot.” He mumbles a bunch of other profanities, telling you how pretty you look when you start to swallow down his cockhead. You slide down as much as you’re capable. That other hand is gripping the base of his cock hard. 

The pain is minimal, a strain you can ignore for now. You weren’t someone who was fond of giving head much—Then you met Ethan. The mere thought of him using your mouth is one of your go tos when you’re alone. It’s something about the way he gathers your hair like he is now, moving it out of your face so he can see you clearly, “Fuck. That’s it, my fucking girl.” How he can speak so filthy, yet try to be gentle at the same time. It makes your head spin. You exhale with your nose, trying to ease yourself and take him deeper. 

“That’s it. That’s it honey.” The encouragement makes you blush, your eyelashes flutter up at him. Your eyes begin to water when you take him deeper. His cockhead dips into your throat, and you let yourself gag around it. His hand immediately rests under your chin, while your mouth is messy with drool and spit. “So fucking—pretty—fuck.” He groans, tense underneath, you can see the way his thighs tremble before he settles them still. “Taking it like a good girl.” 

To finally satisfy your craving you waste no time when your mouth sinks back onto him. You fuck him into your throat. He tightens his grip on your hair, not enough to cause any discomfort. You make obscene sounds with your lips around him. It’s hot and dizzying, your mind emptying as you fuck him with your mouth. 

He makes you feel perfect, the way he rubs a thumb over your swollen lips that have a tight seal around his cock, “Fuck that’s it. Christ.” He starts to roll his hips off the mattress and you feel him twitch into your mouth. You wanted this. You wanted to feel the warmth spread throughout your throat. You wanted it so bad you could cry. He’s using you at this point as your strength fizzles out, you hold your head up enough for him to continue thrusting up. It only lasts a little longer. 

When the pain becomes unbearable is when you decide to pull off, strings of spit connecting your lips to his cock. That’s when your hands take over again, wet sloppy sounds coming back as spit dribbles down your chin. You look a mess of tears and drool, sloppy and not at all what someone might consider pretty right now but Ethan is in awe. “Jesus—fuck. You look so—pretty. Fuck”  

He could’ve came right there if it weren’t for his need to fuck you until the point of exhaustion. “Tight little mouth for me to fuck.” It’s spine chilling when he’s talking so much filth, makes you moan out loud and your mouth is once again wrapped around his cock. Sucking as hard as you can and bobbing your head down half the length, “Fuck…” His hand tangles in your hair, pulling hard. You hear him whimper, it’s music to your ears. You pop your mouth off again, tears rolling down your cheek as you pump him sloppy but fast, wrist aching. 

You’re on the brink of your own orgasm, without even being touched. The whole ordeal made you dripping wet down your thighs. You just want him to give you what you want. “Come in my mouth daddy. Please—“ Your voice is hoarse, and your throat burns. A pained sound, like it was ripped from his throat from you using that word again. He has to grab your hand to make you stop. Not before he starts mewling, moaning out as you slow your strokes. 

You have no idea that his mind threatens to flash images of Mia. Not because he’s thinking of her but this always happens. It’s out of guilt. Luckily it stops. He just sees you. “I need to fuck you baby, please. Please fuck me I can’t take it anymore.” He starts to part your hair and tucks it behind your ear.

“That was so fucking good. You’re such a good girl. My fucking girl. Pretty mouth—fuck. I need you on my cock.” He’s rambling, incoherently. Cute. 

He can come on your face some other time, with the way your cunt is leaking and clenching around nothing you have to agree that you do need to fuck him right now, you need him inside. 

You nod your head. An overwhelming dread grows above you. Your mind wanders too far for you to make it stop in its tracks. You think of what happens after this—When he packs his bag at the end of the week and leaves you here in this house, empty. It makes you want to savor this moment that much more. You sloppily straddle Ethan. Thighs resting on his hips. His cock slightly pokes against your thigh. His hands immediately start their game. Pressing into your sides. Traveling up your skin, landing on your breasts again. You let him touch you. Your eyes flutter closed. Routine. Your routine. His mouth finds your nipple again. He can’t get enough. 

He buries his head in your sternum. Between the valley of your breasts and inhales. Sweat, lotion, perfume. The heavy stench of sex. It’ll only increase. Your hand snakes down between where your two bodies meet. Shaky fingers wrap around the throbbing, slicked up with your spit cock. So pretty. He presses his mouth to the shell of your ear and starts to do that mewling thing again. It makes you pulsate again. Your teeth are gnawing on the inside of your cheek. 

