Work Text:
“It’ll be good for you, honey.”
The sound of your dad’s voice is nails on a chalkboard, clawing through you and ripping you to shreds. None of this would be good for you; not an ounce of you believes that any of this could be ‘good for you’.
Somehow, your dad expects that spending the weekend at Beau Arlen, his best friend’s ranch, would suddenly make you a better girl, would suddenly cleanse you of the sins that he’s convinced you’re committing at college. It’s half-true.
The partying was getting a bit out of hand, and flunking your courses was a glaring issue, but that was it, and you tried to tell him that. But no, he suspected something worse, and an underlying issue: a daughter with a secret boyfriend, whom she’s sneaking out with and messing around with. He couldn’t be more wrong, but you also didn’t have a say. You never did.
“I don’t get it; I haven’t seen Beau since I was like… seventeen,” you complain, your head against the window of the tuck. “I don’t even remember him; I barely remember what he looks like.”
“And now you’re twenty-one,” your dad drawls, his rough hands working over the steering wheel. “And still need a lot of growin’ up to do, apparently.”
You scoff. “And what is Beau going to do about that? Punish me?”
“Straighten you out,” he murmurs, glancing over at you. “Make you experience the real world, not some bullshit that you think you can get away with–also, you can’t see that boy anymore.”
“Oh, my god,” you roll your eyes, sighing. “There’s no boy!”
You know there’d be a boundary being overstepped if you confessed to your father that you’re a virgin, and really had no interest in guys your age–patchy beards, and stupid grins that curled into their lips when they’re about to ask you for your number, thinking they’ll get it easy because they bought you a cheap drink. Zero charisma, nothing you wanted.
“Mhm…” he hums, licking his lips as the two of you begin driving down the dirt road, the long driveway to Beau’s place. “You can tell Beau all of the details; I’m sure he’ll be listenin’.”
“It’ll be awkward,” you whine, lifting your head. “I don’t know him, Dad.”
“He’s sweet,” your dad shrugs, the truck groaning with each bump. “Sheriff of the small town, too.”
“Oh, my god, is that why you’re making me do this? Because he’s a Sheriff of some stupid town?” you shoot, groaning and dramatically crossing your arms. “Doesn’t scare me.”
“Ain’t supposed to scare you, sweetheart,” your dad tells you, his thumbs tapping the steering wheel, and his boot eases onto the brake. “Don’t think Beau could be scary if he tried.”
You’re about to reply until your eyes notice him, a man quickly stepping down from the porch, and you sit up, your lips parting and your eyes widening. You didn’t expect this.
He’s tall, his long legs wrapped in denim as he walks towards the truck, his plaid shirt tucked into the waistband, a thick belt to accompany it. He’s smiling, waving his hand, before hooking his thumb into the pockets, stopping by where you’d be getting out. You look to your dad, who’s smiling, nodding towards Beau.
“Mornin’, Beau,” he drawls, rolling down the window on your side. “Here’s the delinquent.”
You shoot your dad a glare, turning your head towards the passenger’s side window where Beau is standing, and you swallow hard. Green eyes, perfectly hitting the warm Montana sun. His hair is messy, the wind lightly brushing it from his face, and your eyes focus on the crinkles around his eyes, his smile genuine as he looks towards you.
“Ahh, she won’t be one when I’m done with her,” Beau jokes, clicking his tongue. “She’ll come home a good girl; don’t even worry about it,” he adds on, his strong hand gripping the door handle, and he tugs it open, offering you a hand as you step out.
“No partyin’, no booze, and no flippin’ boys,” your dad shoots as Beau slams the door.
Beau looks at you as you awkwardly stand there, holding the small bag that you had by your feet the entire drive. He casually takes it from you, giving your dad a firm nod and waving.
“No booze, boys, or partyin’ for miles,” Beau reassures, smiling as your dad drives off, his hand out of the window, waving.
You watch your dad’s truck drive off down the trail, and you swallow hard, not even daring yourself, or trusting yourself to look at Beau. He’s just watching you, analyzing the girl he’ll be taking care of, ‘straightening out’.
“Beau,” he drawls, and you notice the accent, his hand extending. “Beau Arlen.”
