Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

All day long the WhatsApp group chat had been blowing up.

Randy messaged, ‘Can’t wait to see you tonight duchess’ with a purple loveheart and a star.

Matt had said, ‘Bring your a-game, little pet’ then, ‘Pineapple on pizza?’ and, ‘Allergies?’ all in the space of about 2 seconds.

Ben texted, ‘getting ready for you babygirl’ followed by a new message with two flexing arm emojis, then a third message saying, ‘skip class today?’ with numerous wink and heart eyes emojis.

Kylo wrote, ‘Enjoy your day, little one. See you tonight. I’ll be home by 6.’

You’d sat in your classes—Thursdays were full uni days for you, with lectures and tutorials almost back to back from 9.00am to 4.00pm—and tried to ignore the near-constant flood of messages from the Solo boys.

Ben was a fiend, the absolute worst, sending photos of his sweaty self, working out, in the mirror, white tank pulled up over his abs—with just an obscene amount of eggplant and water droplet emojis.

He seemed to be in competition with his youngest brother. Poor Randy was anxious to organise things for you—all the things you like—to make your first weekend with the boys as comfortable and carefree as possible for you. He’d been trying earnestly to ascertain your favourite tea and biscuits, soap, shampoo and conditioner, nail polish colours, and myriad other things. But Ben kept trying to steal the spotlight with selfies.

Matt chimed in every now and then, counting down. ‘6 hours until you’re ours’ he texted, and, ‘4 hours little pet’ and, ‘Not long now pet. 2 hours to go’ and finally, ‘One hour. Don't be late’

Kylo had been the quietest of the four. He sent a message at 4.03pm, which read, ‘Drive safe. I’ll be home soon, little one.’

The flirtatious messages and cute emojis were all fun and games until the time came for you to drive yourself to the Solo house. By the time you saw Kylo’s message, got back to your car, dumped your books and tote bag in the backseat, and plunged the keys into the ignition—nervous anticipation whirled in the pit of your stomach.

The logistics of the arrangement had been loosely agreed in advance, first at breakfast after the party and then via a very challenging teleconference with the four of them: you didn’t have classes on Mondays or Fridays, so from Thursday night to Tuesday morning you would stay at the Solo house and spend one day and one night with each boy, leaving you a night to yourself whenever you wanted it, if you wanted it.

Neither you nor they had ever done anything like this, a fact which you had to remind them of frequently. There was going to be hiccups, you’d said, without a doubt, so take it easy on each other.

But still, the boys were relentless, and defensive, and questions cropped up about ‘my day’ this and ‘my night’ that. Palm to your forehead, gazing at your phone as four loud Solo voices rose through the loudspeaker—you’d eventually hung up on them.

Randy had called back a few minutes later—’We’re sorry, duchess,’—and all four brothers agreed to calm the fuck down and give this plan a chance.

Sitting in your car now, you scrolled through the day’s messages, preparing to drive off and steeling yourself to cross another point of no return. But your phone lights up—Ben Solo calling—and the butterflies in your gut become a full-blown swarm.

You take a breath, and answer. “Benny boy.”

“Ooh. Hey, baby.”

The tone of his voice makes you smile. “What do you want, Ben?”

“I just wanna know how far away my babygirl is. Have you left campus yet, gorgeous?”

“Just about.”

“Cool. Good,” he says, then softer, quieter, after a pause, “…you ok, babe?”

You let his question hang in the air. It doesn’t surprise you that Ben has sense and empathy enough to check in with you. You’re thankful for his call. “Yeah,” you sigh. “It’s just.” You swallow.

Ben waits patiently for you to collect your thoughts. He’s got a feeling about what you’re gonna say, and he lets you get it out.

You say, “Is it possible to have first time jitters after we’ve all already fucked?”

Ben chuckles. You’re gorgeous. He says, “’second-time jitters’ is definitely a thing.”

“It is, right?”

“Right, absolutely.”

“Cool, just checking.”

There’s a comfortable silence, then; you each lingering on the sound of the other’s voice when you smile through your words.

Ben murmurs quietly, “y’know… it’s just us, babe. And none of us’ll do anything you don’t—,”

“I know, I know,” you interrupt him. The discussion’s been had. “It’s not about that. It’s more like… it just feels different this time. Before, after the party… that just happened. This is, planned.”

“There’s expectations now,” Ben supplies.

“Yes!” he hit the nail on the head, “this is, by design. It’s organised. It’s—,”

“Real.”

You sigh. He gets it. He understands. “Ben…” you decide to lay it all on the line, “what if this is… an unmitigated fucking disaster?”

“Oh, baby,” Ben croons, “is that what you’re worried about? Listen, we’ll do it just like you said, yeah? We’ll talk about it and figure it out and make it work. All of us, together. Ok?”

You take another breath, letting the rational side of your brain take the lead now. “Ok. Together.”

“Right,” says Ben, “the second something’s not OK, we’ll have a,” he stops, laughs, “family meeting.”

“Oh my God, Ben.” You wince, trying not to laugh, but Ben’s losing it. A discussion about four brothers fucking one girl being called a ‘family meeting’ was just an absurd idea, wrong and hilarious. “Can we please not call it that?”

Ben finally quiets down. “Ahh sorry, babycakes. That ship has, as of now, sailed. ‘Family meeting’ it was and ‘family meeting’ it shall be. Now get your ass over here, I miss you and Matt’s already pacing.”

“Pacing—?”

“Hang on a sec, babe,” Ben mutters, then you hear him call away from the receiver a little louder, “she’s leaving now, Matty.”

‘Now?’ you hear Matt’s incredulous voice through the phone.

“Remember, gorgeous,” Ben says, his volume now returned to normal, “from the campus it’s quicker to come down Columbus—,”

‘What do you mean she’s leaving now?’

“—and avoid the I-90 altogether, ‘specially this time of day.”

“Got it.” You hold your phone in the crook of your neck and shoulder, and buckle your seatbelt. “Be there soon.”

‘Give me the phone, Ben.’ Matt’s voice sounds closer, now.

“Bye, baby,” Ben sing-songs cheerily, and the last thing you hear is muffled words and curses before the call disconnects.

XXXX

You’re just about to knock on the front door when it’s yanked open, and you’re greeted by a tall, blond, leanly muscled Solo, his glasses glinting.

With a stern, dark glower he searches your eyes and says, “you’re la… you kept me wai…”

You keep your eyes locked on his, as Matt struggles to figure out what to do with you, and himself.

“Fuck.” He closes the distance between you quickly and cradles both sides of your face in his hands, murmuring, “c’m’ere, pet,” before joining your lips in a kiss deeper and more passionate than you could’ve expected. Matt searches your mouth with deliberate purpose and hungry intent, caressing your lips with his own and licking along your tongue like he’s never tasted anything so sweet.

You can’t help the low groan that hums in your throat, and your shoulders drop, your overnight bags slipping down your arms and onto the threshold.

The blond brother presses closer to your body. As he massages your lips and tongue with his, one hand slips around to cradle your nape, and his other slips down around your throat—holding you possessively. With a deep hum he sucks your bottom lip, then changes the slant of his mouth over yours.

Your thoughts evaporate in swirling, heady desire. You shrug the straps of your bags off your arms, letting them fall to the ground completely, and take hold of Matt’s hips.

He huffs through his nose, his grip on you tightening in the most pleasurable way—before he grunts and pulls quickly away, breaking off the kiss suddenly, and breathing hard into your open mouth.

Your eyes are half-lidded, but you can make out his subtly flushed cheeks, and extra-pink, swollen lips. You breathe his name.

“I’m working tonight,” he murmurs breathlessly.

Surprised, but still in a daze, you stammer your words a little, “wh-what? Work? Where?”

“The comic shop. In town.” He drinks in your breaths, and his top teeth toy with his bottom lip as your throat moves under his palm. “It’ll be late. You’ll be asleep before I get back, probably.”

“Oh.”

A voice from inside breaks through the churning miasma of want and need that had so quickly descended upon the two of you.

“Do I hear the dulcet tones of my one and o—,”

Ben appears in the doorway beside Matt: his face falls, and he and abruptly stops speaking.

For a moment.

“—onhwhat the fuck?”

Slowly, blinking, you and Matt release each other’s body, the spell broken.

“Matt,” says Ben, thunder and lightning forming in his eyes, “what in fuck’s name do you think you’re fucking doing, little brother?”

“Ben,” you warn, noticing how the elder of the two had drawn up and squared his shoulders.

Matt clenches his jaw, and his nostrils flare. He turns to his brother. “What did it look like I was fucking doing, you fuckin’ jackass—,”

“You don’t touch her until we all—,”

“You don’t make the fucking rules, Ben—who are you, Kylo?”

There’s silence, then.

A truly murderous look crosses Ben’s features. You watch as he draws in a deep breath, readying for something.

Something glimmers in Matt’s dark eyes, and he squints as he peers at Ben, like he knows he’s gone too far and willingly pushed a big red button.

You place your hands on them, “boys, stop it,” trying to separate them and diffuse the rapidly, needlessly, escalating situation.

“We had a fucking agreement, Matt,” Ben snarls.

“I’ve got work,” Matt spits out defensively, his brow pinching.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got training—,”

“I leave before you—,”

“Duchess,” Randy gasps as he appears in the doorway on the other side of Matt, like he didn’t expect to see you here yet. His eyes are wide, his gaze flitting nervously between his brothers and you. He tries to grab Matt’s arms and pull him from Ben, but the blond shrugs off the youngest Solo effortlessly.

Matt and Ben lock foreheads together—and you’ve had it.

“That’s enough!”

Your voice rings out, and the brothers back down with indignant huffs. Still staring daggers, but at the ground now, and shrugging off the worst of the aggression.

For a millisecond you wish Kylo were here: firstly, so he could’ve seen you do that, and secondly, so he could’ve done it himself.

If Daddy were here, you’re certain it wouldn’t have gotten that far.

Quietly, you say, “is this how you’d like me to spend my first night here?”

Matt flicks a furtive glance up at you, shakes his head and looks back down at the ground with a deep sigh through his nose.

Ben lifts his head up, frowning. “No, baby. I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“I didn’t think so.” You offer Randy a small, apologetic smile, which he returns. You go on, “and it’s probably escaped your notice, since you were too busy sizing up each other’s dicks—which, by the way, you’ll remember I’ve already seen—but I haven’t even been invited in yet, and I don’t like that.”

Ben’s frown deepens, and he crosses his arms defensively. Matt shifts his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

“I know we’re all still figuring this shit out and I’ll give you all the time you need for that, but, please.” You stop. You huff. “You’re all the king of the jungle to me, ok?—”

All three of them look to you—Matt and Ben’s features soften.

“—so please, for me, ease up just a little bit with the alpha-male stuff?”

Ben sighs and nods. Matt shifts on his feet, and nods once, before looking away.

You feel that this isn’t the last time you’ll need to re-assure them, but they’ve cooled off for now. “Just until I get in the door,” you add for levity, the hint of a smile playing at your lips.

Matt glances back at you, chewing his cheeks to stop from smiling, but his eyes are glinting.

Ben lets his face break into a dimpled crinkled half-smile. He unfolds his arms.

You turn your gaze to Randy. “Now. You.”

Randy’s brows pull up and his mouth drops open, his expression a little bit hopeful, and his pride swelling that you’d pick him out for something in front of his brothers.

You crook your finger at him and say, “gimme a kiss, loverboy.”

Randy steps forward. Very quietly and with a small smile he says, “can I give you two, duchess?”

“Course you can,” you whisper.

It tickles the base of his spine, and Randy’s features light up beautifully. He takes your hand and presses a kiss to the back of your palm, then squeezes your hand in his while he places another kiss to your cheek.

“Thank you,” he whispers, just for you to hear, before pulling away and picking up one of your bags from the ground.

Ben comes in close to you next, no prompting required. “Hi, babygirl,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to your other cheek, close to your mouth, and then nipping your shoulder. He grabs your other bag. “Cool if we put these in your room? Then we’ve gotta get ready for training.” Ben gestures to himself and Randy.

“Oh?” you glance between the two of them.

“Hockey, duchess.”

“Field. Every Tuesday and Thursday at 7.”

All the times you’d run into Ben on campus, that little morsel of information hadn’t once popped up. “I never knew that!” you smile between the brothers. With Matt at work, and Ben and Randy out too, it would just be you and Kylo in the house for the better part of the night. You leave this unsaid.

Ben slings you a charming, knock-out, killer smile that just about sets your underwear on fire. “There’s a lot you’re gonna learn about us, baby… you could come with us, watch us if you like.”

You smile at Ben, his charm infectious. “Maybe next week,” you reply.

There’s a glimmer of recognition across each of the boys’ faces—like they had forgotten and now immediately remembered that this, what’s happening now, is not a one-time thing.

“When’s your game, sweetcheeks?” you ask Randy.

He smiles at the ground before sheepishly locking eyes with you, “11 on Sundays, duchess.”

“I’ll be there,” you wink at the youngest brother, who blushes a pretty pink.

Ben chuckles, looks to Randy and then jerks his head in the direction of the house behind him. The two take their leave with your bags in tow.

As they’re walking away, you hear Randy mutter, “I really wish you wouldn’t fight.”

“I know, buddy,” comes Ben’s reply.

“It stresses me out.”

“I’m sorry.” Ben nudges playfully into Randy’s shoulder with his own, and the two disappear around the corner into the hallway that leads, eventually, to your bedroom.

Matt stands at the door with you, waiting until he can’t hear his brothers’ footsteps or voices anymore.

In the companionable silence he takes a slow step closer, his dark gazed locked on yours intently. He keeps a respectable distance, knowing he doesn’t have a hell of a lot of time, and places one large, warm hand on the side of your neck.

You say his name again, the syllable threaded with caution, but the blond shakes his head, dismissing your warning.

Matt leans in to the other side of your neck, like he did on that night. His lips trail up your skin, and he presses a warm, lingering, shiver-inducing kiss to the delicate spot behind and below your lobe.

His hot breath fans over your ear as he murmurs, “’m sorry too, little pet,” – and then Matthew Solo leans away.

XXXX

At ten to six, Kylo strides in the front door.

You almost lose your grip on your tea cup, and by the way Kylo’s head snaps to yours, you guess that as the word, “Daddy,” sprung into your head it simultaneously made it’s way out of your mouth.

He quickly shrugs off his coat and sets his black leather briefcase bag down, then hastily makes his way into the kitchen where you, Ben, Matt and Randy had been chatting and snacking on pretzels. He runs his fingers through his hair, brushing loose locks back from his face.

Kylo makes a beeline for you. With every step his shoulder-length black waves are gently tousled, his black button-up shirt—the top two buttons undone—ripples over his muscular arms and torso, and his dark charcoal grey slacks taper neatly down his long legs.

You want to ask him where the hell he’s been, dressed like that. Where did he just come from? Did Kylo have a job?

He unbuttons his cuffs and rolls them up to his elbows as he strides closer, around the kitchen island to you.

“Hello, beautiful,” he murmurs softly, his fingers slipping gently into the soft hairs at the nape of your neck. He pecks a quick, eager kiss straight to your lips. “Daddy missed you too,” he says, before his mouth joins yours in a longer, sweeter kiss.

Despite your attempts to stop it, a whimper claws its way up your throat.

Matt looks pointedly at Ben and gestures accusingly at Kylo.

“Alright, alright, get a room,” says Ben, chucking a pretzel at the eldest brother.

Kylo breaks the kiss. “I’d love to,” he says onto your lips. “Shall we, little one?”

“Jesus can you not, Kylo? I’ve gotta leave in 10 minutes,” Matt huffs unhappily.

Ben clears his throat, “yeah, let’s get this done, Kylo, then you can have her—if that’s what our babygirl wants, of course.” He winks at you.

“Wait,” you’re just slightly confused, “what are we getting done?”

“Who’s who,” says Matt, “or, when’s who.”

“What?”

“Who do you choose, little one?” says Kylo, brushing some hair back from your face tenderly. “For the first night?”

“And the second, and third, and fourth,” Matt finishes.

You tilt your head, eyes narrowing. “Oh no,” you scoff, “I’m not falling for that again. No fuckin’ way.”

Ben’s brow furrows. “Baby, how did you think we’d do thi—?”

“You’re not making me choose!” You slip off the barstool and search the kitchen drawers for a spare pad of paper. “Starts so many bloody arguments,” you mutter, opening drawers and letting them soft-close until you find a pen and paper, rip the paper into four and then write one of their names on each piece.

“Clever girl,” croons Ben.

“Thanks, Benny boy,” you husk back, and Ben mouths “oof” and pretends a shiver runs up his spine.

You roll your eyes at him, and he smiles.

Kylo clears his throat.

“Can we hurry this the fuck up?” says Matt, his voice tight.

You grab a mug from the nearby mug tree, fold the papers in half to conceal the names, and drop them in. “We’ll start from Friday, yeah?” you say, placing your hand over the mug and shaking it to shuffle the papers.

You set the mug down, and all four pairs of Solo eyes follow it to the counter, with something like reverence.

“Friday,” Kylo and Ben agree with you in unison, by accident.

“Go ahead, little one,” Kylo nods.

“Sure. Friday, babe,” says Ben.

You reach in, and pull out the first name.

“Kylo,” you read.

The eldest Solo takes a deep breath in, looking absolutely chuffed and doing nothing to attempt to hide it. He’s first. Again.

You reach in for the second name. “Saturday is… Ben.”

Ben’s eyes sparkle. “Perfect,” he smiles. Loving the game, he glances excitedly between his two younger brothers.

“This’ll be Sunday, and obviously, we’ll know who Monday is too,” you say, shaking the mug again.

The two youngest Solos nod.

“Randy,” you read off the slip of paper. You glance up at him. “You’re on Sunday, sweetheart.”

A gorgeous smile blooms on Randy’s face, and Ben claps him on the back.

“That leaves you, Matt,” you pluck the last redundant paper from the mug. “Monday, Sir.”

The blond brother squints, and a muscle under his left eye twitches. Matt’s got class on Monday, but he can blow it off. He’s gonna change majors anyway. And Kylo’d have work tomorrow, too—is he gonna call in sick?

This system needed work.

“Fine,” Matt pushes up off where he was leaning on the island benchtop, frustration bubbling away beneath his skin. He crosses to you swiftly, nudging Kylo from your space. “I can wait,” he grits through clenched teeth, and the words tumble from his lips. “I’ll send you home wrecked, little pet. Sore and bruised, inside ‘n’ out, you’ll fucking see.”

Your stomach does somersaults, flickers of desire rekindling from earlier.

Matt grabs your jaw hard, squeezing. “What do you say to me, dirty slut?” he snarls. “I saw it in your eyes, you want it.” His black orbs flit between yours, lost in them, hungry.

Randy bristles. He levels a look at his eldest brother.

“Yes, Sir,” you say, saliva pooling in your mouth.

Matt’s nostrils flare, and he looses a heavy sigh through his nose, his hot exhale fanning over your face as he cleans in close. The air stills as Matt’s about to kiss you, his grip unrelentingly tight on your jaw—but an alarm on his watch goes off.

“Fuck,” he hisses onto your mouth.

His brothers seem to breathe again.

“I’m late.” He makes a rapid lunge for your mouth, as if he’s going to bite your lips, his teeth clacking together before he releases your jaw and pulls away.

“Buh-bye, Matty,” Ben grins.

Matt makes swiftly for the door, grumbling farewells over his shoulder to you and his brothers as he grabs his light grey bomber jacket from the rack and heads out. You don’t catch all of it, but the mutter you do hear sounds like, ‘yeah, yeah. See ya’s fuckin’ later, fuck’

Ben glances at the microwave, checking the time. “We’ve gotta be outta here soon too, babygirl. As much as I’d love to stay.”

Subtly, smoothly, Kylo trails a large hand down your back, coming to rest on your lumbar and radiating warmth.

But your interest is piqued: you want to know more about Ben and Randy’s sporting endeavours. You lean forward onto the counter—a move that Kylo appreciates.

“Tell me about this,” you say eagerly, looking between Randy and Ben, “how long have you guys played?”

Ben glances at Randy. “Three, four years?”

Randy nods, “four, yeah.”

“And what—like, I don’t know the rules, but—what do you do? Like what positions—,”

Kylo’s thumb swipes slowly back and forth over your lower back.

“Midfielder,” Ben says, leaning back and stretching, pushing his shoulder blades together. “I can do it all, babycakes.”

Even Randy smiles at this.

“Is that so?” you ask.

“Ben’s really good, duchess,” says Randy, “he does offence and defence, he’s always running. He’s our best guy.”

“Naww shucks, buddy,” coos Ben, bumping playfully into Randy’s shoulder with his own again.

“What about you, sweets?” you ask Randy, taking a sip of tea. “Mm, this is really good by the way.”

“Keeper.” Randy looks a little bashful, appreciative of your compliment. He thinks he’s almost got it down pat, how to brew you the perfect cuppa.

“Goalkeeper?”

“This guy,” says Ben with an excited, proud smile, clapping his youngest brother on both shoulders and squeezing, “is the state’s best goalie—hands down—swear on my life.”

Randy breaks into a smile and shakes his head, “nahh, Ben.”

“Yeahh, bud,” Ben replies, ruffling his brother’s hair. He turns back to you. “You don’t know how many games Randy’s won for us, babe. Saved for us. He’s just being modest, hey, Kylo?”

“It’s true. I’ve seen it,” Kylo replies, looking at you, then his brother. “You’re a great keeper, Randy.”

“That game against Old Town, man!” Ben’s excitement is contagious. “The stuff of legend.”

Randy breaks into a laugh, his eyes and cheeks crinkling.

“They play on Sundays,” Kylo says to you, “we can go watch a game if you’d like.”

You nod. “Mm, we’ve talked—,”

“Beat you to it, big brother,” chimes Ben, “plus, that’s Randy’s day. You’d have to run that past him, big man.”

Surreptitiously, for a microsecond, Kylo bristles, and Ben takes a particular glee in that.

“Of course,” says Kylo, giving a curt nod to Randy.

Randy waves it off, quickly and uncomfortably, not used to this; and Ben’s gleaming smile as he glances between his brothers is the single most unhelpful thing he could be doing right now.

“So that’s settled then, for Sunday,” you break in. “Sounds good.” You smile at all three of them—and they all visibly relax.

“We should head off now, Ben,” says Randy, glancing at his phone. “I’ll warm the car up,” he holds a hand out to his brother.

Ben sighs. He’d been having fun. “Alright, let’s do it, big guy.” He drops the car keys into Randy’s palm, and skulls the last of his glass of water.

Randy sidles over and presses a quick peck to your cheek, saying his goodbyes.

Ben saunters around the island too, says, “be back soon,” as he slings a pointed look at Kylo, then kisses your shoulder and says, “baby.”

The two make their way out the front door, and after the large wooden panel closes, a gentle, hushed silence falls over the house.

After a moment, Kylo says, “It’s just us now, little one.” He runs his palm up, then back down your spine. “They’ll be gone for a few hours.”

You spin on the barstool to face him properly, and it takes every ounce of Kylo’s self control not to insert himself between your legs, dip his fingers into your jeans and kiss you with every fibre of his being.

“You wouldn’t want to,” you pause, biting your lip for him, “take advantage of me, would you, Daddy?”

Kylo’s chest rises.

“All alone, in this… big… house?”

Infinitesimally, Kylo’s eyes widen then narrow, and his nostrils flare.

“No, my Daddy wouldn’t do that to me,” you grasp his hand, and keep your eyes on his as you press soft, slow kisses across his knuckles while you talk, “that would go against your own rules. No favourites, and all that. Wouldn’t it, Daddy?”

Kylo’s lower lip quivers, and his breathing becomes audible.

"What would your brothers think?” you whisper onto his skin, pressing another kiss, and another—

“I don’t care,” Kylo growls, stepping between your legs.

He wraps his arms around you, one hand snaking into the hair at your nape and the other winding around your back, locking you to his long torso. He leans down and crushes his mouth to yours, licking your lips open and swirling his tongue around your own. He kisses you deeply, with fervour, and his nose presses into your cheek.

You clutch his shoulders and cling tightly to the sturdy muscle there, keeping him pulled close to you.

Kylo hums into your mouth—and comes to his senses, his conscience breaking through his desire. You were right. If he can’t follow the rules, how can he expect his brothers to do the same?

It almost physically hurts him, to stem the tide that threatens to engulf him, to stop himself from getting lost in you. Gradually, Kylo slows down the intensity of his kiss, gently easing off until he’s merely grazing your lips with his.

Eyes hooded, he swallows, collecting himself. Fate had intervened, and he’d be the first to have you, yet again. One more sleep, and you’re his.

Kylo murmurs into your mouth, “have you eaten, little one? Did my brothers feed you?”

XXXX

Forty-five minutes later, you’re sitting in your cute, comfy pj’s on the Solo’s large, plush corner lounge, freshly showered, eating your favourite Indian dish which had been delivered by the Solos’ preferred north Indian takeaway place.

Kylo had assured you it would be good, and it was indeed delicious.

He sat next to you, devouring a plate of tandoori fish skewers and rice. The TV was on low in the background, above the modern stone-faced fireplace.

“God, ‘m fucking starving,” he mutters between mouthfuls, not realising how hungry he was. “Meetings ran into my lunch hour.”

You hadn’t gotten around to talking about, this whole thing yet, even though you hadn’t stopped admiring Kylo in his slick, sharp work clothes since he walked in the door.

Now, he gave you the perfect opportunity.

“You work, Daddy?” you ask, and Kylo nods. “What do you?”

Kylo finishes chewing. “I’m an architect, little one.”

Your jaw drops. “An architect?”

“Mhm. At KOR Studio,” he gathers some rice on a spoon, “in town. You know the new Conservatorium of Music at the university?”

“Oh my God, yes,” you recall the mammoth, modern building to mind, “you did that?”

“Mmhm,” Kylo hums, swallowing another mouthful. “Well, we did that. I wasn’t on that project. I was still doing my internship then, parks and stuff.”

“You designed parks?”

He glances at you, and the impressed surprise on your face makes his heart soar with pride. He reaches over, and gently, fondly lifts your chin to close your fallen jaw. “A few,” he murmurs, appreciating the softness of your skin.

“Can we go see them? And your drawings?”

Kylo gazes you, light and warmth shimmering in his eyes. He sets his finished plate and utensils down on the coffee table, then sits back on the couch, reaching along the top of the cushions to gently stroke your jaw with the back of his index finger. “If you’d like that, beautiful.”

You press a small kiss to his finger, and murmur, “I would, Daddy.’

A deep lungful of air fills Kylo’s chest. He releases it in a heavy sigh as he looks deeply into your eyes.

He’s got time. They’d never know, unless you told them. He could take you, here and now. He could have you. He could make you scream for him.

Instead of following through on his basest desires, for which he has the strongest, deepest yearning, Kylo instead says, “finished?” and gestures to your plate.

You thank him as you hand it to him, feeling clean, full and relaxed.

Kylo places your plate on his, and settles back on the couch again.

The man looks godlike. Long, dark hair grazing his shoulders. One muscular arm stretched across the top of the couch cushions. Long legs crossed at the ankles, the heels of his shoes grounding his feet to the floor. And his other hand, his fingers, beckoning you, as he says—

“Come here, little one.”

You scoot closer, and Kylo slides his palm down your body as you get cozy against his solid body, settling the side of your head against the softer flesh where his pec and delt meet. Gingerly, you rest your hand in the middle of his chest, fingertips glancing the buttons on his shirt.

As you get comfortable, Kylo grabs the remote, and presses a kiss to your hair.

XXXX

A gentle hubbub of deep, but quiet voices slowly rouses you from sleep.

Wait.

From sleep?

You blink your eyes awake, feeling a deep rumbling through the solid mass beneath your palm, and your ear.

Kylo’s chest rises and falls gently with the rhythm of his breathing, and he's murmuring quietly to a nearby, sweaty Ben.

Ben, nodding at something Kylo had just said, catches your eye. "Hey, gorgeous."

Kylo stops, cranes his neck to look down at you. "Ah,” he hums softly, gently brushing the back of his finger down your cheek, “my sleeping beauty’s awake."

You rise up off Kylo’s chest, just slightly. "Daddy?" You don't remember passing out on him, and you know your voice sounds small and sleepy.

Kylo fucking melts. The eldest Solo becomes a puddle, absolutely liquid in the palm of your hand. As if you weren't already delectable enough, snuggling in close to his chest with your legs tucked up underneath you, cracking jokes that made him laugh at the old action flick on TV until, after a few minutes of silence, Kylo listened to the way your breathing had changed and how you rested all your weight completely against him and he knew, then. Knew that you’d been lulled to sleep against his big warm body.

So, he'd let you doze on his chest and in his arms and became the self-appointed guardian of your slumber, a thought that flooded his chest with pride and purpose, with power and responsibility, as he let himself become more and more smitten with you.

Captivated, and far too quick.

Now, he smiles softly as you rub one of your eyes.

“What time is it?”

“Just after 9, babe,” says Ben. He’d been hoping, secretly, to persuade to join him in a little post-hockey-training shower.

Maybe next week, he tells himself.

“9?” You don’t believe it. There was something about this house, about the way it made you feel. You slept better here than in your own bed. More relaxed, calm, and content.

