“Well, get up and help me look for it. I’ve searched the entire house five times and still haven’t found it.”You grabbed his bicep and pulled him up before he could protest.

He blinked at you in silence. “Alright, alright.” He placed his pen down. “You check the kitchen, bathroom, and your bedroom. I’ll do mine, and the living room.” He held his hand out and you shook it. He looked entirely too serious for someone searching for a missing phone.

It was barely ten minutes later when Caleb heard a faint vibration coming from your sage green couch.

The phone itself wasnt visible at first. Frowning slightly, he leaned in and pushed an arm into the narrow gaps between the cushions, searching blindly.

Another vibration cut through the cushions.

Closer.

His hand paused.

And there it was.

His lips parted, ready to call your name in triumph when the phone lit up, vibrating yet again.

“Okay but be honest y/n… is he always this intense or is it just for you?”

Caleb freezes. Who is he?

Another notification followed.

“No seriously because your roommate gave me a 10 second stare when I said hi to you last week. Should we be worried?”

Oh. Caleb is he.

“…not yet,” he muttered under his breath, answering you when you called from the other room asking if he’d found it yet.

“Come clean y/n, are you guys married or is this some experimental domestic situation?”

His breath hitched.

He almost stepped out of the room to hand you the phone and pretend he had seen nothing, but another notification rooted him in place.

“But no seriously, you can’t keep calling him cute when he’s clearly a menace.”

…Cute?

“Oh please she’s far down the rabbit hole.”

Another message directly followed.

“She has a whole album of his forearms and biceps. Be worried about the real menace here.”

Caleb could feel heat creeping up his neck.

He stared at the screen for a long second.

Then, against his will, he let out a quiet laugh.

“Caleb have you found it yet-“ You stood at the door of the living room, eyes flickering between Caleb and the phone in his hand.

“You found it!”

“Technically.” His gaze refused to meet yours.

“You found the phone long ago, didn’t you?” Your eyes narrowed.

A pause.

His silence was enough of an answer.

“Technically.” He nodded, biting back a smile.

From his hand, the phone vibrated again.

Both of you looked down.

A new message lit up the screen.

“Y/n remember when you said you’d forgive Caleb for literally anything if he just smiled at you.”

“Give me that!” You half shrieked.

“Nuh uh.” He leaned back slightly, holding the phone just out of reach.

You snatched the phone from his hand, pulling it to your chest as you scrolled through all the messages.

Color drained from your face.

“You… you didn’t just read all of that did you?”

He smiled at you.

Slow.

Easy.

Infuriatingly calm.

“Well,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “your friend did say you’d forgive me for anything if i smiled at you.”

A pause.

His smile widened just a little.

This video is something you had never seen before or even thought was possible. You watch, mesmerized by the way the woman’s stomach subtly shifts a visible bulge as he stretches her out.

Heat pools instantly between your thighs, making your breath hitch and a dizzying sensation of fullness hit your gut. He's always so careful with you, so agonizingly gentle, as if you’re something precious he might break if he breathes too hard. But looking at this... a dark part of your brain wonders what it would feel like if he didn't hold back.

"Holy shit..." you whisper to the empty room.

Your hand moves instinctively, fingers sliding down to find slick heat. The video is playing on a loop. Bulge. Stretch. Deep. Repeat. You watch it while your imagination runs wild, replacing the stranger on the screen with the man who owns your heart. You’re picturing his heavy weight pinning you down, his eyes blown wide, filling you until you can’t even scream.

You’re chasing a peak that feels miles away until, suddenly, it isn't. You hit your first orgasm with a stifled gasp, back arching off the mattress, only to find yourself immediately chasing the second one, body trembling and spent in the wake of the first.

By the time the second wave of pleasure ebbs away, you’re a puddle of limbs and heavy eyelids. You’re half conscious, drifting in that beautiful limbo between wakefulness and dreams. In a daze of post orgasmic euphoria, you squint at the screen, your thumb hovering over the comment section.

"How do I send him this without actually sending it to him 😳"

You tap 'send' with a clumsy thumb. You meant to just post it as a thought, a digital scream into the void. But as your eyes flutter shut, your hand twitches a final, involuntary spasm of exhausted muscle. Your thumb slips. It slides across the 'Share' icon, hovers over the very first contact at the top of your recent list, and taps.

Sent.

You don't hear the subtle whoosh of the outgoing message.  Delivered directly to the man who at this very moment is probably staring at a security feed or sipping red wine.

Sylus.

You just fall into a deep, blissful sleep, completely unaware that you've just lit a fuse.

🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛

“Come on, sweetie, don’t give up on me now" Thrust. The impact is heavy, forcing a breathless gasp from your lungs. “You can take it, can’t you?”

