A Birthday Treat
Quinn. Brian Quinn.
His name echoes through your mind.
Brian. Quinn. Quinn. [y/n]- Quinn. [y/n] Quinn. Huh…
His surname would be so perfect in place of yours. Knowing that one day, his can become the last name of your kids makes you blush. You're so… in love.
You shake your head and smile. You're not in love… you can't be! It's far too soon, the two of you haven't even been living together for more than a couple weeks. Yet, you can't seem to get him off your mind. You sigh and stretch your arms and legs. You've sunk deep into the soft fabric of your second-hand couch.
I need to get my ass off this couch.
Brian will be back from work soon, another day of filming for the show. You need to continue doing what you were doing before you saw that photo of you and him hanging on the wall and decided to sit on the couch for ten minutes and daydream.
Fuck, do we have spaghetti? I need to continue making dinner.
You remember the juicy roast in your oven and the noodles in the pantry and relax. It's a special day. No need to worry about small things. You know that Brian loves a home cooked meal after work, and a hot dinner will set the tone for the rest of the night.
Where are my glasses?
You walk the beeline to your bedroom. You look around and notice your thick-framed glasses on your dresser. You put them on and turn around to look at your bed. The lump made by the pillows lying underneath the blankets vaguely resembles Brian lying underneath. You laugh and shake the feeling off.
Why do I see Brian everywhere I go? I think it's unhealthy to need a person so much.
And yet, you still have to hold back the urge to jump on the bed and smell his pillows. You want to feel him again- you want him so badly.
No… oh my. Hold your horses, [y/n]. He's going to come home in a little bit and you need to feed his poor soul. God knows they barely give them snacks on the set. I hope he ate the lunch I packed for him. Ah god, I'm like his mother.
You chuckle to yourself as you make it back into the kitchen. You start boiling water and put olive oil, salt and pepper into it. You walk over to the pantry and move boxes of various chip bags, Pop-Tarts and paper plates until you find a box of off-brand angel hair pasta. You break the dried spaghetti in half and drop it into the water. You stir the concoction for a little, taking in its starchiness and blinking through the steam building up.
Shit… do we have tomatoes?
You mosey your way to the fridge. The strings of the apron you put on while walking around the kitchen looking for spices are slowly loosening. The feeling irritates your skin. The fabric of your shirt tickles your back, pushed back and forth by the apron's knot. As you bend down to open the uncomfortably-small refrigerator your apartment has provided, your apron falls off.
Good lord.
You open the fridge and pull out the produce drawer. Two tomatoes look back at you, with a cucumber lying next to them. You giggle, because when the two of you got drunk together for the first time, you took a photo of him holding two tomatoes and a cucumber between them, "Like a dick!", in his words. You remember how important he felt after stringing that three word sentence together. He threw back so many rum and cokes that it's a surprise he didn't get alcohol poisoning.
Then, you remember what the two of you did only minutes after that photo was taken… how he pulled off your shirt and wore you like a glove, how he tore off your bra and sucked on your neck…
You stumble backwards, amazed at how a simple memory can make your brain go into overdrive. You put your hand on your chest, feeling it rise and fall, refusing to give in to the urge to put your fingers down your pants.
Then again…
You bite your bottom lip, close the fridge and tiptoe to your bedroom. You open your nightstand and reach your hand far back until you feel it. You take out the hot pink vibrator your friend bought you as a joke. For your eighteenth birthday, you and Cara went to Spencer's and she treated you to a fuschia vibrator, patterned with little cactuses. The memory makes you feel happy. You haven't talked to Cara in a while, so you make a self-note to text her later.
You close your nightstand and fall on your bed. You can smell him on the sheets. A mix between spice and timber, a scent so familiar to you. You pull down your pants, eager to feel good. But not the usual type of good. The kind that makes your stomach tense up, and your brain get fuzzy. Every time he pulls your hair while fucking you from behind makes you feel that exact same way. You hold that feeling and turn on your vibrator. You hold it near your clit, its vibrations making their way through your entire body.
How he held you against the wall and gave you hickeys all over your neck.
"Mmm." You spread your legs and move your lips apart. You can feel how wet you are and don't waste a second to insert the vibrator inside of you.
"Ahhh…"
How he fucked you for the first time, with your legs spread wide and his mouth on your nipples.
You start moving the vibrator in and out. Your knees uncontrollably move themselves together. It feels so good.
How on the metro, late at night in an empty cabin, you rode him all the way from 49th to Lexington.
"Fuck…" You thrust the vibrator faster and faster and use your other hand to masturbate your clit. Your fingers make circular motions, speeding up. You bite the tip of your tongue and push the vibrator in further.