Kylo nuzzles in close to your ear and murmurs, "Daddy's gonna put you to bed now, little one."

You hum your approval. Bed sounded good—especially if it came with more cuddles from Daddy.

"Hop up, beautiful," Kylo says, and Ben offers you an outstretched arm.

You take his hand, and he helps hoist you up off the world’s comfiest couch.

Standing, you stretch your limbs out, interlocking your fingers and raising your arms above your head—and the two brothers eye your figure shamelessly, clad as it is in soft, cozy pyjamas.

"How was training?" you ask Ben, stretching your arms out to the side now, making your sleep tee stretch taut over your breasts.

"Was good, baby. Really worked up a sweat." He runs his fingers through his hair, and you properly notice his red flushed cheeks and nose, and the way he soaked through parts of his grey shirt with the cut off sleeves.

Kylo sighs, ushering you along. "This way, little one.”

"’Night, Benny," you murmur, letting Kylo lead you around the couch.

"G'night, babygirl. Sleep tight."

Soon, Kylo’s leading you through the hallways that lead to your room, in, he tells you, the newer addition to the house.

“Did you design this?” you ask him.

He huffs a quiet laugh. “No, this is a couple of years old now. Our parents did it, back when... I mostly do commercial or, industrial projects, public spaces.”

His words hang in the air, the both of you taking a moment to gauge whether to unpack that or not. You’d never heard Ben mention any family other than his brothers, and Matt had definitely not said anything about his parents.

Kylo says, “you'll learn your way around soon enough, little one," and with that, the topic is dropped.

Walking down the stairs, you’re curious about something else, something a little easier—you hope—to talk about. "Daddy, where do you sleep?"

“We’re all upstairs,” he replies, rounding the corner and opening the double-doors to your bedroom for you. “Not too far.”

You stop in the doorway, gazing up at him.

“I’ll show you tomorrow, ok?” Kylo says, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Take you on a tour of the place.”

Without a doubt, you needed that. Their house is fucking massive and you know your way to a total of three rooms. The fact that you’ve let all four of these brothers round-robin fuck you, but you couldn’t say where the first floor bathroom is?

A tour is required. “Ok, Daddy.”

Kylo’s not sure if he’ll ever get over how, when you say that, his stomach flips and his heart skips a beat. “Good,” he leans in, and murmurs in your ear, “and I’ve got a present for you, little one. In the morning.”

He leans back, and your delighted face is even prettier than he imagined it’d be.

“A present?” You can barely contain yourself, and you know your glee is writ plain on your face. Presents and surprises are fucking awesome. On a whim, you step closer to him, feeling a second wind pick up and break you out of your tiredness.

You know you’re treading dangerously here, but you let the words slip past your lips anyway, breathy and sexy and meaning more than you say. “Will you give it to me now, Daddy? Please?”

Kylo’s lids drop—just a little—but they do, and his eyebrows pinch in and his lips part. All in the space of less than a second, before his features return to normal just as quickly. “Little one…” he swallows, trying to gather his thoughts.

God damn it, he’d been doing so well. He’d glossed over his own desire for you at every turn. He was on the home stretch, too: walk you to your room, tuck you into bed, kiss you goodnight—that’s all he had left to do, and then he was free to race to his room and fuck his fist raw. He could make himself cum until he passed out, with thoughts of you swirling in his head, and not break any rules.

But now, this, what you were doing to him with those eyes and that voice… you plucked at his resolve as easily as if it were a loose thread, and he felt on the brink of fraying, ready to unravel and lose himself in the sweet, hot depths of your—

“Am I making it hard for you, Daddy?” You make your voice sugar-sweet, and trail down his arm to clasp his hand in your smaller one. You draw it to your mouth and press kisses to his knuckles again, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. “I am, aren’t I, Daddy?”

Kylo tears his hand from your grip and presses it to your chest, pushing and walking you backwards until your spine hits the doortrim. “Don’t,” he leans in, hot breath puffing over your face, “tempt me, little one.”

His eyes are fiery and wild, like when you’d really gotten to him that night with all his brothers. “Are you-,” you start, and his eyes flare. You try again, putting on your smallest voice, “are you gonna, punish me, Daddy? If I do?”

This was the part he didn’t like: the discipline, the pulling into line. He doesn’t want to have to hurt you—emotionally or physically—to get you to behave. That’s not what being your Daddy is about for him. He just wants you to be good; just wants you to let him take care of you, protect you, keep you safe.

Kylo grinds his teeth, and presses firmly on your chest. “Last warning, little one. Be a good girl, get into that fucking bed, and you’ll get your present when you wake up.”

It was not lost on either of you, somehow, that part of this ‘present’ would also include as much as you could handle of Daddy’s big dick.

You give up the ghost, and cast your gaze down, your head tipping slightly: a movement that silently acknowledges that you won’t bait him again tonight. You know what’s at stake, and it’s too early in the game for such a play. You should’ve known better, given all the bullshit with Ben and Matt earlier, but messing with Kylo was just too easy.

You’re learning his boundaries, too. Just like he’s learning yours.

Kylo tilts your head up with a finger under your chin. His eyes soften. “Daddy tuck you in?” he murmurs, flicking his gaze to the bed and back.

You nod. It’s for the best. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” Kylo breathes, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Chapter Text

You blink awake in the morning light, diffused as it is through the blush pink curtains that stream down the large picture window. You’re cosy in the warm sheets and plush blankets, the pillow is soft under your head, and it takes you a second to remember where you are, in which bed, in whose house.

And what day it is.

You reach over the large bed to the bedside table where Kylo had put your phone last night. Glancing at the time, you see it’s about twenty minutes after your alarm usually wakes you up on uni days—dragging you groggily into the waking world—but today you feel so well rested. Relaxed and refreshed.

Habit kicks in. You’re awake, which means it’s time for the first and best cup of tea of the day. Slipping out of bed, your skin is graced by the slight chill in the air. You didn’t pack a robe, though, so some combination of slippers and socks will have to do for now.

Something flickers in your mind, bringing a small smile to your face: if Randy knew you were cold, or going without something, he’d be mortified.

You climb the stairs quietly, re-tracing your steps from the previous couple of times you’ve walked to and from the—your—bedroom. The house is so still this time of the morning, cloaked in such a quiet peacefulness that you find yourself treading lightly on the floorboards—as if your footfalls could wake the four brothers asleep above you.

You find your way to the kitchen, where the tiled floor and walls make the room extra cold. Through the large bay window the morning sun peeks over the horizon, casting the manicured shrubbery and smooth concrete circular drive in pale yellow light.

You fill the kettle and flick it on to boil, and gaze out the window at the rising sun and lightening sky as the small appliance whirrs and rumbles. You have a view straight down the cul-de-sac, awash with the early glow of daybreak, and for a moment you think you see…

Yes, you do see it. A silhouette, at first. A figure. Someone running, up over the crest and towards the house, jogging in the middle of the road like they own the place.

You tilt your head. The form, the size and shape, look familiar. The person, the man, comes closer—making no moves to divert from the driveway that leads to the Solo’s home.

Sneakered feet land firmly on the asphalt, propelling him forward like he’s springing from the ground. Muscles in his slightly bowed legs ripple, up up up until his thighs are covered by dark shorts and you can see no more. His blue-grey tee is sweat-stuck to his twisting torso as his arms, bent at the elbows, swing with the momentum of his body. He races forth, closer now, up on the driveway and his dark hair, backlit from the dawning sun, bounces with every step he takes and shines around his head like a halo.

You can make him out now, now that you can see his face as he leaps energetically onto the second of three steps and onto the porch, panting and puffing and sweaty.

The kettle flicks off, just as his name solidifies in your brain.

Ben.

The second eldest Solo huffs as he tilts up the pot plant, grabs the key, unlocks the front door, and pulls it open. He strides in, panting still, his skin covered in a wet sheen of sweat and his cheeks and nose flushed red.

You shiver, and not just from the cold air.

Ben drops the spare key onto the console table near the coat rack. He runs his hand through his sweaty hair as he turns, puffing as he makes his way into the kitchen. His fingers are slow on their trail through the ends of his dark brown locks—and he spies you, watching him, your mouth agape.

Ben’s eyes turn smouldering—playful and blazing—as quick as a nanosecond. Quicker.

You clamp your mouth shut as he strolls over.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he murmurs deeply, stopping before you with a popped hip, setting his hands on where—you guess—the waistband of his shorts rests against his hips. He hunches his shoulders, crouching into your space, but stops just before he plants a kiss on your lips.

His breathing hasn’t quite settled yet, his chest noticeably rising and falling, and his voice is huffed when he says, by way of explanation, “Sweaty,” – and presses a kiss with grazing teeth to your shoulder instead of your lips.

“Hi, Ben,” your voice is dropped low and husky, by complete accident. You can’t take your eyes off this one single bead of sweat, watching it roll gently down the right side of Ben’s neck. You stop yourself from licking your lips—but Ben sees it, sees it in the subtle way your mouth moves, the way you flick your eyes back up to meet his, your pupils now big and black.

Ben’s gaze flicks down to your chest, and his eyes linger there. He chews on his lips for a moment before looking back up at you and murmuring, “You cold, baby?”

You curse inwardly at neglecting even a jumper, knowing your budded nipples are peeking through your pyjama top and giving Ben all the justification he needs to lay his next line on you. Oozing pure sex he croons—

“Want me to warm you up?”

The smile that teases his lips and shines in his sparkling, chocolate eyes is so full of charm and danger, you cross your arms, folding them over your chest.

Ben pouts, giving you his sweetest puppy dog eyes.

“I’m good, Ben,” you coo, pressing his bottom lip back with your index finger to dispel his exaggerated frown. You tap him on the cheek and say, “Next time,” before turning to pour boiling water from the kettle into your teacup.

A stranger to shame, Ben ogles your bra-less chest for a long moment, his two front teeth digging into his bottom lip. Then, he stands up straight and slides in behind you, pressing his crotch into your backside as you steep the teabag.

He’s already half-way there, half-way stiff, it feels like—and you fight your body, making sure you do not press back against him. “What are you doing, Ben?” you say, and you’re pleased that your voice is now even and measured, bordering on disinterested.

But Ben leans down to your ear, and even the musky scent of his exertion makes your insides flutter—against your will.

“Don’t mind me, babygirl,” Ben murmurs huskily. He slides his pelvis against your ass. “I’m just trying to get your attention.” He slides his sweaty arms under yours, sneaking his palms beneath yours where they rest on the edge of the countertop.

You resist, with every single fibre of your being you resist him. If you give Ben even an inch, he’ll take a mile, and you know that the consequences would be disastrous.

You also know that Ben Solo cannot fucking help himself.

“Unlucky for you, Benny boy.” You lift your palms from his and press closer to the counter, away from his body—all of the tall, hot, sweaty, muscled breadth of it. “It’s not your day.”

Ben hums, snatches your wrist and quickly spins you around to face him.

His eyes glint enticingly, glittering with a desire he doesn’t care to contain as he crowds closer to you. “I won’t tell if you won’t, baby,” Ben says. “Give you my,” he holds up his index and middle fingers, “scout’s honour,” and winks.

You and he both know: Ben doesn’t just mean he’ll give you his word.

“Don’t do this, Ben.” You press back against the counter, palms flat to the lower cabinets, leaning away from him.

Ben simply follows. He leans in closer, hot breath fanning up your neck, the tip of his nose a hair’s breadth away from grazing your skin.

You say, “You do this, and you’ll upset Kylo. Don’t antagonise your brother.”

Ben grips the countertop, two long, muscled arms caging you in. He locks his arms straight and leans back. Ben pouts again, those beautiful plush lips puffing out in pretend sadness. “But I like antagonising him…” Ben leans closer, talks slower, “and I like, doing, you.”

Ben’s so close, your open mouths are almost touching; you’re close enough to breathe the same air, close enough that electricity could arc between your lips and his. His rich brown eyes are heavy-lidded, as are yours; and in this moment, all your senses are full of Ben Solo, just as his are of you.

Up above, a door closes softly. Footsteps pad down the hallway.

You swallow. “Ben. Not today.”

A deep, quiet, rumbling growl resounds in his throat. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t come nearer. It’s like he’s stuck there, held in place by two warring desires.

Footfalls on the stair treads. Whichever brother it is, they’re coming closer.

“Ben. Twenty-four hours. Ok?”

He stays there, lingers in your space, breathing hard through flared nostrils. His teeth meet as he clenches his jaw.

“Benjamin!” you whisper hoarsely—and he tears away from you.

“Good morn—”

A sleepy Solo voice stops abruptly, mid-way through a word. Ben makes like he was getting a glass from one of the upper cabinets, and you register the youngest Solo standing at one of the archways into the kitchen. His straight, dirty-blond hair still messy from sleep.

Randy’s gaze flicks between you, and Ben. He may be the baby of the family, but he’s not stupid.

“Hi, sweets,” you say, a little more confidently than you feel, trying to shake off the feeling that you’d been busted doing something you shouldn’t have.

At the same time, thank God it was Randy who’d walked in just now.

“Oh, hey, man,” Ben says casually, glancing at Randy as if he just realised his brother was there. “You off soon?”

“Yeah,” Randy answers slowly, his voice tinged with suspicion and also, a hint of weariness. Like he doesn’t want to know what was just—or rather, what was almost—going on in here.

“Cool,” says Ben, pulling a stack of containers from the fridge. “Very cool.” There’s three: boiled eggs in one, assorted cut up fruits and berries in the other two.

You can’t believe how calm and collected Ben’s pretending to be. And also—it cannot be any later than 7am, if that. Where could Randy possibly be going at this hour?

Randy gestures to your teacup. “I’m sorry, duchess. I thought I’d be up before you.”

You chuckle a little. “It’s ok, Randy. You don’t have to make me a cup of tea every morning. What are you, my slave?”

There’s a quiet moment. “Oh,” says the youngest Solo, blinking a little more than necessary. Looking a little crestfallen.

Even Ben stops chopping up a banana and glances at his brother, knowing when he hears hurt in Randy’s voice.

“I mean,” you blurt, the realisation breaking over you like a wave. “I just meant,” you struggle to find the words, a little unsure how to navigate the fact that this gesture—however small it may seem to you—is an important, special ritual that Randy wants to do for you. He’s the one who knows, who’s learned, how to prepare this hot drink exactly the way you like it, so that he can do it for you any time, every time, at the drop of a hat—whenever you need or want it done.

And you’d dismissed him. You’d laughed.

“She means,” Ben jumps in, “not on days you’re working, bud.” He glances at you briefly, then looks back to his brother. “Too hard, the timing, y’know?”

Randy looks from Ben to you, quickly, but isn’t able to hold your gaze for long.

“Yeah—,” you try to follow Ben’s lead, but he shoots you a look and cuts you off quickly.

“I was just saying how, you’ve got a shift today and you’re outta here early,” Ben goes back to cutting up fruit, too smooth and casual. “I actually told her to make it herself ‘cause I didn’t think we’d see you.” He looks to his brother. “Sorry, man. That one’s on me.”

“’s ok, Ben.” Randy’s voice is quiet, small. His eyes fall to the ground.

Ben’s head snaps back to you. He looks at you pointedly, subtly gesturing to Randy with the knife in his head.

“Hey,” you call softly to the youngest brother, and Randy lifts big, beautiful, sad brown eyes to meet yours.

You push off the counter and cross the kitchen to him. You can see he’s trying to smile, trying to meet your gaze. But he keeps looking away, the quirk of his lips faltering.

You touch him gently on the arm. “I’m sorry, lover,” you say softly.

“I… gotta take a leak,” Ben says quickly, and brushes past the pair of you.

Randy gulps, and only looks into your eyes when the bathroom door clicks shut.

You continue. “I wouldn’t have done it if I had’ve known. You do such a good job—”

Randy huffs through his nose, the ghost of a laugh. His plush, pink lips pout, and you pick up an infinitesimal quivering in his jaw.

“—what about—are you working tomorrow?”

“No,” he swallows again, “no the—I swapped my Saturday for Tuesdays when we—when you said you’d come over—come stay with us.”

You nod, and soothingly stroke your thumb back and forth over his forearm where you hold him. “What about tomorrow, we meet down here in the morning—”

Randy looks uncomfortable. “It’s Ben’s day,” he leans back a little, “I don’t think—”

“Don’t worry about that. I don’t care about days. I care about you,” you cut him off quickly. “Who gives a shit whose day it is. I’ll tell the three of them, every morning you’ll make me a cup of tea and they can deal with it.”

You can see it in his eyes—he’s trying to hold back a smile. “You’d tell ‘em that?”

“I will,” you say confidently, not missing a beat.

His eyes squint a little. “But not when I’m working.”

“No, not then.”

“Ok,” Randy breathes on a sigh, nodding subtly. He looks a little more settled now, a little more content to have this commitment from you.

You squeeze his arm gently, and give him a warm, soft smile.

Randy swallows and says, “I didn’t give you a kiss ‘good morning’.”

Your smile broadens. “Not yet, loverboy.”

A small smile flickers over Randy’s features, before his face goes a little serious. “Duchess can you… could you, hold me?” He flicks his eyes to yours, sweet and soft and hopeful.

“Yeah?” you hold your arms out a little, trying to gauge if you’re reading him right.

Randy mirrors you somewhat. “Yeah, is that—?”

“Oh, come here.” You pull him into a hug, and Randy melts into you. You wrap your arms around his sides and settle your palms on his broad back: one hand running lightly up and down the slightly curved length of it and the other on his shoulder blade.

Randy curls into your embrace. His head rests on your shoulder and his thick arms wrap around your waist. His large, warm hands cradle you close and his thick fingers splay out over your back. He sighs deeply.

There’s a soft, warm, quiet moment, and you whisper, “I’m sorry. I appreciate you.” – and Randy holds you tighter.

You hear the distant sound of a cistern flushing, and Randy sighs and releases you.

He looks more at ease now, his natural colour returning. His eyes shine as he looks over your face. “You look very pretty this morning,” he murmurs. “Your hair looks nice.”

You smile, knowing he’s admiring your completely un-made-up face and hair that looks—accurately—like you’ve just woken up. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Randy takes a steadying breath, feeling surer of himself now. “Good morning duchess,” he says with a small smile, and presses a soft kiss to your cheek—just the way he’d wanted to do since the moment he woke up.

Ben strolls back into the kitchen. “Shit, Randy. You gotta bounce, buddy.”

Reluctantly, Randy draws his eyes from yours and checks the clock on the microwave. He sighs. He’s running a little behind.

“Those beans aren’t gonna roast themselves,” Ben chimes.

Randy smiles at you and reaches for an apple from the fruit bowl, before turning on his heel and heading back upstairs to finish getting dressed.

When his footsteps are out of earshot, Ben clears his throat to get your attention.

You turn to face him, and find him picking up where he left off with the half cut up banana.

“You gotta take care of him, baby,” Ben murmurs, and drops pieces of fruit into the blender before turning back to the laden chopping board. “Randy hasn’t found someone who…” he trails off. He glances up at you. “You’re special to him.”

You nod, putting the puzzle pieces together. These boys all see different things in you. Their wants and needs are distinctive and you—you have the honour of figuring that out.

As much as you’re giving to them, they’re giving it back fourfold to you.

“I know.”

Ben nods. “Be a doll and get me the peanut butter?”

Just like that—the subject is dealt with, and just in time, too.

Before you can finish asking Ben where on Earth you’d find the peanut butter in this mega kitchen, Kylo’s voice sounds from the archway.

“Little one,” he says, breathless with relief. “Come here.”

You and Ben glance up at the sudden intrusion. Ben rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath, “Get it myself, then.”

“Hi, Daddy,” you reply to Kylo, trying to puzzle out what’s got him so bothered as you walk over to him.

He gulps and his brow is subtly creased as he looks you over quickly. “I looked for you in your room and you weren’t there.”

It looks like he’s been chewing his lips; they’re exceptionally red and full. “No. I was here,” you say, and it’s painfully obvious, but you feel like he needs to hear it.

“I can see that,” Kylo says, not missing a beat, as if he’s convincing himself that who he’s looking at is really you. You hadn’t made a run for it—like he’d feared. You’d slept here. You’d woken. You’d stayed.

His heart rate starts to slow to normal, the beating organ returning to its rightful place in his chest, rather than the pit of his gut where it had plummeted when he’d found your bed empty.

“I’d like,” he holds your shoulders, firm in his big hot hands, “I’d like for you to text me. Message me in the morning. When you wake up.”

You hesitate, and from behind you Ben says, “Come on, Kylo. Jesus—”

Kylo shoots a look so full of rage at Ben you almost recoil from him. “Daddy,” you bring your hands to rest on top of his on your shoulders, “hey. Hey, Daddy,” try to pull him back to you with soft words and gentle touches.

Kylo’s chest rises and falls. It takes him a moment to register you properly. His gaze flits over your face, a muscle under his eye twitching as he clenches his jaw. He gulps thickly, collecting himself, before his features soften.

All the while, you subtly squeeze his hands. When he looks like he’s seeing you again, you murmur tenderly, “I’m here.”

Kylo cradles both sides of your face, his deep brown eyes flicking between yours, and you say it again, softly, “I’m here, Daddy.”

Kylo’s eyes close for a moment, and he lets loose a deep exhale. He leans in and presses a kiss to the middle of your forehead.

Ben clears his throat dramatically, drawing the attention back to himself. “If you are done, your royal highness?” he addresses his brother, “might I deign to make my breakfast now?” Ben doesn’t wait for Kylo to answer, merely maintains blazing eye contact before he switches the blender on with a snarky flick of his finger.

Kylo glares at his brother, and runs his thumbs back and forth over your cheeks where he still holds you.

Ben rolls his eyes, pops a halved boiled egg into his mouth and starts cleaning up as he chews.

Kylo turns back to you, locking eyes. You murmur gently, “Hi,” and with your thumb you smooth over the crease in his forehead where his brow is furrowed. “You came back to me, Daddy.”

Kylo’s eyes fall gently closed at your touch, and open just as softly, like a cat.

“It’s Friday,” you say with a small, sweet smile.

Kylo leans to your ear, so you can hear him clearly over the noisy mechanical whirring of Ben’s smoothie being made. “Little one,” Kylo says, “have you eaten?”

XXXX

Kylo stands across from you on the other side of the kitchen island, sipping coffee from a big black mug as you finish your breakfast.

A little while ago, Randy had left for his morning shift at the coffee shop, and Ben had recently departed for his full day of uni. They’d kissed you on your cheek and your shoulder respectively—and as the number of his brothers in the house had dwindled, Kylo had gotten worse and worse at hiding his smugness.

There was one part of him that wished they’d stayed: a not-so-small side of him that wanted to see their faces when he gave you your present.

“Is it ok that you took today off, Daddy?”

Kylo hums. “I emailed the boss last night. He was happy about it, actually.” Kylo sets his mug down. “Said I had too much personal leave backed up anyway, and he,” he pauses, trails his gaze down to your lips and back to your eyes, “asked who the special girl was.”

You set your cutlery down and push your plate to the side, licking your lips. The beginnings of arousal kindle in your core and you murmur huskily, “and who would that be, Daddy?”

He looks deeply into your eyes. “I’d like to show you, little one.”

You bring your glass of orange juice, slowly, to your lips. “Who… me?” you murmur, and take a sip, looking up at Kylo over the rim of your glass.

Kylo’s throat bobs as he swallows. “Come here.”

You slide off the barstool noisily, making no further moves towards him. “But Daddy,” you lift your glass again, “I’m thirsty.” You gaze into his eyes as you take another leisurely sip from your juice.

Kylo tilts his head down and to the side, unimpressed. He’s finally, finally, got you right where he wants you, and he will wait no more. “I won’t ask again.”

With the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes, you don’t push Kylo any further. You keep your gaze locked with his as you walk around the bench and come to a slow stop before him. It’s a slow, delicate thing: like you’re the only two people left in the world, and time and space move differently around you—gooey and warm and still. Your voice comes out as a raspy whisper when you say, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

Kylo reaches for you and runs the back of his index finger down the side of your neck. It’s a long, slow touch as he steps closer, almost pressing his body against yours.

“It’s ok, beautiful,” he murmurs. Kylo slips his hand around the back of your neck and strokes your nape delicately with the pads of three fingers. He leans closer, his lips hovering over yours as he breathes, “It’s ok.” Pressing his thumb under your jaw, Kylo subtly tilts your head back. “Daddy forgives you.”

Just as he softly presses his lips to yours—a door closes upstairs.

Kylo growls unhappily—deep, rumbling and frustrated in the back of his throat—but he doesn’t stop, even as footsteps trudge on the carpet up above.

Kylo uses his size and weight to turn and spin you, shuffling you until your back bites into the countertop as he presses himself onto your body.

He cups your face and kisses you deeply and forcefully, delving into your mouth as he crowds you with his big frame.

More footsteps on the stairs, and you uselessly try to lean away—but all Kylo wants is for you to moan into his mouth when his brother rounds the corner and steps into the kitchen.

He presses his body against you so you feel him, all of him, and Kylo tangles his thick fingers in your hair as he devours your mouth with his lips and tongue. You draw in a breath through your nose, and he knows you’re holding back.

He also knows Matt is three stair treads away from discovering you, so Kylo tilts your head back and hungrily chases your mouth, overwhelming you with his size and his hold and his kisses.

Your senses are lost to him; and three things happen in quick succession.

Unbeknownst to you, Matt rounds the corner into the kitchen, and stops in his tracks at the sight that greets him. You, totally wrapped up in Kylo and unaware of Matt’s presence, hum into Kylo’s mouth as he kisses you passionately. You grip his sides, all firm fleshy muscle beneath his black sleep tee.

And Kylo, filled to the brim with smug triumph, grunts and rolls his hips against your body.

Matt breathes a deep sigh through his nose, his chest rising and jaw tightening as his teeth bear down on each other. His eyes flit between Kylo’s face and yours as his cheeks heat up pinkish-red and a vein pulses in his neck.

Kylo cracks an eye open to see Matt standing in the doorway, fists clenched and eyes murderous. He returns his full attention to you, changing the angle of his mouth on yours and drawing another small moan from you as he strokes your tongue with his own.

He’s happy Matt’s here. Happy to make his brother look on as he makes out with you, making you moan and clutch his body as he fans your desire into a bright, pure flame. He’d make Matt watch, he’d make them all watch while he kissed you, took you, made you cum—if he could be certain that his brothers wouldn’t move and interfere.

Matt’s nostrils flare. The sound you made shot straight through him, and he’s in no mood to tolerate Kylo not playing fair. He’s shared you before and he’ll do it again—right fucking now if he has to. He’ll bend you over and bounce you on his cock so hard you’d be able to suck Kylo off at the same time—without even trying.

Matt trudges towards you, caged as you are between Kylo and the kitchen counter.

Kylo knows his brother is headed his way, so he breaks from your lips and presses kisses down your chin and along your jaw, licking and nipping at your skin.

Matt stops abruptly, his neck flushed a deep red as he watches your face: closed eyes, mouth open and panting as his brother kisses your jawline. He looks you over and says matter-of-factly, “I know there’s room for one more.”

“Shit!” You jump and push back from Kylo, startled by another voice in the room. “The fuck, Matt?” you pant, your heart racing as you take in the blond brother—his back subtly stooped and fists furled tight.

Kylo leans away from you, looking at his brother. “Oh, Matt,” he says, brushing his hair back from his face. “Shit, hi.”

Matt’s brow furrows and he glares at his brother. His gaze flicks between you and Kylo and you can practically see the cogs whirring in his head.

You swallow and try to fix this. “I—fuck, sorry. I didn’t know—we wouldn’t have—”

Matt slings you a withering look and it shuts you up immediately. He glances at Kylo, and for a tense moment the two are locked in a long, hard stare.

You look between the brothers. Neither of them move, and they don’t even look like they’re properly breathing. The air is so still and thick around them, it’s like they’ve forgotten you’re even there—until Matt finally breaks the uncomfortable silence.

“Fuck you,” he says to Kylo, before turning on his heel and heading for the fridge.

You look to Kylo, and there’s something tugging at his stoic expression. Something almost like… satisfaction.

You grip his wrist, and Kylo turns to you with—sure enough—a glint in his eye. He was pleased to be discovered, and he was happy to let Matt stew on it, too. The games these brothers play with each other are dangerous, and you would’ve thought Kylo, of all of them, wouldn’t put you in the middle of one like that. You can feel your brow knit together as you look at him, silently demanding some kind of explanation.

“Come on, beautiful,” Kylo says, taking your hand. “Matt’s upset. Let’s let him eat.”

Kylo leads you from the kitchen, murmuring about showing you around the house, and you look back over your shoulder at Matt.

The bespectacled blond sits at the kitchen counter alone, watching you walk away. You vaguely hear Kylo calling you ‘little one’, and at that, Matt dunks his spoon into his cereal and looks away from you.

He hadn’t even said hello.

XXXX

Just as he’d promised last night, Kylo takes you on an in-depth tour of the Solo house: thorough and meandering and sparing no detail.

“Let’s start with what you know,” he says, leading you in the direction of your bedroom and going further down the hall. “This is the newest part of the house, renovated about three years ago.”

Beyond your bedroom, the addition features another guest room (currently styled as a study), plus a small gym and rec space that leads outside, a full bathroom and a small kitchenette.

