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visceravalentines · 1 year

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What did you do for Easter, Meg? Oh you know, colored eggs and wrote sacrilegious porn, hbu? Couldn't stop thinking about the comments on this post so surprise whores here you go

Worship

Dilf!Bo Sinclair x AFAB!Reader

Bo has a few sins to confess and in the process he commits a whole bunch of new ones.

2.5k words. Smut. Super blasphemy, like so bad, and lots of religious ideas and phrasing. Oral (fem!receiving) and PnV sex in a semi-public extremely inappropriate place w/ creampie at the end bc that's what we deserve. Soft Bo, almost sub Bo if you squint. Reader wears a dress & heels and uses she/her pronouns. Extensive liberties taken with confessional booth architecture and suit pants physics.

A note: this can be read as a non-chronological part of my ongoing dilf Bo series or as a standalone.

You haven't been in this church since you were a teenager. Your eyes wander up and over the stained glass, the soaring rafters. It's a beautiful building, stately, tranquil.

"Got somethin' I need to confess," Bo whispers with his lips against your ear. Goosebumps roll down your skin.

You shoot a sidelong glance down the pew at your parents, less than two feet away. They're holiday Catholics and the sermon has them rapt, like tourists watching a wild animal from the safety of their vehicle.

You incline your head subtly in Bo's direction and hold your breath so you don't miss his next words.

"I can't get you outta my head."

You exhale slowly and shift on the bench, careful not to set the ancient wood creaking. When you sneak a look at him, he's the picture of innocence, taking in the gospel like a man who doesn't need it. You clasp your hands on your lap.

Casually, like he's commenting on the father's delivery, Bo leans in again and murmurs, "Bet you'd let me touch you here, huh? Get my hands under that little skirt...."

You shiver and shift. The bench tattles on you and your mother sends a reprimand your way with her eyes. You tug the hem of your skirt towards your knees and try to channel a modicum of the faux virtue sitting to your left.

He quiets down and behaves himself for just long enough that the flame flickering in your center dies down to an almost-appropriate level, but the heat of his leg against your bare thigh keeps you from turning all your thoughts to God. The weight of his hand on the small of your back as he guides you out of the pew for Communion is a stitch past purity. The look he manages to slip you as the father places the wafer in his open mouth makes you feel like you need to get back in line for a second pass at contrition, and maybe this time you'll mean it.

His hand brushes across your ass as you scoot back into the pew and you think about obedience, how you hate to be told what to do but you'd drop to your knees for him right now, right here, if he'd promise to quell the simmer he's started between your legs.

The father is thanking those who helped prepare the picnic on the lawn outside and Bo props his arm on the back of the bench, leans close and lets his lips graze your skin, and whispers, "Meet me up there once everybody's outside." He gestures with a nod.

You look at him with wide eyes. "The confessional?" you hiss.

He winks at you.

You follow your parents out onto the green, but Bo doesn't follow you. In fact you lose him immediately in the crowd, can't help but search for him among the abundance of pastel dresses and khaki suits. You agree vapidly with everything your mother says about the mass, nod politely at all your dad's closest acquaintances.

You excuse yourself at the second or third possible opportunity, afraid of running into the father if you sneak back too soon. Your footsteps are deafening in the now silent sanctuary, your eager uncertainty echoing back at you like an accusation.

Bo is nowhere to be seen, but neither is the clergy, so you step lightly across the stone floor and approach the confessional booth. The penitent's bench is hardly private, hung with a red curtain that only conceals from the waist up. You duck instead into the priest's chamber and inch the door closed behind you, letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding once you're safely out of sight.

The small space is dimly lit by a single bulb recessed in the ceiling and the fractured light coming in through the screen on the one side. There's a bench built into the back wall and furnished with a velvet cushion. You sit, adjusting your skirt, and think about guilt.

Abruptly the door flies open and Bo slips inside, closing it all the way behind him. He's appropriately debonair in a blue suit, white shirt, no tie. For a moment, he looks a touch harried, glancing over his shoulder to be sure the door is closed. But then he looks down at you, meets your gaze, and flashes you a grin.

"Well what do we have here?"

You move to stand and he shakes his head, fighting to shrug off his suit coat in the confined space. "Don't get up, darlin', you're perfect right there. Betcha this is the first time anyone with tits has sat in that seat."

You giggle, a touch nervous. He reaches his hand out for yours and brings your knuckles to his lips. His mustache prickles your skin.

"You enjoy the mass?"

You're not sure if he's serious. "...parts of it, yeah."

He smiles. "Which parts?"

You open your mouth for a sharp reply but your gaze is hung up on his lips and when he shifts his weight you become unbearably aware of how close his bulge is to your face.

Bo laughs low and squeezes your hand. "I myself had a hard time focusin' on the good word. Had my mind on...other things." He eyes you with something like mischief. "I was hopin' maybe you could help me...unburden myself."