“I remember you… kind of,” you shyly tell him, lifting your hand for him to shake–it’s firm, warm and rough, engulfing yours. “It was a while ago.”
“Four years ago, Dad’s barbecue; you were sittin’ pretty with a piece of cake, and dropped it right onto the deck,” he replies, smiling, trying to make you feel a bit more comfortable. “I remember you, kid; ain’t gotta be awkward,” he reassures, taking his hand back to pat your shoulder.
You huff out a breath and nod a little, your head having to tip back to accommodate just how big he is. He’s huffing too, resting his hands on his hips, the one still holding the handle of your bag, and he glances at the ranchhouse, then back to you.
“Let’s get you inside,” Beau says, patting your upper back, grinning again.
The two of you begin walking to the house; small, wooden, suited for a man his age who lives alone, and intends to stay that way. It smells like wood too, a thick scent that catches you off guard, and he’s guiding you to the guest bedroom; just a twin-sized bed, white blankets and white sheets… and a bunny plushy. You turn to look at him.
“Your dad…” he laughs, placing your bag on the bed. “Told me some stuff you like, you know, so that it wouldn't be a prison; said you liked bunnies,” he shrugs, gesturing to it.
“I do… they’re my favourite animal,” you mumble, walking towards the small toy. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” he shakes his head, his eyes glancing down at his watch. “Better have brought some jeans–get into ‘em, takin’ you out back,” he says, giving you no time to say a word–he’s dipping out of the bedroom and shutting the door.
A low groan leaves your mouth as you unzip your bag, pulling out the jeans and a basic t-shirt, knowing that a dress definitely wasn’t suitable for the impending work. You’re quick to slip into it, and you stare at yourself in the small mirror against the back of the door–you don’t feel like yourself, or look like yourself, and you don’t even recognize where you are.
When you leave the bedroom, you spot Beau; he has a cowboy hat on instead, and he’s messing with something in the back–just a large plot of land, vast and open, horses and cattle trotting around the fences. He notices you and waves you over.
“C’mere, little lady,” he calls out, and you’re quickly walking through the small house. “Gotta teach you some stuff, your daddy’s idea, not mine,” he quips, watching you step out back.
“I know…” You mumble shyly, biting your lip. “Doesn’t make much sense, though.”
“How come?” Beau casually asks, wandering towards the large shed, and you follow after him. “Seemed pretty ideal to me over the phone.”
“Well, he lied,” you explain as you walk beside him, and he’s swinging open the door. “I don’t even party that much, I don’t drink either, and there’s no boys–”
Your words are cut off as he shoves a broom into your head. “Enough talkin’, darlin’, there’s a massive barn that needs sweepin’, and it looks perfect for you.”
“What?” you ask, your eyebrows furrowing as you turn your head; a giant barn, big enough for god knows what, and it’s your job to sweep the bloody thing up.
“Been outta use for a couple of months; the other one over there is what we mostly use–wouldn’t mind gettin’ two for the winter, and you can be the one to help,” Beau explains, shrugging, grabbing another tool for himself. “C’mon.”
Beau is already walking off, leaving you alone–he’s fixing the fence instead, redoing the old thing that had broken from an unhappy buck. And you’re tipping your head back, starting your walk towards the large, mostly vacant barn.
The roof is cracked, wooden panels breaking off and letting sunlight drool in through them, a dirty and dusty residue coating everything, and you groan, shutting the door behind yourself. You begin sweeping, a back-and-forth motion with the broom, gathering the mess by the lip of the barn door, and then carefully pushing it onto the grass.
As you make your way through the large barn, you peek out of the small window; Beau is leaning over the fence in the distance, his cowboy hat shielding the warm light from his face, but you caught him at the perfect time; his head tipping back, sweaty strands of hair being pushed back, and he wipes his face on the shirt he just lifted. You catch a glimpse of his stomach; tanned and soft, faint muscle definition that’s from working, rather than working out.
He turns his head when his hat settles on his head, and he sees your face in the window; wide eyes and parted lips, straining on your tiptoes to reach the higher set window. You quickly look away, cursing quietly to yourself as you turn around. He saw you creeping on him, and you cover your face with your hands.