“The rest of the house is fairly traditional,” Kylo sniffs, looking around the space. Different things catch his eye, old things he’d forgotten about. He hasn’t been down here in a long time.

You can’t stop yourself from staring. “This has been here the whole time?” This wing of the house is an entirely self-contained unit. “Do you rent this out, or?”

Kylo turns to you like he’s surprised to hear your voice. He smiles softly, coming back to himself and out of the past. “No.”

He gestures back towards the way you came, and once you’re up the stairs he walks you through the rest of the first floor. Somewhat familiar with the kitchen and living room, you’re not surprised to find a neatly-appointed dining room fitted with a fireplace, a large study with built-in library shelving, as well as a den and music space with a large blank piano. Tucked away is a sound-insulated entertainment room with large reclining armchairs, plus well-kept full bathroom, powder room, and laundry room.

“Who plays the piano?” you ask as Kylo unlocks a door at the back of the laundry space.

“That would be me, little one.” Kylo briefly glances back to you and smiles, before turning back to the door to undo a latch at the top of the doorjamb. “Randy too, but not as much.” He pushes the door open, revealing the gentle chirping of nearby birds. “Come here, beautiful.”

Through the laundry room is one of the exits to the back yard—and this does surprise you. Kylo leads you outside, and a green expanse spreads out before you.

The yard at the back of the property stretches and slopes towards a dense tree-studded woodland, which serves as the rear boundary of the lot. Kylo leads you along a brick-paver path, and the grass looks so lush, soft and healthy. The yard features an enclosed alfresco dining space with yet another fireplace, a barbeque, and a pizza oven.

Adjacent to the indoor-outdoor space is a raised gazebo, and flowering clematis climbs up the trellis half-walls. When you see what’s inside it, you gasp.

“You have a hot tub!?”

Kylo lets his lips curl into a small smile. “Did you bring a swimsuit?”

“I didn’t know this was here!” You look from him to the spa and back again, amazed that all of this has just been sitting here, waiting for you to come and find it.

Kylo leans down to your ear and murmurs, “Don’t let Daddy catch you skinny dipping.”

Further down the slope, a low-lying privacy wall of green shrubs and flowering bushes curves around the far edge of a large, voluptuously-shaped swimming pool. The water sparkles and twinkles a crisp, cool, turquoise blue in the mid-morning light. At one end of it, there sits a natural stone water feature—bubbling away with tranquillity—and at the other end, a decently sized modern-looking pool house.

“Can we go in?” You look hopefully at Kylo.

He smirks a lazy little half-smile. “Maybe later, little one. I have one more thing I want you to see.”

Kylo leads you inside via the back deck, into a foyer that almost mirrors the one at the front of the house. “Come upstairs with me,” Kylo says at the foot of the stairs, reaching an arm out for you to take his hand.

Butterflies whirl in your stomach as you slip your palm into his. Not only are all the boys’ bedrooms up here, but you and Kylo had been threatening to dance this inevitable dance the second he got home from work last night.

Now, the moment has finally come.

On the second floor landing, Kylo points out the main features. The master bedroom and ensuite are on one side. “We usually set guests up there,” he says.

The master suite is separated from the other four bedrooms by a versatile flex space, which is currently used as another entertainment area with a TV, couch, two armchairs, and very soft looking rug. Kylo leads you down the hall and points out his brothers’ bedrooms: all generously-sized and joined in pairs by Jack-and-Jill bathrooms.

“I share with Matt,” Kylo says, jerking his thumb in the direction of the blond’s bedroom as you stride past. His door is completely shut.

“So, Ben and Randy share?” You look across and see Ben’s door haphazardly open, a small pile of clothes and a single sneaker preventing it from closing. Randy’s door is open, and of the brief peek you get inside, the floor looks perfectly clean, and a bookcase is neatly stacked on the far wall.

“It’s a biohazard on Sundays,” Kylo mutters, stopping in front of his closed bedroom door. “I’d steer clear, if you can. Til Randy does the laundry.”

You smile. “After hockey?”

Kylo nods wearily. “But forget about them,” he says, flicking away some hair that had fallen into his face. He grasps the door handle and murmurs, “Are you ready to see Daddy’s room, little one?”

You smile your sweetest, batting your lashes up at him. “Yes, Daddy. Please show it to me?”

One side of his mouth tugs upward. “Good girl,” Kylo says, and opens his bedroom door. “Inside, beautiful.”

You step inside, and the first thing you notice is how soft the lighting is in the sleek, grey room.

Twin bedside tables house modern lamps with frosted nebulous shades, either side of a large and imposing bed set inside a four-sided upholstered frame. Plentiful pillows crowd the headboard, and above it, a pair of stunning black and white framed photographs of hemlock trees in winter take up the rest of the wall. Beautiful—but despite or because of the bare branches, you can’t yet tell.

On the far side of the room an extensive walk-in closet takes up the whole wall, with glass doors and built-in, hidden LED lighting for each of the shelves. Nearer to you is Kylo’s drafting table, which faces a large window overlooking the front of the property, as well as floating shelves that contain artfully styled clumps of books and an assortment of contemporary sculptures.

Some of them look to be awards.

“That’s the end of the tour,” Kylo says softly. He closes the door with a click, and the little metallic sound rings out loudly in the hushed space. It sparks a change, a transition in the atoms and molecules that spin around you and comprise your bodies. The air is thicker, denser, hotter; and time moves slower, more lethargically as a heavy new atmosphere settles over the room.

You turn to face him. “They’re pretty pictures, Daddy,” you say, unable to look away from his eyes or even lift a finger to point at the photographs. “Did you take them?”

“No,” Kylo shakes his head, slowly walking towards you. “I’m merely,” he trails the back of his finger down your cheek, “a collector of pretty things.”

You turn your head just in time to catch his finger against your mouth, and you press your lips to his digit in a slow, soft, chaste kiss.

Kylo’s deep brown eyes glimmer. “You’ll sleep here tonight, beautiful.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

He trails a finger along your jaw. “In Daddy’s bed.”

“Ye—Thank you, Daddy.”

Kylo subtly cocks his head to the side, admiring you. All of this is still so new, but he already feels like he won’t be able to wait a week to see you again. You’ve slipped seamlessly into his life and you’re already so much a part of his world… he doesn’t know how he’ll see you off on Tuesday morning. He doesn’t know how he, or even any of his brothers will stand it.

But here, today, after waiting all this time, Kylo needs you now. He must have you again. He smiles at you with his eyes and says, “I think you’re ready for your present now.”

You beam at him, and its so warm and clear Kylo thinks he might faint. Before you can say anything he speaks again. “Get on your knees, little one—and face my bed.”

A thrill flutters through your belly and you do as he says, turning away from him and sinking to your knees in front of his bed. You sit back on your haunches and say, “Like this, Daddy?”

Kylo hums. “Close your eyes.”

You hear him shuffle around next to you; a sound like one of the drawers in his bedside table sliding open and closed. Then, you feel his presence as he takes a seat in front of you, on the bed.

Kylo’s fingers skim your neck as he gently moves your hair back, and then something soft, but then, cold—is it metallic?—grazes your skin. He loops the thing around your neck and fastens it at your nape—deft despite the thick length of his digits.

“Can you swallow? Talk?” he asks.

With your eyes closed you test it, gulping and answering him in the affirmative.

Kylo’s never seen anything like you. “Beautiful,” he murmurs softly as his gaze flits over your face and neck. Your closed eyes amplify the serenity in your features, and he’s surprised by how peaceful you look with his collar hanging around your neck. So at ease. So full of trust.

You wear it so naturally, his heart could burst.

You hum a small giggle into the still silence. “What’s wrong, Daddy? You’re all quiet.”

Kylo swallows. “Little one,” he murmurs, but his voice is thick and hoarse, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Hold out your tongue.”

A small smile flits across your features before you open your mouth a little way and push your tongue out, resting it on your bottom lip.

Kylo’s heart seizes in his chest. “God, you’re perfect,” he mutters as he swoops in and cups your face in his big warm hands, licking over your tongue and your lower lip before pressing his mouth to yours in a potent kiss.

You match him eagerly, letting him into your mouth and chasing every touch of his lips and tongue with a small whimper.

Kylo changes the slant of his mouth on yours and you rise up on your knees to get closer to him—but he holds you firm and grunts, pulling from your lips.

You stay still.

“Open your eyes, little one,” Kylo says, his breath coming hard.

Slowly, you blink your eyes open to find him gazing at you, all dark swirling desire. His full lips are flushed a deeper shade of rose petal pink, and he licks at them to taste the remnants of you.

Impulsively, Kylo sits back and fishes his phone from the pocket of his pj shorts. He taps a few buttons and turns it to face you, and you see yourself in his front-facing camera.

You see it, hanging around your neck. A choker, of sorts. Blushing pink velvet, a shade or two lighter than the curtains in your bedroom. A small charm sits in the centre of it, over your throat, and from it hangs a chunky, silver, heart-shaped pendant.

It’s engraved.

Kylo watches you intently. “What does that say, little one?” he gestures to your neck.

You swallow, recovering the ability to speak. You shuffle a little closer to his phone and tilt your head up, getting a better view of the engraving. Four small letters spell his name in elegant, sweeping cursive.

Your voice is but a breath when you answer him. “’Kylo’.”

“Who’s that?” he whispers.

You look from his phone to his eyes. “My Daddy.”

A burst of euphoria erupts in Kylo’s brain, and heat blooms in his chest and deep in his core. He feels lifted, warm, and weightless. “Good girl,” he murmurs, tossing his phone away somewhere on the bed. “Come to Daddy, beautiful.”

You spring from the floor into Kylo’s lap, straddling his hips hurriedly. He catches your lips in hot, breathy kisses as he tugs your sleep tee up over your head, and he cups your stiffening breasts in his hands.

His palms are so warm, and he holds you so completely. The weight of your whole body rests easily on his thighs as you surrender to the heat of arousal trickling through your veins, and join his mouth in needy kisses.

Kylo’s lips press to the corner of your mouth, along your jaw, and down the side of your neck. “You’ll wear this,” he says between kisses, “on my days. When you’re with me,” he pants into your ear for a few breaths, “you’re mine.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you moan on a breathy sigh, and Kylo groans as he crushes his lips to yours once more.

You tug and pull at his shirt, hastily tearing it off his body as your kisses turn fierce; starved for the feel of his lips, the heat of his tongue, the taste of his mouth. His body is as solid and sturdy as you remember from that first night, as strong as marble but soft and warm under your fingers.

Kylo squeezes and massages your bare breasts as he kisses down your neck. He wraps his arms around your waist and holds firmly to your back, and before you realise it he’s lifting you up, turning you both around and tossing you down onto his bed.

“Daddy,” you gasp—but Kylo’s already shucking off his sleep shorts and pulling at the hem of yours.

Of all his muscular, naked form, your gaze is drawn to one spot: to the long, thick prize between his legs, red and swollen and vascular with need.

Kylo sees your parted lips and blatant stare, and his heart swells with pride. He knows what he’s working with—his previous lovers had been more than complimentary—but something about seeing that look on your face is just…

It feels different to him, somehow. For some inexplicable reason.

“It’s been too long, little one,” Kylo says as he tosses your pyjamas to the side and crawls up the bed to you. “And I meant what I said last night,” he slides up your body and catches your lips in a kiss, rolling his hips so his hard cock glides against your slit. “Daddy missed his little girl.”

He’s so warm and heavy above you, with his thick dark hair falling into his face. “I missed you too, Daddy,” you murmur, starting to rock your hips to grant you both some friction. “But you can have me now.”

Kylo hums and kisses you again, taking every opportunity he can get. It was so chaotic that first night, and even though he fucked you deep and you swallowed his cum, it agonises him that he missed out on licking your lips and sucking your tongue.

He hasn’t stopped thinking about it since.

Kylo leans above you on one arm and with his other hand, trails down your chest to cup your breast and run his thumb over your nipple.

You arch into his touch and he pinches the hard bud between his thumb and forefinger, rolling until your hips buck upwards urgently.

You break the kiss to sigh, “Daddy,” and reach down to wrap your hand around his hot, heavy cock – but Kylo stops you.

He grabs your wrist and puts your hand into his hair, slinking down your body until his mouth hovers over your other, so far unattended nipple. His palm trails down your belly and dips between your thighs, his fingers lightly teasing your fast-slickening folds.

“Did you think about me after the party?” Kylo murmurs onto your breast before he sucks your nipple into his mouth.

You rock and arch against Kylo’s body, your fingers furling in his soft, thick locks. Kylo licks over your nipple with long, slow, wet drags of his tongue and you moan loudly—before you remember you’re not alone in the house and shut yourself up.

Kylo pulls off your nipple. “Daddy thought about you, little one.” He kisses across your sternum to your other breast, his fingers still only toying with your pussy lips. “A couple times a night, sometimes.” He points his tongue and flicks over your other nipple quickly, eyeing how you suck in a sharp breath and arch your back. His pendant on your neck glints prettily. “And I don’t care if he hears you,” Kylo rumbles onto your skin before wrapping his lips around your nipple and dipping two fat fingers into your pussy.

“But Mat—ohh, Daddy,” you moan, both your hands now fisting in his hair. Every lick of his tongue over your nipple and drag of his fingers against your silky walls strikes pleasure in each of your nerves—too many to count. Beyond eager, you think of the last time you had his cock inside you and your pussy clenches at the memory.

“Mmh,” Kylo slips off your nipple, “shit. Still so tight.”

You can’t stop the whimper in your throat.

“So wet for Daddy, too,” he murmurs. You’re even hotter and slicker than he remembers, his late-night recollections no substitute for having the real thing pulsing and clenching all over his bare hand.

“Daddy, please,” you whine.

Kylo slows the push-pull of his thick fingers, giving you slow strokes of the full length of his digits. There’s a small slick sound as he pushes in, and your lips and walls cling desperately to the friction. He returns to your face, his gaze flitting over your pleasure-struck features as he fingers you.

“You want my cock, beautiful?”

You nod frantically, and Kylo’s eyes narrow for a second. He shimmies down your body as he fills you full of his fingers, and when he’s in the right spot, he sucks hard on your clit.

“Yes, Daddy!” you keen—but Kylo merely licks from his fingers to your clit with big wet sweeps of his tongue.

You still haven’t given him the answer he wants, and you thrash against his bed. You scrunch his bed cover in your fists as Kylo hums and grunts onto your pussy, his hot breath amplifying every touch. “Please,” you moan, not caring how your voice sounds, “I want your cock, Daddy. Please.”

Kylo sinks his fingers into your pussy and wraps his lips around your clit, humming all of his approval onto the stiff bud.

You whimper shrilly, hips bucking, and he pulls away.

“Good girl,” Kylo purrs appreciatively, sitting up on his haunches. “Fuck, you taste good.” He grabs your thighs and pulls you into the position he wants, with your legs over his and him directly between them. Kylo reaches forward and holds himself up on one straight, locked arm, and guides his cock to your slick opening like he’d imagined doing so many times since that first night.

But he can’t resist slicking the underside of his dick in your silky wetness, can’t help himself from parting your lips with the head and gliding upwards until his slit brushes against your clit.

You plead with him. The wet looseness in your core turns to an aching, hollow emptiness now that he’s so close to being inside you but stubbornly refusing entry. Every cell in your body sings for him and you beg, you reach out for him with outstretched arms. “Daddy,” you pray, “I waited too long, too.”

That snaps Kylo’s attention back to your face. He gulps, gazing into your eyes. “Hnmh,” he hums, “c’m’ere, little girl,” – and then bores down on you with desperate, ravenous kisses. He hums into your mouth as he grips his swollen dick and presses it to your opening, groaning when the petals of your cunt yield and let him slip inside on the dew of your desire.

He stutters your name out through a deep, rasping groan that he breathes all over your lips.

You gasp, wrapping your legs around his sides and carding your fingers in his hair like he likes.

Kylo draws his hips back and plunges his throbbing cock inside your pussy again, thick and wide and making room for himself inside your tight walls. You lift your hips to meet him and he grunts against your skin, immediately seeking the solace offered by the slope of your neck, his nose and cheek brushing against the velvet collar that bears his name.

“God,” he huffs, his voice tight and strained already. “Daddy missed your cunt, little one.”

You moan—you too missed reaching the spots he knew how to get at and like this, with just the two of you sharing the same hot air, your bodies vibrate with the same tempestuous resonance, the same pulsing thrum as he pistons his hips into yours.

“Shit,” Kylo grunts, “ffuck—this wet little pussy’s so good.”

He bounces you a little ways up the bed with every long, deep thrust; his meaty ass cheeks flexing as he pushes into you with everything he has, all that he is, giving it to you like it’s the first and last time.

“Daddy,” you groan, a deep rich sound of pleasure as your chest and neck heats up and the liquid warmth of pleasure pools in your core. The head of his cock pushes into hidden depths, the rigid shaft ridged with veins that stroke against so many nerves.

“Fuck, yeah,” Kylo pants, “you take Daddy’s dick so well, little one.” He slides one of his legs a little higher, to better hit deep inside you. “Sso ffucking…” he trails off, a primal part of his brain taking over. As he tries to tell you how wet and tight and hot you are on the inside, his hips move faster, he thrusts into you harder, and he groans over the soft slaps of your bodies against each other.

Sighs and whimpers tumble from your lips as the sensation builds—the tightening heat of pleasure bubbling over—and you clutch his shoulders for support, stability, sanity.

Kylo leans back to look you in the face, resting on his knees and his palms as his hips roll on a piston.

“Eyes open,” he puffs. “Eyes open, beautiful. Look at me.”

You blink your lids open, and the sight of Kylo above you, panting and puffing and red in the face, sends you squeezing and clenching around his dick.

“Hhuh, good girl,” he looks deeply into your orbs, demanding your gaze. “Look at Daddy.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you moan, your lids fluttering as you strive to keep your eyes trained on his. Your mouth drops open and Kylo can hardly bear it: his stomach flips and clenches, and he feels the squeezing tug in the pit of his gut that tells him his release is fast approaching.

Kylo wraps his arms underneath you and, stilling his hips, holds you close and flips you over. Mere seconds are spent adjusting to the new angle—but no time is wasted. Kylo cinches one arm around your waist and with his other hand, he holds the back of your neck.

He drills up into you, and you scream.

“Daddy!” Your cry is shrill and guttural, a sound of otherworldly pleasure ripped from your throat for all the house to bear witness to.

Kylo grunts with exertion as he holds you close to his body. He knows this angle hits your g-spot and rubs your clit against his mons—which is exactly how he wants to make you cum.

You wail and moan, your thighs starting to tremble around his hips. Kylo’s pendant hangs from your neck and knocks into the base of your throat with every one of his thrusts.

It’s too hot. Your bodies smack together with sticky slapping pops and soon, the only sounds falling from your mouths are guttural grunts and groans.

Kylo feels your legs shaking, feels your cunt slicken and seize on his cock. He knows you’re close, about to snap. “Cum on my dick,” he pants. “Cum on Daddy’s dick, little one—ughh, God.” His balls are twitching, tightening. “Do it now.”

He holds you firmly in place—you know he’s got you—rubbing against you inside and out in a way that blows your mind. Now, with his sanction, it’s like a dam bursting, a volcano erupting, an inferno blazing to new heights.

“Come on, come on,” he chants through gritted teeth, pushing his own limits to pound up into you even harder, sloppier, noisier. “Cum now, beautiful,” his voice is taut, “cum for Daddy.”

You break, cumming all over his dick with a loud, drawn-out cry of pleasure. Your orgasm floods you with warmth from your core to your fingers and toes, and the pulsing clenching squeeze of it sends Kylo into his own delirious spiral of bliss. He cums in waves, groaning, muscles contracting as he dumps surge after surge of hot cum deep inside you.

Even when you’re both finally panting, sticky, and sweaty, Kylo still can’t bring himself to let go of you—or, slip out from where he’s nestled within you. You rest on top of him, cradled in his arms, listening to the gradual steadying of his heart.

But you’re so still and quiet, Kylo thinks you might’ve fallen asleep.

“Little one?” he whispers. “Beautiful?” He’d let you rest, if you needed it. But this is no ‘one and done’ thing. He’ll have you, he’ll take you, again and again until you do pass out on top of him.

“Mmmh,” you hum, in a dreamy daze.

Kylo murmurs softly, “Are you sleepy? Hungry?”

“Nnnh.”

He smiles, and strokes down your back with four fingers. “Good,” he says. “We’re not leaving here til dinner.”

Chapter Text

Kylo is true to his word: it’s early evening when you finally leave his room.

The mid-morning passed in a dreamy haze. Kylo’s soft, nuzzling kisses roused you from a lazy nap. He had been warm behind you. The heat of his body seeped down to your bones and enveloped you in a snug embrace. He pressed every part of himself against your back, even getting his thighs and knees behind yours.

He took you like that, on your side so he could nuzzle your neck and skim up and down your body, from your throat to your nipples to your belly and your clit as he thrust into you. At one point he hitched one of your legs over his. He brought you to orgasm like that, beautifully butterflied and exposed, as he breathed in your ear and rubbed your clit till it pulsed.

Once you recovered you’d eased out of bed and dawdled, naked, to his drafting desk. You thumbed through his folios and ran your fingers over his loose drawings. Sketches made up of thicker and thinner black lines coalesced into detailed perspective drawings of building interiors and exteriors. Kylo had come up behind you and kissed the clasp of the collar around your neck. You turned and Kylo’s mouth found yours instantly, one hand on your neck and the other, your hip.

“Daddy wants you again,” he’d breathed onto your kiss-bitten lips, dipping between your thighs. Kylo stroked your pussy until your arousal dripped down his fingers and then he shoved the papers aside so you could shift up onto the angled desk top. You wrapped your legs around his sides and pressed your heels into his meaty cheeks. His musculature overwhelmed you and you blatantly ogled him - but Kylo ate it up.

Up on your elbows the angle made you gasp for air, and when Kylo tucked the back of your knees to the crook of his elbows, leaning on the desk, it was enough to make your eyes roll back. With his forehead to yours he told you to touch yourself. 

“Do it just like Daddy does,” he’d said, and you did, falling apart all over him.

As the sun sunk lower in the sky you were looking at the awards in the bookcase. It wasn’t long before Kylo pulled you into the nearby Eames chair. He’d wrung another orgasm from you as you bounced in his lap and the heart on the collar glinted in golden hour light. When your moans became too shrill he’d grabbed your waist and guided you up and down on his dick until he came, filling you for the third time.

You’d collapsed onto his broad, sweaty chest. Kylo let you rest, running his fingertips up and down your spine. When you finally felt your legs again and suggested a shower, he followed you. Maybe originally, he did only want to clean you up, but as soon as you were sudsy and soapy he couldn’t help himself. He hiked your leg up and rolled his hips, the muscles in his backside clenching with every deep press into your pliable core. You were unsteady on one leg, it was difficult to balance on the slippery tiles on your tip toes so he’d flipped you around, pressed your top half into the glass, and mounted your lower until you screamed.

Afterwards, clean and dry and dressed for the first time all day in something more than Kylo’s collar, you announced you were hungry—starving, actually. Kylo smirked. 

Now, the smell of something delicious greets you as you descend the stairs. The hubbub of conversation wafts upwards too: it sounds like all of Kylo’s brothers are in the kitchen.

“So what’d you do all day, Matty?”

“Went out.”

“You did, huh?”

“They were,” there’s a pause, “loud, Ben. I got home from work and left—”

The conversation drops into silence as soon as you enter the kitchen. You feel Kylo’s hand at your lower back. Matt scowls and looks away, one hand pushing his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose and the other slipping his phone from his pocket. Randy tries a smile but turns back to the pot on the stove, resuming to stir whatever it is that smells so good your stomach rumbles. Ben clears his throat.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

No one else says anything. You sense Kylo’s broad chest lift beside you, almost busting out of the black tank he wears, proud as a peacock. 

After a moment you finally say, “...Hey,” and Matt and Randy snap to attention at the sound of your voice. They look at you for a second, half hoping Kylo’s presence is somehow erased from existence. 

“Hey.” A crack in his voice, and Randy turns away quickly again.

“Hey.” Matt looks like he could crush his phone in his hand.

Ben tries again, with awkward half-laugh, half-cough. “Come, sit, babe.” He gestures to one of the stools tucked under the counter. 

You force a smile, and it feels wrong. The room feels cold, with Randy’s back to you and Matt on his phone. “You sure?” you say, trying to test the room, but the other Solo boys don’t look up again.

“‘Course,” Ben says, but he’s scratching his eyebrow with his thumbnail.

“Go on, little one,” Kylo says, and you can damn near hear the smile in his voice.

Every step feels like an intrusion. This might’ve been a shared space last night, before Kylo got home and you, Ben, Matt and Randy had chatted about this and that over pretzels and soda. But now it feels like you’re stepping out onto a frozen lake, and there’s no one on the other side, no arm outstretched ready to grab you and pull you safely to the shore.

Except, maybe there is one arm. You slide onto the stool, and Kylo follows next to you, but there’s one Benjamin Solo who watches your face with earnest attention. There’s something pleading in his molasses eyes. Is it an apology, on behalf of his brothers? Or could it be that he doesn’t want his worst fear confirmed—that you’ve had such mind-blowing sex with his brother all day that you don’t want all of them anymore.

He says lightly, “So… How was your day, babe—?”

“Did you even leave his room?” Matt accuses. 

What’s worse than Ben’s confusing expression is Matt’s, almost, hurt one? His thick lips are so red and pouty they look fuller than you’ve ever seen. He looks up over the rim of his glasses, a filthy glare. He sniffs at the air around you, and shoots a sullen look at Kylo.

“You smell like his soap.”

You match Matt’s stare, and there’s only daggers in his eyes. “Yeah. And?”

“Did he do that?” The blond brother is quick. “ Wash you? Were you too fucked out to—”

“Wait.” Ben’s clasped hands drop to the counter with a thud. You see where he’s looking: his gaze zeroes in below your chin, above your chest. There’s a long stretch of silence before Ben points a thick finger.

“...What the fuck is that?” 

The air in the room shifts—but with what it turns into, you kind of wish it had just stayed awkward. Matt follows the invisible line and even Randy turns and tracks where Ben is pointing.

Oh shit. Fuck. “Ben—” You didn’t take it off. You should’ve taken it off.

Ben stands up straight. “What the fuck is that?” he repeats, but he’s not asking you. He glowers at his eldest brother, while the younger Solos gawk and stare.

Besides the almost-altercation with Matt when you arrived at the house yesterday, you’ve not really had occasion to see Ben truly angry. But in this moment, there is a thunderstorm in Ben’s deep brown eyes. His jaw is set and his brow is creased. With an unnatural calmness he quietly asks his elder brother, “You put a collar on her?”

Kylo’s features are set, his gaze fixed on Ben, but there’s a cocky gleam in his eyes. He doesn’t need to explain anything to anyone. At the sound of metal skidding across tile your gaze snaps back to Ben - who is up and has shoved a bar stool out of his way, one eyebrow lifted in a sharp arch.

“A collar. Really? Like a fucking—” 

You blink and Ben’s made his way around the kitchen island. You try to grab his arm to stop him but he’s already past you, up in Kylo’s space.

“—dog. Is she your fucking dog, you fucking dick?” Ben fumes in Kylo’s face before he shoves him.

The eldest takes a couple of easy steps back with the force of Ben’s push, like he was ready to absorb it. His jaw works—almost like he’s trying not to smile. 

“I’ll give you that one,” he squares up, closing the distance, “but put your hands on me again—”

“You think you fucking own her, ‘s that it?”

“It has your name on it.” This from a third voice. 

Immediately silence falls again, like a heavy lid on a kitchen fire.

You chance a glance in Matt’s direction. He had to have said it. His blond brow is furrowed as he looks right at the base of your throat - to the collar and engraved heart. Confusion narrows his eyes, and there’s a downward draw to his mouth.

Ben whips around instantly. “It fucking what.”

You feel him up against you, a warm hand cradling your face and turning you gently to face him. You look up into his eyes and they’re—soft. Apologetic. But when he glances below and reads his brother’s name, his mouth presses into a hard line. There’s fury in his eyes, but his touch against your skin is tender where he strokes your cheek.

“What the fuck, Kylo,” Matt says, but it’s quiet. He slings a long glare at Kylo, but Kylo would never have the humility to look chastened.

“Yeah,” Ben rounds on his eldest brother, “what the fuck , Kylo.”

“She’s happy to wear it, little brother—”

Ben scoffs. “Yeah? She’s happy to wear it?” He shoves at his brother’s shoulders once more—hard this time. 

Kylo’s face flashes, a murky glower falls across his features. He fronts up to his brother and the two are close, squaring shoulders and breathing hard.

Kylo rumbles, “I put that collar on her and she called me Daddy.”

“She calls you that because you asked her to ‘cause you’re an ego-fuckin’-maniac,” Ben snaps.

“What did you just say to me—?” Kylo shoves Ben back, and the younger is off balance for a few short steps before he’s up in his brother’s face again.

To your side, Randy tries to intervene but Matt reaches a casual hand out to stop him, fingers resting on Randy’s forearm.

The two eldest have escalated to a shoving match, their voices rising, almost yelling over one another. You’re about to say something before the quick snap of Matt’s head to yours. You catch his dark-chocolate gaze, and the bespectacled brother subtly shakes his head.