The smell of him is slowly permeating the tiny space, overwriting the stuffy scent of incense and oiled wood with tobacco and aftershave. He barely fits, too tall, shoulders too broad. He could swallow you whole and you wish he would.

"Anything you want," you say softly.

Bracing himself against the walls, he sinks to his knees in front of you. The pattern of the screen is emblazoned on his face in light. The wood pops and creaks. You remember to breathe.

"I'm a sinner, darlin'." He gazes up at you through those lashes, smiling sheepishly, big hands curving around your calves. "Done too much wrong to confess. Can't even remember it all."

You touch his cheek, brush your thumb over the crow's feet at the corner of his eye. "Start small."

His hands slide down to your ankles and he works at the strap of your heels with ungainly fingers. "I been tellin' lies, baby." He slips off one shoe and starts on the other. "Your mama asked me if I've been seein' anyone and I said no." His thumb runs along the arch of your foot. "Your daddy asked me if I knew where you was the other night and I told him I didn't have a clue."

He wraps his fingers around your ankles and squeezes gently, and then pulls your legs open. You stifle a gasp, try to press your thighs together to maintain a smidgen of modesty.

Bo kisses your knees. His hands creep up the outside of your legs. "Been gamblin'. Riskin' my reputation, my livelihood."

"Why would you do that?" you whisper.

He grins against your skin. His fingers are sneaking beneath your skirt. "Well y'see, there's this girl...."

You bite your lip as he curls one finger around the waistband of your panties on either side and tugs them down your thighs.

"She ain't for me...but she's all I want. And that's another thing." He tucks your panties in his pocket and you pretend you don't notice. "I been plagued by lustful thoughts. Day and night I'm thinkin' about this girl, thinkin' about the sounds she makes...picturin' her underneath me...." He guides your knees apart, drags his mouth over your skin, lighting you up from the outside in. His shoulders are solid under your hands, a foundation to cling to.

"See, I know it's wrong, but whenever she's around me I just...forget myself. Start wonderin' what she's got on under her clothes, what I gotta do to get 'em off of her...." He nips at your flesh, one, two, three up your thigh, and you gasp each time. "Keeps me up at night wishin' she was in my bed." He pauses, looks at you with cocked eyebrows. "I think about her damn near every time I defile myself, which is...often."

You exhale slowly, release the death grip you have on his shirt and run your fingers through his hair. "Sounds like you've got a lot of penance to do."

Bo lets out a helpless chuckle. "I know it, baby. I'm desperate." He blinks up at you, looking earnest. "I'm hopin' you got some salvation to offer me."

"I might." You tug your skirt up, baring yourself to him, and he groans, fingers digging into your flesh. "But you've got to earn it."

He inches forward and pins your legs open on either side of his shoulders. "Never been much of a god-fearin' man," he says, "but I know how to worship." He bows his head and you close your eyes when you feel his breath on your skin. "What d'you know about devotion, angel?"

"Nothing," you say, breathless. "Teach me."

The first pass of his tongue is feather-light and devastating and you sigh as that flickering flame roils brightly back to life. He teases the edge of your entrance, warming you up with the heat of his attention. You make a small sound and he responds with a slow, insistent lick up the length of your slit that makes you whine and clutch at his hair.

He cradles your clit in the cup of his lips and venerates you with his tongue in lazy spirals, up and over, and your blood throbs in the same rhythm. He sucks gently, and then harder, and you moan in the bliss of transubstantiation as his mouth makes the mundane into the divine.

With a growl in the back of his throat he hoists your legs onto his shoulders and penetrates you with his tongue, lapping at your pussy in search of absolution. Your eyes bounce around the blank ceiling of the booth as your hips buck mindlessly against his chin. His mustache tickles your lips, beard coarse against your inner thighs.

"Bo," you gasp as he sucks hard at your clit, "oh, god."

"I'm a bad person, baby," he mumbles. "Promise."

"No." You try and fail to stifle a cry, back arching, toes curled. "You're so good...you're so good."

Between your gasps you hear the sound of footsteps on the stone. Your steady-building climax skids to a halt and you stare wide-eyed at the confessional door.

Bo doesn't stop. In fact, he redoubles his efforts.

You clamp your hand over your mouth, trying desperately to keep still even as your body flexes and writhes against your will. You can hear two voices--you recognize one as the father but the other could be anybody, some stranger, some sinner seeking Easter confession.

Bo seals his mouth over your cunt and grinds his tongue against your clit again and again, gripping your ass, holding you to him as you squirm and seek purchase on the featureless walls.

The voices are getting closer and against all odds, so is your release. You're past the point of redemption, couldn't stave it off if you wanted to.

"Bo," you squeak under your breath, clawing at the back of his neck, grasping the edge of the seat, "please--"

He grunts softly. He's devouring you, hellbent on a miracle, bound and determined to introduce you to God. And seconds later, when your cup runneth over and your spine arches against the velvet and you have to sink your teeth into the meat of your palm to keep from howling his name, you see starbursts of pastel pink and sky blue behind your eyes and figure this is probably the closest you'll get to the pearly gates.

