Days pass without letters, sans unknown numbers, nor missed phone calls.

You hope you'll forget about him, and you probably will, until you find your thoughts wandering during the day and your mind filling with fantasies at night. 

Mechanically going through the motions, the daily grind wears you down to the point of inexplicable tears.  Why now are you so fucking emotional?  Since when do you sniffle during commercials, and cry at songs on the radio?  It must be hormones, maybe some sort of internal clock thing.  Not that you’ll ever admit it.

A good boy in a sweater hits on you at the coffee shop, a himbo at the gym gives you his number, a suit offers you a fancy dinner.

It’s not like you’ve ever been shy, or gone without.  Really since you started being sexually active, it’s been a revolving door of prospects vying for a chance to bed you and maybe become a significant other.  Though, to you, that’s never been appealing.

It still doesn’t interest you, if you’re honest.  Not really.  Not at all.

Fuck, you could really use a drink and spending another night alone at home feels like a death sentence.

You don’t consider anything else when you march through the door of that outta-the-way, podunk watering hole.

The sight that greets you has your steps faltering.

Leo is in front of the bar and leaning back against it with a beer in hand, staring stonily at you.  The prospect of no barrier between you two is singularly intimidating.

Christ on a fucking cracker, what the actual fuck had you been thinking?  You know what you’d been thinking.  You’d been thinking he was still the same Baby Bear deep, deep down.  That he’d cow to your every fancy just like before.

Dismissing the unhelpful self-critique, you approach with your order at-the-ready on the tip of your tongue, his eyes never leaving you.  Standing next to him, you’re about to ask for a beer when he wets his lips to emit a blaring whistle that obstructs any opportunity for you to speak.  Eyes blinking rapidly in confusion, any confidence that had inflated your ego summarily deflates.

A petite blonde, barely over 18, clambors out from under the bar while straightening her clothes and running fingers through her bleached hair. 

While your heart drops into your stomach, she asks for your order.  Unfeeling bitch.  Still, takes one to know one, you suppose.

Leo, silent, takes a swig from his bottle with his eyes trained on you, practically glaring.  Like you’d interrupted something.  Well, obviously he isn’t put out by revealing attire if this floozy is any indication.  Thinking to yourself that maybe his problem is with you.  But, that would be silly, and nonsensical.  Still doesn’t stop the doubt from creeping in…

You point to the cooler, uncaring what she retrieves for you.  Feeling exposed, vulnerable, and utterly flayed beneath his what-feels-like-to-you judgmental regard.  All you want is the giant man’s laser focus off of you.  

The teeny bopper pops the top off the bottle and takes your payment, all while sending a joke Leo’s way and handing him a stick of gum.  One corner of his mouth lifts up as he uses his teeth to take the gum from her fingers, and your throat goes dry.  This had definitely never been a possibility in your mind as you’d spent an hour getting ready for a night out.  This was a huge mistake.

You tip the bottle to your lips and taste regret, or maybe shame, for the first time.  Never has a bet you've made failed to pan out.  And, never so spectacularly.

One more swallow of that bitterness and you slam the remainder down on the counter, intent on fleeing.

The unassailable buzzing filling your ears is accompanied by a cacophony of sounds as you resentfully stalk to the door, bruskly barreling through.  You’re immediately down the steps and rounding the building when someone suddenly grabs your wrist to spin you around and, never breaking stride, maneuvers you back against the side of the structure.

“Leo,” you breathe out, sounding almost relieved.

He moves forward, crowding you, taking up the space around you, making the rest of the world seem infinitesimal.  

Eyes searching your face, his expression inscrutable as his larynx bobs.  

“Come home with me,” you whisper, unbidden.

Anger reshapes his countenance before he shakes his head, looking down at the inescapable void between you.

Ripping your hand from his grip, you shove his shoulders away before slipping around him to escape while bile unexpectedly rises in your throat.  Of course, why would you ever ask him that?  What the fuck were you thinking?  Is it really so fucking hard for you to just not for once in your miserable, fucking selfish life?

A burning behind your eyes has you berating yourself as you fumble with your keys.  Vision blurry, you can’t seem to differentiate your car key from the rest.  

The heat of a solid hand closes over your shoulder.  It’s Leo, you know it without looking.  

Gently this time, he turns you to face him and chucks your chin.  Tilting his head in the direction of his truck, his left arm circles your back to guide you towards it.  He opens the passenger side door and waits impassively for you to climb onto the bench seat before moving to the driver’s side and settling in behind the wheel.  

He doesn’t put the keys in the ignition, but rolls down his window and looks out.

Jaw tensing and mouth working like he’s chewing on his words, you don’t share his penchant for patience.

You slide across the vinyl, pressing your thigh against his.  He seems startled when your hands eagerly rip at the buttons of his collared shirt and sprint down to uncinch his belt. Shuffling back against the door, his overly large body in the cramped space hardly allows him to lift his arms.  If he wants you to stop, he’ll have to say so.  And, mean it!