He isn't being the gentle, careful man you know. Not today. His hand is hooked firmly behind your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, forcing you to watch the unmistakable, fat bulge stretching the skin of your lower abdomen, proof to just how deep he’s buried himself inside you.

“You wanted this, now you have to take it and you are going to watch.”

And there it is. The reality of it. It’s visceral. It’s exactly what you saw in that video, but it’s a thousand times more intense because it’s him. It’s real.

Your vision swima and just as the shock of it all starts to settle, he shifts. He changes the angle of his hips in a calculated move that hits your G spot dead on. An uninhibited scream tears from your throat, echoing through the room.

“I've been trying to behave,” he says, and the words come out rougher than he probably intended, an edge of frustration bleeding through his usual composure “But you make it so difficult... fuck... by sending me your filthy little thoughts.”

His hand settles against your belly, firm and heavy, and the second he presses down, your body reacts with a sharp inhale. You tense instinctively, muscles coiling around him, but you don't pull away. You can't.

“Can you feel me here?” he asks, breath coming in uneven bursts. He’s buried balls deep and for a split second, you see a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. You make a face, a strange, overwhelmed expression of fullness, and he looks like he might actually pull back to give you a moment to breathe. He thinks he’s pushing too hard.

He’s wrong.

Don't you dare.

Driven by a desperation you didn't know you possessed, you move your hips in a searching rhythm, pressing his hand down harder against your stomach. You want the pressure. You want to feel the exact point where he meets your skin from the inside.

He lets out a loud groan at the sensation. Your narrow walls clamp down on him, tighter than they've ever been. Every millimeter of space between you feels like it’s disappearing, leaving nothing but friction and heat.

You don't have the words to tell him that you never want him to stop, so your body does the talking. You cling to him, legs wrapping around his waist as he holds you there, keeping you exactly where you are until your breathing turns unsteady.

Until your body softens in momentary surrender and tightens again a second later, as if you're fighting a war with yourself, trying to decide whether to let go or to hold on tighter.

In the end, you don't choose. You do both.

The world dissolves into a hot haze of pleasure. It couldn't be called an orgasm because this feels like a total system failure. You’re sobbing his name or maybe you’re just gasping for air, you can’t tell anymore as waves of pleasure crash over you, violent and unrelenting. Your pussy seizes around him in long pulses, milking him, begging for the very thing that’s pushing you past your limit.

He follows you a few seconds later, burying himself soooo deep you feel the hot rush of him filling you.

Slowly, the fog begins to lift, leaving you in a state of blissful, heavy lethargy. The hand that was just pressing so ruthlessly into your belly softens, fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin.

"You really are a menace." he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.

The shame you expected to feel, the embarrassment of that accidental video is nowhere to be found. Instead, there is only a sense of immense satisfaction.

"Next time," he whispers into your hair "don't bother sending a link. Just tell me. I'll give you everything you desire. Every single time."

The problem with being in love with a man like Xavier is that your brain is constantly a minefield of "what ifs."

He’s incredible, truly, but you’ve noticed the way he pulls back sometimes. When he’s brooding or when that possessive jealousy starts to prickle at him, he becomes almost too careful. Like he’s afraid he might actually break you if he lets go of that restraint.

So, naturally, you’ve been doing a little "research" to keep the inspiration alive.

Now, you’re sitting on the edge of your bathtub, scrolling through your feed, a habit that’s becoming a bit of a vice, when a video catches your eye. A girl pinned to a mattress, her head pressed down by her partner as he fucks her from behind. Hard. The sound of her moans echoes in your ears through your headphones and suddenly the bathroom feels about ten degrees too hot.

God, yes.

You quickly save the link to your "later" folder, a digital stash of things you want him to eventually try, and then scribble a quick, thirsty comment on the video "This but with my boyfriend dressed as Lumiere 🤤 " and set your phone down.

Buzz. Buzz.

A notification lights up the screen. It’s him.

[Xavier]: Found a new hot pot place. Apparently, the broth is spicy enough to kill a Wanderer. Want to go tonight? Please say yes so I can stop thinking about food and start thinking about you.

A soft laugh escapes you. He’s so predictable, yet so devastatingly charming when he wants to be. Your answer is an immediate "sure" because you’d say yes to a lukewarm bowl of water if he was the one serving it.

But he always forgets to look at the menu and ends up ordering something way too spicy or something you're not in the mood for, so you look for the restaurant's menu.

You see the link. Tap it. Copy. Paste. Add "Look at the options! The spicy broth looks insane." Send.

Funny thing is, you don't actually copy the menu's URL, you just cut it. You don't even realize you just sent him the very un culinary link to the video you were just watching to fuel your own delusions.