Your breath is hitching in your chest and you feel him slip out of your hands and you whimper, floating back into your body, unsteady as you try to sit up straight on the bench. The voices and footsteps are fading and you breathe a sigh of relief and release.

His hands are on your arms and he's coaxing you to your feet, supporting your weight on behalf of your shaking legs, turning you around in the tight space and murmuring in your ear.

"Need you, baby, right now, c'mere. Need to be inside you. Let me--"

He takes your place on the bench. He's undone his belt, freed his cock from his pants, and you clamber eagerly into his lap and let him guide you down onto him. Your head lolls back as he pushes into you, fills your empty space. The image of him looking desperately up at you is burned into the back of your eyelids.

"Angel," he breathes as he takes your face in his hands and brings your mouth to his. His kisses are hot with lust, with greed, with envy of everyone who's ever touched your lips before him. You can smell yourself in his beard, sweet and heady like original sin.

You move, rocking back and forth on his cock, and he moves you, hands on your hips, your skirt in disarray, his shirt falling open as you wrestle with the buttons. He pulls you closer, pulls himself deeper, and you can feel his heart pounding when you brace yourself on his chest.

"Ain't gonna last long," he pants. "So fuckin' tight, baby, so perfect...."

"That's okay, that's okay," you say, stumbling over your words. The frame of the booth is groaning in legitimate complaint, the entire structure trembling slightly, and you're going to get caught, surely you are, and you'll be cast out together beyond the reach of forgiveness but that might be alright as long as you've got him with you.

You press yourself against him, as close as you can get and not close enough. He cums with his face buried in your chest and your name in his mouth like a prayer. The kick of his cock inside you grants you another little climax, a little death, little moans jarred from your lips with each waning thrust of his hips.

"Kiss me," you whisper, and he obeys, his eyes glazed, his gaze soft and adoring. His needy grip on your waist melts into caresses and you finger the buttons of his shirt like rosary beads. One is missing; you're both hopelessly disheveled, undeniably sin-touched. You push his hair off his forehead and back into place. "Did this help?"

He shakes his head and laughs quietly. "No."

"Made it worse."

"Yeah."

"Sorry."

"'S okay." He kisses you again. "You're forgiven."

#i know i know i write so much of bo eating pussy but you know what? you know what?? you're welcome okay?? leave me alone #this was supposed to be like a blurb but i just don't know how to shut up about this old man #bo sinclair #bo sinclair fanfiction #dilf bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #slasher x reader #house of wax fanfiction #agaas #a gentleman and a scoundrel

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visceravalentines · 1 year

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Reconnecting

A Gentleman and a Scoundrel, Chapter 7

Dilf!Bo Sinclair x AFAB!Reader

Series masterlist here.

5.3k words. Smut. Oral (M and F receiving). Cum eating. Marking. Voyeurism. Guided masturbation. Light bondage. Orgasm delay. Fingering. Overstimulation/multiple orgasms. Daddy kink. Dirty talk & praise. Mention of shitty parents.

It's about time you come home for the weekend.

You were anxious.

Gut-wrenchingly anxious.

You had snapped awake Friday morning, laid in your bed for almost half an hour before you gave up on slipping back into sleep and rolled out of the sheets.

As you got ready and packed your bag, you had checked your phone almost minute by minute. Last weekend, the second weekend of the semester, you hadn’t even made it this far before he’d texted you:

Something came up, baby girl. Won’t be able to make it down.

Apparently there had been some family emergency; he was vague about the details. He was always cagey when it came to family matters. You didn’t care so much about that. What you cared about was that ultimately, it meant another week apart.

You missed him so much it was like a weight around your neck. You were homesick, not for your parents’ house or their cordial interest in your studies and your social life, but for his little blue craftsman. His truck. His bed. Him.

In the blink of an eye, you’d gone from his daily company through the summer to the better part of a month without seeing him. Sure, you’d spoken on the phone a dozen times, texted frequently, but it wasn’t the same. You wanted to touch him, kiss him, smell him, hold him.

You hoped he still wanted that too.

Part of you, the part that manifested phantom vibrations of your phone in your back pocket, worried that with the distance and the shortening daylight you had already begun to fade from his mind. That was absurd, of course. To think that after all it had only been a summer fling, warm nights and hot blood, a relationship of proximity. Of convenience.

Absurd, of course.

At 9:02 you texted, About to head up. Should be there around noon

You hesitated before adding, I can’t wait to see you

A sigh tumbled from your lips. You felt silly. You knew you were overreacting, being insecure, but he had been so off since you left. He was good at hiding it, adept at deflecting your tentative probing, but you heard it in his voice when you spoke on the phone. You kept thinking of the look on his face the night he drove you to campus, when he’d turned to you under the streetlamp with that blank, hollow expression and said he thought he should go. Like part of him had already gone and the rest of him was raring to follow.