"Aahh!" You yell, and your body starts convulsing. Your legs push together and your head falls back, eyes closed and hands at your sides. You lie there for a moment, the vibrator still buzzing inside of you. You take it out and turn it off. Superficial sex never feels as good. You wish that Brian would be home already.
You sit up and let your legs dangle off the side of the bed. It's big, the mattress is king sized. When you first moved in together, Brian brought his mattress in place of yours. You only had a full. Having a big bed made 'sleeping' so much more fun.
You pull your pants back up and clean the vibrator with a tissue. You walk to the bathroom and rinse it off and after you're done, put it back in the dresser. As you walk back into the kitchen, you smell something funny. Something…
Burning, fuck fuck fuck. It's burning. The goddamn spaghetti is burning. Why did I even go to culinary school? This is ridiculous.
You turn the burner off and look at your disaster. You've burnt the spaghetti.
"Good job, [y/n]. You've really done it this time," you say to yourself as you use a strainer to take the burnt noodles out and put them in the trash. You walk back to the pantry and, luckily enough, there's another box of pasta, but this time it's penne. You put the pasta into the boiling water (you've kept the spaghetti water, because it adds to the taste) and set a timer for 8 minutes.
Meanwhile, you walk back to the fridge.
Oh shit, I should put this back on.
You take the apron that's lying on the floors and tie it tightly around your waist. You take the tomatoes out of the fridge and cut them. Well, you didn't go to culinary school for nothing- your professors taught you how to use a knife in many different ways.
"That makes me really good with my hands," you remember jokingly telling Brian. You remember his smirk and eye-roll and how it made you want to be in his arms forever. Your shared humor never failed to make the both of you laugh.
You crush and boil the tomatoes, and add them to a pan. You add oregano, thyme and other spices to your sauce. The timer for the roast beeps and you take it out of the oven and put it in the warming-drawer underneath it.
Fuck.. I hope he's home before it gets cold.
You look at the time.
7:32. He should be home by now. I hope he isn't held up too long.
You continue to boil the sauce, dissociating a little, but as you continue to stir, you notice a bottle of wine teasing your peripheral vision. You smirk.
7:36.
I mean… if he's going to take his time, I might as well make waiting for him worth my while.
You put the heat on simmer and take out a wine glass. When you and Q first moved in, he brought his collection of china and expensive wine glasses. You always made fun of him for having a horde of antique glassware, because
"It's so unusual to own so many antique shot glasses and champagne flutes. Did you rob an elderly woman?"
You loved the way his face would flush and he would look down, pretending like you hurt his feelings. You loved how he'd bite his tongue, look back up and tell you that you're
"Really funny. Real funny. Thing is, I'm not the one with a signed copy of each Harry Potter and Twilight book."
Ah… "Fuck you!" You'd say, laughing.
You pour in the wine from the three-quarters full bottle and stand back for a moment. This is it. This- is perfection.
You look around at your apartment. The sofa you and Brian picked out at the flea market last saturday fit in perfectly with your paintings and pottery that decorated the shelves on the walls. His video games and CDs stood in neat rows on the cabinet that he built, which stood by the TV and coffee table the two of you bought together. You looked at all the photo frames that you neatly arranged on the wall partition that separated the kitchen from the living room. You and Brian on an impromptu fishing trip, you and Brian taking a selfie by the Empire State building, a picture that Brian took of you at the beach.
You notice the easel that he put together for you. So many hours you'd spend, painting and painting while he sat on the couch reading a book. He'd point out that you had a streak of blue in your hair, because you used the wrong end of a paint brush to scratch your head. You would pull your hand through your hair, and bend down laughing when you felt the dried paint accessorizing it. He would walk up to you and you would put down your brushes and he would hold your waist and pull you in, tightly, while caressing your back. You would kiss for a long time, and then he would take down your hair tie, run his hands through your hair.
You take a sip of wine, reminiscing those moments and missing the way they felt.
The timer that you set on the oven loudly beeps. You turn off the pasta's burner and pour it into a dish. You cover the top with a towel to preserve its heat.
You walk back to the sauce and continue stirring.
Hmm… What if I add wine?
You tip your glass to the sauce, letting around three or four tablespoons into the pan. You finish drinking what remains and put the wineglass down, beginning to stir the sauce again. The crushed tomatoes mix together, and you can see the flecks of spices decorating the red surface of the sauce. After a couple minutes, you turn off the heat and leave the pan on the stove, to keep the sauce warm.
You take two plates, cutlery and two new wine glasses to the dinner table. You remember how you and Brian picked out a cherry wood bar-height dinner table at the fair. You placed a tablecloth over it to hide the scratches, buried deep into the polished wood.