Little typing bubbles appear. They dance for a long time. They disappear. They reappear.

He's so indecisive.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

"Lumiere?" the name sounds like a curse "You wanted Lumiere to pin you down?"

Your face is pressed so firmly into the mattress that the fabric feels like a part of your own skin, the scent of laundry detergent mixing with the heat of the moment. Every time he thrusts into you, the world tilts, your vision blurring into white light and dark shadows. The Xavier who kisses your forehead and cuddles with you is buried somewhere deep inside the man currently fucking you breathless.

"Xavie..." you try to speak, but his name dies in your throat as he shifts his weight.

"Tell me," he demands, losing the battle with his own restraint. He hits you hard, a deep, soul shaking thrust that forces a broken moan from your lips. "Tell me you don't need a costume to feel this."

You try to answer, to tell him he's being ridiculous...

Smack!

The sting of his palm against your ass makes you gasp, your fingers clawing at the mattress for purchase.

"You sent it to me on purpose," he mutters as he leans down, his chest pressing hard against your back. "You wanted to see me like this, didn't you? You wanted to see if I could be as rough as him."

He doesn't want an answer. He doesn't wait for one. He just wants to hear you whimper his name when he hits that perfect spot.

His hand presses your face down even harder into the mattress, muffling your cries. It's everything you were craving when you were scrolling through your phone earlier, but the reality is a thousand times better.

You start to move, trying to meet him halfway, trying to grind back against him to find the friction that will push you over the edge.

"Faster..." you beg, trying to turn your head to tell him that there is no Lumiere, there is only him, but he just presses you back down, his thumb grazing your hip bone with trembling pressure.

"Shhhhhh, just a little bit more," he lets out a long groan, his forehead dropping to rest against the back of your neck for a fleeting second before he surges upward again. "You should see the way your pussy is taking my cock right now, so greedy. Just for me."

His hand shifts. It leaves the back of your head to find the column of your throat. His thumb and middle finger curl around your neck not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he is in total control.

He stills for a heartbeat, his middle finger softly tapping the pulsing vein in your neck. "Every beat belongs to me tonight"

You just nod, a jerky movement, because you are standing on the very edge of a precipice, and the fall is coming. The tension in your lower belly is wound so tight it’s almost painful.

"Say it," he breathes, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his words a warm, humid ghost of a sensation, his control fraying at the edges.

"Yours," you finally whisper, like secret you’ve been holding in your lungs for far too long, finally allowed to breathe.

The moment the word leaves your lips, he loses the last of his mercy.

He pulls back almost entirely, leaving you aching and empty for a fraction of a second only to drive back in, bottomless and bruising. It’s a cycle of withdrawal and overwhelming fullness that leaves you reeling.

"Give me what's mine" the command vibrates through your entire body.

The world dissolves into white light as your head falls forward, muscles spasming in the violent quake of your climax, but he catches your hair, tugging just enough to force your head up, his face inches from yours, his eyes dark and swirling with a hunger that could swallow the stars.

"Good girl," he whispers against your parted, trembling lips.

He thrusts one last time, deep and final, spilling molten heat as your name breaks from his lips, torn in half by bliss before he presses a kiss between your shoulder blades. For now, the jealousy is gone. There is only the quiet, heavy reality of being his.

The video catches your eye instantly. The lighting is a soft purple, casting a surreal glow over the two people on screen. A girl is on top, her movements slow and agonizingly deliberate as she drags her pussy over her partners cock, the rhythm of it making your cunt clench.

Tonight you are in a "no filter" mood. You need to share this. You need to tell Tara.

With a smirk, you tap the share icon, copy the link, and switch over to your messages. You find Tara’s profile pic or so you think and start typing with the kind of unhinged energy only a best friend can appreciate.

You and Tara have long since abandoned the concept of "boundaries" when it comes to your filthy late night chats.

“Omg Tara, look at this. Raf’s cock is so pretty, I swear if he’d just let me do this to him, I’d never leave the bedroom again 🥵💦”

You hit send with a satisfied whoosh and let out a long, dramatic sigh. Silence follows. For a few minutes you go back to scrolling, blissfully unaware that you have just dropped a digital bomb into the inbox of a man who is already struggling to maintain his composure.

Your phone vibrates.

It’s not a "LOL" or a "Damn" from Tara.

It’s a notification from Rafayel.

Rafayel: Is that so?

Your heart skips a beat. You frown, squinting at the name at the top of the chat.

Wait.

Your face goes from pale to a shade of red that would put a sunset to shame. You stare at the screen, wanting to physically crawl inside the phone and disappear forever. You want to delete it. You want to throw the phone out the window. You want to move to a different planet.