You lower yourself, his throbbing tip lightly grazing the bundle of nerves. His cock resting in between the lips of your pussy. Hot wet, bare flesh on bare flesh. He coos, coils both his arms around your waist. 

“Jesus fuck.” It never gets old hearing him cuss and hiss when you touch him. His breath on your skin makes the hair at the back of your neck stand. 

Your eyelids flutter open, rolling to the back of your head as they shut again. Biggest you’ve ever had. Your hips barely start to roll forward. Ethan’s much more mature attitude strikes, shattering your attempt at appeasing your shared arousal. 

“What...what are you doing?” The way he stutters his words, panting with that tone, it’s toe curling. He moves his head away from your ear, looks you in the eyes. This man is a mess before you. Cock spilling with sticky precum, coated in all your spit. He starts to idle around, looking at your nightstand and then searching for where his belongings are. “My bag.” You shut him up with a kiss, rolling your hips. Both of you erupt in moans feeling his bare cock drag along the folds of your soaked cunt. You can’t imagine how good it’ll feel when he’s inside. 

“Baby. We can’t.“ 

You hold his face in your hands, his eyes darting around from nerves. He’s breathing heavily, music to your ears. “Please.” It sounds like you’re close to tears. Pleading desperately. 

When is the last time he’s gone in raw with a woman who wasn’t his wife? He can’t recall. Tight pulsing heat, soaking wet. What he had wrapped around his fingers, could be on his cock? That rational part of his brain to stop before it’s too late. But Ethan’s lust pulls him under. He wants to fill you, be inside of you skin to skin. “Oh god.” He pants,  imagining his spend spurting in thick ropes in the depths of you. It all tears away at his logic. 

“I…can’t do that to you.” Firm and blunt, he massages his fingers into your waist. Tears threaten to spill but you hold it in. You need to hold your own. You can use your new tricks that he taught. “I’m sorry.“ 

“Please. I want you to cum inside me." You breathe heavy, "Wanna feel it.” Filth said with the sweetest, sugary voice you could muster. All while rubbing yourself on his cock to add fuel to the fire. The noise from Ethan’s throat was coaxed out of him by your pleading. 

“Fuck,” He nuzzles into your neck while you roll your hips back and forth, coating his cock in your wet slick. You’ve got him where you want him, weak and willing. He holds your hips delicately, gripping when he lifts them up a few inches and finally. 

He spreads you open, impales you on his cock. Mouth agape, you can’t control your sobs. It was easy to sheath himself inside. Ethan splits you open. You’re all his, wrapped around him. Even if he isn’t yours. Your walls contract when he starts to make lewd sounds. Your eyes blur with tears. You can’t let him see that you’re about to cry. You run a hand through his glowing blonde hair. 

Ethan’s cock is practically sucked in, the vice grip of your walls dizzying. 

“Oh.” He sighs. A mess of whimpers, easing himself up into you. “That’s…you’re so fucking…tight.” His palms press hard onto your hips, like he doesn’t know what to do suddenly. Overwhelmed with how fucking perfect you feel inside. He’s only halfway in and you want it all. You have to have what Mia used to, you need to cherish it more than she ever did. 

“Ethan..” You mewl along with him. “Daddy.” Choked up, two tears roll down your cheek but he’s unaware. Your words encourage him, while you rest your chin on his shoulder and kiss his ear. His chest rises and falls, coils his arms around your waist again. You’re being held firmly. You prepare for it but it still sends a shock of pleasure through you when the tip of his cock is forced to the hilt of your sopping cunt. “Oh God, Ethan,” You squeal against his ear and his eyes roll to the back of his head.

“You’re doing good, baby.” 

“I wanted this for so long.” You let words spill without thinking, mind in the gutter. His cock drilling into you cuts your sentence short. You succumb to it. Ethan’s in awe at the warmth he feels. Like it’s where he belongs. Adores all your little sounds and the way you try to speak but nothing comes out.

“Want my cum that bad, huh?” 