You finish setting the table and run your now-empty wine glass under the sink, pretending like you hadn't drank anything as you put it into the kitchen cabinet.. You bring over the wine and set it by the plates. It looks almost picture-perfect. Exposed brick, cutesy white tablecloth and a bottle of wine. You walk over to the couch and search for your phone beneath the cushions. You take a picture of the scene, the table, plates and even add a vase of flowers that was originally standing on a shelf.
Look at how nice this looks :) When are you getting home? You press send and see "delivered" beneath your message. You put your phone down and fill a glass up with water. You want to grab a snack, maybe an apple or something, but remember how your mom scolded you for eating before dinner. You roll your eyes, reaching for the fridge but hold back just in time. You don't want to spoil your hunger, because even you were proud of the food you made.
You hear your phone ching, notifying you that you have a text. You walk over to the table where you left it and check the screen. Text from Brian. You tap the notification.
"Hi ladybug, it looks amazing. Going to be held up by the guys for another hour or so, but I refuse to let this ruin your special night!" the message reads.
"Oh," you say out loud. "Fuck." You check the time on the corner of your screen. 8:09. Your excitement falters and you feel a disappointed look mask over your face. The woozy feeling the wine that was clouding your brain becomes dominated by dismay.
"Aw… it's ok. I'll wait :)" You press send, even though you don't think it's okay.
It's not his fault he's late.
You remember how things like this used to bother you. When you and Brian first started dating, you got angry whenever he was late. He wasn't late a lot, but everytime he was, your heart broke in half.
You talked that over with him many times. You explained to him how sorry you were, how you couldn't control your discontent sometimes, and he always understood. After what happened with you and Lucas, how he ruined your sanity, manipulated you, and basically made you worship him, it made sense that you weren't the same. But, you are better now. You don't let these feelings get ahold of you.
You walk back into your bedroom and sink into the mattress. You take off your glasses, rip the tie from your hair and dig your fingernails deep into your scalp. Even though you're a little disappointed that the meal you cooked might be cold by the time he comes, you don't hold it against him.
Just like Dr Burke told you. After what happened with your ex, your therapist's advice is excruciatingly vital. Your ex broke you. But Brian helped put you back together.
You pick your phone back up. He's read your message and sent you a smiley notice his contact photo. It's a selfie that he sent you, the first serious photo that you ever had of him. The first, after many photos of him crossing his eyes and looking completely dumb. But you liked that. You thought it was cute.
You lie in your bed for several minutes and pull the covers over your head. After you begin to struggle with breathing and the atmosphere beneath your blankets gets too hot, you resurface and put your glasses back on. You push the covers off to the side and flip to your stomach. You take off your apron and your pants, leaving on the shirt you "borrowed" from Brian and a pair of mismatched socks. You throw the clothes you took off into the laundry bin. Brian put it in the corner and stuck a sticky-note above it that said "Hot Laundry," which you thought was stupid until he explained it.
"Corners are ninety degrees."
"You're ridiculous."
You stand up, stretch and walk over to the mirror. You run your fingers through your hair and crack your knuckles and notice a pimple above your left eyebrow. You hold yourself back from picking at it, sigh and walk to the bathroom.
Might as well take a shower, while I'm at it.
You turn on the showerhead, take off your shirt, socks and panties and step into the hot water raining on your head. You rinse your hair and apply shampoo. You feel it foaming as you massage it into your roots, and squeeze your eyes shut after a droplet makes its way to your face. You condition your hair and let it sit for several minutes. Meanwhile, you use your finger to doodle on the glass door, the shower steaming it up. You wash the product out of your hair and step out of the shower. You wrap yourself with a towel and waddle back to the bedroom, dripping water on the floor.
You fall on your bed, feeling drowsy after the glass of wine and a steamy shower. You crawl to your phone and start scrolling through Instagram.
She has a baby now? Wow, okay.
You see a photo of a girl you knew in college. She's married and has a baby now, apparently.
I completely forgot she existed. Damn.
You sit back up, put your phone down and get dressed. You stand up to walk to your closet, but notice your reflection in the mirror. Your hair is messy and unbrushed, and your face is red from the boiling hot water you showered with. A pimple sits above your left eyebrow, and you hold yourself back from picking at it.
Jesus, I need to pull myself together.
Compared to Brian's side of the closet, yours is a mess. Bras are on the floor. A random necklace with the words "You're My Bitch" is half-falling from the shelf above the closet pole. Shoes are strewn about. A single sock is strung on a hanger. Brian's side, on the other hand, can be compared to someone with obsessive compulsive disorder. Shirts are stacked in neat arrays, jackets are held up on coat hooks.