Tugging on his jeans to work them over his hips, all you can think about is having him again.  

He’s shuffling on the seat, unknowingly making it easier for you to work his pants open.  The thick bulge protruding behind white briefs has your mouth watering.

“Wait,” he weakly chokes out.

You can hardly help it before your hand tentatively falls to rub the taut fabric over his growing cock.  

“Why?” you whine, hardly recognizing your own voice.  

Fingers tracing the shape of him, you wonder if you’ve ever sounded so needy.  The girth and length of him continue to enlarge and you don’t remember if he was always this big.  Fuck, the stretch will be delicious.

“Please,” you beg, starving for a taste of him.

“Darlin’,” he murmurs, the sole word stalling you for a moment.

Finally, you peer up at him when he says, “I can’t do this again.”

Brow furrowing in confusion, you rebut, “I’d say you’re more than capable.”

“I won’t do this again, then.”  He huffs, seeming to fold in on himself like trying to make himself smaller.

Now you’re unaccountably angry, seeing red and ready to spit fire.  “You left, Leo!”  Your hand unconsciously fists in his under shirt when you shout in his face, “I was here and you left!”

His mouth is opening and closing but no words come out, and suddenly you’re on the verge of tears again.  Instead, you rush into him and press your mouth firmly against his while using your grasp on his shirt to drag him closer.  His lips remain slack, so your other hand wraps around the extensive girth of his cock.

He silently gasps, lips parting beneath yours, and you don’t waste the chance.

Pouring your frustration and rage into him, your tongue battling, lips bruising, and teeth biting into his lower lip when you pull away.  While he’s been an immovable bastion against your puerile onslaught, you’ve worked his rigid cock from his briefs.

You’re not going to wait around.

Dipping down hurriedly, the blunt head of his formidable erection taps heavily against your chin just before you wrap your lips around the glans.  He groans when your hand encloses around the base to keep his length steady, and your taste buds burst with the musky flavor of his silky skin and acerbic precum.  

“I don’t want—” voice loud, and strained before he ultimately admits defeat with a meagerly whispered, “feels too good.”

You hum in approval, making him shudder as his right hand tangles in your hair—to help or hinder, you’ve no idea and, frankly, couldn’t give a fuck.  It’s messy, saliva dripping from your mouth to lubricate your hand as you glide up and down his substantial length.  It’s filthy, his hips jerking up involuntarily as you try to lure him into fucking your mouth. 

Much faster than you'd have expected, he declares, “Shit, darlin’, gonna come.”

Detaching from him with a pop, a string of saliva still connects you to him when you look up and genuinely ask, “Where?”  Your hand never stops, jerking him mercilessly.

A moan wrenches from his throat.  “Fuck, anywhere, everywhere!  Inside, please!”

Preening at the words, you dart back down just in time for the first jet of cum to coat the inside of your mouth.  There's so much, it spills past your lips but you swallow greedily and milk him until he’s harshly pulling your hair, probably too sensitive for more attention.  Fuck that, you aggressively lick his spend from his shaft and suck the wet spots staining his briefs.  

Your scalp stings but thick fingers massage away any discomfort as you have your fill lapping at his slowly limpening cock.

“Christ, this was a mistake.”

His soft words are like ice water.  

Sitting up, you wipe your mouth and try to dry your hands on your blouse, ruining your nicest top.  He’s discreetly covering himself as you comb fingers through your hair.  You slide back to your side of the cab and pull down the mirror to find mascara running from uncharacteristically terrified eyes.

The filmy aftertaste of cum in your mouth irritates your gums as you run your tongue over fuzzy-feeling teeth.  Now you know for a fact that it's the second time in life you’re tasting regret and remorse, all in one night.

He’s been doing something throughout the whole process of you making yourself presentable enough to retreat under the cover of darkness, but before you can reach for the door handle his right hand clasps your elbow.

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Your eyes narrow.  “I’ll go where I like, Leo,” you snap.  He still doesn’t let go.

Shifting closer, his scowl is almost menacing.  “Darlin’, we ain’t done.”

“You’re right, ‘cause we never started,” you counter.

His left arm comes up, devoid of the prosthesis, and rests tenderly against your face.  Internally, you wonder if you've hurt him, if that’s why he felt the need to remove the prosthesis, but you’re too prideful to ask.  “Don’t make this out tah be nothin’.”

Contrary to his hardened expression, his eyes are large and wet.  You almost fall for it, but you know better.  

“Don’t pretend it means anything.”

Your words get the intended reaction.  He practically jumps back like a scalded cat.  Fumbling with the handle, you tumble from the cab of the truck onto shaking legs.  You run, the slipping of your panties against your cunt a shameful reminder of everything that could have been.

His shouts are drowned out by your car engine igniting, and you don’t hesitate to step on the gas and blaze out of the parking lot.