You wince, nodding your head. His cock making you limp. More tears roll down, managing to drip onto the slope of his shoulder. “Y-Yes daddy.” Tears surely out of his sight. You imagine he’d stop mid fucking you, realizing that your tears weren’t those of pleasure. Perhaps even be so put off he’d leave. You wouldn’t blame him for it either. No matter how many times Ethan has fucked you, indulged in the abhorrent behavior of seeing a girl years younger than him he still knows he can’t actually have a relationship with you. One that’s full of genuine love. You’d never see him come home from work with flower bouquets. You wouldn’t awaken from your slumber in the night from a baby crying and see him soothing it in his arms. He already gave that side of himself to Mia. You’re left with the scraps. You will lick the plate after devouring what little you’re allowed. 

More lewd sounds fill your ear. Smacking of skin, guttural moans. The headboard whipping back and forth into the wall. The framed photos you have hung up shake with each thump. Ethan’s taken all of you. Taking you in your most sacred place. He’s special, the only man who’s ever made you feel this rotten while making you bloom. 

One particular high pitched noise comes from him. You know it’s the beginning of the end. At this point he’s manhandling. Lifting you with ease, slamming you back down. His cock soaked with your essence. “Jesus, f-fuck,” Babbling while your face is tucked in his neck. You’re getting what you’ve been yearning for, “Gonna fucking come.” 

“Look at me, sweetheart, fuck.” One arm uncoils itself from your waist, feeling how much sweat you’re covered in when air chills you. You, half aware of what’s happening and other half fucked out completely, oblige. You peel yourself from being huddled against him. “That’s my girl.” His voice is sultry, breathing heavy. 

His hand squeezes around your neck. You see stars when he tightens the grip. Fucks into you sloppily like before when he was in your mouth. You’re a toy. His toy. You imagine he’s making love to you, and that you aren’t stowaways sneaking around. “E-Ethan.” You can’t speak properly when he’s applying pressure. You watch his face twist with pleasure. You’re not in the slightest ready for the orgasm that’s about to destroy you. A baseball bat to the side of your head at full force. You shudder, thighs attempting to squeeze shut but you’re spread for Ethan. He bounces you relentlessly with one arm. “That’s it baby. Come on.” He coos. You melt. You let go, your body instinctively taking over. You convulse, writhe. He holds you there, let’s go of your neck and you gasp for air. It fills your lungs fast. 

Mouths crash and a moan comes from the back of your throat into his mouth. All while your pussy coaxes his orgasm. Your lips pull. Thick strings of saliva, he’s gripping your waist tight. “Fuck yes. My good girl.” First time he’s ever yelled like that, he leans in to kiss you to muffle it. Moans, whimpers, all sorts of noises travel into your mouth. It’s now or never. The words are right there. All these months. More than sex, more than just making you come. He was there to soothe, comfort, and provide you a shoulder to cry on (literally) He runs your baths and lets you lick the spoon when he’s cooking something new. 

You think of all the tender moments that had you swooning. His thumb rubbing on the inside of your palm when you sneakily hold hands. The way he tucks strands of hair behind your ear. When he wipes your mouth when you’ve got something in the corner of your lips. Embarrassing in public but incredibly sweet. When he tells you how smart you are, how hard you work despite you feeling like you’re going nowhere. His encouragement is everything to you, Ethan being proud of you makes you content. Your heart swells up and you think it may just burst within your ribs. How could anyone not fall for him? 

“I love you.” 

You can’t describe into words how thankful you are when his cock twitches. You feel warmth spreading inside of you. Hot and thick. Perfect. You blackout, nothing has ever felt more right in your life. The delusion begins. Picture it; he’s all yours. This is routine. He comes home to you, eats whatever food set on the table that you put your absolute heart into. He plays with the children, maybe two or three or six. A universe where you wake up next to each other to the sound of babies crying. Seconds pass by but you swore it was hours when you open your eyes to see Ethan’s planting wet, warm kisses on your collar bones. He’s still inside, his cum oozing out back onto his cock. He doesn’t say anything back and you are waiting for the worst outcome of the situation.

He’s going to leave. Because his fling with no strings attached just unceremoniously admitted she’s in love with him. Or maybe he didn’t hear you. Maybe his own orgasm kept him distracted. 

He pulls out and you already miss it. You want to go back to the moment you were locking eyes and you got it off your chest. You can feel his warmth drooling out of your hole, trailing down your thighs. You’re too weak to move, he grabs you and lays you on your side. His face is inches away, huffing in air and exhaling. His hand glides across your face, tucks a few strands of hair behind your ear. You’re blissfully getting lost in the grayish blue hues. He snaps you out of your trance. 

