Mom was gone on a work trip, and it had started snowing. It was Thursday, and since school was already canceled for Friday, I planned to grab a few things after class and then spend the weekend inside, watching the snow come down.

On my drive to get gas, I went around a curve and felt my front tires lose traction. Before I knew it, I’d slid straight into the curb.

Needless to say, that wasn’t good. I hit hard enough to blow out a tire. Wonderful.

I called Mom to tell her what happened. She told me to sit tight while she arranged some help. A little while later, she called back and said someone was coming to rescue me — one of her friends who lived nearby and hadn’t yet gone out for his usual happy hour.

Before long, a pickup pulled up behind me and Mom’s friend got out. He took one look at the damage and called a buddy of his who worked at a tire shop. The shop was about to close, but his friend said he’d wait for us.

He pulled the tire off my car, loaded it into his truck, and we drove the few blocks to the shop. His buddy mounted a new tire right away — and wouldn’t even charge me. He just told me to slow down in this weather.

I thanked him and promised I would. Mom’s friend slipped him a fifty and told him to go have a beer, then we headed back to fix my car.

He got the new tire on, and I must have thanked him a dozen times before I hugged him.

He laughed and said he was going to grab some dinner, then asked if I wanted something too. I was starving — I’d skipped lunch — so I said yes.

He wanted me to get my car off the road, so he had me drive it to his place, just a few blocks away, and then hop into his pickup.

I’ve always loved pickups — you sit up high, and they handle the snow way better than my little car ever could.

We went to a restaurant and got seated. I told him it was my favorite place for pizza, and he grinned. “I know,” he said. “That’s why we came here.”

“Could you be any more awesome?” I teased.

“I do my best,” he said with a smile.

We laughed and talked while we waited for our pizza. After dinner, we headed back to his place.

On the drive, he asked if Mom was gone all weekend and if anyone else was home.

“Nope,” I said. “Just me.”

He nodded. “Your mom asked if I’d let you stay with me. Blizzard’s coming through, and she didn’t want you alone. You’re welcome to stay here — I’ve got extra rooms, a hot tub, plenty of TVs — or if you’d rather stay home, I can just check on you a couple of times. You know how mothers worry.”

I laughed. “Honestly, a hot tub and movies by the fireplace sound amazing.”

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s swing by your house so you can pack for the weekend.”

He waited in the truck while I ran inside and threw some things into a bag: comfy shorts, my Lululemon leggings and bodysuit, two bikinis, a tank top, sweatshirt, my makeup and bath stuff… and, okay, two toys for a little solo time in front of the fire.

When I got back in his truck, the snow was really coming down. At his house, he brushed the snow off my car and had me park it in his garage next to his pickup.

He carried my bag inside and said, “You’ve been here before — you know where everything is. Pick a room and make yourself at home.”

I chose the one with a private bathroom — king-sized bed, an enormous shower with jets spraying from every direction, and a TV bigger than most people’s living room screens.

I changed into shorts and a sweatshirt, and he did the same. We settled in to watch a football movie and talked on and off.

When it ended, he asked if I wanted to watch another or call it a night. “I’ll make us popcorn and something to drink,” he said.

I smiled. “John Wick?”

He grinned back. “Okay.”

A few minutes later, the smell of popcorn filled the house. When he came back, he handed me a bowl — butter, salt, black pepper, and grated parmesan. It was so good.

The drink he gave me was some fruity concoction that made every fiber of my being happy.

“Which Wick movie?” he asked.

“The first one,” I said.

He started the movie, and I pulled a blanket over myself. “Want me to turn up the heat?” he asked.

“How about a fire?” I smiled.

“We’ll have to move rooms for that,” he said.

We switched to the den — dark oak walls, wildlife paintings, and mounts everywhere: a deer, a bass, and a huge wild hog skull with tusks he called “cutters.” It was a little creepy but kind of cool.

He started John Wick and got the fire going. What he didn’t know was that I had a huge crush on John Wick. I’d even watch his movies in my room sometimes just to, well… have a little alone time.

The whole setting was perfect — the firelight, the cozy room, the incredible popcorn, and that amazing drink.

When I finished eating, my hands slipped under the blanket. I didn’t let myself go too far — just enough to feel good as I watched.

It was heaven.

When the movie ended, he asked, “Want me to start the next one? Or I can leave you alone so you can… completely enjoy yourself.”

My face went red. “What do you mean?” I asked.