Sooo fucking neat. Ugh. He's so perfect.
You search through the pile of clothes on the bottom of your closet and throw on a shirt.
Bra? Mmm, no. I'm too tired for a stupid bra. I don't need it.
You put on undies with a bowtie at the top and silk shorts. Both, you purchased in a late-night shopping spree fueled by several cans of energy drink. You walk back to the bathroom and brush your hair. The bristles separate your locks and tame your lion's mane. Water drips to the floor as you brush. You take out a hairdryer and plug it in, turn it on to the highest setting and start drying your hair. You run your fingers through it, detangling the knots sprinkled throughout. You flip your hair upside down and bend your back to dry the back of your head. You hear the door open.
It must be him!
You unplug the fan and run to the door. You see him walking in, holding flowers and his side-satchel.
"Hi, ladybug. Happy birthday!" He says, holding the flowers out and smiling.
You grin and run towards him. You take the flowers from his hands and breathe in their sweet fragrance. "Baby's breath and pink roses… You remembered!" You squeal, happy to know that he didn't forget your favorite bouquet arrangement. "Thank you so much, I'm so glad you're home." You fall into his arms and he hugs you. You can feel his stubble against your cheek as he presses you up against himself.
He looks at your hair, half blow-dried with volume in strange places, at your red face and pimple. You feel ashamed that you didn't have time to dress up for him. "You look so beautiful tonight," he says. You look into his eyes, squinting back at you, and can see that he means it.
You smile and sigh. "You're silly. I made dinner, get ready so we can eat," you respond.
"Actually, I have something I need to do before that." He reaches for his pocket. "Look, [y/n], I know you told me not to buy you anything for your birthday."
You start to protest, but he cuts you off.
"Ah- don't start. It's small, because you'll yell at me if it's anything bigger. I know you!" He tilts his head forward and you laugh. He really does know you, too well even. "Open this." He gives you a small, poorly-wrapped present with visible tape marks and a missing ribbon. You carefully rip it open and see a light blue box.
"No, you did not. Please tell me you didn't…" You trail off, your eyes widening. You don't even have to look up to see the proud smile on his face. You bite your bottom lip and take off the top, carefully calligraphed with Tiffany and Co. Inside, cushioned in perfectly placed-in white tissue paper, is a golden bracelet. It's simple, much like a wedding band, except on the inside is engraved one of the most sentimental things that Brian and you have said to each other.
I think I'd rather be all alone forever instead of with someone who isn't you.
You said that to Brian when you had a panic attack in one of the first months after you started dating. He laid by your side for hours, calming you down and squeezing your palm. It was then that you realized that Brian was the one for you.
"This is… perfect. It's so beautiful, I'm so thankful, thank you, thank you, thank you!" You smile from ear to ear and put it on. The simple gold complements your skin and you admire your arm.
"I know you don't like showy things, so this is something I know you'd like." Brian takes your hand, the one adorned with the beautiful bracelet, and kisses it. "You're so perfect, you're so beautiful and amazing and I know that this is something that expresses it. Happy birthday, [y/n], I hope that my being late doesn't ruin it."
You shake your head and jump into his arms. You kiss him, long and passionately, and he kisses you back, caressing your waist and running his fingers down your spine. You get chills, and then you remember.
You pull back and he retreats a little, confused.
"Is everything okay? Did- Did I do something wrong?" he asks, hesitantly. You can see it in his eyes and immediately know that he means his concern.
"I. Made a roast. I cooked pasta and handmade the damn sauce. Now it's cold." You take a breath before continuing. "Now we are going to eat! It's my birthday and we do what I say."
Brian sighs, relieved, and puts down his bag.
"I'm going to change." He walks into the bedroom and closes the door.
You put the penne dish, which has already gone cold, into the microwave.
No harm reheating it, it's only spaghetti, and a nice nuke won't make it any less delicious.
You take out and set the roast in the middle of the dinner table and pour two glasses of wine. You take the spaghetti out of the microwave and place it strategically next to the roast. Brian exits the bedroom, in slightly less formal jeans and now with a t-shirt. The one you were wearing before you changed.
"Let's eat, I poured my entire body and soul into this meal," you joke, "so you better enjoy it."
Brian sits opposite of you and you start eating. You make idle conversation, talking about each other's day and what the two of you will be doing this weekend.
"We should go on a boat trip, rent a kayak or something dumb like that," you say.
"You hate water, plus you can't swim," Brian points out, enunciating his words with the movement of his fork.