The phone buzzed in your hand. Your pulse spiked.

He’d sent a photo of himself still in bed, hair mussed, one arm thrown across the empty pillow beside him. You smiled. You hadn’t seen his face for a few days. With delight, you saw he had the scruffy beginnings of a beard.

Keeping it warm for you darlin.

You could feel your heart blaze in your chest. Three hours was too long. Three hours was an eternity. With no conscious effort on your part, you were up off the couch and out the door in a matter of seconds.

Shop opens at 8, old man. Why aren’t you up?

There was an unseasonable crispness to the air already as you crossed the parking lot to your car. Autumn was just around the corner.

Shop’s closed today. Got better things to do.

You tossed your bag into the passenger’s seat and fired off a reply before pulling out of the lot. I hope I’m on that list.

He replied quickly but you waited to look until you hit a red light.

You are the list, sugar. And then: Quit texting and driving

You chuckled. It was miraculous how quickly anticipation had swallowed your anxiety. You sent him one last text before settling in for the drive.

Yes sir

A smile played on your lips from the second you turned onto his street and only grew as you approached the house. The front lawn was immaculate, the phlox overflowing their planters on the porch. Pulling your car around back was second nature.

He’d left the door unlocked for you. Walking in felt like coming home, brought back memories of the first time you’d spent the weekend. You tried to savor the smell of the house before you grew used to it again.

“Bo?” you called as you dropped your bag to the floor.

“Is that my baby girl?”

He stepped into view around the corner and broke into a grin, arms open wide as you barreled towards him. He caught you against his chest, squeezing you in a monstrous bear hug. He smelled so good, smoke and aftershave.

Burying his face in your hair, he mumbled low, almost to himself, “Goddamn, darlin’, I missed you.”

You craned your neck and kissed him and fuck, how many times had you caught yourself daydreaming thinking about the taste of his mouth? You locked your arms around his waist, anchoring yourself, pressing tightly against him to reacquaint yourself with all of him all at once.

Your fingers scratched through his beard. It was coarse, more salt than pepper. “I like this.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Do ya?”

“Yeah.”

He tilted your chin with one finger, looked at you appraisingly, his gaze sweeping over your face. “Pretty girl. You been doin' alright?”

"I've been really good. Busy. How about you?"

“Lonesome.” He took hold of your jaw and guided your mouth to his and kissed you long, his tongue sweeping over yours, nipping gently at your bottom lip. “Bored to tears.”

“Tears?” you exclaimed with mock horror.

Bo shook his head woefully. “’S pitiful. Spent every night sobbin’ and jerkin’ off.” He gestured for emphasis.

You snorted and thumped his chest. “Moron.”

“Can’t help it. You got my brain all scrambled.” He leaned against the arm of the couch, opened his legs, and tucked you between them. “Got me wrapped around your finger, y’fuckin’ minx.” He separated your index finger from the others, brought it to his lips and sucked on the tip.

You exhaled slowly. You wanted him now, right now, and every day for the last eighteen days.

Tugging your hands free, you pushed him backwards and sent him sprawling across the couch. His reflexes were fast and he seized you by the arms, pulling you on top of him. His hands were familiar, rough and warm, seeking out their favorite parts of you as if to make sure nothing had changed. You came alive under his touch, skin prickling, blood humming, body ecstatic.

"I missed you so much," you gasped against his lips.

"I can tell."

You squirmed out of his grasp and positioned yourself between his legs. Sliding his shirt up, you gripped his waist and slathered his stomach in kisses, dragging your mouth over his skin, working your way downwards. You licked a broad path up to his navel as you fussed at the button of his jeans and he lifted his hips so you could tug them down.

"Shit, baby, y'ain't even gonna buy me dinner first?"

"Shut up."

Delicately you brushed your lips against his half-hard shaft and were rewarded with an immediate response. Your tongue eased its way around his head and you looked up to meet his eyes. They were heartbreak blue in the light from the picture window and sharp with something two steps past lust.

“Daddy?” you said softly.

“Yeah, baby?”

Your lips were pressed against the cleft on the underside of his cock. “I missed you so much….”

The corner of his mouth quirked in a faint smirk. “Yeah? Y’been thinkin’ ‘bout this?”

“Mmhmm.” You lapped almost lazily at that sensitive spot, your hand wrapped snugly around his growing shaft.

Bo shifted, his eyes locked on your lips. “G’on, darlin’, it’s all yours. Show me you can handle it.”

You slipped just the head of his cock into your mouth, cradling him with your tongue, finally dropping your gaze so you could slide half his length in and back out, in and out, deeper this time, until your lips met his pelvis and he allowed himself a low groan. The leather upholstery squealed as he gripped the couch cushion in his hand.