“I love you too, jellybean.” 

What the fuck?

The shock is enough to make you sit up abruptly.

“What…?” You stare at him with wide eyes. Feels like you've been slapped silly across the face with how he speaks so calmly. He said it like he’s loved you for years. As easy it would be if you were married.

Too, I love you too.

He’s loved you for how long, when did it start, more than Mia?

So many questions fill a list. Not enough time in the world to get him to answer them. He rubs a hand across your cheek.

“Where do you keep your extra sheets?”

Oh right.

His thumb is massaging into your skin. His other hand is already back on you, squeezing your knee. He shifts over the bed, quiet groan emitting from his lips. “Your ankle okay, is it still sore?” 

You’re doomed. 

No words are spoken as you both gather up the clothes, Ethan takes it upon himself to undo the fitted sheets. He even thinks to shed your pillows and he’s off to the laundry room, wearing nothing but a pair of extra briefs he packed. Himbo thing going on again. You follow behind, slightly limping. Not because of your sore ankle. 

“Take out or should I cook?” He asks but doesn’t face you. “I’m beat. You were being a little creature back there.” 

“Creature?” You question.

“A little gremlin. Brat too.” You take it like a compliment, you hope. 

“Gremlin? You’re seriously like eighty. And I am not a brat.” You mutter back. 

Silence between you has never felt more sacred, it’s comfortable. Domestic bliss. Huddled in the small laundry room that’s near the back of the house. He’s the attentive, careful with electronics of any kind like this. You dump your clothes inside the washer and click the buttons, like any normal person would.

Except when a self proclaimed computer nerd is around. Laundry becomes worthy of a very long drawn out lecture on how home appliances should be functioning and how to use them efficiently. That’s just Ethan Winters for you. 

“All I have to do is press this—“

He grabs your wrist from touching the buttons. 

“Baby, some of these are delicates. That why you complain so much about your clothes shrinking?”

You shut your mouth, waiting for him to finish loading it. The whirring and sounds go off and he shoots you another half smile. 

You pout first, giving up and stepping closed, you realize now how exhausted you’ve become. He wraps his arms around you, catching you off guard when he manhandles you and lifts you up to carry you, your thighs wrapping around his waist. You let out a girlish squeal as he peppers kisses along your face.  Your stomach flutters with butterflies. Your cheeks are flushed.

“I love you.” Ethan says, your eyes wide like saucers. You kiss him so hard that you still feel the tingle of it on your lips afterward. 

It’s as if all your problems have dissipated. Reduced to nothing. All is good in the world. You won’t question anything beyond this moment. The future doesn’t exist. Only the present, in Ethan’s arms.

He loves you. 

The sun is setting. With a towel on your head fresh from a shower you sit on your laptop, scrolling through Pinterest and whatever else shit you’re addicted to instead of working on your essay, which you fought tooth and nail for to even get permission to redo for your needed credits. Another glass of the lemonade you and Ethan made sat on your nightstand. Every so often his snores turn your attention away from the glowing screen. He looks so cuddly, but you don’t want to disturb him. After you fucked and after the laundry was done drying the man passed out. It adds another layer of cuteness because he’s tucked under the covers with your stuffed animals looking like they’re suffocating him. You’ve never felt so joyous in your life. 

The phone buzzes.

The sound startles you, and it’s near your bottom. Somewhere on the bed it vibrates. absentmindedly your palm glides across the covers, thinking it’s yours and you grab the rectangular shape of the smartphone. It’s not—Ethan’s. It’s his blue phone case. You turn it. 

Mia Winters

Your eyes directly gaze over Ethan’s body. still asleep. Your hands tremble. The phone continues its silent ringing.

No. Put it down. 

You sigh loudly when it stops. That was a close one. You set it down on your lap, resuming your doom scrolling. 

Not even five minutes and there it goes again. Your hand instantly grasps it and you see the name pop up in a bold font again. With a notification showing on the lock screen under it. 

Mia Winters voicemail

For a split second you’re running on the highest level of confidence. Partially because you just got your brains fucked out by the man she’s trying to get in contact with. There’s that bitterness inside of stemming from jealousy. You both said you love each other. Mia was absolutely going to be an obstacle in your way. You click the answer button. 