"You may be right, but I don't care," you joke. Under the table, you move your foot near his. His foot is so much bigger than yours. You always make fun of him for being so much bigger than you, but he doesn't mind. He knows you mean well.
The two of you finish eating.
"I'll take the dishes," you offer. Brian shakes his head and starts taking the dishes away, not letting you proceed. "Thanks, babe." You go to pour yourself another glass of wine, but hold back. You've had two already, and handling your alcohol isn't a skill you have. You put back the glass and turn to face him. Brian is in the kitchen washing the dishes. You can head the clinking of the porcelain plates and utensils as he uses hand soap to scrub them, which he does with the wrong side of the sponge. It takes you all of your will to hold yourself back from telling him that he isn't doing it correctly at all, but you stay seated, grateful that he is helping.
He finishes and the two of you move to the couch. Full and tired, you lie in his arms as you scroll through all of the movies available on Netflix. You press the middle button on the remote and pick a random rom-com to play on the TV. It plays in the background as you and Brian begin talking.
"Remember when we first met," Brian says, "and you had purple hair?"
"I.. uh, yes I do. I prefer not to think about it too much," you giggle, because you hated the way you looked with purple hair. Or dyed hair at all.
"I want to find a way to tell you this but you looked like Abby Cadabby from Sesame Street. I've been keeping this to myself for around two years and I feel like this is a good time to get it off of my chest."
You burst into laughter. You can see the similarities, but can't agree with him.
I won't let him feed his ego!
You flip yourself around and take position on top of him, so instead of lying in his arms, you're sitting on his lap. You purse your lips and pout.
"I can't believe you'd say that to me, because you looked like a disheveled old man until I told you to stop growing out your beard."
"Ouch!" He yelps, playfully putting his hand over his heart. "That one hit close to home." He pushes you off of him and you fall backwards, landing parallel to him on the couch. "That's what you get."
You laugh again, now laying in the fetal position with your hands over your legs. You put your legs down the length of the couch and he starts massaging your feet. You lie there on your back for several minutes. He pinches your toe and you yelp in pain. You sit up, give him an angry stare and move your foot away.
The two of you stay there together, looking into each other's eyes. You crawl back up to him and he puts his arms around you. He kisses you, long and hard, and then you move your head on his chest. For maybe twenty minutes, you and Brian silently cuddle and watch the movie. You feel warm and loved. You don't have a single care in the world. It's just you and him, isolated from the world. The candles you lit after you finished eating give the room a soft ambiance, like the kind you see in movies. The sounds of the busy street outside your window lull you into tranquility and you feel so at peace. Your eyes get a little bleary and everything starts to fade, until…
All of a sudden, Brian moves his arm and accidentally caresses your chest.
Oh shit. I'm not wearing a bra…
His hand stops and feels your left breast. He puts his hand over it and massages it with his fingers over your shirt. You moan, feeling your nipples harden, and he grabs a little more aggressively. You bite your lip and your head falls back.
"You like that, huh?"
You can hear the smile in his voice. You moan quietly, and he knows what you mean. Brian puts his hand underneath your shirt and grabs your breast. He pulls at your nipple and you squeal in delight. He moves himself over and puts his other hand beneath your shirt, over your breast and squeezes again. He knows exactly what drives you wild.
You breathe in, feeling the heartbeat between your legs quicken. As you lie on top of him, your back on his chest and his hands on your breasts, your eyes roll back into your head.
"Oh, yeah, you really fucking like this, don't you?" He asks, demandingly.
"Yes… I fucking… mmmph… I love it…"
Brian pinches your nipples and you groan loudly. You reflexively put your hand out and squeeze his hip. Your hand barely fits over it. He holds your left tit and keeps massaging it, and his right hand strokes your stomach. Down… down… down… until it reaches your shorts.
"This… is so goo… so fucking good…" you hear your voice become breathy and stagger. "Mmm.. yes… oh my god.."
He pulls out the string to your silk shorts, and you feel their top seam loosen. He begins to rub the inside of your thighs with his big, burly hands.
"Ohhmygod yes. Yes please, please… fuck…" You moan.
He teases your clit through the fabric, hitting that right spot ever so slightly. It drives you insane. He squeezes your tit extra hard and you. He finally pulls down your shorts. He puts his hand over your panties and rubs with the surface of his hands. He moves in circular motions and you want to scream because it feels so. fucking. Good.
"Do you want it?" he asks.
"Mmm.. ohmy… yes I do.. Yes…"
He takes his fingers and and puts them over your clit, still over your cute panties. The ones you knew he likes. He massages your clit clockwise, slowly, just a little higher than the perfect spot, but he knows that. He knows how crazy it makes you.