“That’s it, baby girl, just like that.” His other hand dropped from the back of the couch to fist the hair at the base of your skull. You whimpered, readjusting yourself, cognizant of the gentle throb between your legs. Drool filled your mouth and coated his shaft, dribbled over your thumb as you tugged on his balls. “Y’like havin’ somethin’ in your mouth, don’tcha baby.”

With a strangled sound, you relaxed your throat and focused hard on breathing through your nose, letting him guide your head back and forth at the pace he wanted. Your nails dug into the skin of his thigh. The heat pooling in your panties was unbearable. You needed him everywhere at once, all over you, inside of you, wanted to make him shake, wanted his hand around your neck.

He pushed himself deeper and you suppressed a gag. “’Atta girl,” he murmured. “Good fuckin’ girl.” The muscles of his abdomen rolled and his grip tightened on your hair. “Gonna cum for you, yeah?” he breathed. “You’re gonna take it.” It wasn’t a question.

You whined, bracing yourself against his hips.

“Fuck – ” Bo gasped through clenched teeth, let slip a strangled moan, faltered in his rhythm as he spilled in hot spurts down your throat.

You fought another gag and slid him carefully out of your mouth, savoring the salty-sweet taste of him on the back of your tongue. A few thin tears toppled over your lashes as you lifted your head and wiped your lips with your wrist. He was flushed and panting, you noted with satisfaction.

“Mm…y’alright, darlin’?” Bo refocused on your face, reached out and brushed a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Oh – shit.” He drew his hand back quickly.

You furrowed your brow. “I’m fine, Bo – ”

“No, ‘s not that.” He flipped his hand and to your surprise, his knuckles were bleeding.

“Jesus,” you exclaimed. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he huffed. He stood up and tugged his boxers back on, kicking his jeans off on the rug. “I split my damn knuckles a couple days ago.”

You rose from the couch and followed him to the kitchen sink, brow knit with concern. “Doing what?”

“Scraped ‘em on the concrete while I was under a Ford. Stupid.” He turned on the faucet and winced as the water hit the wounds. “Didn’t get any on ya, did I?”

You checked yourself over and shook your head. “Do you need a band-aid?”

He scoffed. “Nah, I’m no pussy.”

You rolled your eyes. “If they don’t stop bleeding I’m getting you a band-aid.” You watched as he gingerly dried his hand with a paper towel. “Let me see.”

“Quit makin’ a fuss over nothin’,” Bo grumbled, but he held out his hand for you to examine. Two short but deep gashes split the crests of his first and second knuckles and the skin around them was bruised and swollen.

“The concrete did that?” you frowned.

“That’s what I said.”

“You need me to kiss them better?”

Bo scowled. “I’m not a damn child.” You pressed a careful kiss to the backs of his fingers anyway and his expression softened in spite of himself. “Bit my lip too, y’know. While you were suckin’ out my soul over there.”

“Oh, poor baby,” you said, pulling him close.

“Been playin’ too rough, mama.”

“Thought you liked it rough.”

He kissed you, slow and open-mouthed, wrapping his fingers around your wrists. His grip was firm and possessive. When he pulled away he took your breath with him. His lips grazed your cheekbone and he murmured in your ear, “Take your clothes off and I’ll show you how I like it.”

You looked up at him with wide, eager eyes. He flashed you that heartthrob grin. “Forgot how easy it is to get you riled up.” He gestured over your shoulder with a nod. “Get your ass into that bed, sugar.”

He stepped back to let you slip past him and you felt his eyes on the switch of your hips. Something about the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, his very proximity made you feel sordid, like you were meant for him, body and blood.

“Clothes off, darlin’,” he called after you.

You pulled your shirt up over your head and dropped it on the floor without looking back at him, undid the button on your jeans and wrangled them down your legs. Your bra and panties were devil red, mostly mesh, leaving only the bare minimum to the imagination. You’d described them to him in excruciating detail over the phone, but he’d never seen them in person until now. Coyly you tucked your thumbs into the waistband and tugged at it.

His low whistle of admiration made you grin. “Changed my mind. Leave them things on.”

His bedroom was familiar and comfortable and you climbed onto the bed, lolling across the mattress, luxuriating in the sensation and smell of his sheets. You’d slept like shit the first week without him. Bo sauntered through the door and pinned his bottom lip between his teeth at the sight of you sprawled in his bed.

“Goddamn. Hope you’re comfy, baby girl, ‘cause you ain’t leavin’ that bed ‘til Monday.”

You opened your mouth to reply and he shushed you, leaning down to cup your chin. “Not a word outta those pretty lips unless it’s yes sir or no sir, y’understand?”

“Yes sir,” you said, already captivated.

He kissed your nose, and then your forehead. “I’m gonna tie you up, sugar, s’that alright?” You nodded immediately and a smile crept across his face. “Good.”

You ogled him shamelessly as he tugged a leather strap out from under each corner at the foot end of the mattress. He fastened cuffs lined with soft fabric around both of your ankles and clipped just the left one to the restraint, taking a seat on the mattress between your legs and resting your right foot on his shoulder, nuzzling his nose against your shin.