You spend the next two hours in the barn, attempting to make it seem like you’re doing work–no way you’ve been sweeping that long; you’ve been pacing, getting into things you shouldn’t, and patiently waiting for Beau to come and give you another chore instead of this one. And he does; he comes sauntering on, looking around the place.
“Did good, kid,” he drawls, and you jump, quickly turning around. “Shouldn’t have taken you two hours, though,” he scolds, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You didn’t come and tell me what to do,” you mumble, shyly looking at him, knowing he saw you peeping at him.
“I need to tell you what to do?” he scoffs, smiling. “Sweetheart, you’re an adult; you shouldn’t need me to tell you what to do,” he explains, walking a bit closer to you.
“Okay, well, what do I do now?” you ask, slight attitude shifting into your voice that your dad is used to hearing.
Beau notices it. “Nothin’, we should probably be gettin’ some lunch by now.”
He casually waves you to follow him, and you do, quickly joining his side and looking up at him. He’s heading back to the house, his hand slyly slipping behind your back, carefully guiding you over the bumpy, rocky terrain, the ground slightly softened from rain. You can feel his thumb rubbing into your shirt as the two of you walk back into the house, and he hangs his hat up.
“You like sandwiches?” Beau asks, clicking his tongue as he walks into the kitchen. “Can make us both some–beef is straight from this place.”
You scowl. “Like? The cows I see outside?”
“Uh-huh,” he nods, his back to you as he opens the fridge. “We raise ‘em here.”
“That’s gross,” you protest, walking towards the kitchen, sitting at the small stools.
Beau laughs, pulling out the ingredients for the sandwiches he makes, turning around and placing them down on the island that you sit at. He looks up at you through his sweaty hair, his thick fingers and large hands working through the loaf of bread, cheese, and meats.
“It’s life, sweetheart,” he says, his knife scraping a piece of butter off the softened block. “Somethin’... you gotta get used to.”
“What does that mean?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.
“It means…” he starts, buttering the inside of the bread, clicking his tongue. “Your daddy was tellin’ me the things you do–how you misbehave, don’t listen… failin’ that school you really wanted to go to.”
You sigh, crossing your arms. “He’s lying.”
“He’s a trustworthy man,” Beau reminds you, reaching for another condiment. “Wants the best for his daughter; it’s nothin’ against you, darlin’.”
“It is against me!” you reply, and Beau looks up from the sandwich-making. “Always on my ass… always forcing me to do shit I don’t want to do.”
“Language,” he scolds, eyebrows furrowing. “Ain’t no swearin’ in here; use your manners. I don’t listen to people who use words like that.”
Your lips part at the scold–his voice got deeper, and his eyes switched, that stitch between his brows, the way he froze to look at you. You hesitate, nodding, swallowing hard.
“Sorry, sir,” you whisper, looking up at him. “It was an accident.”
“I know,” Beau mumbles, going back to what he was doing before. “Just… don’t gotta be talkin’ like that, makes you sound silly, darlin’.”
You nod again, realizing you’ve never been spoken to like that in your life–your mom was too soft, and your dad only ever yelled at you when he was a little drunk, but it was never in that way, and it shut you up quick. Beau realized that.
Beau grabs two plates, sliding one to you; the sandwich cut in half, and you stare at it, only to look up when he slides you a glass of pink lemonade, a straw in the cup too.
“Your daddy told me you like pink lemonade,” he says, taking a long sip of his regular lemonade. “Bunnies and pink lemonade,” he repeats, smiling.
“Yeah… i do, thank you,” you say softly, lifting the sandwich and taking a bit out of it–it’s better than you expected, and he notices it in the way your eyebrows raise.
“Good, huh? Most of it is from here, or the farmer’s market,” he tells you, taking a big bite of his own sandwich, the one with triple the amount of meat. “Makes you big n’ strong.”
“So I can sweep all day?” you tease, chewing the bite.
“Yup,” he jokes, wiping the corners of his mouth with his thumb. “Need you to be a strong girl, then you can start movin’ hay, and doin’ the chores I don’t wanna do.”
You laugh around the glass of pink lemonade. “You’re being an ass–a jerk,” you correct, and he pauses mid-chew, only to give you a thumbs up when you catch yourself.
“Look who’s makin’ progress,” he teases, already finishing off one half of the sandwich. “See? Just a little readjustin’, and you’ll be good to go.”