You look back at the fray to see Ben stumble back, then stop abruptly and yell out, “You know what? Fuck this. I’m calling it. Fucking—!” he looks around, panting and flushed, his gaze catching on you for a few moments as his breathing slows, “family meeting.”

xxxx

Arranged around the kitchen island, the five of you are quiet. The whole kitchen is quiet, without the hubbub of the pot boiling or the low hum of the oven. You share lots of looks and glances here and there, but for a while there’s only silence as everyone gathers their thoughts.

This is clearly something these four have done before. As soon as Ben said the words, ‘family meeting’, it was like someone turned out the light. Weird to see, as all the Solo boys, sort of, went into standby mode and gathered around together in sullen silence.

After a long moment, Ben clears his throat. 

“...So. What do we think about,” a pause, “Kylo’s collar?”

There are no takers. Kylo’s arms are folded tightly across his impressive chest. He’s staring hard at the gleaming benchtop.

“I’ll start,” Ben says. “I’m not going to uh, ‘yuck your yum’, big bro, I just don’t,” he stops, sighing. “How is this,” he gestures towards you, “not playing favourites?”

Kylo’s jaw works. He doesn’t respond. But it seems like that’s ok, because Ben looks at his younger brothers and gestures at them to join in. “Boys?”

To your surprise, Randy is the next to speak up. The youngest Solo frowns a little, pouts a little, and says quietly, “I didn’t know you were going to do that, Kylo.”

Dragging a rough swipe down his mouth and chin, Matt follows quickly, “Didn’t think it’d have your. Your name on it.”

Ben nods along as his brothers share their thoughts, then he looks directly at you. He holds your gaze, letting a beat pass before he speaks.

“...How do you feel about it?” he says, and every pair of eyes in the room lands on you.

This must be what it’s like to hover over a big red button, palm poised to strike, where pressing it has the potential to do something very, very bad. You may need to tread carefully here. Looking around at each of the brothers, especially at Kylo, you take a deep breath.

“Look. Everyone in this room has a thing. This is just, his thing.” You look at the eldest, a little expectantly. “Right, Kylo?”

You can tell by the set of his jaw and the lift in the middle of his forehead that he didn’t like that. Didn’t like hearing you say his name. Didn’t like that you didn’t call him Daddy instead.

But this isn’t a time for charades, you can tell, and the eldest answers you nonetheless. 

“That’s right, beautiful.”

You nod some. “And I,” another big breath, “like that you all have a thing. A different thing. With me.” 

You almost wince, bracing for the blowback, but you look around and see that they’re all staring at you. With intensity, with such deep dark beautiful brown eyes that a shiver flutters right up your spine. What you said has charged the air, it’s ready to ignite.

You swallow, your mouth suddenly wet with all those Solo eyes on you. “So, if I can deal, you all can deal, right?”

The brothers don’t answer you—at least, not with any words. But there’s heat, and hunger, and even hope in those four gazes. 

You push a little further, testing whether the energy in the room really has shifted or you just think it has. “Plus it was a present. Just for,” you chance a fleeting glance at Kylo, “Daddy’s day.”

Yes—yes. They’re all looking at you with parted lips, taking deeper breaths, so still and trained on you they could be statues—monuments—to desire. The air around the five of you feels like a sticky, humid day about to tip towards a thundering downpour. The room is staticky, sizzling, begging for the rush of relief from oppressive heat.

Into the thick and heavy silence, Ben breathes, “God I want you,” and Matt grunts—he grunts—in response, like it’s the only affirmative sound his ape brain is capable of making to respond to the premise Ben has put before all of you.

Kylo speaks before you can respond.

“Why don’t you,” his voice is hoarse, he clears his throat, “get her ready for me?”

The three of them, and even you, turn sharply to look at the eldest.

Kylo looks straight into your soul. “I think Daddy’s little girl would like that.”

Your heart thuds in your chest; you can only nod, but the boys aren’t as easily convinced of Kylo’s sudden change of heart. Again Randy goes to step forward, but Ben and Matt haven’t moved an inch, so he stops. 

Kylo pulls out a chair from the dining table and drags it across the floorboards a few paces, until he sits across from you.

“...Is this…legit, Kylo?” Ben asks. “You mean it? No bullshit?”

Kylo settles into the dining chair. “No bullshit.”

Your pulse races. Any trepidation the boys felt moments ago has seemingly disappeared. The three brothers make for you and it’s almost choreographed, you don’t know how it all happens so smoothly. You swivel on the barstool as Ben presses up against your right side and Matt comes up on your left and you realise: this is going to happen here, now, in the Solos’ goddamn kitchen.

And the hands - God - so many hands. Skating up your thighs, your front, across your heaving breasts and back down. Randy’s at your feet, skimming up your calves and back down to slip your fluffy slides off.

“Kiss her,” Kylo says. He sounds far away, but you’re looking right at him—sitting with his arms crossed and legs spread wide like that dining chair is a throne.

Ben trails his nose along your jaw and as soon as you turn to face him, he traps your lips in a kiss. His lips are pillowy soft, lingering against yours so long you feel your thoughts dissolve, shoulders falling and that persistent crease in your brow finally smoothing over. One of his hands glides up over your breast, chest, to the side of your neck. 

Ben kisses you like he has all the time in the world. Hell, he makes you forget what time even is , with his thumb stroking across your jaw as he deepens the kiss, licking at your lips until your mouths smack together.

That’s when you feel a hard pinch at your nipple—Matt—and Randy’s soft kisses to the inside of your ankles.

You break the kiss to moan onto Ben’s lips.

“Again, Matt,” comes Kylo’s far-off voice, “under her top.”

Ben’s hand slinks around and you end up catching his thumb in your mouth, just as Matt’s hot hand slips under your top, pulls down your bralette and rolls your stiff nipple. You groan around Ben’s thumb, and Ben hums a quiet moan as he dives for your neck. His kisses to the slope of your shoulder send flares firing, just like Matt’s rough tweaking of your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

Your jaw drops and Ben’s hand travels beneath your pyjama top, seeking out your other nipple and rubbing his spit-slick thumb across the hard bud. 

“Knew you’d want us again—”

Matt—good God, Matt —breathing into your ear, just as the youngest brother is about to latch his pink lips to one of the most sensitive parts of your body. You almost don’t want him to—with what Ben and Matt are doing, any more sensation will spike your pleasure so much you’ll gush.

“—didn’t think it’d be so soon—”

Matt’s voice rumbles like early thunder, low and threatening and just above a whisper. His breath is hot against your ear and neck, sending your temperature climbing.

“—dirty little pet.”

Ben sucks on your earlobe, waiting for Matt to finish, and when his brother does he murmurs, “You taste so good, babygirl. Fuck I missed you. Missed your gorgeous tits.” 

Together, Ben and Matt shuck your cotton shirt up over your chest, and tug down your lacey bralette to expose your bare breasts. They tease and tweak your stiff nipples in tandem while Randy presses kisses to the pads of your toes, but when he finally sucks on them the pleasure shoots straight up your leg like it’s resetting your centre of gravity.

You’re not proud of the sound that leaves you—a pathetic humming whine—but you don’t care. You’re seeping in a way you can do absolutely nothing about, and Kylo says, “Touch her. Test her pussy for me.”

Kylo’s brothers follow his orders. Ben loosens the silky ribbon tying your pyjama shorts and Matt’s hand darts inside quickly. You can’t even take a breath before Ben follows, pressing the soft pads of two fingers straight to your swollen clit. Matt coats his digits in your silky slip before sinking them into your pussy.

Deep. First try. No resistance.

You groan, and Kylo leans forward, forearms to thighs. “Is that good, little one?”

“Didn’t get this hole that night, did I?” Matt murmurs into your ear, before you can answer Kylo. “Just you fucking wait, bitch.”

“Yes,” you cry out, but to whom, you’ve next to no idea. 

“Yeah, baby,” comes Ben’s crooning voice into your other ear, “that’s it. You lemme know. You tell me when it feels good.”

All you know is their fingers toy with you and Randy’s soft lips and tongue send pleasure zinging around your body every time he sucks on your toes, so when Kylo says, “How is she?” like you’re not even there, you feel yourself drip.

“Wet,” Ben answers, stroking circles into your clit with two thick fingers. “So fucking wet.”

“Tight,” Matt follows quickly. His fingers push and pull, slick, making your pussy make noise. “Getting your fucking girlcum all over me,” Matt grumbles quietly, “fucking slut. You love this.”

Ben murmurs, “God babe, your clit’s getting so hard. Your little cherry’s gonna pop, babygirl.”

There’s a delirium that not so much settles over you but crash-lands, with two Solo boys whispering in your ear and working your pussy wetter and wetter. The part of your mind still capable of coherent thought knows you’ve made a mess of your cotton sleep shorts, and probably soaked through to the wooden barstool beneath your ass. But you’re splayed out, and all for Kylo, who directs his brothers like a general.

“Make sure there’s enough room for me,” is the latest order from high command, and your stomach flips. With all the licking and sucking and rubbing and searching for the end of your cunt, it’s too damn much.

“Sstop. Wai-wait—”

“‘S’wrong, baby?”

“I,” breathily, weightlessly, “I’m gonna cum, Ben.” As if it isn’t your fifth orgasm today. As if your man Ben didn’t already know it.

Ben chances a quick look at his elder brother, and when Kylo doesn’t dismiss it, but gives a subtle nod instead, Ben leans into your ear once more.

“Yes you are,” he whispers, so breathy and hushed it makes your mouth water, “go on, babygirl. Show me, ‘n’ show Daddy. I wanna watch you do it.”

Matt’s a quick study. “Fucking cum on my fingers, dirty fuckin’ whore. Wanna fucking feel it. Wanna know how this slut cunt is gonna squeeze my cock.”

“You look so goddamn good when you cum. I know you do—fucking gorgeous. Gimme another one, yeah baby? I’ve got you. Your Ben’s got you, babygirl.”

“Filthy cunt’s gonna fucking flood—”

“That’s it, baby—”

“Make a big fuckin’ mess—”

“Gimme one more, lemme hear you—”

You snap - damn near folding in half as you seize and stretch and shake. Your orgasm is powerful, shuddering through every cell in your body, flickering in every nerve, making you yell and cry out nonsense. Vaguely, you’re aware that the three of them hold you, and move with you as the blissful spasms move through your body. Their voices barely register— yes and fuck and just like that —until one looming shadow appears.

You blink to refocus your eyes as awareness seeps back into your warm and weightless limbs. Of course it can only be Kylo, the big broad mass of him blocking the light overhead.

The three brothers start releasing their holds on you as Kylo, with his eyes on you, asks them, “She ready for me now?”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Yes, boss,” he replies snarkily, before he says, “But I’m sure our girl could tell you that for herself,” and sneaks a cheeky wink at you.

“She will,” Kylo says flatly, sidling up to your spread legs in the spot previously guarded by Randy. “Now get out.”

“What.” Matt’s gaze is hard. You can tell something else, pressing just into your side, is even harder.

Kylo’s already shucking your soiled sleep shorts down your legs. 

“You got her ready, like I asked. Now, you can fuck off.”

“Hey,” Ben cuts in, brow creased. You clock him glancing Matt’s way, and you bet it’s because he didn’t like how Kylo talked to the blond Solo. But you’re almost fully naked now, with your breasts hanging out of your bra and your bottoms who knows where, and Kylo can’t take his eyes off your glistening sex.

“I don’t care where you go or what you do, but it’s not happening here.”

“Fucking dick.” Matt’s the first to storm off. You don’t see where he goes, and the sound of his usual two-at-a-time loping up the staircase is conspicuously absent until you hear the powder room door swing open and slam shut. 

“Daddy,” you start, but Kylo merely loosens the drawstring on his baggy black track shorts and mutters, “Soon, beautiful.”

Randy lays a hand on Ben’s shoulder, to which Ben replies, without looking, “I know, big guy. I’m going.”

The youngest brother takes one last longing, bashful look at you before he leaves the room. Ben had been locked in a one-sided staring contest with Kylo while the eldest Solo’s attention was elsewhere. 

“No bullshit, huh?” Ben says, arms wide. “ This is no bullshit? No games?”

“Better luck next time, little brother,” Kylo says cockily. He’s hauling himself out of his shorts and trunks, slipping the elastic waistbands down far enough to prise his heavy dick free. You do wish he was better to his brothers, but your turncoat body thrills at the first glimpse of his thick, flushed cock.

Ben looks between you and his brother, his perfect lips scrunching up as he sighs through his nose. “Fuck you, man,” he points a finger at Kylo, then at you, “you better fucking do her right.” 

You’re surprised to find Kylo’s listening at all, with the way he’s running the underside of his dick through your slippery, puffy lips. He looks at his younger brother, his forever rival, and deadpans, “Or what?”

You’re trying not to let loose a pathetic whimpering sigh, because that would definitely hurt Ben’s case and help Kylo’s, but the head of his fat swollen prick glides over your tingling clit and you just can’t stop it. It slips right past your guilty lips and floats up to the high ceiling.

Kylo cocks a brow at Ben, letting your sound linger on the air for an almost uncomfortable stretch. 

“...Little one?” he finally coos, holding his brother’s gaze.

You glance between them. Ben presses his lips between his teeth and he breathes hard, heavy breaths. “Don’t do this to her,” he murmurs at Kylo, searching his brother’s smug eyes.

“Tell me, beautiful,” Kylo says, and then, he doesn’t even need to look at you for this. You feel him, guiding his cock down your slit to the place where you’ve welcomed him all damn day. He presses the round head of his heavy cock to your pussy, and damn it, your body yields for him. 

Because of course it does. He feels fucking good , and has done, all day long.

That’s when Kylo finishes his question, because he knows you’re about to seal your fate any second now. “Are you ready for Daddy to ‘do you right’?”

To save yourself from making another incriminating sound, you don’t answer straight away, but because of this (and unfortunately for you), both Solo boys turn to look you square in the face.

Heat flushes you, your eager pussy seizing on just the tip of Kylo’s barely-nestled dick, but you manage words with only a slight quiver in your voice.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Kylo instantly looks at his brother. “See? ‘Yes, Daddy’.” He looks back to where your bodies are just joined, your pussy lips just beginning to bloom around the flared head of his cock. He says off-handedly, “Goodbye, Ben.”

It takes Ben Solo a long time to look away from your face. He’s stuck there, seems like. He could be ogling your body, committing the curves and colours to memory, but he’s looking into your eyes like his whole word is in them.

Then, Ben blinks away the wistfulness and in its place is his trademark glint, devastatingly charming.

“How’s about I make you some videos, babe?” he says, with another panty-dropping wink, and when you smile at him he turns on his heel and strides away.

Your gaze follows Ben, but before you can see where he goes, Kylo takes your chin in his fingers and turns your head to face himself again. His thumb trails down your throat, to the collar around your neck that bears his name.

He says, “Daddy’s gonna fuck his little girl now,” and swiftly thrusts the rest of his dick into your slick pussy until he bottoms out.

“Fuck!” you cry out, and something clatters in some other room of the house—you don’t even know where before Kylo grips your ass and tugs you closer by your cheeks.

You slink down the barstool a little as Kylo hoists your ankles to his shoulders, and the size of him like this is eye-watering.

“Shit,” Kylo mutters, then louder he says, “this little pussy always fits Daddy’s dick.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you moan—at this angle, your every breath amplifies the fat stretch of his cock, like he’s pressing into your lungs.

Kylo draws back before filling you again, building to a rhythm of rolling his hips into yours. When your mouth falls open, Kylo huffs out, “Did you like that, little one? When they touched you?”

You almost can’t think back to ten minutes ago, not without your pussy slicking Kylo’s plunging dick with more syrupy slip. 

“Yes, Daddy.”

After all the times and ways this man has fucked you today, any reasonable person would think their body has had enough. But it’s impossible not to notice the broad expanse of his shoulders as he towers over you. How strong he looks—and is—and how his smooth, pale skin almost glows. 

He’s big, he fucks like a goddamn sex machine, and he’s got those mocha-brown Solo eyes.

You’re nothing but a moth to a flame.

“What did you like?” Kylo says hoarsely. “Tell Daddy.”

You know he’s holding back. When he had you on his desk he had it shunting into the wall, had you wailing in no time. This was deliberate, purposeful. Deep, unhurried thrusts to keep you teetering on just this side of agony, but with enough to make your pussy leak onto the barstool.

Maybe this was more like a performance. Maybe you had an audience.

“I liked,” you gulp, curling your hands around the seat, “when you told them what to do and they. They did it.”

Kylo hums. He’s burying his cock deep with every leisurely thrust. “What else?”

Moments from earlier flash in your mind’s eye like thumbnails for porn clips, especially Kylo sitting across from you, directing traffic, tenting his baggy track shorts.

Your attempt at words is a poor one, a stammering mess. “When you. When you watched—”

“Good girl likes it when Daddy watches.” Kylo ends with a sigh, and your belly swoops when he teases one of your nipples and clamps his other hand to your hip.

“Yes,” you squeak, and your hands fly up to clutch at his forearms.

“You like,” a satisfied grunt, like he likes your touch there, “putting on a show for Daddy.” He picks up a little pace.

“Yes, Daddy.” You brace tight, palms sweating, clinging to Kylo like he’s your lifeboat. His rolling, languid thrusts turn spearing—straight as an arrow and forceful, making you bleat and moan, making your toes curl against his ribbed blank tank.

“Well,” a pause, a huff, “I think they’re listening, little one. Do you want to,” a puff, sighing, “put on a show for them?”

You remember when Matt stormed off to the bathroom. Well, he hadn’t come out yet, had he? And did you actually hear Randy and Ben head up the stairs for certain, or did you just assume they had?

“I…” It hits you then, as hard as Kylo’s piercing thrusts. You do have an audience, and they’ve probably heard every word. For a split second it strikes you as odd that Kylo would keep you (happily) cooped up in his room all day only to put on a public sex show now. That is, until you remember that ‘ego’ is Kylo’s middle name. So you agree— Yes, Daddy —and Kylo says:

“Tell them who fucks you.”

You insides swoop again, and you know Kylo felt your pussy fluttering around his spearing cock because he heaves a hard breath, like he’s just been punched in the gut.

“You fuck me, Daddy.”

It’s at this moment that Kylo decides to press his thumb to your clit, sweeping up over your bud as the rest of his fingers splay out over your bouncing tummy.

“Does Daddy fuck you good, little girl?”

“Yes, Daddy—” you damn near hiccup, “you ffuck me so good.” Your hands return to the barstool, curling around the wooden seat for any kind of anchor. 

Kylo has manhandled your body into this and that position all day, but the way you’re contorted now is something else. Folded in on yourself with your heels to his shoulders, if Kylo’s dick prodded any further inside you, you reckon you could taste him.

“Does Daddy own you, little one?”

A loud groan leaves your throat, because fuck, you don’t know what’s hotter: what he’s saying, that his brothers are listening, or that he’s saying what he’s saying because his brothers are listening.

And you know the answer Kylo wants to hear, because that’s the game, and hell (you let yourself dive headlong into the fantasy) maybe some of his brothers want to hear these words from your mouth, too. 

Then again, maybe some of them want to show him up, when they get the chance.

You hiss a curse, because it’s too much to think of all this while Kylo pounds you relentlessly, thumbs your clit and makes you tell him he’s God’s gift to women.

It’s too much, and it feels too damn good.

“Yes,” you moan, stammering, “you own me, Daddy.”

“Just me?” Kylo grunts.

“Just you, Daddy.”

Your temperature’s through the roof, you know you’re sweating and your slick is seeping out around Kylo’s plunging dick, you’re *this* close to shattering into a million pieces, but you can’t help wondering one thing.

For the other boys listening, participating in this private peepshow, would that have gotten them off? The picture of the three of them, alone in their rooms or just on the side of the wall, reaching their peaks with their dicks in their hands is tantalising enough to set you on fire.

And maybe it would work for some. But if it didn’t, what would?

You furrow your brow, “Oh,” and bite your lip, “Daddy!” and you let loose a string of insensate, half-moaned filth. You tell him how he fucks you so good, how his dick is so big, that he gets your pussy so wet and he makes you cum so hard you could cry. You tell him that you’re his, that your pussy is his, all for him, always.

Kylo groans; your bodies start to slap and smack together as he pounds you harder, sparking the start of your orgasm. 

“All for Daddy, little one?”

“Fuck. Yes. Daddy!” You say it with his thrusts, and make your voice extra-whiny like he likes.

Kylo’s thumb flies over your clit. “Daddy’s big dick is all for you.”

Shit. That ledge is so much closer now. It won’t be long before—

“Cum on it.”

You wail, coming apart, and Kylo dumps yet another load into your squeezing cunt, groaning and shuddering for the whole house to hear.

xxxx

You’re helping Ben and Randy tidy up after a late, light dinner, even though Randy keeps taking everything out of your hands so you don’t actually have to lift a finger. Matt bounded up the stairs after the awkward meal (you haven’t heard anything but the distant thudding and squealing of metal music since) and Kylo left ‘to get a few reps in’.

Ben slings a tea towel over his shoulder and comes up beside you. He rests his hands on the countertop and his pinky almost—almost—touches yours, as close as he dares, and you look up at him.

The second eldest Solo says, “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you, babe?”

You put your phone all the way down and swivel to face him. “Tell you what?”

“If there was a problem.” Ben doesn’t hesitate to answer you. This must’ve been playing on his mind.

You sense Randy’s gaze on you as well. You know the youngest Solo doesn’t like to get in the way of his brothers, but he still bristles whenever he gets the smallest notion that something might be wrong.

You gaze up at Ben. “If there’s a problem, I’ll take it up with whoever started it.”

Ben searches your eyes.

“I’ll handle it, Ben.”

Ben nods once, a slight quirk to his lips. “Attagirl.”

Kylo appears in the opening by the stairs and calls you up to his room, hand outstretched. So naturally, you slide off the bench, saying, “‘Night, boys.” - but it’s a little too obedient for some.

As you walk over to Kylo, Ben sighs and sing-songs loudly, “Ahh, duty calls.”

You stop, slinging Ben a warning look over your shoulder. 

You were right to. When you turn back to Kylo there’s an intenseness in his gaze, and the two older boys lock eyes until you clear your throat and say, “Daddy. I’m coming up, I’ll be right there. I just have to, uhm,” you gesture roughly in the direction of the powder room, “pee.”

Kylo’s gaze slides to yours. There’s a barely perceptible twitch under one eye.

You nod at him. “I’ll be two seconds.” You take a couple steps towards the small bathroom to help your case. “Promise.”

Kylo hums, nods, and turns to head up the stairs. You wait a second, listening for his footfalls on the treads to make sure he’s going, and when he is, you catch Ben’s eye and gesture urgently towards the powder room with a point of your finger and tilt of your head.

Ben follows you, because of course he does, throwing the tea towel to the bench and carding his fingers through his hair to brush it back from his face.

Once you get to the small hallway you round on him, whispering his name. “Stop it.”

“Yes ma’am,” he whispers back, eyes glinting. “You wanna?” He jerks his thumb towards the powder room.

Your eyes widen but you can’t help the smile that plays at the corners of your mouth. You know Ben sees it, because he returns serve with the most dazzling, toothsome grin that you swear a bright sparkly ding flashes on his left canine, like in cartoons. 

“You know I can’t do that,” you breathe, “now would you stop?” 

“Hold on. Just let me…make sure I’ve got this, babe,” Ben leans in even closer, as if he’s your co-conspirator in some secret plot, “You said, I can’t . Not, I don’t want to . Right?” He gazes into your eyes for a long moment, and all of a sudden it’s far too hot, far too jungle-like in this tiny hallway for all this closeness and whispering. God above, you can count his damn eyelashes.

Ben murmurs, “...I can do it quick for you, babygirl.”

You stop. For one magical, mystical moment, it’s too tempting. The heat in his eyes draws you in, reeling you like a fish on a line.

“I’ll get it done. Promise, babe. Scout’s honour,” he holds up three fingers, winks, “remember?”

“Oh, hush, Ben.” You press playfully at the centre of his chest, pushing him back.

He rocks back as you half-heartedly shove at him, but comes right back into your space again. “You just need’a keep quiet—that’s your end of the deal.”

The little thrill you get at Ben’s proposal tells you it’s definitely something to keep in the back pocket. But for now, you’re needed elsewhere, and time’s ticking.

“I’m going. Now. Okay, Ben?” You try be chastising but there’s no use against that gleaming Ben Solo gaze. 

“You sure?” he whispers.

You smile, rolling your eyes. “Yes!” You breeze past him, but Ben grabs your wrist before you make it too far.

“Hey.”

“What?” you whisper urgently, your arms outstretched between you.

“What do you want to do tomorrow?”

This draws you up short, and not just because of the earnestness that creases Ben’s casual expression, with his head tilted back a couple degrees like he’s contemplating an art piece. It’s because not a single one of them has asked you this question, especially Kylo. Seems all Kylo wants to do is fuck you into oblivion and ruin you for his brothers—a plan as transparent as the day is long.

Not that you’re complaining.

“Tomorrow?” you whisper back, shrugging. “I don’t know.”

Ben nods. “I’ll message you.” He releases your wrist. “Tell Daddy I said hi.”

xxxx 

You wake the next morning to a text from Ben, and you can’t deny the flutter in your belly at seeing his name on your phone and realising it’s his day.

Ben’s day.

There’s a picture of course, a half-naked selfie of Ben in navy blue running shorts. His grey sleeveless shirt is between his teeth but what his hand is doing makes your mouth water. He holds the phone up to the mirror, but his other hand pulls at one side of the waistband, just enough to see his happy trail become a little bit denser and the faint ‘v’ cut that his abs make with his hip.

The texts read:

rise and shine babygirl
come downstairs for a run
ready for u
u ready for me?

Chapter Text

You fire off a quick reply to Ben:

Born ready. But no running shoes :( 

Ben texts back immediately:

come anyway
we’ll walk it

You squint at the large window in Kylo’s room. Behind the heavy curtains, the early sky seems a little greyish. You wipe from sleep from your eyes.

You: Looks like rain
Ben: we’ll be back before rain
Ben: just come babe

You set your phone down and begin the process of extricating yourself from Kylo’s bed. The eldest makes a meal of it—pecks turning to deep kisses, tender touches that become desperate gropes. You didn’t expect him to make it easy, but you didn’t think he’d make it this hard, and that seems a little naive in hindsight. 

Your phone buzzes nonstop all the while. Only when the third message goes off, and you show the lit screen to Kylo and say, “‘M sorry, Daddy. It’s not your day,” does he finally let up. Pouty and sullen he lays back down, with one arm tucked behind his head and one leg bent at the knee. You don’t know how, maybe by some gift of the Fates, but the sheet falls artfully over his lower stomach and groin.

If it didn’t, and every single inch of him was displayed as captivatingly as this, you’d have a real problem on your hands.

You finally untangle from the sheets and throw some clothes on before heading downstairs. You check Ben’s texts as you go:

we’re burning daylight gorgeous
don’t you wanna come see me
your man misses you baby

Smiling at your screen and the little wilted flower emoji, you slip your phone in your pocket and round the corner into the kitchen. You find Ben at the island, and leaning one side on the archway trim, you take a moment just to drink him in. 

He’s dressed in the same running gear he’d half-stripped out of to send you that selfie, grey muscle tee and navy blue shorts you’d sooner see on the floor. He holds himself up, leaning one hand on the counter. Deep brown lusciousness falls into his face as he scrolls through his phone.

“Hey, Ben.” You’re about to say you just need to grab a bra and socks from your room, but Ben looks up, tosses his phone, and makes a beeline straight for you before you can get another word in.

“There she is,” Ben croons, “mornin’, gorgeous.” He stops just one step in front of you, running his fingers through his hair and then leaning that same palm against the wall above you.

It’s everything not to grin goofily and giggle stupidly like a giddy, lovestruck highschooler. With his hair pushed back all sexy and the subtle waft of his mouthwash, deodorant, and whatever it was he put in his chin beard to keep it soft and make it smell so good—you could just fold right into him. 

“Morning,” you murmur back, your voice dropping into the sultry as you take in his beauty-marked skin and mountain-dark eyes. Your skin prickles into goosebumps just looking at him.

Ben says, “Sleep well, babe?”

You lean against the gloss white archway, as close to Ben as you dare while maintaining some dignity, and Christ he’s all you can smell now. Like you can taste him, your every breath lifting your chest to get a deeper drag of Benjamin fucking Solo. A little woodsy, with something heady and sweet like toasted spices and vanilla. Good enough to goddamn eat.

“Ahuh.”

Ben’s eyes crinkle; his lips quirk under his neatly trimmed moustache. “Ahuh?” he echoes, and a subtle crease appears between his eyebrows before he traps his bottom lip with a canine. “What’s that mean?”

You squint a little, watching Ben give you that look. “What’s that mean?” You throw it right back at him, flicking a glance at his mouth and where he’d just bitten his lip.

“What?” Ben smiles, one corner of his mouth ticking up, creasing a dimple low on his cheek. His eyes sparkle as he gazes at you.

You try to fight smiling back but there’s no use. “That face.” 

Ben cocks a brow. “That’s just my face, babygirl.” He closes the distance between your breaths, now bracing his forearm against the archway trim. “Can you be a little more specific for me?”