He winked, started the second movie, and said he was heading to bed. “Gotta get up early and blow snow. Then I’ll make us breakfast.”

He tossed more wood on the fire, kissed my forehead, and told me goodnight.

After he left, I laid the blanket in front of the fireplace and finally let myself go while the movie played.

The next morning, I woke to the sound of snowblowers humming all over the neighborhood. Looking out the kitchen window, I saw him outside, launching snow halfway across the street.

I showered, did my hair, and put on a bit of makeup so I didn’t look like a Halloween ghoul. I slipped into my Lululemon thong bodysuit, a pair of shorts, and checked myself in the mirror. Not bad.

When he came back inside, shaking snow off his coat and boots, he smiled. “Morning. How was Wick part two? Hope it was as… stimulating as the first.”

I didn’t even know what to say.

He laughed and said he’d make us breakfast after a quick shower. While he cleaned up, I pulled eggs, sausage, and some fruit from the fridge.

When he came back, he asked what I wanted to eat. “Whatever you’re making,” I said.

We talked while he cooked — cutting thick slices of bread, crushing cereal for coating, beating eggs with all kinds of secret ingredients. He started sausages in one pan and made French toast in another.

Oh. My. God. It was the best French toast I’d ever had. If food could be an orgasm, this was it.

After breakfast, we lingered and talked some more. I asked why he and Mom never dated.

He sighed. “I tried. I wanted to be more than just friends with benefits. Told her once I’d love to take things further.”

I blinked. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “Yeah. You loved having me around when you were little. You’d grab my finger and lead me off to show me something — a doll, a drawing, a tea party. I was ready to be your mom’s husband and your stepdad.”

I stared at him. “Then why didn’t it happen?”

He smiled sadly. “She told me I treated her — and you — too good. And that scared her.”

I almost cried!

We cleaned up the dishes together. I turned and gave him a long hug. He’d been in my life forever, always good to both of us. And his hugs — God, they were the best. Big, warm, strong arms that wrapped around me and swallowed me up.

When I looked up at him, he kissed my forehead again, and I just… melted.

I could tell he saw it — the look in my eyes, the one that gave me away. I was crushing on him, and there was no hiding it. Then, before I even realized what I was doing, something just... happened.

I stepped closer, wrapped my arms around his shoulders, and rose up on my toes to kiss him.

He froze for a heartbeat, caught off guard just like I was.
“Elly, what are you doing?” he asked, his eyes searching mine, wide and uncertain.

I couldn’t answer. My thoughts were tangled, my pulse too loud in my ears. Instead, I let instinct take over — I leaned in again, pressed my lips to his, and this time my tongue slipped softly between them.

That kiss lingered — slow, hesitant at first, then deepening as we both gave in to it. My heart thundered against my ribs, and butterflies swirled through my stomach until I felt weightless. When we finally broke apart, I could barely stand; my knees trembled, and the room seemed to swirl around us.

“Elly,” he whispered again, his breath warm against my lips, “what are you doing?”

I met his gaze, voice trembling but certain. “I’m giving myself to you.”

For a moment, fear crashed inside me — the thought that he might pull away, that I’d gone too far. But instead, he held my gaze and said softly, “You don’t have to do this. I’ve always taken care of you, I always will.”

The tenderness in his voice unraveled me. My chest tightened, my breathing shallow. I reached up, took his face in my hands, and kissed him again — slower this time, but deeper, as if I wanted him to feel everything I couldn’t say. Our mouths moved together in rhythm, tongues tracing, exploring, learning each other.

His hands rested on my hips, thumbs brushing slow circles through the thin fabric of my bodysuit. Every touch sent a shiver rippling up my spine.

When we finally pulled apart, the world felt quiet — just the sound of our breathing, the closeness of our bodies, the knowing in our eyes.

Like before, I took his finger in my hand and led him toward the room where I was staying. He followed, silent, steady, eyes never leaving mine.

When we stopped, he stood behind me, his breath grazing my neck. With careful fingers, he slid the top of my bodysuit down my shoulders, the fabric gliding over my skin. I shivered under his touch as he peeled it away — slow, deliberate — like he was unwrapping a fragile gift. 

When my boobs were uncovered, he cupped them in his huge hands. I almost fell when my knees gave out. He rolled my nipples through his fingers and gave them a long, firm pull. I almost fell again.

When his fingers slipped to the waistband of my shorts, I didn’t stop him. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could feel it. He tugged gently, and the soft sound of fabric sliding down my legs. The top of my bodysuit fell away too, the last bit of it whispering against my skin before pooling at my feet.