The rest of lunch is light banter between the two of you–back and forth, arguing over stupid things, and realizing that Beau isn’t only one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen, but he’s also the sweetest; patient, kind, and easy on the eyes. You caught yourself staring at him, forgetting to answer questions, shyly taking a long sip when he realized.
“Alright,” Beau says, clapping his hands together. “Got more chores to do–you’ll like these, don’t worry.”
“Watching television?” you ask, standing up with your messy plate, but he’s taking it from you.
“Close,” he replies, turning back to the sink, putting your dishes into it. “Feedin’ the horses.”
“Really?” you ask, raising your eyebrows. “You trust me to?”
Beau laughs. “Yeah, you’re a smart girl.”
Beau is walking around the island and over towards you, offering to take your hand, and you let him. He holds it in his own, taking you towards the back door again, slipping on his hat once again. He rubs his thumb over your warm skin, a quiet gesture that he’s barely aware of, and he keeps glancing down at you.
“Are they big?” you ask, looking up at him.
“Yeah… horses are big, darlin’,” he laughs, finding your question to be adorable.
“Shut up, I don’t just… see horses all of the time; my college is in the city,” you tell him, skipping a bit, and he grins.
“I know, not makin’ fun of you,” he replies, taking you towards the horses.
They’re grazing over the large field, picking at and eating the grass, brown tails swaying and batting off flies. You run a bit ahead and stand by the fence, and Beau is mentally taking a picture of you right now; it’s something he’s seen before, when you were much smaller, and he was having to hold your waist and hoist you up so you could see. You stand there, towering over the wooden fencing.
“They’re… really beautiful,” you tell him, both of you leaning against the fence. “They don’t even look real.”
Beau laughs and keeps his eye on the horses, watching them eat grass, carefree, soaking up the warm sun. “Must be a nice life.”
“Mhm,” you agree, biting your lip and looking back at them. “Wish I could do that.”
“You do,” he jokes, reaching down to pinch your waist. “Your daddy says you suntan and eat fruit the whole damn summer–basically livin’ the life of a horse; zero responsibility.”
You laugh and nod, knowing he’s right; you usually do that during summer, relaxation and nothing else, mindlessly eat strawberries and cherries, your body against a beach towel, soaking up the rays. You wish you were doing that right now.
“Stay here, I’ll get the hay,” Beau says, gently patting your hip before walking off.
You wait patiently at the fence, humming quietly to yourself, watching the horses graze, soft noises that sound comical, and you laugh to yourself. Beau whistles when he returns, holding some hay–not an entire bale, but enough for two horses to munch on if they want, and they’re already coming over.
“Look at ‘em,” he nods towards them, two brown horses slowly walking. “Smart as a whip, they see hay and know what’s comin’.”
You watch in awe as they slowly come over, and Beau is casually handing you some hay, beckoning you to go closer to the fence. You hold your hand out, biting your lip, and it leans down, taking the feed from you. You grin, looking back at Beau, who stands behind you.
“That’s Daisy,” Beau says, watching her bite through the hay. “Sweet girl, loves eatin’ out of my damn hand–bit your daddy’s one time.”
“Good for her,” you joke, turning back to watch the animal. “Sometimes I wanna bite his hand, too.”
“Bitin’ the hand that feeds,” he quips, moving a bit closer to you, his arm moving around your lower waist, hugging your hip. “Gotta be nicer to your old man, kid. He cares about you.”
“Doesn’t understand me much,” you mumble, turning your head to find Beau’s eyes, and you realize he’s crouched down to your level, and he’s already looking at you. “Thinks he knows what’s best for me.”
“Partyin’ and droppin’ out isn’t good for anybody,” Beau tells you, rubbing your hip. “He sees a smart girl, his daughter… doesn’t want you fallin’ down a dark path, sweetheart, gotta respect him for that.”
It’s the first time in your life someone has spoken to you so gently, soothing, warm words that make you feel better rather than guilty, and you’ve been here less than eight hours. You nod again, and he can see the look in your eyes; innocent, glassy eyes revealing an emotion deeper than what your dad tells him about. He brings you into a hug, standing to his full height, and he presses your face into his chest.