You’re looking well up at him, as all six feet and three inches of well-muscled, scruffy-chinned Ben Solo curl into and around you—like he’s got himself in every atom in the room besides the ones that belong to your own body.

His body radiates heat. Your finger would sizzle if you touched his lightly tanned skin.

“That,” you start but stop, tongue darting out to wet your dry lips, and Ben’s gaze momentarily flits to your mouth to catch sight of that. “That look. Biting your,” you expel the last word in a puff of air, “lip.”

“Ahh,” Ben sighs, a low rumble of understanding, but the twinkling in his deep dark eyes tells you he already knew. “You saw that, huh?”

“Tsk, Ben.” You glance away, unable to hold his scorching gaze when it’s accompanied by low, husky talk. 

“What? You don’t wanna tell me?” Ben chides, but softly, his head following where you went to draw your eyes back to his. “You shy now, baby?”

You sigh, and looking back at him sends a flutter up your spine. “Yeah,” you confess, your pupils probably the size of saucers. “Yeah, I saw it.”

Ben takes a deep breath in before he answers you. “You wanna, see it again?” he murmurs, shifting so close you can count his eyelashes. “...Or something different?”

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears. There’s no flittering or fluttering of a delicate hummingbird in your chest. That vital organ is transformed into a booming heavy bass drum, thudding your pulse as time slows right the fuck down. 

Under Ben’s gaze you manage to croak out, “...Different?”

Ben’s eyes turn smoldering, lava that’s only just hardened. “There’s plenty I can do with this mouth, babe.”

Deep in your belly swoops, because you know he’s right. Hell, he rimmed you out on your first tonight together. Imagine what he’s been yearning to do ever since… 

Swallowing to get some control over your voicebox, you murmur at him, “Is that so, Ben?”

“Certainly is, babygirl.” He doesn’t miss a beat.

“Can you,” you lean in, a little bolder, and speak in a low, breathy voice, “be a little more specific for me?”

Ben grins. He doesn’t shy away from your challenge. He doesn’t even look away from your eyes, except for one small moment to huff a laugh to himself. His lashes, long and darkest brown, fan the top of his cheeks. And lower, his long dimples curve around his mouth in a toothsome smile that could knock your knees out. 

Then - before you can pull yourself together - his gaze flits back up to yours and it’s devastating—utterly devastating—how well he wields the tools he was blessed with, how good he looks like this, and it’s not only your brain that registers that fact.

Then Ben murmurs lowly, “I’ve sucked your cum off my fingers but I’ve never tasted your pussy on my tongue.”

You don’t think you catch it before your jaw pops open. You know your exhale is shaky. His words speak directly to the dull ache deep in your belly, sharpening it to a pinpoint throbbing at the top of your squeezing thighs, and it’s as if he damn well knows it.

“‘N’at seems a crying shame to me, babe.” Ben catches your chin in the lightest hold between his thumb and forefinger. “Don’t you think?”

He’s not so much tipping your mouth to reach his—because it’s there, good God is his kissable mouth right there—but keeping your mouth exactly where it is. Holding your lips in that exact spot. Letting you breathe on him. Sucking down your air. 

The rest of you could collapse, but Ben would keep your pretty mouth primed for his kisses.

“You know,” Ben murmurs throatily, with just a hint of a naughty gleam in his eyes and quirk to his mouth, “on second thought. We don’t have to go anywhere.” He plays at kissing you, almost goading you into it, hovering his lips over yours until they almost touch. “We can work up a sweat right here.”

You crack a smile at him, one corner of your mouth pulling up dazedly, because Ben’s smile was just like that, it just did that to you, and you know you’re not the only one to have fallen prey to it. The pads of his fingers are searing hot, and his lips are so close but he just won’t let you have them—like he’s making you work for it.

“Whaddaya say, baby?” Ben murmurs, nudging the tip of your nose with his. “Wanna get a little hot ‘n’ heavy with me?”

There’s only one thing on your mind, and it comes out in a breathy little laugh. “Yeah, Ben.”

“Attagirl.”

The thing about Ben’s kisses is that he smiles into them—and Christ if it doesn’t spark the most addictive high you’ve ever had. You feel the upward curve of his mouth as he presses his soft lips to yours, coaxing you to follow him, chase him, meet him with more of your lips and tongue.

Come to me . Give it to me . That’s what Ben’s kisses tell you without him needing to say a single word. He doesn’t have to, because his kissing mouth does it for him. He shows you with every caress of his soft lips and swipe of his wet tongue that he desires the heat of you—heat, in all senses of the word. That he’ll give it all over to you and more if you just meet him—match him. Kiss him back.

That’s when you throw your arms around his neck, and that is when Ben groans . His palms glide down your sides, his roaming hands triggered by your eager fingers mussing his soft hair. Ben deepens his kisses, tilting his head to the other side as he skims searching hands down to knead your ample backside.

He lifts you off the wall and you let him, willingly guided as your lips lock together with soft sighs. Your hands slide from the nape of his neck until you cradle his warm face, your thumbs teasing the scruff on his chin. His facial hair is soft where it brushes your skin—conditioned and smooth. He tastes like mint and honey and the sweet, citrus tang of kiwi fruit.

It draws a moan from your throat, the taste of him, and Ben’s lips part from yours at the sound of it.

His half-lidded eyes rake over your face. “God, look at you. You’re fucking gorgeous.”

Your laugh is little more than a breathy sigh, given you just woken up not twenty minutes earlier and haven’t even dressed yourself properly yet. But Ben doesn’t seem to mind it. He’s never seemed to care about things like that, actually.

You skim down his neck and rest your hands on his sturdy chest and try a line on him.

“Tell me about it, stud.”

Ben arches a brow and he smiles broadly—with teeth and a laughing sigh through his nose. Hands to your ass cheeks he squeezes and kneads, turns you, walks you backwards to the kitchen island.

He says, “How much time’ve ya got, babygirl?”

“For you, Ben?” At that moment the pair of you meet the counter’s edge, but Ben’s arms shield you and take the brunt of the bump. You finish your quip, “All the time in the world.”

Ben rumbles out a low groan. “C’mere.”

And just like that he’s kissing you again, cupping your cheek and thumbing the elastic waist of your shorts to wrestle them down over your soft hips and backside. 

You let him, shimmying until your shorts hit the floor. Your hands curl to fists in Ben’s torn-sleeves shirt to pull his kisses even closer. It’s messier now, with hotter, wetter, more urgent swipes and swirls into each other’s mouth—lips smacking together, breathy sighs turning to moans and groans.

Especially when Ben finds that you wear no underwear under your sleepy, sporty shorts.

“Oh, my God,” he murmurs onto your lips. “For me, baby?”

You lick a swipe at his kiss-swollen lower lip before you answer. “For you, Benny boy.”

Ben’s shining eyes blaze. “Oh, baby. If you don’t get up on that counter and let me eat that pussy my heart’s gonna break clean in two.”

“Me?” you scoff playfully. “I’m waitin’ on you, mister.”

Ben wraps an arm around your middle, his eyes searching yours. “I’ll never keep you waiting, babygirl.”

You shift up onto the counter with a leg up from Ben and once you’re sitting pretty, you lean back on your palms and spread your legs wide for him, dangling off the counter’s edge. 

Ben whistles lowly and murmurs, “There’s my girl.”

He has no end of praise for the sight of your glistening lips and nipples budding your shirt, muttering curses about how sexy you look spread out like this. Between kisses down your neck and chest and belly he marvels at your body and tells you how he wanted you all morning, and didn’t sleep a wink with how bad he wanted you all night long.

You can only imagine what that must’ve looked like. Ben’s not one of those ‘all talk’ kind of guys, and he doesn’t exaggerate because he doesn’t need to.

Ben pulls up a barstool and plonks down right between your legs. “Was torture, babe.”

You quirk a brow; an amused smile graces your lips. “Torture, Ben?”

“Agony,” he answers quickly, looping his arms under your meaty thighs. 

You reach and card your fingers through his lusciously dark hair. “How many times?”

“I lost count,” Ben replies, kissing the sensitive inside of your spread legs. “Every time I was almost asleep I got hard again. I nearly,” he switches to the other thigh, “wept, baby. Had to get my fucking fleshlight out ‘cause I just couldn’t.” He changes back, inching closer to your slippery pussy, “By the end. Hand wasn’t enough. Lube wasn’t enough. So fucking hard and I just wanted to cum. Just wanted to be in your pretty pussy again and fucking blow it.”

The images that flash in your mind’s eye make your pussy squeeze, along with Ben’s soft kisses and dirty words dancing along your skin. Last night, he was probably all red and flushed, beads of sweat on his forehead and trickling down his neck onto his shiny chest. Did he lay on his back and do it? Or by the end, was he so damn frustrated that he rolled onto his stomach, held himself up and held that toy in place so he could fuck into it like it really was you under him?

Knowing what you know about Ben, it was probably the latter. Maybe he’ll give you a demonstration later, if you ask nicely. But then again, when it comes to Ben, maybe you don’t have to be that nice. 

Maybe he’d like it if you were just a little mean.

Ben hovers above your hot, pulsing pussy. “And right now you smell so good, I’m losing my goddamn mind.”

You wet your lips, brushing his hair back once more. “You want some, Ben?”

“Baby if I don’t get a taste I’m gonna fucking collapse I’m telling you, believe me.”

The words spill out of him in such a rush it trips your heartbeat. 

“You won’t regret it,” Ben assures you, as if you need telling. But then he says, “I’m gonna make you cum in my mouth, babygirl,” and the world shifts half a degree on its axis.

Your mouth gasps open, and Ben’s last words before he dives for your pussy are simple ones.

“Don’t hold back.”

Ben’s pillowy lips kiss and suck your pussy like he’s been training for this his whole life. For the chance to lick your sap off your slit and slurp it noisily from your drooling hole, to part your folds and suck on your lips and nibble on your swollen clit.

And Ben’s not quiet about it, not even with his mouth full and occupied. He doesn’t stop to talk, but shudders roll through you anyway because he hums and groans onto your pussy as his lips and tongue and teeth work between your legs. 

It’s not only the pulsing reverb, but his hot breath and the subtle, gossamer-soft hair around his mouth that have you dripping onto his tongue, your thighs twitching to snap closed around his head.

When Ben finally comes up for air it’s to tell you how good you taste. “Like salted fucking caramel, baby. How’d you do that, huh?” His lips are glossy and his facial hair is wet with your slick. “How’s this pretty pussy do that?” 

You pant to catch your breath, unable to put words into a sentence for him, because your stomach does somersaults at just the sight of Ben like this. 

Ben takes one of your hands in his and places it on his head. “Put your fingers in my hair,” he insists. “Gonna lick you ‘til you shake, babygirl.”

You sigh his name, and Ben groans in response as he sucks your hard clit into his mouth. He holds fast to your thighs as you lift and press your pussy into his face, rocking to chase the orgasm Ben’s mouth alone brings you ever closer to. 

He wraps his lips tight to your bud and sucks on it, then licks rapidly up and down with the flicking tip of his tongue. Before you can fully push his head away or give any kind of warning, your excitement leaves you in a hot, wet torrent that pools on the counter under your butt.

You think it’s probably soaked his chin too, but then Ben swallows audibly and sighs contentedly, like he’s taken the first sip of an iced, cold drink on a summer afternoon.

“Shit, Ben—”

“Fuck, baby—”

“Did you just—”

“—that’s a good fucking girl.”

Ben doesn’t give you time to finish your question. Jaw dropped, you catch one clear droplet running down his chest in a shining rivulet before he dives back into your pussy. 

Your fingers sink into his sweaty hair to anchor his head between your thighs. With just his mouth he assails your clit until your moans ring out loudly, and then his hands slide under to cup your meaty ass and cradle your juicy pussy to his face.

“Ben!” is all you cry out before your orgasm surges through your body. Ben smothers his mouth with your pussy, sucking your twitching clit, and you hold him there, your legs shaking, until finally you can’t take the sharp spikes of pleasure and you release him. Ben jerks back, gasping for air, and before you can blink he’s cradling your face and kissing you deeply in staccato bursts.

You wrap your legs around his hips and grab his sturdy sides, humming his name into his mouth as he kisses you.

Ben finally lets up. Breathing hard, he presses his forehead to yours and laugh-mutters, “That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

You smile back. “Catch your breath,” you say, even though your own voice is breathy and puffed and you’re tingling from top to toe.

“God damn,” he huffs. “Knew you had it in you, baby. Shit. Think my fuckin’ dick tore a hole in my shorts.”

You laugh over his name, but Ben seems to take it as a challenge, like maybe you don’t believe him, because he leans back so he can look you in the eyes. 

With a gleam in his gaze that lands in the very core of you, Ben says, “Wanna check for me, babe?”

You unravel yourself from Ben and he lifts his shirt just so, leaning back just enough, for you to see the outline of his erection bulging his track shorts.

Looking directly at you as you assess him below the belt, Ben murmurs lowly, “What’s the damage, baby? Think you can help me out?”

You meet his gaze, all dark syrup and desire. You say, “Think I can do you one better, Ben.”

“Oh?” Ben’s excitement is palpable, obvious in the lift of his brow and cheeky glint in his eyes. “How’s that, babygirl?”

You hold out your hand and Ben takes it, helping you down from the countertop. You don’t let go as you walk over to the dining table, and Ben follows you eagerly, all eyes and ears and raging hard-on for whatever you’re planning next.

You get to the long, reclaimed wood table, pull a chair out and bend over in the space you made, exposing your naked lower half to Ben and sticking your ass out.

You hear a mumbled No fucking way and look over your shoulder at him. “Huh, Ben?”

“Shit, baby,” Ben murmurs, kicking into gear after a momentary lapse. He comes up close behind you and pulls you up, flush to his warm body. His fingers waste no time, slipping under your tee shirt to splay out over your torso.

“You wanna do it here, huh gorgeous?”

“Ahuh,” you breathe. Desire rekindles easily in your body, the lingering tingles now radiating in currents from your middle to the tips of your fingers and toes and breasts. 

Ben hums a groan of approval into your ear. “You want my big cock, right here where anyone can see?”

“So bad, Ben.” You push your ass back against his erection. “Don’t care where.”

“Aw, babygirl. You miss my dick that bad?”

“Yes, Ben,” you sigh, your back arching.

Ben hums like he’s thinking deeply about something. His warm hands slide up, lifting your shirt over your breasts until they’re bared for him. “You know who else I wonder about?” 

“Who, Ben?” you sigh, lifting your chest to meet his palms, letting yourself be taken over by the second eldest Solo, all over again.

Ben murmurs into your ear, husky and deep. “Your pretty little kitty, baby—”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you barely suppress a shiver as you lean back against him.

“—she miss me, too?” Ben coos. He cups your breasts and squeezes, massaging, and your nipples quickly pebble into stiff buds under his touch. “She hungry, babygirl?” he croons, rolling his hips, his clothed cock stiff against your bare backside.

Your body thrums, simmering like a pot on the stove, just shy of boiling. All you can do is hum a moan, your body thrilling at the prospect of feeling Ben inside you again. 

“Mm.” One of Ben’s hands skims down your front, slow and seeking, until he slips two digits between your thighs. His mouth finds your ear, sucking on your lobe and dragging his teeth across it before releasing a throaty murmur just for you.

“She need me to feed her?”

Your knees almost give out at the prospect, with Ben teasing your nipple and pressing at your blossoming clit. “Yes, Ben,” you say, damn near panting all over again.

Ben kisses across your shoulder. “Yeah, baby,” he echoes. “Keep saying my name.”

You groan, shifting your ankles apart and angling your hips to get a better pass of Ben’s swirling fingers, swimming in your cum and his wicked spit. Ben kisses his way back across your shoulder, then presses his lips to the shell of your ear once more and murmurs, “‘M gonna bend you over this table now, okay babygirl?”

“Yeah, Ben.”

“Don’t try and keep quiet this time, okay babe? Let ‘em hear you.”

“Yes, Ben,” you sigh.

“Attagirl.” Ben’s hands slide from toying with you and glide down your shoulder blades, putting a gentle pressure there. “Now just relax, baby.”

You fold in half, bending at the hips onto the tabletop. Ben mutters a curse as he shucks out of his shorts and trunks. His bare legs brush against yours, his feet inside your ankles, and he sinks just the head of his dick into your slippery opening—then stops.

“That’s it, babygirl.” Ben’s two hands glide over the full globes of your ass. “Stay right there.” He grips your hips. “Let me in.”

Your mouth falls open as Ben pushes, slowly, into your squelching, sucking pussy hands free. He doesn’t even pull you back onto his probing cock. Your lips grip him, hold him tight, and it’s all he needs to delve balls deep into your warm insides, squeezing your hips as he bottoms out.

“That’s fucking it, baby,” Ben drawls, every word stretched long, because he’s just watched his cock disappear inside you, given you every goddamn inch until there’s nothing left to give you. 

You gasp his name, eyes watering.

“Yeah, babe?”

“Fuck,” you squeak.

“Yeah, I know, baby.” Ben kneads and squeezes your ass cheeks. “Feels good, huh?”

“Yeah.” Your voice is tremulous and shrill as your pussy stretches around Ben’s stiff cock. He’s so long and thick like this, he’s maxed out every available inch of space inside you, and it’s a real tight squeeze.

You lean up on one elbow, twisting to look back at him. “That’s a big fucking dick, Ben.”

Ben grins. “You like it, baby?”

“Ahuh.” You nod, and lifting up onto your tiptoes, you rock back on him.

Ben’s eyes glimmer. “You don’t wanna take it slow, babe?”

You fold your lips between your teeth, shake your head.

Ben holds your gaze as his hands return to your hips and he slowly draws back. “You wan’a dick that’s too big to fuck you too fast?”

You bite your lip, your stomach flipping. Ben definitely felt it as your pussy clenched.

“Shit. You wanna be dirty for me, baby?”

You rock again, gliding over the head of his dick, nodding at him. “Yeah, Benny,” you say, your voice small, sinking into a whiny, pleading register.

“Fuck,” Ben mutters under his breath. He plunges back inside you with a quick, deep thrust, and when you moan, he says, “Should leave my handprint on your ass for making me fuck you like this.”

The way your body responds to that betrays you, squeezing on Ben’s fat cock buried to the hilt inside your slippery cunt.

“Ben,” you whimper. “Please.” Because he feels to fucking good, and seeing him like this is doing wicked things to your body, making your pussy glaze his cock with extra slippery slick.

Ben draws back before shoving in again. “This little pussy’s not ready for my big cock.” 

You grip one of your ass cheeks, spreading yourself. Shaking your head, you say, “You’re too big, Ben.”

“Shit.” Ben stops. “Too fucking hot in here,” he says, whipping his sleeveless shirt off and tossing it. He runs his fingers through his hair, brushing it back from his face. “God you’re fucking good at this, babe.”

Your view of his body is unimpeded now. From his flushed cheeks and scruffy chin and broad, strong shoulders, all the way down his—you count them: two, four, six, eight—abs, down his happy trail, past the tan line his shorts make to his neatly trimmed hairs. 

The smile you give him must lean too far to the mischievous, because Ben’s brow lifts pleadingly and he practically begs, “Don’t look at me like that, baby, I’ll bust it—”

“What are you gonna do about it?”

This stops Ben in his tracks. 

“Huh?” You arch a brow, and all of it puts him back in the frame of mind he was in.

Ben’s thrusts start slow and shallow, making your eyelids flutter.

“‘M gonna spank this perfect ass until you make it fit,” Ben declares, and your stomach swoops.

His hands roam your backside but he doesn’t give you any warning before the first smack lands. The smarting heat spreads, turning warm and pleasurable, like the first sip of a rich red wine, sweet and tart and heady before it seeps into your blood.

“Spank you fucking raw.”

You try—you really, really try—not to whimper too pathetically or rock back onto Ben’s cock—but you fail at both. It earns you another slap—Ben’s big warm hand landing sharply on your ass—and you know you’re gushing and clenching all over him.

“Too tight to fit in this little kitty,” Ben says, but his pace quickens just that much, giving you a little speed and a little friction and a little laboured breathing, triggering a response so deep in your brain it’s nothing more than primal.

“Yes. Yes. Ahuh.” You garble the words as you seek more of him with your hips.

“Almost there,” Ben coos. He grabs your wrist where you’ve planted one of your hands to your butt cheek, holding you in place there, while his other hand sweeps over your heated skin. “Almost fuckin’ there. Dirty girl likes being bent over and fucked, huh?”

You brace for another smack, but it does nothing to stop you moaning and squeezing when it lands.

“She likes it rough?”

“Yeah,” you keen, high and drawn out.

“Yes,” Ben groans, a long and laboured word. His thrusts get longer, starting to bounce you.

“Fuck,” you gasp, “that’s good, Ben.”

“Can feel how much you like it, dirty baby.”

You start to meet him, matching his deeper thrusts. You throw your hips back, sliding along Ben’s dick.

Ben releases his hold on you, palms up like he’s surrendering. “Throw it on me then, dirty girl. Show me how you wanna fuck.” He halts his hips, giving you every inch of his hard, thick length to use as a toy. 

You bounce yourself along Ben’s cock avidly, panting. Both hands scramble for leverage, your nails scratching to find something to hold onto on the flat, shining dining table.

“Give it to me like that.” Ben lands another spank to your ass cheek, and it burns in the best way, zinging straight to your clit. “Just like that, baby. Come on, fuck me.”

“Ben!” you moan his name, trying to fuck yourself on his dick, knowing your ass and thighs are jiggling and wriggling and not giving a single crap about it. 

But Ben absolutely loves it. Groaning and cussing he gropes handfuls of your meaty cheeks and begins to fuck you in earnest, for the first time since you draped yourself over the family’s dining table. Ben’s brisk pace makes your breath hitch and your bodies slap together.

You chant the only words your primitive brain can muster. “Yes! Yes. Harder, Ben!”

“Pussy feels so fucking good, baby, fuck,” Ben grunts. His hands slide to grip the hinge of your hips, sinking in to get the leverage he needs to lift you a little, pull you a little closer, and get his dick rubbing up against the spots he knows will make you drench his fat cock.

Your vision criss-crosses and if you weren’t already half-prone, you’d sink to the floor. Your legs buckle, suddenly knock kneed as Ben pounds your pussy in the best, most mind-numbingly pleasurable way.

“Ben! Fuck!”

“F-fucking love the way you squeeze me, baby,” Ben groans. “God I need to feel you cum again.”

He leans over your body, wraps his arms around your middle and lifts you up—“C’mere, baby,”—and manoeuvres you with one leg up on the countertop. As you jostle into place, Ben takes a moment to push his sweaty hair back from his face. Almost as an aside, he mutters, “You get me fucking hot, babe. ‘M fucking sweating,” - and it’s the only warning you get before he starts up again.

You cry out his name as Ben suddenly drills up into you, and when he reaches around to rub circles into your clit, your legs shake with every brush of his fingers.

You’re done for now.

Ben can finally murmur into your ear again, and between huffing sighs and grunts he says, “You drive me fucking wild, babygirl. Think I’d do any-goddamn-thing you asked me to.”

You hear the smile in it, the breathy, disbelieving laugh underpinning his words. “Ben.” You keen his name, because your pleasure climbs higher and higher and begs to fly free.

“‘M right here, baby,” Ben murmurs in your ear. “Love it when you say my fucking name.”

You moan again, senseless; Ben grunts and groans, and every breath you take inches you closer and closer to breaking. The sounds falling from his heavenly mouth—pleasure and exertion all rolled into one—trip your pleasure higher, make your pussy even hotter and tighter and slicker around his plunging, perfect cock. 

“That’s it, babygirl. Keep it going, come on,” Ben huffs. “‘S wet pussy feels so fucking good on my dick, gonna fucking fill this little kitty—”

You seize up, every muscle going taut and tight as your orgasm crests. You warn Ben about what’s to come, your voice stretched out and shrieking, because you’re turning to liquid with every swipe of Ben’s fat fingers over your swollen clit, melting hot.

“I know, baby. Cum on me,” Ben murmurs into your ear, breathy and rumbling and strained. “You can do it. Cum on my cock, gorgeous fucking girl. Let me feel it.”

Your orgasm hits so hard it folds you in half. You cry out a guttural, animal sound as you crumple and behind your eyes, exploding stars flash and burst in kaleidoscopic colours. Ben follows you—you know because the only other sensations your blissed out brain can lodge are big and warm behind you. 

Ben curls around your shaking, snapped-in-two body, hunching over your back with his arms wrapped around your middle as your insides clench and contract. He doesn’t stop, drilling into your dripping, spasming pussy and drawing the lewdest, wettest squelching sounds from it. 

Distantly, you’re aware of Ben’s voice rising with chanted praises, then a pause, then a loud, howling groan as he sheaths himself fully inside your body and stills.

“Ben,” you sigh, reaching blindly for him, and Ben takes hold of your hand as he shudders, groaning, emptying every last drop into your hot, soaked cunt.

“Fuck, baby,” Ben sighs. The squeezing in his gut hasn’t stopped, the muscles contracting even though he’s got no more cum left to give you. “Things you,” he shivers, “do to me.”

You stay together, gently floating down from your high as things cool and get sticky. Ben presses kisses along your spine, and when you lift up onto your elbows, senses regained, Ben kisses along your shoulder instead.

“Ben.” Your voice is little more than a croak, but between your legs borders on uncomfortably wet now and the table is hard beneath your warm, loose body.

“Yeah, baby?” Ben replies, voice muffled by his tender kisses. 

His arms cage your sides, with his tall, warm body draped over yours like the world’s most comfortable blanket. You don’t want to move, and your best guess is he doesn’t want to either. But you have to, and you know that when your bodies will eventually disconnect, everything his dick is currently plugging inside you will come oozing right out.

You say, “This is gonna be messy.”

Ben hums, agreeing. “If we wait,” he kisses up to your ear, “I’ll be ready again soon.” You snort a laugh, and Ben snickers too. “No, babe?”

You shift under him. “Maybe somewhere without as many hard surfaces and right angles?”

“Ah,” Ben sighs knowingly. 

The clean up is just as messy as the sex. Ben removes himself from your body—you both wince a little—and helps you up. He pulls his shorts back on, but not before asking if you’re sure he really should. Ben winks, you smile, and when you both turn around to collect the rest of your things, the pair of you freeze.

Standing in the archway from the staircase to the kitchen, Randy leans against the wall with parted lips, and Kylo’s thick arms are folded across his broad chest.

What’s worse, in the distance between those two and yourself and Ben, is the very obvious trail you and he left: his shirt here, your shorts there, and a clear puddle gleaming on the kitchen island. 

Ben recovers quickly from the shock realisation that you had an audience. “Mornin’ fellas,” he says easily, smoothly stepping to shield your half-naked body from his brother’s prying eyes. “Food time already, huh?” He puts his hands on his hips, taking up more space, expanding the shield like wings.

You’re not completely blocked from the other Solo boys’ view, but the gesture is more than enough. Being caught with your clothes on with Ben is one thing—easy enough to hand-wave so that everyone can pretend to believe no funny business went on. But it’s so very clear what’s happened here, and Ben’s first response is, subtly, to safeguard what he can of your dignity, instead of brazenly put you on full display. 

Like someone else would.

Kylo’s gaze shifts between Ben and yourself. His eyes are hard and his jaw is set, full lips pouting. He doesn’t say a word before he turns and leaves, jogging down the other set of stairs.

Ben clears his throat. “Hey, buddy,” he says to his youngest brother, gesturing broadly at the evidence, “you okay to give us a minute to tidy up in here?”

“Sure, Ben,” Randy replies. “I’ll just—uhm. Be upstairs.”

“Thanks, man.”

Once his brothers are out of earshot, Ben sighs. You touch his arm, and he turns to face you.

“Sorry, baby.” His eyes are downcast for a brief moment as he shakes his head.

“‘S okay,” you assure him softly. “They have already seen it all, but,” you scruff through his bearded chin and he meets your gaze, soft eyes crinkling, “thank you.”

“‘Course, babe.”

You chew your lip a little. 

Ben’s eyes narrow slightly, chin tilting once in the direction of your face. “What?”

“How much do you think they… heard? Saw?”

Ben sucks a breath through his teeth, and exhales it out through puttering lips. “Hard to say, babe. I didn’t even hear ‘em come down the stairs.” He scratches one dark eyebrow with his thumb.

“Me neither…” You look at the now empty space where the eldest and youngest brothers stood just moments ago. “You think they’re okay?”

Ben scoffs. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, then tilts your face up to meet his with a finger under your chin. 

“Today, babygirl,” Ben says, “those guys are not your fucking problem.”

Chapter Text

Breakfast passes more or less uneventfully after that. 

Once you’re both cleaned up and tidily dressed, Ben makes you a smoothie with kiwi and coconut. Randy joins you, chatting easily once he gives you a ‘good morning’ kiss on your cheek, but Kylo’s the one who looms like a stormcloud. The eldest brother sips his coffee in mostly sullen, sulking silence. 

Matt, who you learn is a heavy, late sleeper, arrives in the kitchen during one of the awkward lulls in the conversation, with mussed up bedhead curls and one-word replies. He leaves as suddenly as he came, late for work at the games and comics shop in town, grunting, “Later,” at no one in particular. But not before sharing a long look with you as he shrugs on his sherpa denim jacket by the door.