“Gonna remind you who you belong to, pretty thing. Been gone so long…you forget who your man is?”

His teeth pinched at your skin and you inhaled sharply. “No sir.”

“Hmm.” His beard was scratchy as he let his mouth wander up your leg. “Think I better make sure o’ that.” He sucked hard on the flesh of your calf, leaving a sultry purple bruise. “You wear those cute lil things while you’re on the phone with me?” The way he rested his cheek against your leg was sweet, almost demure. “Playin’ with that pussy while I’m talkin’ to you?”

The sheet was bunched tight in your hands already and he’d just gotten started. “Yes sir,” you breathed.

His hand slid dangerously far past your knee and back again, goosebumps springing up in its wake. “Show me.”

You pouted. You’d had about enough of your own fingers; you wanted his. “But – ”

Bo pinched your thigh and you squeaked. “Ah-ah, baby girl. Show me what I’ve been missin’. Promise I’ll take care o’ you.”

You let your hand creep down to stroke lightly over the fabric covering your sex, already damp between your legs. A slow, shaky breath snuck through your lips as he ran his fingers up and down your thigh.

"Pretty thing," he crooned. "Missed you so bad…."

You tucked your fingers into your panties and fumbled for the right spot, whining when you found it, hot and throbbing. You’d had a fair amount of practice in the last few weeks, cheap orgasms with your hand or your vibe, occasionally made better and worse by the sound of his voice tinny through your phone. Having him here and touching you set you on fire.

"Baby girl," he moaned, watching you feel yourself up, trailing sidelong kisses past your knee. "Beautiful girl."

Chest heaving, breasts straining against your bra, you ground against your fingers with your gaze locked on him. He was leaving marks on the inside of your thigh like rose petals, soft and stinging. You were mere steps from collapse, body electric with his touch, the taste of him still sweet in the back of your throat. Easy, it was so easy, it was so easy with him.

"Slow down, sugar." He took hold of your wrist and halted your methodical motions, lips lifting in a smirk at the look on your face. "You ain't cummin' 'til I say."

"Okay," you breathed.

He raised a brow. "'Scuse me?"

"Yes sir."

"Good girl." Bo gently lowered your foot from his shoulder to the bed and slid your panties down your thighs, guiding your right leg free only to clip the cuff to the strap and leave you spread wide open. You hesitated, feeling suddenly vulnerable, and he splayed his hands on your thighs. "G'on, angel, I wanna see." His voice was feather-soft but his gaze was piercing.

With a whimper you slipped one fingertip down the center of your slit and back up around your clit, abdomen clenching, everything honey-sweet and sugary. There was no hiding from the sensation, pulled open like this, nothing to soften your touch. You were so wet you could feel it, splayed out for him to watch.

"Damn, baby, look at you. Makin' that little pussy feel so good. Puttin' on a show for me, dirty fuckin' girl."

You made a strangled sound, trapping your clit between two fingers, increasing your pace just a little, just enough.

Bo gripped your thighs. "Slow, baby, slow." His voice was low and thick with lust. "Wanna remember how you look for the next time we're on the phone and I'm touchin' myself without you."

You gasped, choked on it, squirming. Reflexively you fought against the restraints, desperate to escape the friction of your own hand.

“Poor pretty thing,” he murmured. “Can you fuck yourself for me?”

Rushing to obey, your fingers abandoned your clit to push all the way inside you, nice and easy, and you moaned like a whore.

He dug his nails into your skin. “Goddammit, angel.”

You gave him a pleading look, mouth opening to offer him something, anything, if he would just help you. If he’d just let you. But you said nothing, because that was against the rules. Fuck, you could feel yourself quivering.

He was all but salivating watching you pump your fingers in and out. "Just like that, baby, you like that?”

“Y-yes sir.”

“Y'want my fingers?" You nodded frantically. "Ask me nice.”

“Please,” you gasped. “Please, can I – can I have your fingers? Sir?”

“’Course, baby. My girl gets what she wants."

Bo urged your hand out of the way with a nudge of your wrist and for a moment, you were horribly, heartbreakingly empty. He ran one fingertip down across your clit and you whined, squeezed your eyes shut, and when he breached your hole with two thick fingers and no resistance your hips bucked, cunt clenching. Nothing could compare to him, the way he owned you so easily.

"Not yet, baby girl, c'mon. Be good for me. Makin' me wait so long for this, now it's your turn."

"I – I can't – "

“Yes you can. I know you can.” He fucked you with long, slow thrusts, head tilted to the side as he watched you writhe, hands furled into fists pressing helplessly against the mattress. “I fuckin’ own this pussy, don’t I.”

“Yes,” you managed. “Yes…sir….” You were pulsing, head to toe, glowing gold, fighting every second to keep it from pulling you under. His thumb found your clit and you let loose a sound like a sob.