“Thank you, Beau,” you mumble into the plaid shirt, feeling a hand against the back of your head and your upper back. “Means a lot to me.”
“Don’t gotta thank me, sweetheart,” he whispers, kissing your forehead. “Want what’s best for you, knew you since you couldn’t ride a bike without trainin’ wheels.”
You grin and pull your head back, sniffling. “People… don’t usually talk to me like that.”
“I’ll talk to you like that,” Beau murmurs, his hand pushing back your stray hairs. “Just a young girl, weight of the world on your shoulders… can’t blame you for doin’ stupid shit.”
“You cursed,” you chirp, smiling. “Can I scold you?”
“In your dreams,” he jokes, pulling back.
Until the sun goes down, the two of you work–well, it might be working.
You fed the horses and ran around, laughing and giggling as Beau struggled to paint the fencing. You sprayed the hose on him; he got mad, and then you laughed, and it was a never-ending day of giggles. He knew you needed this, knew this would be more effective than any dumb punishment your parents thought would work.
Now you lie in the guest bedroom, listening to the rain against the roof of the house, your stomach full and happy from dinner, and all you can see are the flashes of white, lightning cracking and thunder rumbling. You swallow hard, gripping the bunny plushie.
You sit up and gaze at the door; there’s a light on still, and Beau must be awake. He was sitting in the living room when you headed to bed, nursing a beer and watching television, making sure the storm wasn’t doing too much damage to the poor ranch.
“Beau,” you call out softly in the dark room, bracing yourself, hoping he didn’t hear you–you almost instantly regret the shout, but the door is already opening.
“Hey… hey, what’s goin’ on in here? You hurt, kid?” Beau asks with concern, flicking on the light and walking towards the bed. “You okay?”
“Yeah—yeah, I don’t like the thunder,” you reply quietly, shaking your head. “It’s… shaking the house.”
Beau nods, swiftly flicking off the light again, and you realize he’s casually crawling into bed with you. When you freeze up, he pauses, his lips parting.
“Just gonna lie with you until you fall asleep, darlin’,” Beau mumbles, crawling into the space beside you on the small bed. “Promise it’ll work.”
“Okay,” you mumble, nodding a little. “Thank you.”
You roll onto your side, and Beau lies against the blankets, rolling to face you; he spoons you, his arm hesitantly tossed over your waist, his palm against your stomach, his chin over your shoulder. He sighs quietly.
Your eyes are closed, and you can hear him breathing; you can feel each movement of his body, how warm and heavy he is, his stubble scratching your soft skin. His palm stays on top of your large t-shirt, but it’s hard to avoid his legs touching your bare thighs—you’re in just your underwear and an oversized shirt. You didn’t expect company.
Surprisingly, you do actually fall asleep, drifting into a sleep that you hadn’t had in what feels like years; calming, a solid warmth against you the entire time, gentle rubs against your stomach throughout the night. You don’t realize until you wake up that Beau accidentally had fallen asleep too, pressed against you, his face in your neck.
He wakes up shortly after you do, completely unfazed by the position. He just squeezes your waist, and that’s when you also realize his hands were accidentally up your shirt, touching your bare abdomen.
“Good mornin’…” Beau groans, shifting closer against you, his chest to your back. “You sleep well?”
“Mhm…” you nod, swallowing hard. “Really well…”
“Good, kid,” he whispers, sighing quietly, his Texan accent suddenly a lot thicker, noticeable. “Sorry bout’ the storm… didn’t even know it was rollin’ in.”
“It’s fine,” you whisper, feeling his thumb rubbing by your navel, back and forth. “Slept better than I ever have.”
Beau smiles against your neck, inhaling the natural scent from you, pulling you against him a bit more. You’ve been this close to a man, and you like it more than you should—maybe because it’s Beau Arlen.
You slowly pry yourself from his grip, only to roll over to face him. He gives you a lazy grin, his eyes soft and puffy, and he looks down at your lips, drool stains in the corners.
“Droolin’ all over the sheets,” he mumbles, reaching out to wipe it away. “You can be on laundry duty today.”
“Okay,” you whisper, the two of you a little bit close, and you realize his nose is almost brushing yours. “I do it for my family at home.”
“Do you?” Beau murmurs, licking his lips. “That’s a good girl,” he praises, patting your hip.