Once Kylo retreats to whatever corner of the house he needs to to lick his imagined wounds, and Randy heads out to the garage to attend to more of his woodworking project—builder’s mug of tea in hand—it’s just you and Ben, sitting across from each other at the kitchen island once more.

“Oh hey, didn’t you wanna,” you point haphazardly at the front door, “go like, for a walk or something?”

Ben tsks and sighs, gazing at you. He bites his lower lip and you fight the instinct to clamber across the kitchen island and suck on it.

“Well. You see, baby,” he leans closer to you, both forearms on the counter. “I did,” he flicks another lethally handsome look up at you, “but then I took one look at you, and goddamn.”

You smile a little, lifting a questioning brow.

“I just wanted you alone.” 

There’s a heavy moment where the pair of you gaze at each other, as if you can see through to the highlight reel playing behind each other’s eyes. 

Oddly, those same words from Ben one week prior would’ve had you doing your best impression of candle wax, but being in the house of four brothers is different now. It seems, for both Ben and yourself, that getting you alone has a second, deeper meaning. It’s now less of a line to get into your pants and more of a wish, a deep seated plea for different circumstances.

In any case, it’s a comfort to know that the silent, surreptitious audience was a surprise to both of you, and something Ben had actively wanted to avoid.

Into the quiet, Ben says, “But maybe we could uh… go for a swim?”

You tut and swear, and in response Ben furrows and squints and lifts his chin at you, a silent inquiry.

“I forgot to pack swimmers.”

Ben’s eyes light up with a cheeky glint. “Perfect.”

“What?”

“Go naked.”

You practically squawk his name. “It’s almost the middle of the day!”

Ben glances out the kitchen window at the clearing sky, nodding. “And?”

“And,” you huff, “well,” and again. “Someone could. Y’know. See.”

Ben shrugs as he looks back at you. Smiling a little, he leans closer across the island. “‘F it makes you feel any better… I will, too.”

You gaze at him, chewing your cheek to suppress too great a smile in return. It’s a tantalising prospect, but one likely better aided by the cover of darkness. “Maybe later,” you say, “I’ll just go in my underwear for now.”

“Later?” Ben quirks a brow. “‘It’s a date, babe.”

xxxx

You’re almost at your room to change into your bra and panties for swimming when you hear an odd sound. There’s a rhythm—the repetitive clink of metal and someone’s laboured breathing.

You stop, your fingertips resting on the doorknob. You crane to hear more of the sound. 

It’s coming from nearby. Maybe in the den down here?

Your hand slips from the door—curiosity wins. 

You’re light on your feet as you pad into the den and what do you see but a huge and hulking form. Even from the back he is completely recognisable. Creamy pale but glistening, the black singlet damp with sweat down the centre of his back.

Kylo’s lifting weights, his breathing heavy with exertion.

It’s almost hypnotic, watching the muscles in his back and shoulders and arms ripple with the repeated motions. And the sounds coming out of him are straight up pornographic.

And hey, if it was still yesterday, he’d have you on the weight bench in two seconds flat. Easily. But today is Ben’s day, and you know this is just a performance. A ruse. 

“What are you doing?”

Kylo stops suddenly, jerks around to face you. He drops the dumbbells down. “Oh,” he flicks sweaty hair out of his face. “Hi, little one.”

Panting softly, he puts his hands on his hips, fingertips grazing the waistband of his far-too-low workout shorts. “Didn’t think I’d see you down here.”

Yeah, right. You gaze at him and the soft rise and fall of his shining chest. It’s all a game, and maybe—just maybe—you’ve learned a thing or two about how to play.

Slowly, you meander into the den. You know Kylo’s eyes are on you, you can feel his gaze tracking like you’re a forest doe in his sights. You trail your fingertips over the dumbbells in the rack, and when you glance up at him, his eyes are transfixed on you.

“Hm,” you murmur softly, “I don’t know. I think you did, Daddy.”

A flash across the eldest brother’s face.

“I think you’re trying to trick me.”

A crease in his brow. “No, beautiful—”

“I think,” you press closer to him, speaking simple words in soft tones, “you like making rules but,” you press the tip of one finger to the centre of his slick chest, and run down, down, down, “you don’t like following them.”

You feel the change as it rolls over him, tangible beneath your single trailing finger, radiating off of him in waves. If you kept going, you know you’d feel him thicken, stiffen, grow heavy in your palm.

But you stop at the drawstrings, and fix him with doe eyes and a pouty mouth. “If you’re a bad Daddy, I’m going to tell.”

“You—I—beautiful,” Kylo gawps, stutters, shocked, “never, I’d never be a bad—”

“Okay, then,” you sing song, before you turn on your heel and start to walk away. “If you say so,” you call out as you leave the room.

xxxx

Sitting on the pool’s edge, your legs dangle in the cool water and the sun warms your shoulders. 

Ben paddles up to you. His fingertips graze your submerged ankles and then higher, slowly, higher, until you can’t tell whether he pushes or you widen your knees around him.

“You comin’ in, baby?” Ben chirps. “Water’s fine.”

You hum, considering. “Maybe in a minute. It’s nice out.”

Ben grins. “Maybe you just like to watch me.”

It’s difficult to disagree. Ben looks like what the gods meant when they created summer. Slim, light blue boardshorts barely hanging on to that Adonis belt. Roundish light tortoiseshell sunglasses on his scruffy face. Lightly suntanned all goddamn over.

This guy, who’d conceivably earn a little extra cash doing some modelling gigs on the side, pulls down his shades to look at you over the top of them and arches a brow invitingly.

It’s a constant mental workout not to fall prey to his every charm. “Not that you’d complain about that.”

“No, ma’am,” Ben agrees quickly. “But just tell me this one thing I gotta know.”

You know you’re smirking but you can’t force your rebel mouth to comply. “What?”

Ben leans closer. “Are you ready to get wet, babygirl?”

You look at Ben. The glint in his deep brown eyes is far too mischievous. And his body is too still, like he’s poised to act, waiting to strike. 

“Ben…”

“Ya-huh?”

That tone of voice is trouble. Entirely too playful. You watch him, suspicious, cocking your head a little. “Ben, if you’re thinking—”

“What, babe?” Ben shifts closer, his arms caging you. 

“Benjamin Solo, do not —Ben!”

Your words end in a high, giddy squeal as Ben grabs you by the waist and yanks you into the water with him with a big splash.

“Ben!” His name falls from your lips like a cuss as you break the water’s surface, pushing off his shoulders. “It’s freezing!”

“Cold, baby?” Ben chimes casually, chasing you back to the edge. “I can help with that.”

This pool is an equaliser: your and Ben’s eyes are level. 

“See?” Ben’s now caged you in. “Isn’t that better, babe?”

You’re so glad you’re here alone with him—just the two of you, clear blue sky, and bright sunshine. You push his now sopping wet hair back from his face and see yourself reflected in his sunglasses.

“Much. But these,” you tap his sunnies, “are distracting.”

Ben mumbles a sound, pulling off the sunglasses. Then he turns them, and slides them onto your head.

“Damn,” Ben murmurs. “They might even look better on you.”

You hum, unconvinced. “Think you looked pretty sexy, mister.” You slide your hands along Ben’s shoulders until you collar his neck. 

Ben inches even closer. “Oh yeah?” 

“Ahuh.”

He grabs under your ass, holding your hips level with his. “You think I’m sexy?”

You could roll your eyes. “You know you are.”

“You wanna kiss me?”

“Pretty badly.”

“Aw.” Ben’s lips are almost upon yours. “Why didn’t ya just say so, babygirl?”

You pull him closer. “Just. C’mere, you.”

Ben cracks a smile as he presses his lips to yours. It’s a perfect match that you’re weightless in the water because that’s what happens to your body when Ben’s mouth touches yours. Breath-stealing. Limbless. Lifted. 

He feels like luxury velvet and tastes like spiced citrus punch.

Heavenly.

You moan into his mouth and Ben presses you tight to the pool’s edge and his own body. You slide your hands into his dripping hair and he squeezes your ass.

The air shifts. The water, once cool, could be steaming around you. 

You kiss Ben harder; he matches you, groaning. 

One of Ben’s hands leaves your ass to wrap around your back, going for the clasp in your bra.

“This way,” you break the kiss to give urgent instruction, “in the front.”

“The front?” 

You guide Ben’s fingers and un-clasp the closure, and he’s more than comfortable to take it from there.

“What’ll they think of next?” Ben says, before his mouth closes on yours once again. He slides the straps down your shoulders until your bra is all the way off and floating away.

Ben cinches your legs around his sides so he can use his hands to grab full handfuls of your bare breasts. Warm hands cup you and he thumbs at your stiff nipples.

You sigh as you kiss him, together your lips and tongues caressing and devouring in equal measure. The beating apex of your thighs pulses for him, desperate with desire.

Needy.

Your lips part from the kiss. “Ben.” You shiver—the water, his fingertips. “Love your. Fingers.”

Ben smiles under heavy-lidded eyes. “You’re stunning. You’re gorgeous, babe. These tits are perfect.”

You smile back with a quick and breathy laugh. You pull him closer by the nape of his neck and guide one of his hands between your legs. “Touch me some more?” 

“Yeah, baby.” Ben dips into your underwear. “Tell me what you want, I’ll make sure you get it.”

“Need you to—” You gasp, your mouth popping open right in front of Ben’s. Because his fingertips run along your lips, teasing.

“Yeah. You know me, baby. I’ll give it to you.”  Your man eats it up, mirroring your parted lips, drinking your exhale. His digits nudge your swelling clit, ever so softly, but it still zings, radiating down your legs. “Little cherry’s ready to pop.”

“Oh, fuck.” His touch has you lit up immediately. This won’t be some hard-won marathon to the finish line, but a quick and dirty sprint. You know it, and it sounds like he knows it, too. “That’s fucking good, Ben.”

“‘F there’s one thing I know about this pretty kitty,” Ben glides along your stiff bud with two fingertips, “it’s all about how you pet her.”

Gentle strokes to your hard clit and your head tips back. You can feel it, your orgasm ticking away. Pleasure pooling and pulling with every inhale. This one won’t take long—hardly any time at all.

“That’s it,” Ben coos, inching closer to your throat. “‘S just you and me, babe. I’ve got you.” He kisses from the slope of your neck to your shoulder, and lets his teeth press there.

You groan, and Ben swipes over the tiny indents in your skin with his tongue. Ben makes coaxing an orgasm from you embarrassingly easy. Right now, with every brush of Ben’s digits, it’s more of a challenge to hold out. Especially with all the silken words Ben purrs into your ear:

“Clit’s all hard, baby. Know you need to cum so bad. Just breathe, babe. I’ll get you there.”

“Ahuh, God, Ben,” you groan. He’s curled around you, and you slide your hands up his back and sink your nails into his sturdy shoulders. “Just. Don’t stop, ‘kay?”

“Promise I won’t,” Ben insists, quickly looking you in the face once more. “Lemme see those eyes, babygirl,” he says, sliding his sunglasses off your face and setting them on the pool edge. “Wanna see your face when I make you cum.”

“Ben.” You moan his name softly, lids fluttering, clutching him tight.

Ben beckons across your clit. He draws your climax out of you, closer and closer, with every stroke. With his other hand, index finger under your chin, he tilts your head back just so.

“Lemme see,” he murmurs softly. “Eyes on me, baby... Fucking gorgeous.”

You stammer his name, blinking heavily, gazing dazedly into his syrup-dark eyes. “I’m. Ben, I’m—”

“Come on, baby. Do it for me.”

One stroke. Two strokes. The rise of it, lifting, swelling, ready to burst… 

And it rushes you.

You gasp as your orgasm starts, and you don’t miss the way Ben half-smiles—nose flaring, eyes crinkling—as the pleasure rolls through your body. 

“Attagirl,” Ben praises as your legs seize around him. You cling to him, and he holds you tight, and you press your lips to his as you moan through the tremors. Rocking and rolling against his body, you let your moans sing out loudly—music for the trees and sky.

When you’re finished and you part for air, Ben smiles onto your lips and says, “Short ‘n’ sweet, huh?”

You shrug a little, give him a cheeky smile. “When you know, you know.”

Ben hums. “You wanna know something else?”

“What’s that?”

Ben bites his lip, bright white into petal pink. “Actually…” He inclines his head in the direction of the pavilion at the end of the pool. “‘S better if you see.”

xxxx

Ben helps you out of the water and you walk with him, hand in hand, the short distance to the pool house. Inside, Ben pulls you into slow, smiley kisses—and he takes every opportunity to glide over your bare chest.

Skimming your hands down the plains of Ben’s body feels so different outside the pool. No longer weightless in the water, his muscular frame feels somehow more solid. Definitely warmer but also—full of vitality, urgency. Need.

With one hand cupping your face, he murmurs, “Can I show you what you do to me?”

You pull your lips between your teeth, and Ben’s gaze darts to the movement. He lifts his chin towards you. “What?”

You take his hand, and start walking backwards towards one of the padded wicker loungers. “What if I… went exploring instead?”

Ben’s eyes crinkle and glint as you lead him. He smiles, puffs a laugh and says, “God help me, babe. You can do any damn thing you want.”

Grinning, you tell Ben to lay back, and once he’s fully reclined on the roomy lounger you sink down and start a slow, seductive crawl up his legs.

“Mmh. Hey, baby,” Ben murmurs, watching you.

“Hiya, stud.”

You move closer on hands and knees, letting your shoulders and hips slink and sway. The bright, mischievous gleam in Ben’s eyes gives way to the heavy-lidded, glassy-eyed look of desire as you prowl up his body.

When you reach his face you don’t kiss him straightaway. You lean in slowly, your lips hovering before his. Mistress of time, you stretch the seconds, counting the moment by the slow, shared breaths of the same hot air.

You do eventually kiss him, and Ben accepts eagerly, soft and hot and wet with a groan. He skims up your arms, then down your chest to cup your breasts, humming his approval into your mouth.

You kiss from Ben’s lips, down his neck—the bump in his throat bobbing as he swallows and sighs—and lower down still. His chest is warm and smooth under your lips.

Ben can’t keep his hands off you, his palms skating up and down your sides. Before you can make it past his pecs, Ben guides you back to him by your chin to kiss you once more.

Parting from his lips, you murmur his name, and Ben hums in reply, dazed. You tell him you want him in your mouth, and his lips part even further.

“You’re not… Are you…?”

You don’t know what’s better: his husky voice or that he’s next to speechless. You murmur sultrily, “Can’t believe I waited this long to do this to you,” and resume your slow, but deliberate path down his chest, to his trunk, to his happy trail. His ab muscles ripple, almost twitch, as you mouth down the vee shape his sculpted abdominals make, on and off flicking your tongue against his skin.

When you finally reach his boardshorts, you glance up at Ben. You didn’t notice this before, but he’s almost white-knuckling the armrests. His gaze on you is intent, barely daring to blink.

You duck down, taking one end of the drawstring between your teeth, and looking up at him again, you pull it loose.

“HhmyGod,” Ben murmurs, throaty and deep. 

“Hm?” Your tone is light and lilting, one brow arched.

Ben watches you for a moment, steadily holding your gaze, then some switch flicks in his head. He swears under his breath, sits up fast and pulls your face to his again. 

This kiss tastes different. Desperate. Demanding. His insistent tongue hunts yours down and his lips chase yours without reprieve. Kissing you like he could swallow you, with big warm hands framing your face and firmly latching your mouth to his.

Butterflies grow wings and set your stomach swooping; head spinning. You kiss him back, just as hard, and move forward. 

Ben follows your lead, falling back, letting you press him back to a reclined position. But it’s his hands that don’t stop. Hands that trail your body, skimming, skating: squeezing your backside with one and cradling your face with the other.

You part from his lips to turn your head and kiss along his palm, his digits, until you suck lightly on a fingertip.

Ben sucks a breath through his teeth. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve imagined this.”

“There won’t be a ‘this’ if you keep grabbing me and kissing me.” Another kiss, this one you press to the inside of his wrist.

Ben grins, breathing a laugh through his nose. “But I like grabbing you and kissing you.”

And he does it again, and this feels like your Ben. Smiling into the kisses he gifts to your lips. Teasing them out, letting them build, sweeping you up in the heady high of them until—until—you’re dizzy for him, feet clear off the ground. Until you or him or both of you moan and break the tension.

This time it’s Ben, and as you swallow his soft groan you hook a finger inside the waistband of his shorts.

Ben moans again, a little huskier.

You purr at him, “Want to get you out of these.” Kiss across his jaw to his ear. “Want to see your cock.”

“Fuck, baby,” Ben swoons, breathy and raw. He lavishes your lips with more kisses—briefer, littler ones—as he shimmies his boardshorts down. You help him get them the rest of the way off and the reward is even more spectacular than you were banking on.

Ben’s erection rests against his abs, too heavy. So invitingly red and ready. The flared head waiting to be sucked on. 

Gawking, you can’t help that the first thing out of your mouth is a compliment. “You have a perfect cock, Ben.” 

Looking up, you find Ben is staring, too. He murmurs, croakily, “Bet you say that to all the boys.”

You hum a small laugh. “You’d lose that bet.”

Ben’s trimmed hairs make it easy to lick a long, wet line from his balls all the way up to the tip of his hot, stiff dick. You go slow, reveling in the sound of Ben’s breath catching in his throat.

He watches you with his mouth wide open, and when you lick off Ben sighs heavily, lids blinking dazedly.

You kiss your way back down his length and Ben can’t resist running a hand over the crown of your head. You nuzzle into his balls with your nose and then suck one, then the other into your mouth. 

Ben sighs, and you commit the sound to memory. 

You mouth your way back up Ben’s cock with lots of messy kisses and soft moans. Before you can close your lips around the head of his dick, he hoists you up once again, completely overcome by the need to make his body one with yours.

Ben wraps a hand around the back of your neck, carding through the hair at your nape. He kisses you fiercely, swiping his tongue along your lower lip and sucking on it. He groans when you come for him, trapping his lips in a kiss as you seek out another kiss-fueled desire-high like a damn addict.

But this time, you fold a hand around Ben’s thick, full cock and stroke him as he kisses you.

Ben breaks the kiss with a moan. Breathlessly he blurts, “God it’s like I dreamed you up.”

You give him a saucy smile and slink back down between his legs. You ask him, “What do I do, in your dreams?” - right as you wrap your lips around the head of his cock.

Ben releases a shuddering moan. He leans forward to grab you again but you stop him in his tracks–one palm pressed against his chest. He’s stricken, halted mid-moment, with your hand on his heart.

Sucking more of him into your mouth, you gently push back, and Ben flops back against the lounger, groaning in resignation and in pleasure. His arms fly back, hanging loosely over the headrest.

He’s stretched out long and strong before you, muscled chest rising and falling with his laboured breathing. You set a rhythm—not too fast, not too slow—taking up to half of his fat, swollen dick into your mouth on every pass.

Ben’s thighs tense. You feel the muscles contract and release, contract and release, where you hold onto him to hold yourself up. He’s vocal—tantalisingly so—sighing and groaning when you suck a little tighter, swallow another centimetre. 

It’s making you drip.

When you let your lips catch on the ridge of his cock, gliding back and forth, back and forth over the flared crown, Ben shudders and groans, “Right there, babygirl. Right fucking there.”

You zero in, focusing the drag of your soft lips across this sensitive, delicate spot. Ben tells you how good it feels (“That’s it. That’s it. God, yes, baby.”) and you gently squeeze the shaft in response, but Ben—

“Hnh I can’t fucking take this.”

—bolts upright and cradles your face, gently pulling you close for deep, messy kisses. Sloppy wet tongue, lazy, almost drunk with desire.

You meet him, match him, kissing him back until he seems satisfied enough to drop back down again.

Then you bring your hand back around Ben’s cock, and swallow him all the way until your lips meet your fingers. Ben pants above you, and you look into his eyes as you pull back slowly—so slowly.

And then you say, “Can’t fit it all in my mouth.” 

Ben’s hands fly to the armrests, brown eyes bright like sparklers on a cake. “You’re doing so fucking good for me.”

“It’s so big, Ben.”

“Ffuck. I know, babygirl. You’re so fucking good at this.”

“Yeah?” you hint, ducking down again and sinking your mouth onto Ben’s cock. It’s so hot on your tongue, the soft skin taut over throbbing veins.

With a heaving chest, Ben confesses, “I wanted your lips on my dick for so long. Fuck, you feel amazing.”

You pause, just long enough to probe, “How long, Ben?” before gliding back down.

“God,” he groans, raggedly. “So long. Forever. For always.”

“Before the party?” You bob your mouth up and down on Ben’s swollen cock, meeting your own hand on every slippery stroke. Spit starts to slick your fist and run down your fingers.

Ben barks a laugh—half-pleasured, half-pained. “Knew then you’d feel fucking good but,” he hisses a curse through clenched teeth, “feels puh-perfect. You’re perfect. Perfect fucking mouth, baby.”

He can resist no more. Again, Ben shoots up quickly, but you push him back by the shoulder. “Stay.”

“Yes, m’am,” Ben concedes quickly, laying back in the lounger once more.

Testing, you run your palm all the way up, then back down, Ben’s stiff, wet length. His lashes flutter, but he makes no move to butt in again.

You tell him, “Good boy,” and watch the literal shiver that runs through him while his dick pulses in your hand.

You slide your hand from his shoulder to his chest as you go to work on him. You keep your hand pressed there—partially for the leverage and partially to restrain him—as you settle your fist down at the root of his cock.

Then you build Ben up all over again. Long licks, flicking your tongue against the frenulum and sucking on the crown. Tonguing the slit and kissing, mouthing at the shaft. Humming around it. You try every trick, hit every note, and by the time you sink your mouth all the way down to your fist again, Ben is a mess.

Your man is panting, sweating, flushing red.

You say, “You taste so good, Ben,” and immediately need to push back against him. “Do you need to sit on your hands?”

“I want you so damn badly, babe.”

“I can see that.”

“You’re gonna make me cum.”

You let a sly smile creep across your face and stroke him, just once, and slowly. “That’s the plan.”

You see Ben’s stomach muscles ripple and clench. You ease back down, sucking the whole head of his cock into your mouth and working your lips back and forth over it. 

Ben’s brow creases, his lips look bitten red raw. “Baby, please.”

You start to move your fist in time with your mouth, sucking and stroking.

“Shit, babygirl,” Ben groans, “if you don’t stop I’m gonna cum in your mouth—fuck.”

You moan on it, sending vibrations the whole way through Ben’s cock.

It’s too much for the man. He hooks under your arms and pulls you to him, so sudden and fast you squeal. You know your eyes are wide when you ask Ben what’s wrong, but you’re not prepared for his answer.

“I don’t want that,” Ben declares. “I want your sweet pussy wrapped around me when I cum.”

Words escape you, for this brief moment. You know—you have first-hand evidence!—that at least two of his brothers would not stop themselves from blowing their load down your throat or onto your face if given the chance.

But, clearly, Ben is a different breed.

And you know your body is ready to take him. Hell, swallow him whole and never let him go, more like. Silky and absolutely drenched. So you nod, you tell him, “Okay,” and start to move around so you can take your underwear off.

“Yeah?” Ben’s finger under your chin, his deep eyes searching yours to make sure. “Can I have it, baby, please? Will you give it to me?”

“Yeah, Ben.” Because good God, it’s just that simple with Ben.

“Attagirl,” Ben praises. “Swap with me.”

The pair of you jostle and jockey into place and the curves of this pool-side lounger work surprisingly well in your favour. Ben shucks your underwear down over your hips and backside to your mid-thigh, and groans appreciatively at the sight, the scent that greets him.

He’d wear it like a perfume if the smell of you came in a bottle.

Keeping your legs together, Ben pushes them back towards you—exposing your glistening pussy, getting your ass up, folding you in half. “Good, babe?”

“Good.” Like this, you’re going to feel him for days .

Ben glides his dick through your shiny pussy lips, coating the head of his cock in the silken slick your body made for him—because of him, even, and the way he felt on your tongue and the glorious sounds he made.

“Hold onto me, babe,” Ben says, and you clutch his forearms, holding tight.

Ben sinks his long, hard dick into you, inch by precious inch. In this position, at this angle, it pops your jaw wide open. Makes you squeak. Curls your toes.

Ben grins at the shrill, short sound of his name. He pulls your underwear tight around your legs as he draws back, keeping them lassoed together. “Tell me when it feels good, baby,” he says, eyes dark and smoldering.

Hips hinge, and Ben buries his cock inside your squelching pussy again.

You fight to keep your eyes from rolling back. Ben is deep. Sunk. Completely submerged from bow to stern in you. You can just about taste him. “Ben.” Every breath magnifies the size of him. He feels only big—thick and heavy inside—with every long push and pull. 

A low purr from Ben - “Oh my God yes” - and he shifts some: closer, tilting the angle of his hips. “Gonna make it good for you, babygirl.”

Feels like he’s aiming at your damn spine. “Shit, Ben,” you gasp, clinging tighter, nails pressing.

Ben doesn’t let up. The deep, languorous drags of his hard cock along your soaking pussy walls get faster. Folded in on yourself like this, all you know is the liquid pool of pleasure rising, filling in your middle, and the sound you make is abysmal—beyond embarrassing.

But Ben loves it.

“That’s it, baby. Tell me how much you like it.”

“So big,” you gasp, “so good, Ben.”

“I know, baby. Can feel when you fuckin’ breathe in here,” he huffs, shaking his hair out of his face once. He presses your legs back, gets one hand under your backside and lifts , then he drills down down down into you—and he groans. 

You cry out, loudly, and shove one hand back to hold fast to the headrest. You feel heavy inside, warm and wet, about to burst once more. The angle, pace, force of Ben’s perfect thrusts and his perfect cock have your fingers and toes tingling, throat singing, clit throbbing for the slightest stroke.

Ben’s murmur is breathy, broken up by the exertion of his tireless fucking. “Can you touch it?”

You try to talk, but hiccup instead, barely able to gasp out his name.

Ben leans over. With one long, toned arm wrapped around your thighs he holds them tight to his front. And yet his hips do not quit, never ever, driving into your hot, noisy pussy over and over. His brow is creased; he’s red in the cheeks, and when he talks, his words are chopped up into small, breathless sentences.

“My hands’re full. Do me a favour? Miss my little cherry. Wanna touch her.”

You squeeze him—you know you do, your pussy sucking tight around Ben’s cock—at oh, so many things. The way he talks about your body. What he’s asking you to do. That you’ll cum, again, on Ben’s fat dick.

“Yeah, Ben,” you sigh, one hand holding tight to the headrest and the other delving between your thighs. You wedge your fingers to your clit and rub—toes curling up near his shoulders now, damn near seeing stars.

Ben, above you. “Almost there, babygirl. Fuck, that’s good.”

Your pussy coats him, extra silky slick, triggered by his words alone. You keep grazing your clit, finding that spot, following that rhythm that will trip the circuit, blow the fuse, send you skyrocketing to the sun.

And all because… Ben. “You’re so fucking good to me, baby. Letting me into this pussy again.” Breathing heavy, grunting, slapping against your sex with every long, quick thrust, determined to get you to fall apart. “‘M gonna cum so hard for you. So deep in you, babygirl.”

You stammer his name. “Ben. Please.” Because there’s nothing else in your desire-fogged head. No other part of your body except the buzzing, gushing-wet core of you. You know nothing but the slide, the drag, the quick pump of Ben’s thick cock, so big and perfect like this. 

“I’m. Mmm. S-soon, Ben. Hold on.”

“I’m holdin’, baby,” Ben rasps, hurriedly, voice urgent. And the furrow in his brow is now a full blown wince, a grimace. Firmness in his jaw—because he’s clenched his teeth. Beads of sweat drip down his neck. A ragged groan, then soft murmur of, “God damn,” as he pound pound pounds into you: relentless, resolute.

You gasp, ignited, soon to burn. “Yes. Yes!” - and Ben picks up: faster, the fastest, with a long, yearning keen. Folded over you - it’s harder to breathe - with one foot on the ground for the leverage, to get a better swing of his hips, to get deeper, longer, give you every damn thing he’s got left and not an inch less.

“Ben!” you shout, and he’s inside, the deepest yet. You’re stoppered full of him as you cum, wailing nonsense and shivering, shaking. Ben leans back - air fills your lungs, you soar even higher - tucks his hips to rub the tip of his dick against your special spots as you squeeze and release, again and again. Flooding his cock, pulsing pulsing pulsing around him.

“There’s my girl,” Ben pants, and he tilts, tucks, grinds into your hot, liquid core. Holds his breath, just for a second, just to feel your muscles massage his aching cock and then he lets go. Abs, clenched so tight for so long, holding on, almost hurt as his orgasm takes him over.

He almost cries your name.

Chapter Text

Turns out, the huge sectional in the living room is a lot smaller once three Solo boys pile onto it.

Kylo takes the corner, long legs stretched out, reading something on his phone. Randy’s at the other end, and Ben and yourself are sandwiched in the middle.

You snuggle in close to Ben, who pulls a blanket up over your bodies. Randy hits play on the show. All is well.

Until…

You’re maybe ten minutes in, if that, before Ben takes a swipe over your boob.