I just stood there for a heartbeat, trembling — not from fear, but from everything crashing over me at once. I could barely believe what I was doing, what we were doing.

“Elly…” he murmured, his voice careful. "Are you sure about this?"

“Yes, yes, I am,” I whispered, barely able to meet his eyes. “I want this more than I ever thought I would.”

He reached out, brushing his thumb along my cheek, and that simple touch nearly undid me. 

I nodded my head before he could say anything else. “Please don't stop,” I breathed. “I want, I need this.”

He hesitated only a moment longer, then nodded. His hands slid down, finding my waist, holding me there like he was afraid to break me. The world felt small and quiet — just our breathing, our warm bodies, the soft thud of my heart in my ears.

I don’t even remember deciding to kneel — my body just moved, kneeling to the floor, pulling his shorts down. His cock hung low and was thick. I looked up at him, feeling small and safe and terrified all at once.

He reached down, his fingers brushing through my hair, before I leaned in and took him into my mouth. He let out a light groan, letting me know that he approved. 

His cock grew with each passing second. He was big enough for me to wonder how bad this might hurt. 

 “Come here,” he said, voice low, helping me stand.

When our lips met again, it was deep, searching — a kiss that said everything we didn't. His hands filled with my ass cheeks; mine found the edge of his shirt. I took it off of him and tossed it next to my shorts on the floor. 

He leaned close, his words barely a whisper against my lips. “Are you sure?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

Then he took my hand, guiding me toward the bed. The rest of the world disappeared behind us, moving between my open legs, sliding his cock into me. It felt like the beginning of something very special, something incredible.

The room filled with lust, every sound magnified — the soft rustle of fabric, the quick intake of breaths, the faint brush of my fingertips across his back. I leaned into him, pressing my lips to his, feeling the steady thrusts of his cock pumping inside of me as we kissed. His body thrusting into mine, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist.

I could feel him shift slightly, a subtle movement that made my stomach flutter and my chest thrust upward. My hands traced over his shoulders, down his back, memorizing the warmth and weight of him. I closed my eyes and let myself get lost in it, every nerve alive with each deep, deliberate thrust.

He bent his head, brushing his lips softly against my temple, then my hairline. I shivered at the touch, letting out a tiny, involuntary sound that seemed to feed his lust for me. My own hands were trembling slightly as I dug my nails into him, drawing marks across his back and shoulders. 

We moved together with a shared rhythm of anticipation and trust. Every thrust, every brush of our lips or tongues, sent sparks through me. I was dizzy with the simple fact of being with someone I had known my whole life. Being held, kissed, and fucked in a way that was entirely meant to be!

He murmured something low, a soft vibration that resonated in my chest. I lifted my hips to meet his, whispering my own breathless reply. Our words weren’t necessary — the feeling of what was happening spoke louder than anything we could say. I kissed him again, our breaths mingling, warm and uneven, and felt a kind of connection in my chest I’d never known before.

I shifted slightly, and he shifted with me, always careful, always responsive. The size of his cock, the long thrusts becoming more deliberate to the point it was intoxicating. I looked into the softness in his eyes that made me feel cherished and loved all at once.

Every part of me was acutely aware of him, of us, of the fragile perfection of this moment. I whispered his name softly, and the sound hung in the air between us, fragile, intimate, and pure.

His pace quickened, each thrust more deliberate and filled with meaning. My own breath came in shallow, uneven waves, my nails still raking across his back. I felt a flush of warmth flooding my body, an orgasmic wave building until it crashed through my body like a freight train. I let out a moan that the neighbors could have heard. 

His body was now thrusting into me like he was trying to break something. Soon, I knew what that something was. His body thrust tight into mine, his back arched, and he let out a dark, ominous groan. My nails dug sharply into his back as each thrust into me was one more shot of cum that was being sent deep into my body. 

We stayed like that for what felt like both a heartbeat and an eternity — two bodies pressed together, two hearts beating in tandem, light, beautiful kisses, and an unspoken promise that whatever came next, it would be amazing. The soft sounds of our breathing, the faint shuffle of movement, the quiet sighs of relief and comfort — every small detail filled the room with a kind of ecstasy that had nothing to do with words, and everything to do with being fully, completely present in each other’s arms.

And in that moment, I knew — I had never felt anything so intense, so right, so utterly, heartbreakingly perfect.