“Sorta,” you reply, shrugging. “Don’t think my family thinks I’m a good girl…”
Beau sighs, his hand leaving your hip, cupping your sleepy face instead. He brushes his thumb against the top of your nose, rubbing over your cheek next.
“I think you’re a good girl,” he whispers, nodding. “Real sweet, did all of your chores yesterday… eager to do more today. Ain’t nothin’ bad about the way you were actin’.”
“Maybe it’s because it’s you,” you confess quietly, biting your lip. “I wanna listen to you.”
Beau feels a sudden guilt punch him in the chest, a sick twist—you’re his best friend’s daughter, here to make sure you stay in line, to keep you from getting into trouble, teach you a few lessons. And he is trouble; you should be staying away from him.
“I’m glad you do,” he tells you, shifting a bit closer.
And then your lips touch, a gentle, slow kiss, lazy lips beginning to move together. It’s nothing like you thought a kiss with Beau would be like; it’s better. He’s patient and eager at the same time; just a tango between the two of you, his saliva mixing with yours, his hand cupping your bare waist again. He feels good, all of him does.
Your nose presses against his face, and his face presses into yours. He can feel the warmth on your body, on your face, emanating off you, and he’s swiftly moving, crawling on top of your bed, and nudging his way between your thighs. It’s all tender, careful, like you’re the most fragile thing he’s held—you are, his best friend’s daughter.
Beau continues to kiss you, a makeout between the two of you erupting, and he’s between your thighs, a large hand against your hip, the other one hitching your thigh over his hip. He grins, listening to those innocent, soft sounds; all whines and whimpers.
“See? Good girl,” he mumbles against your mouth, letting his lips trail down, grazing your jawline and neck, working his way down. “Real good girl.”
“Feels good,” you breathe out, nodding. “Really good… sir.”
Beau’s eyebrows quirk at the band, sir.
“Good, baby,” he murmurs, mouthing at your jawline now, his lips pressing into the bone. “Want you feelin’ really good.”
Beau massages your hip, his thumb rubbing back and forth before gliding over your stomach. He lets the rough digit touch the bow on your waistband, and he smiles, the small detail being so you.
“Cute,” he comments, leaving a chaste kiss to your cheek.
Beau then begins to gradually pull down your underwear, sliding down your thighs, helping it off and tossing it aside. He’s checking in on you the whole time; soft glances and little nods, quiet check-ups, ensuring you’re comfortable, wanting it—of course you do.
“I know you’re a virgin,” he whispers, gazing down at you. “Gonna take it real slow with you, darlin’,” he reassures, rubbing your bare hips.
“Please… I don’t want it to hurt,” you whimper, shaking your head. “I’m scared.”
“Don’t be,” Beau shakes his head along with yours, rubbing your hipbone. “Gonna sting… feel like a lot of pressure in your tummy, but you’ll like it.”
You nod and try to ignore that his one hand is reaching down into his sweatpants, pulling out his hardened cock—he’s been hard since he woke up, and absolutely felt terrible for having it pressed against you. He purposely shifted back, but is now giving in.
Instead of letting his fingers warm you up, he gently presses the thick tip to your core. He glides it up and down your wet folds, gathering the slick, letting his precum create a sweet mix. He looks up at you, and the expression on his face.
“You’re—Beau, you’re big,” you almost cry, glancing down between your thighs. “Can’t—that won’t fit inside of me.”
“Remember what I said, baby?” He asks quietly, gently pushing the tip to your core now, nudging. “Strong girl… you can take me.”
You moan softly, the pressure being enough to make your hips shift, but he’s there to stop it. His big hand presses down, keeping your bare body against the bed, a forceful gesture. And you like it.
“Okay… I can take it,” you repeat, more so telling yourself, trying to soothe your mind.
“Yeah, you can, darlin’,” Beau whispers, his hands gripping your hips now as his cock glides down, finding your entrance. He doesn’t thrust, just pokes.
You groan, and your head tips back; eyes closed, your eyebrows knitting together, and he curses quietly under his breath. He feels bad, feels terrible, for too many reasons right now—but you’re so warm, and pretty, and you feel so good.