You bite your lip and let a yelp out on accident. He puts a finger to your lips, as if to let his fingers do the talking, and continues. You feel his breath on your neck, and he moves up and pushes you forward so that both of you are in a more upright position. He massages your nipple, occasionally squeezing it, and plays with your clit. Finally, he pushes your panties to the side and licks his fingers. He takes his now wet middle and ring finger and gives your right breast a squeeze before making his way down to your pussy. He rubs the outside of your opening with his fingers.
"You're so fucking wet, aren't you?" He asks, in a half-whisper that doesn't soften his tone at all.
"Yes I am… I'm so fucking wet for you…" You can barely form a sentence. Your eyes are closed. You can't let anything disturb the absolute elation that you're feeling right now.
He circles your clit one last time before slowly putting his two fingers inside your pussy. You let out a breath of relaxation and surprise. It's never felt this good before. He slowly puts the entire length of his fingers in, and out, and in, and out, circling them inside of you. Your breaths are deeper now, more exasperated. His fingers slip all the way in and you gasp.
"That's it, mmmph, yes… right there…" you moan.
He massages that spot inside of you. His fingers rotate slightly, stretching you even more. His fingers are so big, so perfect. Yet when they turn, it hurts, but the pain makes it so much more delicious.
"Mmmm... " you moan again.
He starts moving his fingers around quicker and he squeezes your nipple even harder. He goes faster, and faster, pushing his fingers around that perfect spot. His fingers pinch your nipple at just the perfect moment and the combination of the two sends a feeling soaring to your brain, traveling through your spine.
"Oh! Oh, oh my fucking god yes oh… you… oh my fucking god," you half-scream, absolute euphoria making you dizzy. You squirm, his fingers still inside you, and you feel the orgasm absolutely engulfing your body. Your eyelids burst open and your eyes roll back even further. You bite your tongue to keep yourself from shouting again.
"You really fucking loved that, didn't you?" he asks again.
You are too out of breath to answer and your muscles relax. You start to catch your breath and your vision clears. You gulp and turn your head to look back at him, panting for air and ready for more. You nod your head and sit back, finally at ease.
His hands make their way back down to your thighs. He teases your clit, his movements like he's playing a guitar. His fingers start moving in and out of your pussy. Faster and faster, they hit that spot again. You squeal as he takes his fingers in and out, in and out, pushing against that spot, making your stomach tense. Just before you orgasm, he slows down.
"Keep- oh… keep going... please…" you manage to make out. "Brian, keep- keep on going…"
"Say my name."
He keeps teasing you, speeding up and slowing down again and again.
"Br… Brian."
"Say my fucking name, " he demands.
You groan, in mind-numbing agony, and he starts finger-fucking you faster. His pointer finger joins his middle and his ring and you scream, not being able to hold it in.
"Yes! Brian! Mmmm…"
He puts his other hand over your mouth and tells you to shut up. It hurts so good, and he pushes his hands deeper and deeper into your pussy, hitting your g-spot flawlessly. In seconds, you feel something explode inside of you. He moves his fingers out right in time and you squirt everywhere. Your body convulses and you gasp for air and see that you made the couch absolutely soaked.
He puts his hand back to your clit and circles around it again, but you move it away. He grabs your hand and holds it down, and puts his hand back to your clit and starts rubbing it again, gaining speed until you pop, and squirt everywhere on the couch. You howl with pleasure and squirm in his grasp.
He starts again, and it hurts more now, you feel electric surges going from your clit. You groan, and he speeds up. He massages more vigorously, faster than before, squeezing your nipple, and for a last time, you squirt and feel the world slow down.
He moves himself off of the couch and sits you perfectly upright. He is breathing heavy, and so are you, as you catch your breath. He takes off his shirt, and you can see his chest hair and dad-body. He rips off your panties, licks his lips and pushes your legs apart, making room for him. You feel the muscles of your inner thighs stretch and his face coming close. You tear off your shirt, feeling your temperature rise and your sweat staining the fabric. Your breasts are red and your nipples feel sore.
His stubble tickles your thighs but you don't care. His tongue licks your pussy lips, teasing you. You moan, and you feel his hot breath against your opening. He spits on your pussy and you feel how hot it is. His tongue barely touches your clit but you can immediately feel the pleasure coming in. His tongue licks you, slowly, up and down, and he takes his hands and pushes your legs apart even more. He licks faster, tongue going in circles, and makes his way down to your hole. His tongue enters you. You can feel every movement. He sucks on your clit, playing with it using his tongue. His arms snake up above your legs and over your breasts. He takes your nipples with your fingers and squeezes, even harder than before. His tongue movements speed up. He bites your clit and you writhe with pleasure, moaning and gasping for air.