“You close, baby?” he asked, as if he couldn’t feel your cunt clutching at him in the throes of deprivation.

“S-so…so close, Daddy, please….”

You heard him huff as though you were the one denying him. “Gonna count for you, alright?” A hopeless protest wrung itself out on your tongue. “Gonna give you ten.”

“Okay, okay, okay….”

“Ten…nine….”

He hit the angle, the perfect flawless made-for-you angle that made your blood tingle like it was full of moonshine, and you cried out at the injustice of it all.

“Eight…seven…six….”

He maintained his rhythm, his pressure, his practiced manipulation of your nerve endings even as you heaved and fought to make it stop, make it worse, make it end.

“Doin’ so good, baby girl…five…four….”

Your legs were shaking out of control, breath coming in spurts, heart roaring in your ears, and everything was electric. He was drawing out his count now, sadistic, remorseless.

“Three…eyes on me, baby girl, eyes on me…two…look at me, pretty girl, that’s it…one.”

It crashed over you and you were ended and you were everything and you keened like it hurt when really, you could live on it, on him, on anything he would give you. His name teetered off your lips and the look in his eyes…you’d do anything for him, so long as he kept looking at you like that.

He waited until the flicker of your walls stalled before sliding his fingers out of you. The ceiling was soft like a dream and you were weightless, half-aware of him shifting on the mattress. When you felt his breath hot between your thighs, you had only a split second to come back to yourself before his tongue made a pass between your lips and you let out a yelp.

“Bo!”

“Don’t tell me you’re thinkin’ that’s all I’m gonna give you.” You stumbled over your protests and he shushed you with another slow stroke of his tongue. “Been missin’ the way you taste,” he mumbled. “Nothin’ like it, baby girl.” He peered at you over the plane of your stomach. “You’re gonna cum in my mouth, angel, hope you’re ready.”

“I – ohh.”

He captured your clit between his lips and tongue and it was over for you in a matter of petty minutes, quick and dirty, and then again not long after, and this time it simply didn’t stop until you were incoherent and twitching, moaning his name like a litany, at the unremitting mercy of wave after blissful wave.

The gentle press of his lips to your forehead coaxed you back to your senses after what may as well have been an eternity. Your mouth was dry from your constant gasping for air. A muscle in your face was quivering out of control. You were soaked through with sweat, the sheets hot beneath your body. You weren’t sure you’d be able to move again, and why would you want to?

The thrum of his thumb across your nipple sent sparks shooting through you and you flinched and moaned.

"I know, I know. Fuckin' hell, baby, I can't leave you alone." He gripped your jaw gently but firmly and kissed your temple, your cheek, your throat. "Y'know you're all mine. Tell me you're mine."

"I'm – ah." He bit the swell of your breast, sucking hard, stoking the persistent glow smoldering between your thighs, making your abdomen heave. You stroked his hair and tried to catch your breath. "I'm yours. All yours."

He guided your lips to his and kissed you one more time. "You miss me?"

"You know I did."

“Let me get you a drink and turn you loose."

He left and came back with a glass of water, an orange, and a cigarette smoldering between his lips. You watched him over the rim of the glass as he busied himself with your restraints, massaging your ankles with his calloused hands.

"Since when do you smoke in the house?"

He rolled the cigarette to the corner of his mouth. "Picked up a few bad habits since you been gone."

You rolled the orange in your hands and watched him crack open the window, blow a lungful of smoke outside. "Can I try?" you asked. "You know, I've never smoked before."

"Nah." He tapped the ash into the track of the window. "It'll kill ya." You gave him a look and he returned it. "I got one foot in the grave already, leave me be."

You rolled your eyes and set about peeling the orange. "You wanna hear about school?"

He took a long drag, blew it out slow, focused on something or nothing out the window. "'Course, darlin'."

You filled him in on your classes, your friends, the way this semester already felt like a slog. He listened, responded in all the right places, but he seemed far away all of the sudden; uncomfortable, even. You could imagine it wasn’t so interesting to hear about people and things he couldn’t care less about, but rather than disinterest, it was more like unease. Even once his cigarette had burnt to the filter, he stayed at the window, his attention vacillating between you and the world outside.

Eventually you rose from the bed and slipped your arms around his waist from behind. “What are you thinking about?” You didn’t expect the truth, but you wanted to hear his answer anyway.

"When do classes end?"

You sighed. "Thirteen more weeks."

He groaned in complaint and muttered a curse. "Then what?"

"What do you mean, then what?"

"You gonna move across the whole damn country for work or somethin'? Decide you gotta do more school? Or you gonna come back home where you belong?"

"Well…I don't know.” You’d been thinking about that. “I don't really want to live with my parents."

His fingertip traced the veins in the back of your hand. "Don't, then.” He cleared his throat, looked back out the window, and said with absolute nonchalance, “Move in with me."

You furrowed your brow, considering the ramifications. The neighbors would be insufferable. You grew up here. You imagined running into your mother at the grocery store. "How the hell would we keep that a secret?"