Beau begins pushing in, and he can feel that stretch, the way your walls begin to expand, adjusting to his thick cock; all veins and heavy, his tip throbbing, and you can feel it going deeper, and deeper. So deep that you lift your hand, gripping his shoulder.
“So—too deep,” you whine, your eyes closing.
“One… more inch, baby, one more,” he reassures you, finally pushing in fully, and he leaves himself buried, letting you adjust.
“Oh—oh, my gosh,” you groan, feeling the intensity, the pressure, the warmth, the pain, the stinging. You groan even louder.
“I know… I know,” Beau pants out, leaning over you, rubbing either side of your hips. “Bein’ real strong right now, relax, sweetheart.”
You’re trying to relax, but you’re just clenching, and he’s losing his shit; his head is bowed, and he grunts each time your walls contract. It’s by accident; he knows it, but it doesn’t make it feel any less good.
After letting you adjust, Beau picks up a gentle thrust, a patient roll of his hips that sends your head tipping back against the warm pillows. He groans, and moves back and forth, poking at that warm, gummy spot.
“Fuck—“ you breathe out, and he thrusts harder.
“Language,” Beau scolds, shaking his head, biting at your jawline. “Don’t be swearin’ while I’m inside of you.”
You purse your lips and nod quickly, whimpering as the relentless thrusts keep going, and your body is moving with them, the old bed groaning and creaking. It’s the best thing you’ve ever felt, and it’s all because of Beau; sweaty and panting, his hair messy and drenched.
“I’m—I’m sorry, sorry, Beau,” you whisper, shaking your head, whining louder. “Sorry—“
“Shhh,” he coos, soothing you and the guilt he feels within. “You’re okay, sweet girl… keep pushin’ through for me,” he mumbles, his nose by your ear.
Even if it’s intense, and you’re whining, and whimpering, and squirming, he’s still being gentle, slow, taking his time with you. You bite your lip, letting him move and move, taking in just the way he needs you to.
“Atta girl,” Beau tells you, licking beneath your ear. “Look at you go—takin’ me, god, you’re perfect,” he mumbles.
“Mm—Beau,” you tell him, your fingers curling into his shoulder.
“I know, darlin’,” he whispers, kissing your neck again. “Relax… I got your pretty body just fine, shhh…”
And Beau keeps going, that gentle pace, slow and perfect, everything you’ve ever needed and more, from your dad’s best friend. He presses into you a bit harder now, realizing that the both of you are getting close—it’s hard not to, especially when he’s so big.
“Want you to cum on my cock, baby,” Beau murmurs right against your ear, breathing out. “Okay? C’mon… pretty girl, just let that feelin’ go…”
You know what feeling he’s talking about, the coil, the tight knot that has your abs clenching. And he’s rubbing over your stomach, pressing down, urging you to let go—you’re holding it in, almost like you’re ashamed.
“You can do it… just me, my girl,” he reminds you, pressing his thumb into your low abdomen. “Gonna feel so good… so good, baby, you’re okay.”
The reassuring words are what make you cum, a final chance to hold it in, and you don’t. Your head throws back, and your whine is louder than you have the entire morning, and Beau is cumming at the same time, purposely wanting to share your first time finishing with him.
It’s perfect; his hips still rolling, guiding you through that orgasm, keeping you feeling good, even after you’ve finished, and his cum is buried deep inside of you. He presses his forehead against yours, and he pants through a grin.
“Good girl, good baby,” Beau pants, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Did… so good, so well, baby,” he continues, pressing reassuring kisses to your face, his thumb against your stomach.
“Mmm…” you whine, completely out of it, high on the feeling he’s only ever made you feel. You shift.
“I know… feels really funny, all full, yeah? A full tummy you got there?” He asks, rubbing his palm over right where his head presses. “It’s okay… just relax.”
Beau keeps himself like that; buried inside of you, letting your lips and nose brush, your forehead pressing. It’s gentle and sweet, and you don’t feel half as guilty as he does. He just took your innocence.
When he glances beside him on the bed, that’s when it hits him—the stuffed bunny, the one he got you as a welcome gift, and now it sat there, watching the entire thing. He laughs, looking back to you.
“First time with an audience?” Beau jokes, trying to ease the moment, the guilt and shame buried beneath him.
You’ll cling to that bunny forever.