You take your hand and put it on his head, running your fingers through his hair. You push his head downward and he spits on your pussy. He takes his fingers off of your chest and brings his hands downward. He moves his head back and stretches out your opening with his thumbs. You wail, it hurts so good, and he moves his head back down and starts licking the inside of your pussy, right around the inside of the edges. He licks you like a finished plate and digs his tongue inward. He stretches you out, even further, and spits inside of you. You can feel his hot drool in your pussy and your thighs tremble at how good it feels. His tongue massages your insides, and you feel your chest rising up and down, breathing fast and heavily.
He teases you, licking your clit and going back down to your opening. You lie there, your arms becoming weaker and your mouth gaping open with your head back. You feel him moving away from you, and you look up, in a daze. You see him taking off his belt and putting down his jeans. You sit up and put your hands on the seam of his boxers. You can see the outline of his boner. You pull down his underwear, and see his hard-on pop straight out. It curves to the left, and it's so big and wide and you can barely wait to get on top of move yourself from the couch, down to the carpet onto your knees.
Catching your breath, you moan, "Getting excited… aren't you?"
You see some precum dripping out of the tip, and you make direct eye contact with him as you lick it off. You see his eyes close with pleasure, and he pushes your head onto it. You feel his member hardening even more, and you can feel it standing more straight inside your mouth.
Is- is that even possible? How can it grow even bigger than that?
It grows in your mouth. You look back up to him, almost like you're asking for permission. You start moving your head back and forth, your lips sucking on the skin. You put your hands to it and wrap your fingers around. You start massaging it back and forth, sucking on it and slowly rubbing. You take a moment for air and spit on his cock as you put your mouth back to it, and he takes your hair, holds it and pushes your head far down onto it. You choke, feeling the tip go all the way down your throat. He pushes your head up and down, and your lips touch his balls.
You start sucking faster, playing with the tip using your tongue. You push him down on the couch, so now he is sitting but you stay on your knees. You spread his legs and continue sucking his cock. You take your right hand and put it under his balls. You can feel his hand on your head, so you nibble on his cock. You bite ever so slightly at the tip, knowing that it must feel good, and start massaging his ballsack. It barely fits in your hand, and you tighten your grip on it. He moans, and moves his hand from your hair down to your chest, feeling your tit. You speed up, sucking even quicker now, one hand massaging his member and the other squeezing his balls. He moves his hand back to your head and starts pushing your head faster, and you know that he's about to cum. You brush his hand away and start stroking with both of your hands, while still playing with the tip using your tongue.
He lets out a deep breath and moans loudly. You can feel your mouth filling with cum. There's so much and you can barely keep your mouth closed. He takes his cock out of your mouth and massages it even more, and more cum leaves it. You sit on his lap, look him in the eyes and swallow. You wipe your mouth and kiss him, putting your hands back on his cock and stroking it. You put your tongue in his mouth, sucking on his lips and feeling his stubble. He grunts and moves your hand away, so you move your body closer to him. You start rubbing yourself on his legs, moving your body back and forth, his dick straight against your stomach.
"It's so big," you say.
He disregards what you said. Instead, he picks you up and stands up. You hold his neck and he carries you forward. You can feel his hands trying to place his member inside of you. You moan, and can feel its entire length enter your opening.
"Oh my god…" you groan.
He puts your body down on it, and you can feel his entire cock inside. It's so wide and long, filling you up entirely.
"Ready for round two?" he asks, already starting to move you up and down. You wrap your hands around his neck as you start riding him. You can feel him everywhere inside of you, almost like he is rearranging your organs. He bounces you quicker, taking your ass and moving it back and forth.
"Mmmrr, yes, right there keep going, keep going…"
He grunts and starts walking, you still on top of him. You tense up, unsure of what's coming.
What is he doing?
He pins you against the wall. He starts bouncing you faster and faster, and you can feel the bubble inside of you come closer and closer to bursting.
"I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cu-" You cut yourself off. He pops his dick out and you squirt all over him. He holds you up against the wall, your legs wrapped around him like a monkey on a palm tree. Without wasting a moment, he puts you back on top of him. You can smell his perspiration and see beads of sweat on his forehead.
After barely taking a breath, Brian pushes himself against you. He presses his lips to yours, kissing you hard. His tongue snakes around yours, and you kiss him back and do the same. He starts fucking you slowly, making sure that he pushes himself all the way inside you with every thrust. You throw your head back and hit it against the wall.
"Shit!" You yell. The pain numbs your head and makes you start seeing double.
"Are you okay?" Brian asks, not stopping moving himself in and out of you.