"Who gives a shit?" he said. "If people wanna judge let ‘em judge."

"What about my parents?"

Bo turned around, looped his arms around you. "Well, baby girl, they're gonna be pissed. Might be funny."

You chewed your lip. "My dad's kinda scary when he gets mad."

Bo’s expression plummeted. When he spoke, his voice was low and soft. "He yell at you?"

Not for a long time, not since you were little. "He used to." You thought back to when you were a teenager, when you could do no right. “My mom can be a piece of work too.”

The cold intensity of his gaze surprised you, unsettled you a little bit. Immediately you backtracked. “I didn’t mean – ”

"You let me tell 'em," he said quietly.

"No, they're my parents, I can do – "

"I'm not askin' permission."

"We're not even…we don't even need to tell them yet." The prospect of telling them at all made your gut twist with anxiety. The thought that the time for that conversation may be on the horizon was nauseating. The look on his face was in no way helpful.

"Hey." In the blink of an eye his knife-edge expression became a warm and genuine smile. "'S alright, darlin'. Don't fret about it."

You frowned. His immediate transformation puzzled you, left you a little uneasy. "You're not gonna tell them yet, right?"

"No." He shook his head and kissed you gently. "Forget all about it, baby girl. I wouldn’t want to put you in a position like that.”

You looked up at him, searching for words. “I…I would love to move in with you, I just – ”

“I know, baby. Don't worry yourself none. Thirteen weeks,” he said with a smile tinged sad. “We got time.”

You buried your face in his chest, held him tightly to you. "I'm sorry."

"Y'ain't got a thing to be sorry for." He pinched your ass. “How ‘bout you cover up the important bits and we sit on the porch like reasonable people? Enjoy the weather while we got it.”

“I’d like that.”

You cuddled up to him in the big chair on the back porch while the sun was still visible over the privacy fence, playing with his beard. It was just long enough to drag your nails through. It softened his jawline, made him look older than he was. He was so handsome, golden in the sunlight, his thumb tracing the marks left by his mouth on your skin. He gave you a squeeze and you smiled up at him, happy just to be here and be his.

“I been meanin’ to ask you something, pretty girl.” He chewed the inside of his cheek. “I got a hobby I ain’t really told you about…I mostly just do it for me.”

You cocked your head, interested. Revelations of this sort were few and far between. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, hesitant. “I take pictures. Kinda artsy ones. I wouldn’t go so far as to call myself a photographer, but…been doin’ it for a long time.”

You beamed up at him. “That doesn’t surprise me. You take really good…nudes.”

Bo let out a nervous chuckle. “Thank you, darlin’. Vince got all the creative genes, y’know? I can’t draw for shit, or sculpt, or paint. But any idiot can press a button.”

You elbowed him. “Press a button, sure. There’s more to it than that though.”

“I guess you’re right. Anyway, point is, I…I’d really like to take some of you, baby girl. ‘Specially with you bein’ so far away, it got me thinkin’, I’d really like to have…a little bit o’ you here.”

You were flattered, suddenly self-conscious. “You want me to model for you?”

He looked at you hopefully. “Yeah. Would you?”

You nodded with enthusiasm. “Yeah, of course I will. I’d love to.”

He broke into a grin and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’ve got all sorts of ideas, you know my jacket you like? I was thinkin’ maybe that, plus those panties you got with the little bows on the front, or I got this like…leather thing, I’ll have to show you, but your tits would look so damn good in that and we gotta….”

The floodgates opened and you sat back and listened to him describe his many visions, everything from the avant-garde to the outright pornographic, and underneath it all, what you really heard was admiration. Inspiration. Devotion.

He was bad at telling you how he felt and good at lying about it. He was selfish sometimes, without meaning to be. Or maybe he did mean it, and that was okay; you weren't perfect either. He was defensive and secretive and sometimes you felt like you had only scratched the surface, like there was so much more to him underneath.

But all you could think about as he described how he saw you, how he wanted to see you, was how much you loved him.

God, did you love him.

Taglist: @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @slutforguts, @brandnewhuman, @fluffy-little-demon, @cypressnmarigolds, @slasherlouvre , @g0thl3zz, @frankiethedarkangel, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @likeacidrainn, @thatoneidiotlol, @jdbxws, @confused-gender, @xhorror-nerdx, @uwunuzzleowo, @spicysimpura, @gremlinfuck, @the-pinstriped-hood, @vixorell, @hope4rain15, @hamburgerslippers, @pina-chan, @frogggilles, @ethanhoewke, @im-bout-to-pass-otut, @wolftitaness, @ladysybilchronicles, @sinclairbrosbathmat, @zaras-really-dreamless, @sketchy-rosewitch. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, let me know!

#bo sinclair #dilf bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #agaas #a gentleman and a scoundrel #bo sinclair fanfiction #house of wax fanfiction

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