You ignore it. Maybe he’s just settling in, and it was an accidental touch. Ben wouldn’t be so bold as this—to play with you under a blanket, under the guise of watching some T.V., in a room surrounded by two of his brothers, would he?

You know you’re wrong. Ben is exactly that kind of brazen, and he proves it to you by running his palm over your breast again, shielded by the blanket.

You bat his hand away, tsking without looking away from the screen.

Two lines of dialogue later, and Ben’s fingers graze you again.

“Ben!” you whisper.

Ben gives you the most innocent look you’ve ever seen. “’S up, babe? You good?” he whispers back.

“Shh!” from Randy.

It’s hard to focus. You’re suddenly very aware of Ben’s body, and how closely pressed you are. “Stop,” you mouth at him.

Ben leans closer, all big brown eyes and lifted eyebrows, and presses a kiss to your shoulder.

The picture of contrition. You look away from him and back to the screen, content that you’ve done enough, for now.

The scene changes. A new character is introduced, and Ben thumbs your nipple.

“Ben!” you exclaim. His brothers turn to you. “Sorry.”

Neither Kylo nor Randy say anything, but they probably know what’s up. They look away. Meanwhile Ben tries, and fails miserably, to stop a cheeky smile spreading across his face. 

It feels like what laughing in class or church once felt like.

“Stop,” you whisper at Ben, trying not to mirror his smile. “Last warning.”

…Ben does it again. Your gaze snaps to him as you quickly formulate a plan. How to get through to the master game-player. How to send a message to the cheekiest of the bunch. How to catch the one Solo who wants to get caught.

How to tame a brat.

“Follow me,” you command, throwing the blanket off and jumping out of your seat.

“Aww, baby. Come back!” Ben calls after you. “Come on, I’ll be good!”

You stop at the archway and turn to face him, pointing. “Upstairs.”

All three of them stare at you, utterly dumbstruck. But Ben—parted lips and glinting eyes—hasn’t moved a muscle.

“Now, Benjamin.”

You just catch it as Ben mutters under his breath, “Holy momma,” as he whips off the blanket and scrambles up from the couch.

“Don’t make me wait on you, boy,” you say as he races past, taking the stairs two at a time.

“No, ma’am,” Ben replies, and if he’s going for deference he doesn’t land it. The words come out light, almost giddy.

xxxx

Upstairs, you have no time to explore Ben’s bedroom. At first glance, there are lots of blues in deep and soothing shades, and a painted design on the ceiling. Briefly, you clock some of his personal effects scattered around: a messy stack of textbooks on a small but forgotten-looking desk; hockey uniform over the back of an arm chair and cleats underneath it.

But you don’t spend time on the details.

“You messed up. Didn’t you, Ben?”

You stand in front of him, hands on hips, and he sits on the bed. 

Ben, because he is first and foremost a cheeky little flirt, bites his fat bottom lip and nods, slowly.

The urge to call him a slut is on the tip of your tongue. “Say it.”

Ben releases his lip; pinker than before. “I’ve been a bad boy, babygirl.”

“That’s right.” You make the words crisp as you stand over him. “Now. You,” you press a finger to the centre of his chest, “are going to tell me how you’re gonna say sorry.”

“I’ll do whatever you want, baby.” His hands reach for your hips.

“No.” You arch a brow, giving him a pointed look.

Caught, Ben folds his lips between his teeth. His hands fall slowly.

“So. How are you going to make up for this, Ben?”

“I’ll—” He blinks, thinking for a moment. Then he sinks to his knees before you, keeping his big brown eyes locked with yours. “Use me, babygirl. I’m yours.”

You realise here and now. You have to steel yourself for this.

“Oh yeah?” You scoff and cross your arms, unimpressed. “Like how? What do you think you deserve?”

Ben looks up at you from his knees, sitting on his hands to stop trying to grab at you. “Take me,” he says. “You own me.”

At this, you tilt your head back a degree. You can work with this.

“Why?”

“Because I’m. Because—”

“‘Cause I was mean to you and it made your dick hard?”

Ben nods frantically. “That’s it. That’s right, babe.” His hands fly for the back of your knees.

“You think I’m gonna let you touch me?” Your brow lifts high, incredulous. “Nice try, Ben. Stand up.”

Ben scrambles up so fast you’re surprised he doesn’t give himself a headspin. But you don’t linger to help him, or wait or watch. You make your way to the arm chair, shifting his hockey gear onto the desk.

“Take off your clothes. Strip.” You sit, leaning back.

Ben’s eyes are hot coals, lit and burning. Not to mention the tent he’s pitching in the sweats he threw on after your pool house escapade.

“Yes, ma’am,” Ben murmurs deeply. He stalks towards you slowly, running his fingers through his hair, with such presence and grace you have to clamp your jaw tight to stop your mouth from dropping open. 

You hold his gaze. It doesn’t matter that what he’s doing and the way he’s doing it sends tingles to all of your hidden places. This is your show, after all.

“Stop there,” you announce, and Ben freezes. “Clothes off, now.”

Ben licks his lip—just the tip of his tongue darting quickly to wet his lower. He glances down, then back up, and his gaze is scorching. He teases the hem of his tee shirt, then glides his hands up his body.

You know what’s underneath that cotton, and Ben knows you know. But he’s teasing, and you’ll goddamn let him. His motions are steady, surprisingly controlled. He knows the seduction in this.

Ben lifts the tee shirt at the neck. The hem rises, exposing the lines of his lower abs, toned and tanned. Then he reaches back, pulling on the shirt from behind. His upper back curves, pelvis pushes forward, so many muscles flexing—all infinitesimal, all in the space of a millisecond—as he pulls the shirt down his front and off, one-handed. So much skin revealed. He pauses, flicking his hair out his face, then finds your eyes.

And he just. Waits. A breath, a handful of heartbeats. 

Then he casually drops the shirt to the floor.

You could watch Ben do just that, just take off a damn tee shirt, over and over and over again for the rest of your life and probably be perfectly happy forever. You have to swallow.

“Keep going,” you say, but your voice is a little rough around the edges.

Ben’s eyes glimmer. You see him try not to smile, but the little upturned curl is there.

He teases the drawstring on his pants before he pulls on the ties, loosening them slowly until they just dangle. Sinking his thumbs, he pushes the sweats a little lower, showing off that belt of Adonis, those vee cut muscles he’s most definitely very proud of. Then he thumbs the waistband.

Every move is deliberate, suggestive. But you have to maintain control—or at least look like it.

You say, “Off. And then get on the bed.”

Ben regards you for a long, hot moment. “Whatever you say, babe. Whatever you want.” And then he slides the sweats down smoothly, slowly revealing his stiffening cock, and you don’t even see when they fall to the floor.

You scan Ben’s body, a thorough and shameless ogling, before reminding him to get on the bed and telling him to put his hands above his head. 

He complies, because of course he does, and you could simply crawl all over him. Naked Ben Solo, stretched out languidly on his navy blue bedspread, is nothing less than a piece of art to behold. Not like the marble-made, statuesque sculpture of his older brother, but a different form entirely. Softer and warmer. Sunlight, bottled, made into a flesh and blood man. His golden tan on the blue covers is like the beach in the height of summer, colour and light and movement quickly sketched and painted.

…But you’ve a job to do. So you clear your throat, and try to push his devastating beauty from your mind.

“Now. I know you’ve got a bag of tricks in here.” You jut out a hip. “Where is it?”

Ben swallows. He sits up on his elbows. “In uh, the wardrobe. There’s a box. It’s a black, kinda suede-y one.”

You hunt around in Ben’s wall of closets, pushing past a frankly obscene amount of athleisure wear, until you find the box of goodies. Ben’s impatient as you search it for the bits and pieces you need.

“Found it?”

You answer slowly, checking off a mental list. “Ahuh.”

A pause. “What uh… What’cha gettin’ from in there?”

“None of your business, Ben.”

A longer pause. Then, “...Are you getting the—”

“Hush, now, Ben. My plans are my own.”

You set the box back, and not a moment too soon. You turn around and he’s antsy as all get out. You can tell he was just sitting up a moment ago, likely craning his neck to peek while your back was turned.

You arch a brow. “Have you forgotten why we’re here?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

You put your hands on your hips, full as they are of Ben’s ‘punishment.’ You say, “Finish this sentence. I, Ben Solo, have been a…”

Ben sucks his cheeks. “Bad boy.”

You walk to the bed. “And bad boys need to be taught a…”

His lips quiver, excitement and glee. “Lesson.”

You drop your supplies and crawl onto the bed next to him. “And all together?”

Ben takes in a sharp breath. “I, Ben Solo, have been a bad boy, and bad boys need to be taught a lesson.”

“Good,” you praise. “Now behave.”

Ben’s eyes are downright glimmering. He swallows, and caps off his recitation. “Anything for you, baby.”

You try not to smile at his overt enthusiasm, the man practically vibrating. “You’d want to remember those words, Ben.” You bring a thumb to his cheek and drag your nail down. “There’s a quiz later, you know.”

Ben’s lips part, his eyelids blink a little heavier—from just one, simple touch.

You don’t linger on it. You take the velcro cuffs and secure his wrists to the metal frame.

Ben gawps. “Wha—No, not my hands, babe?”

You stop. “Is that a proper ‘no’?”

Ben pauses, shakes his head.

“Then, deal with it.” You scoot down the bed and stop at his hips, where his near-hard dick rests against his stomach.

You flick open the bottle of lube and squeeze it, squirting out the clear, slippery liquid straight onto his cock from up high.

Ben winces. “Oh, Jesus, baby. Not the—”

You cut him off before you hear any more of his nonsense, and what you say next is no empty threat.

“If all you’re gonna do is complain about this, maybe I should get one of your brothers in here.”

Ben’s eyes snap to you—flaring wide.

“Yeah,” you double-down, “come to think of it, there’s a whole household of boys who would love to be where you are right now.”

Ben’s mouth drops into a pout. He looks almost, wounded? And very, very apologetic.

“We could use those,” you lift your chin toward the cuffs around his wrists, “to make sure you can’t interfere. Would you like to watch that show, Ben?”

“No,” Ben blurts quickly, “no, baby. Babygirl. I. Please—”

“You’re already in trouble, Ben. Do you really want to make it,” you wrap your hand around his slick cock and start to glide, “worse?”

“Ffuck,” Ben gasps, a shiver rolling through him. “No. Fuck.” His head tips back when he cusses, but when he comes back to you, his eyes are blown black. “God, baby. Please keep touching me.”

The length of him stiffens in your palm, growing hotter, heavier, thick with want after only a few drags of your fist. But this isn’t for him. Never was.

“Oh, Benny,” you coo, condescending. “You still don’t know what this is, do you?”

Ben’s lips part even further. His wide eyes follow you as you slip off the bed and shuck off your bottoms. Phone in hand, half naked, you get back on the bed and hook a leg, straddling Ben’s hips.

Sitting your bare pussy right down on his slick, hard cock.

Ben jerks forward and the chain linking his wrists together rattles against the metal bar, stopping him. “Godd,” he huffs, irritation clear in the low rumble of his voice.

You tsk at him, chiding, “Don’t be like that,” just as you start to slide along his lubed-up dick.

Ben tosses his head back again, and lets out a long, loud exhale—a joyless laugh. He looks back at you, teeth sunk into his bottom lip, as you glide your pussy lips along his cock.

But you’re not even looking at him. You unlock your phone and open the gallery app.

Ben releases a groan of frustration from deep in his chest. “Fuuck.”

“Oh, hush,” you murmur dismissively. You keep grinding on him, finding those spots where your clit rubs delightfully against the underside of his dick, while you tap open the folder with his very name on it.

“Baby?”

“...Hm?” Your tone is distracted and uninterested as you keep your eyes on the screen, leisurely scrolling through the selfies Ben’s sent you here and there. 

“What uh. What’cha doin’ over there?”

You peek at him over the top of your phone, brow creased. “Sorry, what’s up? I’m kinda busy here.”

Ben looks like he doesn’t know what language you’re speaking. Lost and confused.

But quiet. You say, “That’s better,” and look back at your phone. You find a bathroom mirror selfie he sent you immediately after he’d showered, and the pooling warmth in the pit of your gut multiplies as you rub yourself against Ben’s dick.

You moan, and play Ben’s instincts against him perfectly. He jolts up, and the cuffs clink against the bedframe some more.

“Hnh. What’s that. What’re you—”

“Shh.” Partially for the fun of messing with him, and partially because you want to, you squeeze your breasts with your free hand, teasing your nipples. But you keep your eyes on your phone, denying him as much as eye contact as you pleasure yourself with his body.

Using him like a toy.

Ben sighs, short and petulant, and says, “This isn’t fair.”

You scoff a laugh. “Isn’t it?” You swipe to the next picture: Ben after a run, red in the face, lifting his shirt up to show you his sweat-slick abdominals. “Fuck.”

“What? What is it?”

You show him the picture. “‘S you, Ben. Was you all along.”

Ben’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, eyes wide. “It’s me!?”

You feign concern. “Aww, what’s wrong? Is little Benny boy upset with me?”

“Oh my God , I.” Ben throws his head back, yanks on the cuffs a couple times as if testing how easily he might break them free. He brings his head forward. “I. Want. To. Fuck. You,” he grits out, slow and deliberate like you need it explained.

You would laugh, if not for every time your clit nudges against his cock and it sends pleasure sparking in your nerves. You’re closer to moaning than giggling, and even though you pull both back, you don’t think you hide your smirk very well.

“Just. Just put it in. Yeah, baby?” Ben bargains. “Just let me get it in.”

You arch a brow. “Feels pretty good just like this, Ben.”

Ben scoffs. “Ch’yeah, but, ‘magine what it’ll feel like with my cock in you. You love my cock. I know you love my big dick, baby, and I got it all right here for you.”

You look back at your phone, losing interest. 

“No, no, no, wait, wait. I—” 

The strained, desperate note in his voice has you side-eyeing him, brow quirked. Really, this whole caper takes more effort than you thought it would. It’s hard not to give in to the pleasure, not to lose your composure—or even your self on him. 

There’s a world where you toss your phone to the side, lift your hips, line him up. Rip off his cuffs and kiss him stupid as you bounce on his cock…

But that’s not this world. Here, actions have consequences.

The panic in Ben’s eyes abates as you look back at him, giving him the attention he’s so distressed for.

“I promise I,” Ben swallows, looking deeply into your eyes as if that’ll help persuade you, “promise I won’t cum—I won’t do anything. I just, God, baby. I need your pussy so bad. You’re so fucking wet, I—”

“Why are you here, Ben?” You hear your slight breathlessness, but there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s happening, and this is the whole point.

Ben’s eyes fall closed, his lips fold into a thin line. He’s resigned to the fact that he’s lost this fight.

“What are your words?” you prompt him, a lilting sing-song to your breathy voice. But your body is sliding, grinding, heating up.

Ben’s gaze flicks back up to meet your eyes. He hesitates for just a second. “I’ve been a bad boy and I need to learn a lesson.”

“Good enough,” you huff. “Eight out of ten. Now—” You have to bite back a moan, your climax creeping up, coming into focus in centre frame. A high, hushed whimper manages to escape before you can tell him, “Be good for me now, Ben.”

Ben’s eyes flare wide. “OhmyGod,” he murmurs, quick and low. “This is—you’re cumming. Aren’t you? You are. I can see it, baby.”

“Ben. Shit—!” You fold a little, shuddering, bracing yourself on Ben’s trunk and chest.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, babe. That’s so fucking sexy.”

You lock eyes with him, and you’re gone.

The start of it pulls a rough cry from your throat—this pulsing, throbbing orgasm that washes through your body. You rub your clit against Ben’s dick, your thighs quivering around his hips, riding out the soft waves of pleasure. When you’re finished, you take a deep breath, sighing contentedly, and give Ben a bleary-eyed smile.

His face softens and that furrowed, intense stare falls away. You watch his muscles visibly relax, the cuffs jingling as his shoulders try to lower.

Then you get off him.

Ben’s mouth falls open. “Wha—? Where are you going?”

You stop, your brow creasing in feigned confusion. “What do you mean—?”

“Baby, please,” Ben pleads, shaking his head. “Babygirl, don’t do this.”

“Do what? We’re all done.”

Ben’s eyes are as wide as his mouth, brow raised in absolute incredulity. He scoffs in disbelief over your name.

It takes you by surprise, but you recover. You angle your head to the side. “What’s the problem here, Ben?”

Ben stammers, at a loss for words. For once—maybe, even, for the first time ever.

You prompt him. “Is it that you’re,” you point to his wrists, “cuffed, or that your,” you point your thumb at his obvious, straining erection, “balls are blue?” You search his eyes, scanning for the answer behind them. “I can make one of these problems go away, but not both of them.”

Ben’s beautiful brown eyes are round, pleading. He swallows thickly, and in a small and sorry voice he admits, “Want to cum, baby.”

It’s as cute as it is pathetic. You could laugh, but you don’t. “If that’s what you really want, and you’re really sure, you’ve gotta ask me nicely.”

Ben’s full lips are damn near pouting. “Please.”

You roll your eyes. “Come on, Ben. Nicer than that.”

“Please, baby.” Ben’s cuffs rattle. “Need you to touch it. Need you to make me cum. No one does it like you, babygirl. I’m,” he glances down his body, then looks back up to your face, “achin’, baby.”

You watch him and your inhale is deep, like you’re weighing up a heavy decision. Ben’s gaze flits back and forth between your eyes. It looks like he’s forgotten to breathe.

“One moment.”

You get off the bed and pad over to the wardrobe, where you put Ben’s black box back. You saw something in there before, noted it for future use.

And the future is now.

You keep it behind your back as you walk back to the bed, and once you’re there, flick open the bottle of lube.

Ben’s lips part. “What’s—”

You reveal the fleshlight, and Ben’s chest lifts. His gaze flickers between the toy and your face. You pause, patiently waiting for the moment to run its course as Ben’s brain catches up with his eyes.

Ben licks quickly at his bottom lip. “You,” he starts, but clears his croaky throat. “You’re gonna use that on me?”

“Any objections?” You quirk a brow.

Ben shakes his head. “No, ma’am.” He swallows, eyeing the canister like it’s his best friend and most bitter enemy.

You grip Ben’s cock at the base and stand it up—and Heavens above. He’s more like cinderblock than human flesh, if concrete was hot to the touch and so full of desire it had its own heartbeat. 

You ease the lubed toy down Ben’s cock at a glacial pace, watching his jaw drop further and further to his chest. But before you fully sheath the whole length of him, you stop.

You look him in the eyes. “Well? Go on then.”

Ben glances between your face and the fleshlight. His lips make shapes, half-forming words but unable to speak them. Clearly, he was expecting something different here.

“Pretend it’s me. Isn’t that what you do with this thing, anyway?”

“Fuck, babe.”

You cock your head, ear towards him. “What’s that, Ben?” You scan his body. He’s breathing steadily but it looks like it’s taking him effort to do it, so many muscles clenched in anticipation. “You didn’t think I was going to do all the work here, did you?”

“You’re killing me,” Ben says.

You frown, but on the inside you’re not even a little bit sorry about it. “But Benny. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

Ben’s head tips back and he lets out a frustrated groan. “I mean,” he comes back to you, “you’re. You’ll be the end of me, babygirl.”

You scoff. “As far as I know, you got yourself into this mess, mister. Now it’s on you to get out of it.” You glance at the toy, then back to him. “You know what you need to do.”

Ben eyes the canister. He lets out a long, near-whistling exhale, flicking a glance at you.

After taking a moment to collect himself, Ben draws his hips back, down into the mattress a little bit, then tilts up, driving his dick all the way into the fleshlight.

You watch his eyes flutter closed. He inhales deep through his nose, his pink lips quivering until they part.

You realise he’s holding back, trying not to react. Your gaze narrows at him. “Good, Ben?”

“Ffuck,” he blurts. The word is ripped from him—forced out in a sudden, harsh breath—as he pulls down again. The toy squelches from the suction, and you see Ben take in another deep, shaky breath. 

Slow. Too slow. You press him. “Come on, Benny boy. Fuck it like you mean it.”

He squirms, brow knitting. “Jesus, babe,” he puffs, and this also sounds like it’s been yanked from him by a punch to the gut. But he shifts his feet flat and his hips move faster.

The slurping sucking wet sound gets louder.

“Fuuck,” Ben groans, head lifted to watch his own performance.

“There you go. Is that so hard?” You hold the toy steady. 

“Fucking wish it was your pussy.” He puffs a breath to try to blow some renegade strands of hair out of his face.

“God, this is what you’d do if this were me? Swear all the goddamn time?”

“Baby,” Ben huffs, and it’s with an air of frustration now, his voice tight and clipped to give warning. He keeps his eyes on the shiny black canister as he says, “I can’t—think. Of any. Other... W-words.”

“How disappointing,” you tut at him, voice dropped low with disapproval.

Ben’s gaze snaps to yours at this. “You know you make me fucking crazy?” He shifts and the cuffs slide against the bedframe, sending a metallic shing ringing out. “Fucking toys for you like it’s your fucking—”

“For me ?” you exclaim, smiling out of pure disbelief. “Ben. Baby boy. This is your mess and you know it!”

“God! Damn!” Ben tosses his head back, shifts some more so now his legs are bent at the knee.

He’s really fucking up into it now, giving it what you know he’s got. You have to work to keep your arm locked and steady, but for this show? It’s so worth it.

“Thaat’s better. There it is, Ben.”

“Shit,” he whispers, pumping the toy full of his full length.

“Count it down when you’re close, ‘kay?”

“What?” Ben gasps, eyes flicking to yours.

“Give me a count,” you goad him on. “I want to see it when you cum.”

“ Chriist ,” Ben groans, long and low; full of gravel and vexation. It’s utterly delectable, the perfect pairing with the lewd sucks of the lubed toy.

“Come on. Really, you don’t even need me for this, Ben. You can do it yourself.”

“Hnf. But I want you,” he huffs, puffs, breathy and deep. “I want you. So bad, babe.”

This is the moment. This is it . You can see it in the dazed, glassy-eyed look on Ben’s face. His pink, parted lips bitten red. Beads of sweat decorating his hairline.

So you lean in just so. “You want me? Show me,” you murmur sultrily. “Cum for me.”

Ben moans, a deep and throaty sound, and says, “Five.”

“Yeah?”

“Four.” His brow creases, his bottom lip disappears behind his teeth. “Ungh. Three.”

“You’re so close, Ben, don’t stop. Show me how good you look when you cum.”

The sound that leaves his mouth is all kinds of strained. He almost shivers as he speaks. “T-two.”

You shift nearer. “That big dick is gonna cum so hard.”

A sharp, high cry leaves him. “I’m—!” He’s panting every breath with a ragged sound, chest lifting and falling rapidly. His hips jerk wildly. “I’m. Fuck . One, baby—”

You quickly lift the fleshlight off him and Ben explodes—groaning through clenched teeth. His cock lands on his lower abs with a heavy, sticky splat and from the tip of his cock he shoots his load all over himself. Stomach clenching, dick pulsing, balls pumping with every spurt. He squirms against the cuffs and his thighs shake, toes curling against the navy bedspread.

You talk him through it, encouraging him with softly cooed praises about how hot he is and how good his dick looks when he loses control.

His hips slow down and soon stop bucking against nothing. You lean in and lick a swipe of his cum off the firm, smooth planes of his stomach—Ben shivers at this—and then you reach up and rip off the velcro cuffs.

“You did good, Ben,” you praise him, tossing the restraints to the side, “and you taste good, too—”

Before you can say anything else, Ben grabs you and pulls you into a massive hug. It’s a consuming, grasping hold, your full bodies pressing against each other, legs tangling up. He winds a hand into your hair, cradling the back of your head, and the other wraps around your waist, pulling you close.

“Hey,” you murmur softly, gently seeking him out. “Hey, Ben. You okay?”

Ben doesn’t respond out loud. His answer is in his body—he squeezes you tighter, letting loose a long exhale.

You settle into his chest, your ear over his heart, holding him just as tight as he needs you to hold him.

After a bit, you lose track of time. 

For a long while you simply lay together, entwined, listening to the settling rhythm of his breathing and his steadily beating heart. It’s a warm quiet, as familiar and comfortable as your favourite blanket. You could almost fall asleep on him.

Ben shifts under you. His hold on the back of your head changes. Now, his fingers run through your hair with gentle strokes. His hand across your back moves—gently resting his fingertips on your shoulder. A small release.

You hum a soft little sound, lulled into the peace of the moment.

“‘M I forgiven?” Ben croaks.

This gives you pause—it’s an odd turn of phrase. You hold for a moment, considering what he might mean and waiting to see if he adds anything else to clarify it... But when he doesn’t, you lean up, resting on his sturdy chest.

“Forgiven?” You look into Ben’s deep brown eyes. His telltale warmth is there, but so is something else besides. Something that pulls at your chest. Maybe you over-did it? “What’s wrong?”

Ben holds your gaze for a long moment. Then he cracks a smile. “Y’know. From before. Your bad boy who needs a lesson.”

And just like that, your Ben is back. A smile pulls at your lips from the pure blinding power of his own, but the sense that he’s holding something back overpowers the instinct to share a full and happy grin. What’s worse than the possibility of a simple deflection?

The realisation that Ben may have just lied to you. 

“‘Course,” you vow. “Always, Ben.”

“Fuck, you gave me shivers,” he chuckles, twinkling eyes and all. “You’re fucking sexy when you’re mad, baby.”

“So are you,” you laugh, but there’s a disquiet in your mind, an uneasiness in your gut. You think you might’ve seen smaller, less obvious instances of this before—the slipping, and then re-affixing of the mask. But this is altogether too practised. Rehearsed. A learned reaction.

“Should probably take a shower. Clean all this up.” Ben cranes his neck to look out the window behind the bed, and it’s almost nighttime now. “Then after,” he glances back at you, “want to meet me at the hot tub?”

Chapter Text

xxxx BEN’S POINT OF VIEW xxxx

Ben lights the last of the candles and does a quick scan of his set up. He hopes it’s enough. He knows you’ll like it, for sure. And he’s just gotta get you out of your clothes and into the hot tub as soon as god damn fucking possible.

But he hopes it’s enough. There’s a lot on the line here.

He pulls out his phone and sends you a quick message.

ready baby. come on out

Not a moment later he sees you push through the back doors and step outside. You clock him instantly, and it sends a wild spark up his spine, swooping in his gut. He cards his fingers through his hair.

You make your way over, and good Lord. The shift from moonlight to candlelight on your body knocks the wind right out of him, because you look ethereal—not even of this world. 

Ben watches as your eyes land on all the different things he laid out. The candles burning at all four corners of the hot tub and scattered around the pool house. The dinner for two he made and arranged on the coffee table, in hopes that you can lounge together on the sofa and feed each other a little later. The towels, robes, picnic blanket.

A slow smile graces your features as you look around, and when your footsteps slow and then ultimately stop, Ben knows he’s fucking nailed it.

“Ben?”

You breathe his name, and angels sing. A glorious choir in his head; a halo shining around yours.

“Yeah, babe?” He doesn’t move though. Not yet. There’s a moment, he’s sure it’s coming, where it’ll be just right—just perfect—for him to swoop in. He’s on the very brink of it, watching you cycle through shock and awe and that feeling he hopes to God above you feel, too.

To be adored.

“Did you do all this,” you pause, casting another shiny-eyed, mystified look over everything, before you look directly at him, “for me?”

Now. Now . And patiently, for God’s sake. He starts to walk towards you and— yes —you’re doing that thing you do when he prowls closer, smooth and sleek as a jaguar, with all the time in the world. Maybe you think you’re subtle, but he looks for your signs every time. Lifted chest, lips parted on the world’s tiniest gasp. 

And those eyes .

Maybe that one isn’t fair. It’s just biology, isn’t it? Maybe it’s all the sciences. Maybe it’s art. The way you tilt your head up to his; the way your eyes go just that much bigger, but so much blacker.  There’s almost a sound to it, for Ben. A reverberation that sends shockwaves down to his marrow.

Ben looks deeply into your eyes. “‘Course I did, baby.” Glances at your lips—perfectly fucking kissable. But not yet. Back to those peepers. “For you. Do you like it?”

You must do, he knows it. But Ben won’t rush things.

And he wants to hear it fall from your lips.

You make a sound—a half-sigh, half-laugh—and Ben’s never heard such a wonderful thing. 

“This is just. I mean this is… gorgeous, Ben.”

He lets a half-smile slip loose. “Well, then. It’s perfect for you.” But is it enough? Your eyes are twinkling at him, gold-flecked by candlelight. Impossibly pretty. “God, you’re stunning.”

You smile, slow and teasing—he feels it in his gut, wants to press his lips to that delectable curve—and murmur, “You’re not so bad yourself, stud.”

Ben doesn’t fight the instinct to preen, proud as a peacock. He’s never heard you call any of his brothers a stud, and so help him God, he never will. He cards his fingers through his hair, quips, “Who, me?” and winks.

The curl of your lips broadens and you trill a laugh—that musical, lyrical sound. The spell is cast and Ben laughs, too, albeit a bit throatier.

“So,” he says, after the little giggles subside, “about our date.”

Your eyes make a galaxy of golden stars, lighting up your face from the inside out. You take another look around and ask, “Where do you want to start?” 