"Fuck me harder," you demand, looking him in the eyes. His face shifts back and you start seeing normally. He stops bouncing you for a moment. Then, as if something possessed him, he grabs your throat. He starts fucking you again, this time more violently. He carries you over to the couch and throws you on it. You instinctively put your legs up, missionary style, and he pins you down, his hand still around your neck. He brings himself on top of you, his face red from carrying your weight and out of breath. His dick slips out of you but he immediately takes it in his hands and rubs your clit with it. You moan loudly, feeling the butterflies move from your stomach down to your pussy. He puts his member back inside of you, and you can tell that it grew softer. "Giving up, are you?" You ask.
He groans, almost a growl, and starts thrusting quickly. You feel his dick become erect again, your insides guiding its depth all the way through. Faster and faster, not wasting a moment, he begins grunting and you can tell that he will cum soon. You push him off of you.
"Get on your back," you command. He follows suit.
"Fuck- get on top of me now." He demands, pulling you in. You move yourself over him, taking his huge hard-on in your hand. Your palm is maybe half its size, and its width is more than you ever thought you could take. You maneuver your body so that you're sitting on him and slip his dick inside. You spell C, O, C, O, with your hips and put your torso on top of him. C, O, C, O, you ride him through the alphabet, and start kissing his chest. You move your lips up and give his nipple a soft bite, just out of experimentation. He howls in pain.
"Pussy," you say, "you doing it to me and not being able to take it in return."
"Fuck you." He puts his arms behind your back and lunges forward, sitting you upright. He moves his hands, grabs your ass and starts moving you up and down again, you riding him in a sitting-cowgirl position. His eyes close and he speeds up even more. You feel a bubbling sensation inside of you, his cock hitting just the right spot, and as you moan with pleasure, he speeds up for a last time.
"AH! Fuck…" You yell, feeling another orgasm take over your senses. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, it feels so good.
"Fuck, fuck- mmmphh…" Brian slows down, and you feel something hot and warm filling you up.
He's not wearing a condom.
You move yourself up from him, wanting to get off but your knees are too weak. You feel his cock slip back in and you bounce on his legs. It doesn't feel the same, you're not in the mood anymore.
"Again?" He asks, not sure if he's picking the signals up correctly.
"Not now, baby," you reply, "I'm too weak." You sigh. "This was so amazing." You move his dick out from inside of you and fall on top of him. He pushes you up a little and moves his cock to the side.
"You're fucking crushing me," he laughs, "and that felt… otherworldly. I hope you had a great birthday, because I sure had fun celebrating it."
You smile. "Spending it with you made it worth my while." You feel his cum drizzling back out from inside of you, slowly falling on top of him. "I better go wash up," you say, kissing him on the cheek. As you sit up, he runs his fingers along the side of your waist, feeling your curves and admiring your body. His hand falls to his side and he sits up.
You stand and pick up your shirt from the floor. As you walk to the bathroom, you feel more cum dripping down your leg. Before you walk in, you turn to him and see him putting his boxers back on. "Hey," you say to get his attention. He looks up, and you turn your back to him, bend down and run your hand down the inner side of your leg. You stand upright, make direct eye contact with him and lick your fingers, now wet with cum. You blow him a kiss and close the door behind you.
You take another hot shower, washing everything from inside to outside. You stumble trying to get out, the after-affects of wild, animalistic sex affecting your ability to walk. You put your panties in the bathroom laundry bin and walk out, wearing only a shirt. There are still some candles that remain lit, and you wobble towards them to blow them out. You manage to make it to your bedroom and see Brian still awake. He's sitting up and reading a book. You squint, not having any glasses or contacts in to try to make out the title from the doorway.
"I can see you trying to, well, see, and it's called 'Catch-22'." He looks up at you and pats the left side of the bed, where you usually sleep. "Come."
You walk to your dresser and bend down, facing away from him to get some underwear and socks for bed.
Brian laughs. "I like what I'm seeing," he says, and you can hear the smile in his tone. You gasp, forgetting that you're basically naked.
"Shit- fuck you, Brian." You say defensively. "You don't even eat the fucking crusts off your sandwich, dickhead." You furiously pick up the first pair of underwear you find and put them on. Inside out. Brian starts scream-laughing and you blush, feeling blood rush to your cheeks. You angrily take them off and put them on the right way. "Go choke, bitch!"
"Alright, alright, geez, woman," he laughs even harder. You climb into bed, putting your leg over him and hugging him from the side. He puts his arm around you and you put your head on his chest. You immediately fall asleep, and he makes sure not to move until he feels your breaths get slow to move you away and spoon you through the rest of the night.