But then you fold like a coward, hitting mute seconds after. 

“Ethan? Ethan! Rose is really sick. She’s got a fever, can you please pick up some medicine? I promise I’ll make it up to you. I just can’t leave her at home like this. I know her birthday is this weekend, but we probably have to cancel—“ 

If time itself stopped at this moment you’d be eternally grateful. Though it keeps going, your blood runs cold. She addresses him with such familiarity. Years of history behind her voice calling out to him. We have to cancel. Ethan and Mia. Throwing a party for their baby, a baby you didn’t even know existed. This changes everything. 

You glance at Ethan’s silhouette underneath your blanket again. He shifts slightly. Almost like his body can recognize the voice echoing in your quiet room from the speaker of the phone. His heart must still be fond of it. 

“Ethan, hello?” She raises her voice through the line, it spooks you. 

Confusion combats your sadness. Your mind spins, a million questions gathering. You feel heat. Your blood ran cold, then came to a boiling point. You knew this was wrong. It’s not her fault, but why is she yelling? That baby is distressed. She should be soothing it—

Your nerves get the best of you, clicking the mute icon so that when you speak, she’ll hear you. 

“He’s busy.” You break the silence, then drop the call before she has the time to respond. You toss the phone; it lands somewhere near Ethan’s feet at the end of the bed. You didn’t mean for it to whack him right in the ankle, it does so anyway. It buzzes repeatedly. She must be angry because now she’s sending text after text, you see them pile up as notification banners on the glowing screen from a distance. She can take it out on him, so you don’t have to. 

It was never going to work. Your gut told you that way before any of this happened. That’s why you should’ve kept your feelings at bay. You relive the memory in your head. If only you had woken up before he did. He wouldn’t have had the chance to woo you. Impress you, make you laugh. Claw his way into your heart. Then you wouldn’t be completely broken. 

Ethan shifts around. He’s a light sleeper. No doubt waking up due to the phone. You ignore him. You don’t even care if he gets upset with you. The tears form, out of your control. You are a crybaby. They fall down your cheeks and all the joy that you had accumulated hours ago is gone within seconds. You bow your head, tears falling onto the keyboard of your laptop. 

He turns, groaning. Opens his eyes and looks at you, they’re bloodshot. “Baby?” Ethan questions with a raspy voice. Then he realizes and looks at the phone that keeps vibrating near his feet. 

It breaks your heart, the way he tenderly addresses you as baby moments after you found out he’s been hiding something from you. Rather someone. 

“Shit.” He stretches his arm out for it. “What?

You’re not ashamed but you are embarrassed that petty jealousy rendered you impulsive. The baby’s cries—no, her name is Rose. Rose’s crying is ringing in your head. It’s enough to make someone fall to their knees and you almost do if it wasn’t for the anger fueling you. “Your baby. She’s sick.” You never thought Ethan was a man that would lie to you. 

He doesn’t really love you. You’re just a naive girl he gets to play with. Should’ve known better.  

His face is distraught as he scans the screen with his eyes at all the messages, she must be bombarding him with. It’s understandable. Imagine a single mother trying her best to soothe her child and needing to rely on her ex-husband to fetch essentials for them and a random woman she’s never heard of before answers the phone. He’s quick to call back, cause he lifts the phone to the shell of his ear and hops off your bed as if you never existed. To him, You’re not even in the room right now. 

“Damn it."  He mutters, several of your stuffed animals falling to the floor as he begins to pace around. 

“M-Mia—relax—Mia I’m here— No I’m not with anybody. Mia—“ 

“Please, Mia. I’m—no, I’m not drinking. Listen. I’ll explain just—relax. I’ll be there in twenty.” Click

He groans because this is a mess that would’ve been avoided if he had been honest with you months ago. 

Slowly you push your laptop off your thighs, you wipe your tears and walk toward the corner of the room where his backpack is. He doesn’t say a word, lingering in the same spot and silently watches you pack his belongings. 

“Coulda gave me a fucking warning before you went snooping through my phone?” He says your name, you immediately try to drown out his voice as he starts another lecture. 

You’re not fit for this lifestyle. Had you known Ethan had a child to father you would’ve never inserted yourself. 

It would never work. You told yourself that months ago.