It’s the perfect opening. Ben leans close, drinking in the smell of your shampoo and the sheer close ness to your body. He nuzzles in and says, “I want to see you take off your clothes.”

He leans back, and the look on your face has his stomach doing somersaults. Those slow-blinking lids over pupils blown way the fuck out. There’s a chance you both won’t even make it to the jacuzzi, if you keep looking at him like you’re gonna eat him and damn well lick your fingers clean after.

But he’s wanted this for too long, and been so freaking patient all the while. He sticks to the plan, leisurely slipping into his pocket for his phone. Your brow crinkles as he does it, and that’s just fine. Let the anticipation build, it’ll only make it better.

Ben holds his phone over his shoulder, presses the screen, and the hot tub stirs to life.

Your gawk at it, that perfect mouth dropping open.

He lets you take it in. The churn of the powerful jets. The bubbles, the L.E.D.s, the way the candles burn all around. He waits for you to—

“It’s pink!”

—clock the colour, and the pitch of your surprised, excited voice is just perfect. He futzed with the settings earlier, and his efforts are paying dividends. 

“Thought you’d like that, babe.”

You turn back to him, and your face is equal parts gobsmacked and gleeful. “I didn’t even know they could do that!”

It makes him laugh. So fucking cute. So goddamn—

“Come on.” Suddenly you snatch his hand in yours and you’re off, pulling him towards the spa bath. But Ben’s happily led.

To say you both whip off your clothes would be an understatement. It’s not the warmest night, and you complain of the cold as you strip down to your birthday suit. But Ben’s got a plan for that. He helps you clamber in and leads you straight into his waiting lap.

And it doesn’t matter how many times he’s seen you naked. Your body is the stuff of his dizziest daydreams. Every curve and dimple, every spot and scar. And the way you carry it, like his own personal Venus. He traces your sides with his hands, because he just can’t help it when you’re all over him, perched in his lap, pressing your nude, wet body against his.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Ben says. “It’ll be steaming soon.”

You give him a smirk he feels in his groin, filling out his cock double-time. Then your hands are around his neck and you’re inching closer and you’re murmuring, “I bet, with you around,” and then your lips— God , yes—teasingly soft against his like you’re daring him and he needs to breathe, but he doesn’t care if this is the last breath he ever takes.

Ben rears up and pulls you back down onto him, with one hand around the nape of your neck and the other your squeezing your spectacular ass. He brings you flush with his body, almost all the damn way, because you’ve made him so fucking hungry for it. 

This isn’t like the pool earlier in the day, where he had to yank you in to get you in the zone. This is all you, touching his body like all the goddesses of lust and desire are bound in a single mortal form. Could be the heat and the bubbles all around. Could be that you really like the date-night-in he planned. He wants to know, but not more than he wants to be in your pussy right now.

Because one of your hands snakes from his neck down the side of his throat, to his chest, coming to rest on his heart. And your other submerges beneath the warm water, seeking, finding. Making a fist around his hard on and stroking him so damn good.

You’re ready, raring, racing. But fuck if he won’t speed up. 

Ben parts from your lips, sighing. “Love your hand on my cock, baby. See how hard you make me?”

You nod, run your tongue along your teeth. “Ahuh. So hard, Ben.”

“All for you, babygirl.” He squeezes your ass some more, and takes his other hand down between your thighs to stroke along your pussy lips. “You feel it? How bad I want your pussy?”

You gasp, and deep in the pit of his gut clenches and tingles. “Yes, Ben,” you sigh, and he’d fucking devour that mouth if he didn’t have another plan locked and loaded. And it’s not just the way your fingers fold around his dick and jerk it—although that is goddamn divine.

But the way you say his name. The way you whisper it, sigh it, moan it, scream it.

It drives him fucking wild.

“You wanna try something with me, babe?”

This stops you a little, but he thought it might. “Ben?”

“Just a sec. Hold on, baby,” he murmurs, pressing a small peck to one corner of your mouth before he reaches over to the side table with the towels. He lifts the stack, because he’d concealed the bottle underneath the pile to produce it as a surprise at this very moment. “I was looking it up, and…” he brings the lube to show you, places it in your hand.

You read the label for a moment, then ask, “Silicone…? What for?”

Ben smiles and wiggles his brow. “Won’t dissolve in the water.”

Your mouth drops. You stare at him. “...You clever, clever man…”

Ben knows the grin that spreads across his face is wide but he doesn’t care. He’s thrilled. You like it and you called him ‘clever’? That kind of a reaction can’t be beat. But he doesn’t have too much more time to think about it, because you launch right in and kiss him.

His mind blanks. It’s a soft kiss, and Ben trails up your sides and around your back to bring you close again. When your lips break away from his, he murmurs questions onto your neck between kisses.

“Whaddaya say, babygirl? Wanna do it here, just you and me? Wanna get me ready?”

Ben’s not entirely prepared for the way your slick hand wraps around his dick. It’s unreal, another layer of slippery wet in the hot, bubbling water. Your palm slides effortlessly, coating his hard length, and he suppresses a swear. 

But he can’t keep it locked down, because your hand glides up and you make a fist around the head of his dick, jerking just that part and getting it good and slick.

He moans—so fucking sensitive like this—and when your thumb brushes against the slit his hips buck and tilt without his permission.

“Careful, Ben,” you warn him, smirking.

The tease in your voice and the glimmer in your eyes make it difficult for Ben not to give in to just this. And he could. Easily. Good God it would be so easy. Just let you stroke him and rib him until he melts in your palm. But he’s got to focus on the bigger picture.

“You’re gonna make a mess of me, baby.”

You cock a brow, taunting. “Isn’t that the plan here? Stud?”

That little name zings through him, lighting a fire in his gut. “Wanna make it good for you, babe. Don’t you wanna see what it feels like?”

Your lips part at this, he sees it. He takes the bottle and pumps a generous handful of slip onto his fingers. “I know I do,” he says, cupping your pussy underwater and rubbing at your lips.

He knows he’s got you because your hand where you touch him falters, and then you gasp his name.

He looks into your eyes, those heavy-lidded beauties, and says, “Think you’re ready, baby. You wanna come sit on my cock?”

“Yeah, Ben.”

The way he could live off those words as if they were oxygen. Ben sets the bottle back and passes you a towel, the pair of you toweling off your hands before he tosses it back to the table. 

“Hold onto me, babygirl,” Ben says, one hand on your hip and the other guiding his dick to your pussy.

You clutch Ben’s shoulders, and there’s no better feeling than your hands on him like that.

Well, maybe there’s one feeling that’s better than that.

“That’s it,” Ben murmurs as you start to lower down onto his slippery cock. “That’s it, baby. Down, down like that. Nice and slow.” As soon as you’ve engulfed the head of him, Ben brings both hands to your hips.

“Ben,” you gasp, eyes wide. 

“‘S okay, babygirl. You’re good—you’re perfect. Keep on comin’, baby.” Sinking, sliding, easing down. Wrapping him up, half-way there. “Sit all the way down on me.”

“Oh, my God, that’s a hard cock, Ben.” You squeeze his shoulders, eyes fluttering.

“Feels good, baby? You like it?” Ben watches you and it’s like a movie. You, a bombshell from the silver screen—candle-lit and dripping wet. But it’s the warm, slick suck of your pussy on his dick that sends him to an x-rated place. “ Je sus, this pussy’s so wet inside.” You’re almost there, almost sunk. He’s just gotta get you the rest of the way. “Did you get like this for me, babe?”

You moan a delicious sound and say his favourite thing, “For you, Ben,” just as you come to rest with your thighs either side of his. Fully seated.

“There’s my girl,” Ben murmurs.

Now your bodies are truly flush. Flush and plumb, level and square and true and all those good things. Your breath hitches, your body rolls against his as a shiver races through and Ben can tell exactly where it started, if anyone’s asking.

“Oh,” Ben hums knowingly. “It’s like that, huh, baby?”

“Ben.” You lift dazed eyes to his. “How are you—” you shift, gasp, “always so… big.”

Ben’s mouth quirks, because God Almighty does that land in his gut and nestle down deep. “Was made this way just for you, babe.”

You hum a little laugh, and Ben brings your face closer to his with a finger under your chin. “I know my pretty little kitty misses me. She’s hugging me so tight.”

Your lips part, lids falling gently until you give him the hottest bedroom eyes he’s ever seen.

He murmurs, “Why don’t you grind a little on me, babygirl?”

You cling to his shoulders, start to rock back and forth on him. It’s light at first, shallow and gentle as you test and explore. Getting the feel for it in the water, getting it right. Ben’s all too happy to let you play, brought to Heaven’s gate by the hot wet home he has inside your body let alone anything else.

He leans in and kisses your neck, then your throat when your head tips back. You’re starting to lift and drop now, starting to bounce against his thighs, and your soft sighs get heavier, a little more voice in them.

Water starts to slosh around in the tub.

“Mmffuck yeah,” Ben murmurs lowly, hands sliding to grope your ass, “ride me, baby. Just like that.”

You press his shoulders. “Feels so good, Ben,” you sigh, then a little smile peeks through and a small laugh escapes. “Slippery.”

You’re not wrong. There’s zero resistance, absolutely no drag in the slick rise and fall of your pussy on his cock—it feels only good.

Ben chuckles, too. “‘N’ you never even told me you were a rodeo girl.”

You stop—and you laugh then, a symphony of colour and light. 

The candles are reflected in your eyes and on your teeth and on the radiant glow of your cheeks. And it’s catching; makes Ben laugh, too. But more than that. Your joy playing out on your face (and the spasms it caused in your pussy) has him slipping into a silky-smooth, dream-like state of mind.

“Come here, buckle bunny, and kiss me.”

Your hands slide along Ben’s shoulders and into his hair, and you lean in and press your mouth to his. It’s a soft and light touch of lips, lazy and half-dazed from giggling—but not for long. The tender moment is fleeting, very quickly replaced by an urgency for deeper kisses, insistent hands, moving bodies.

Your knees resume their bouncing and you moan almost instantly—Ben swallows the sound. Gulps it down like Gatorade at half-time. Thirsty for it, desirous of the taste. He uses both hands to roam your body and he starts to tilt and rock his hips in time with your downstroke.

Fucking divine.

You tear from his mouth to gasp. “Ben! Fuck.”

He could lose himself in how you speak his name, but when it’s like this he feels drunk on the sound. When he’s in you, filling you full, when you’re wrapped tight and hot and wet around him—it lifts him to a higher plane of being. 

He’s boneless, weightless, existing only for the next bump, next height of pleasure—and he knows once he’s there, he’ll only want the one after that. 

But there is only the place where your bodies are joined, and nothing else in this world.

“Yeah, babygirl, say my name,” he murmurs. He cinches your waist and plants his feet flat to the floor of the tub before driving his hips upwards. 

Up. Up. Up. Into you. That’s all his big dumb ape brain can compute.

And he couldn’t care less.

“Fucking love it when you say my name.”

“Aahh! There, Ben!” you moan, your nails sinking into his shoulders.

And that feels fucking good . “I got it. I got you, babe.” Pushing up . Bucking up . Keep the angle locked, keep it steady, hit that spot some more. Feel for the end of you with his cock.  The head dragging along your pussy walls while they hug the stem of him tight. 

“Lemme give it to you, babygirl.” The strain in his voice.

He’s hot all over. The warmth of you seeping down, emanating through every cell to the hollow core of his aching hard cock. Even with the lube, your pussy has to give a little for him to drop his hips down and draw back, and the suck of it threatens his sanity. Your insides drag him back, pull him back, never letting go.

“Pussy feels so fucking good on my cock.”

He wishes he could see it. What’s the distance between his hands, nestled between your ribs and your pelvis and lifting you up and down, and the top of his fat dick? Does he end up past your belly button? He needs to know how far he’s getting, because he wants it all the way in—buried. Wants to top you off until there’s nothing left in you but him.

“Ben!!”

“I know, baby.” Your shriek shoots through him, and Ben knows what you need now. He snakes one hand down and thumbs your clit—rubbing up it to start, to get you shivering. Then flicking over it, brushing it side to side. Then once you soak him anew, the circles. Pressing into hood and pearl, around and around and around.

“Fuuck,” you groan,your head tipping back, and Ben hears the deeper, throaty notes in it. 

He mouths at your neck wildly with messy, chaotic kisses. “Gorgeous fucking girl,” he praises, because you’re bouncing with him, meeting his upward thrusts, rubbing your clit against his thumb—and you’re fucking glowing in the candlelight.

Ben needs to hear you moan again, needs to feel you shake. He talks to you through more kisses to your neck. “‘S just you and me, babe. Give it to me. I can take it.”

He feels you seize then, feels your pussy tighten on his cock, and the pleasure dances on the edge of pain. But it’s a warm, welcome kind of painful—a blissful ache. An ache he seeks; an ache that matches the pulsing in his dick. Because that hollow core is filling up, getting ready to blow, building and tightening deep in his gut.

You’re panting above him, the sound of your sighs and moans addictive. And you’re hotter, slicker inside. Ben can feel your heart beat around his cock.

“Attagirl,” Ben says. “Cum all over me. Squeeze my cock, baby.”

You cry out his name and the next thing Ben knows, you’re bursting on his cock. He could grin, but he’s concentrating too hard on holding on. Your pussy walls contract and release, squeeze and let go, over and over and over again. You’re moaning, shaking in his arms as your molten pussy flushes his dick.

Words rush out of him like escapees, running together in his haste to drill you through it. “Ffucking—That’s it. Good girl. Good girl .” He feels the pull; he doesn’t have long. Ben watches your face, feels your squeezing pulsing heat on his cock, holds his breath for one momentary pause. 

And he can’t take it anymore.

He pushes up, pulls you down—and he blows it. 

His orgasm races through his whole body, pleasure radiating out from the tip of his cock and the pit of his groin. Deep muscles pump in a rhythm that has him groaning insensate; has him shooting his load deep into your pussy—as deep as he can get it. 

Your bodies are so connected it’s like you’re tied together, tethered to one another, the both of you coming to a breathy, trembling standstill as the shudders fade out.

Ben falls back against the side of the tub, and you follow, collapsing into him. Joined in the middle, as close as two people can physically be. You wrap your arms around his neck and nuzzle in. He traces three fingertips up, and down your spine, bringing hot water droplets to run down your skin in warm rivulets.

The pair of you hold each other like that… and then Ben hears your stomach rumble.

xxxx

After the hot tub and the cleaning up and the dinner—because you definitely needed to refuel—you and Ben lay on the picnic blanket on the grass, looking up at the stars, wrapped in dressing gowns Ben said he ‘sourced’ from his brothers.

The hour is late, the moon is high. The stars twinkle and gleam. It’s so blissfully quiet.

You run your pointer finger down the slightly bumpy slope of his nose. It looks like he’s broken it one too many times and it healed a little crooked the last time. 

You’re about to ask him if he got into any scraps when he was younger. It might be a good segway into the bigger, tougher question you have to ask him, the one that’s kept you from feeling comfortable enough to get sleepy in his arms. But then—

“I don’t want to go to bed,” Ben says to the stars, to you. “I want to stay up all night with you. Have a sleepover or something, like I did when I was a kid.”

Your eyes trace his profile. “That could be fun, Ben.”

“I want to watch the sunrise with you.” Ben turns to look at you. “Want to see it in your hair and your eyes and your smile.”

You melt into him just a little more, feeling almost bashful at his profession. “Well, then, we’ll watch the sunrise. Set an alarm.”

Ben smiles. He turns and presses a kiss to your forehead. “‘S getting chilly, babe. You ready to go inside?”

Another reason to buck up and have this conversation. It’s cold, and this twisting, sinking feeling in your gut is gnawing at you, especially after everything Ben did for your date tonight.

“Ben—”

“Oh, shit,” Ben mumbles quietly, shifting. His brow creases some. “What’s’a matter, gorgeous?”

He must’ve seen it on your face, before you even said a word. Maybe it was in the way you said his name. “Can we talk?”

“‘Course,” he squeezes your arm, trails his palm along it. “Always. What’s up?”

You swallow, summoning the courage and putting on your big girl pants. “You weren’t telling me everything, earlier. Back in your room.”

Ben’s brow knits further. “When, babe?”

You chew your lip. You’re certain you over-did it, because all he could do for quite some time afterwards was hold you tight. “You asked me if you were ‘forgiven’, and I asked you what was wrong and you—I got the sense that you—were holding something back.”

Ben takes a moment. His chin lifts and drops in a slow nod. It seems more out of recognition than agreement, because he sighs, “Ahh,” just above a whisper.

“Did I do something wrong?” The words feel heavy in your mouth. Mentally, you brace for whatever comes next, preparing to work through it together.

“Nahh, babe. ‘S all good,” Ben says, but his eyes are trained on the night sky. His hand stroking your arm, stops.

So, it’s easy not to believe whatever truth he’s covering up. “But something was off, Ben.” Your gaze rakes over his face, that strong side profile and scruffy chin. You cast your mind back, and it clicks.

Being honest with yourself, you kinda knew it when you said it. Knew it was the wrong move. Saying that you’d get one of his brothers to step in was too far, hit him too hard. “When I said that stupid thing about having someone else. It was too much, wasn’t it?”

Ben is quiet. 

Still. 

You’ve never seen him this quiet and still.

You sigh. Whatever this is, is becoming clearer to you. Beneath all his bravado, there’s something Ben has never been able to get right in his head. Something he’s tried to tamp down hard, but he’s never let it go. 

You knew it the night of the party. You knew it yesterday after ‘the collar incident’. And you knew it on your first night here, when you pulled their names out of a cup to try and impose some kind of order on this whole thing.

You prompt Ben. “Talk to me?”

Ben takes one of your hands in his and rests them on his chest, sliding his thumb over your knuckles. His voice is thick and quiet when he speaks.

“I was too late, wasn’t I? To get to you. I took too long.” 

He pulls your hand to his mouth, and presses a long kiss to the back of your palm.

That’s what this is about. What it has probably always been about. “Ben, don’t—don’t do this to yourself,” you say softly. “It’s not a competition anymore, okay?”

Ben’s eyes are glued to the starry sky above.

“You did get to me. You got me. You won. I want you, and everyone knows it.” You squeeze his hand to punctuate your words.

Ben merely sighs and glides his thumb across your knuckles some more.

“...You know you don’t have to prove it all the time, right?”

Ben swallows, and turns his head to meet your gaze. 

There’s something in those molasses-dark eyes, and it looks unnatural on him. Something cold, like sorrow. Like regret.

He sighs. His lips purse and frown and almost, for a second, quiver before he speaks again. 

“...I wanted you to be mine.”

Alone, is the unspoken word. Mine alone . You sigh his name, and go to speak, but he shakes his head, sniffling. 

You wait, and he says, “...Would you really leave me? For one of them?”

The tremor in his voice sends your heart plummeting to your gut. It feels snapped in half as it falls. A moment ago you thought you had this figured out—had Ben figured out. But now everything makes sense, like you’re seeing him in a brighter, more saturated layer of colour.

And you realise the full extent of your fuck up, now.

At your silence, Ben scratches at his eyebrow with his thumb. 

“No,” you say firmly, shaking your head, squeezing his hand in yours. “I’m not going anywhere, Ben. Never anywhere far from you. Okay? And I won’t say anything like that ever again, about the others. I mean—not unless it’s something we both want. Deal?”

Ben nods. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “Deal.”

“And also,” you add, “if I’m pushing a boundary you have to tell me. Stop me. Use the safeword.”

Ben blinks. “I don’t know what to tell you, babe. I never think of that when we’re...in the moment. I get, like, lost or something. And I love it when we’re together. Feels so fucking good until…”

“Until it doesn’t.”

“Yeah,” Ben shrugs, exhaling. “And I don’t realise it until after.”

You sit up and press a kiss to your interlocked hands, your lips brushing his thumb. “I’m sorry, Ben.”

His eyes start to shimmer again, glinting like the sparkling stars. “I know, baby. It’s okay.”

You offer a soft smile, gathering your thoughts. Even though one issue is resolved, there’s more to be said.

“We have something nice here, no? I mean it’s early days and there’s teething problems but, we’re all trying to figure this out. Me included, y’know? I’m not gonna get it right all the time.”

Ben gives a sad huff of a laugh through his nose. “Me neither, babe.”

“ This is why we need to have the conversation.” You look deeply into his eyes, your hand coming up to cradle his cheek. “I need you to know that I am yours, Ben. It’s just that, I’m theirs too. I don’t want the reality of that to keep hurting you. And if it does, we all need to think about whether we should really be—”

“I love,” Ben stops, “having you here.”

This draws you up short. Your brain is ticking and clicking; processing and catching up. You’re struck still, letting Ben’s words—or rather, the implication in that pause—hang in the air. Float up to the night sky.

You scan his eyes, studying their warmth and depth. “I love being here, too, Ben.” 

Ben’s chest lifts under your joined hands.

You press a kiss to the back of his palm. “Just, don’t let that fuck you up by always try’na throw your big swingin’ dick around.”

You smile, and Ben bursts into a laugh.

You reach up and toy with his facial hair, catching soft strands between your fingers. “I know it’s hard, Ben, but. Would you do that for me? Be the bigger man?”

Ben hums a long, low laugh. “Oh, baby. How do you know just what to say to me?”

You lift a casual shoulder, half-shrugging with a smile. Ben wraps his arms around you and pulls you against his chest.

You stay there a moment, the pair of you revelling in the tension broken, the heavy emotions put to rest. 

“You good?” you ask him.

“I’m good. You?” Ben presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Good. Now let’s get inside.” Your teeth chatter, right on cue.

That night, cozy and warm between Ben’s blue sheets, you fall asleep with him curled around your body, his arm draped over your waist.

xxxx

You’re woken by a low murmur and gentle kisses along the shell of your ear. 

“Morning, gorgeous. Sun’s coming up.”

Ben shows you how to climb out of his bedroom window to sit on the slanted roof. He goes first, holding out his hand to help you clamber through. Once you’ve scooted into place on your butt, he wraps a blanket around both your shoulders.

You tuck in close to his warm body, looping an arm through the crook of his elbow and resting your head on his shoulder.

You look out over the back of the property. Beyond the pool and the pool house and the far-sloping yard is the tree line. And just above that, the near-rising sun brings golden light to the blue sky, turning it the softest lilac.

You take a deep breath as you scratch and stroke under Ben’s chin, scruffing his facial hair. Looking around at the size of the place, the manicured garden, and all the amenities fit for a vacation resort, the obvious wealth of this family strikes you for the first, real time.

There’s no shortage of anxiety that tightens your chest at the realisation. With it, the reminder of the conversation you had with Ben last night.

And a doubt so heinous bursts into your mind that it makes you sit up.

I shouldn’t be here.

Ben turns to you. “‘S up, babe?” he asks, one brow subtly lifted. 

“I…”

When you don’t answer, Ben follows your vacant gaze and inspects the yard—but there’s nothing there.

You try to shrug it off and blink rational thoughts back into your head, swallowing to collect yourself. 

“I thought I saw something. In the…” You gesture vaguely to the forestline. “A fox or something.”

Ben’s brow creases; he squints a little. “A fox, or something?”

You wrap your hands around yourself, gazing at the trees without really seeing them. “Yeah.”

“...Kay…‘n’ what is it really?”

Well, fuck. It’s all getting a bit too much, isn’t it? This house. These boys. Day three already. But it’s not worth disguising the truth. You’re far beyond that point with the Solo boys, and with Ben in particular. 

“I’m a little overwhelmed.”

Ben’s brow softens. “That’s okay, babe. That’s fine. Makes sense.” He scans your side profile as you stare straight ahead. “Want to go inside, or stay out here?”

In a sudden jerk you grab Ben’s arm again, clinging to the crook of his elbow. 

Your tether. 

Ben lets a beat of silence pass, and then he says, “...Okay, here. So. What’s overwhelming?” He looks back at the sunrise, mirroring you.

You take a deep breath of early morning air, preparing to externalise a question that you hadn’t realised was eating at you, squirrelled away in the back of your mind. “Why me, Ben?”

Ben folds his lips between his teeth as he looks out at the rising sun. 

“You have all of this,” you gesture broadly. “And you’re, well, you’re this ,” you toss your hand at him, “times four. And I guess. I mean. I hadn’t really thought about it until now.” Until last night.

Ben sits up a little straighter. “Why you?” 

You take a quick breath, anxiety causing you to ramble even as you stare at the brightening sky. 

“That night at the party could’ve been anything. I mean, it could’ve been nothing. I could’ve been anyone. It was late, we were tired, we made decisions, and now, a couple weeks later, we’re here. I’m here, when you could’ve had any girl. You could’ve had girls each! I mean. Fuck, right? How did this happen? How did I get here? Why did you… choose me?”

You inhale sharply, trying to cling to your thoughts and keep them from blowing away like a stack of loose papers in the breeze.

Ben exhales heavily, squinting at the rising sun. “I think you know this. But uh. If you’d let me, I’d show you every single day of my life ‘why you’.” 

Ben glances at you. You tear your gaze from the sunrise and lock eyes with him.

“God, baby. That’s the fucking problem with this whole goddamn thing. I want to take you out. Show you off. Treat you like you deserve. Like, you had no runners, and no swimmers, right?”

“Right.”

“Right. So. I wanted to take you and get you some. For breakfast this morning—after we, y’know, on the dining table—I wanted to take you some place to eat. Want to—I don’t know. Take you to the movies, not just watch Ted Lasso for the hundredth fucking time.”

“Well, so? Why don’t we just go, Ben?” What’s the freaking problem?

Ben sighs through his nose. He shakes his head, waving it off. “Nahh.”

“‘Nah’?” you echo. “Benjamin Solo. What don’t I know?”

Ben lifts a shoulder, blinking slowly. “We all agreed—”

“What?” Your brow knits. Who’s this ‘we all’? “Who did?”

Ben scratches at his eyebrow with his thumb. “We, the four of us did.”

Your eyes narrow at him. “Well,” you scoff, “there’s your problem, Ben. Four, not five. Now what was it you ‘all agreed’ to?”

Ben’s gaze is downcast. He picks some lint off the blanket. “We wouldn’t take you out on our own.”

This isn’t making sense. “But, this morning. Weren’t we gonna go for a run or something?”

“Yeahh,” Ben admits, sighing, head tilting from side to side. “I shouldn’t’a tried to do that. It would’ve been,” he lifts two fingers in the air, making faux quotation marks, “against the rules.”

You have to sigh, shaking your head. This is a whole new level, and a conversation you weren’t a part of but should’ve been. “Wow. I know egos are a big deal in this fucking house but shit—”

“Ah, it,” Ben interrupts, then pauses. He looks to the orange sun, cresting above the tops of the distant trees, then back to you. “Wasn’t for us, babe.”

Your head drops to the side, ear almost to shoulder as you try to puzzle through this. “What?”

Ben presses his lips between his teeth. He shakes his head a little. “It wasn’t for us.” He looks back to the sunrise.

Not for the four brothers. Not to massage their egos or satisfy their possessiveness or any other thing. But that means… could they have done it for—

“For me?”

Ben’s shoulder lifts, he gestures like you’ve laid the answer on the wind. “People talk. About, y’know, women especially. Shit’s fucked, as of course you are aware. Wouldn’t matter for me or any of us to be seen with a different girl every night but for you…” Ben trails off. “We just,” he brings his palms together in a small, decisive clap, “didn’t want that for you.”

The realisation dawns on you with the rising of the sun. It bristled at first, definitely, but you understand the good intentions behind their thinking. You just wish you were a part of their decision.

“Are there any other rules you made about me, without me?”

Ben looks at you, reading your face and gauging your level of pissed off. You hold his gaze, but after a few feigned moments of annoyance, your lips break into a smile.

Ben smiles too. He leans in and kisses the side of your head. “No, babe,” he leans back, “promise.”

“Okay,” you nod, and you wait until Ben looks back at the treeline before you drop your next line. “I want to veto it.”

Ben’s head snaps back to face you. “What?”

“Well,” you laugh, voice rising, “you can’t keep me under house arrest for four days just because someone might notice and say some shit.”

Ben’s face is still but his eyes look between you and some point in the distance, racing to put a response together. Then after a moment, his brows lifts and his lips part, as if to say, point taken.

“Like,” you press, “I’m coming to your hockey game today, right?”

“Well, yeah,” Ben concedes. “But they were all gonna come to that. Still might anyway.”

“Fine,” you say, but then. “Wait. You think people will talk if they see us out one on one but they won’t talk if they see us all together?”

Ben pauses. He blinks, thinking. His brow furrows in confusion. “Wait—”

The absurdity of this has you giggling through your words. “Did anyone think this through? All cloak and dagger making this secret agreement and no one—”

“It wasn’t a secret —” Ben tries to defend.

“It was to me!” you laugh.

Ben chuckles and nods, granting you that one, but then he stops. “Do you want a family meeting?” he asks, and there’s a serious note in his voice.

You consider it for a moment. “No, we’ll sort it out when we’re getting ready later.”

Ben nods.

The sun is almost fully risen over the top of the trees. You lean against Ben’s shoulder, hand in hand, and his thumb strokes gently over your skin. You two fall into a warm and comfortable silence, watching the break of day. 

After a while, when the birds start to sing, Ben squeezes your hand.

He says, “The big guy’ll be up now, probably. Showering. Want to go surprise him?”