But then, the little typing bubbles appear again.

Rafayel: Don't just sit there blushing, cutie. I'm coming to your place and you are going to show me exactly what you want"

🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧

You’ve lost track of time. Your thighs are starting to ache, every muscle in your legs feels tight, strained from holding yourself upright, yet you keep moving. You have to. The friction is the only thing keeping you grounded.

You’re straddling him, your knees digging into the soft linens, focused on the way your cunt drags over his cock. Slippery. Hot. Wet.

Every time you slide down, the underside of him, that thick ridge presses ruthlessly against your clit. You can feel the vein running along his length pulse in perfect synch with your clit. 

Thump thump. Thump thump. 

"Slow down..." he groans, gripping your hips "You're going to... fuuuuck... you're going to kill me"

The friction is creating a heat of its own, a sliding friction that makes your head spin. You watch slightly delirious, as the light from the moon filters through the window, catching the sheen of sweat on his pale skin and the way his hair is plastered to his forehead. He looks wrecked. He looks beautiful. He looks like he belongs entirely to you.

But his hands are far from weak. They are heavy weights anchored to your hips, and he uses them to sabotage you. Just when you think you’ve found a rhythm that might actually save you, he tightens his grip, forcing your hips to slow, dragging the slide of your pussy out into a long, shallow glide.

It’s cruel. A sadistic kind of torture, making the night feel endless, as if the clock has stopped just to watch you suffer.

He wants to stretch this out. He wants to milk every drop of anticipation from your veins until your entire body begins to tremble, not from pleasure, but from the weight of the climax that refuses to arrive. He wants to push you to that edge where even your silence sounds filthy, where the quiet between your breaths is thick with the unspoken things you want to do to him.

Once he’s satisfied with the slow pace, his hands begin to wander. They trace the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, the swell of your breasts, learning your body the way a sinner learns to pray. Like hunger learning the art of restraint just long enough to make the eventual feast mean something.

You slide back just a fraction, settling the heat of your pussy directly over his balls and then you reach down.

Your fingers wrap around the base of his cock, just like you saw in that video. You begin to stroke him while simultaneously rotating your hips in a circular grind over the heavy fullness of his balls.

The sound that tears from his throat is something unhuman, a vibration that feels like it's coming from the depths of the ocean.

Your name is caught between his teeth in a soft, sinful exhale. He sounds undone, completely unraveled by the sight of you taking exactly what you claimed you wanted in that accidental text.

He’s right there, on the edge of an unravelling collapse.

And because you are just like him, a creature of beautiful, chaotic impulse, you don't let him have it. Not yet.

You release his cock, hand slipping away just as the tension reaches its peak, and drag your soaked cunt back up the entire length of him in one loooong slide.

It feels like a collision of two fires.

In your desperation to feel everything you let your entire weight drop. The clench of your pussy as you cum wraps around the underside of his cock, squeezing him with a force that leaves him absolutely helpless.

He has no choice but to follow you into the fire.

Spurts of his cum paint the pale skin of his stomach, the liquid warmth spreading in thick, white streaks, pooling in his belly button.

For a few seconds, neither of you moves. There is only the sound of your breathing and the humid scent of your shared exhaustion.

“Was that pretty enough for you, cutie?” he teases, though his hand trembles slightly as he reaches up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His thumb lingers on your cheek, like he’s constantly checking to make sure you haven't vanished into the night. "Or do we need to do it again?"

It’s late, way past the time Zayne would usually be nudging you to sleep but he’s still tucked away in his office, probably buried under a mountain of medical charts or surgical reports.

Your eyes are glued to your phone screen, watching a VIDEO of a girl grinding against a man’s thigh, bodies pressed together, his hands steady even as she buries her face in the crook of his neck. The guy in the video is wearing pajamas that look disturbingly similar to the ones Zayne is wearing right now.

Suddenly, the empty space in your bed feels a little too vast, your mind drifting to the office down the hall, aching to be that girl, to climb onto his Zayne's lap while he’s buried in medical charts and just... fuck yourself stupid.

You want to reach down and touch yourself but you’re a loud sleeper and an even louder moaner. If you start now, there’s no way he won't hear you through the walls, and you aren't quite ready for that kind of intimacy yet. So, you settle for a bit of digital venting. With a flushed face, you type out a quick comment on the video: "God, I wish I could do this while he's working..."

You go to save the link to your "Filthy Things" folder for a proper session tomorrow morning, but just as your thumb hovers over the screen, your phone starts vibrating. It’s Simone. She’s calling, probably to gossip about something trivial. In your rush to swipe the call and answer her, your finger taps the wrong folder.

And because Zayne is a man who is always, always connected to his devices for work... he’s going to see the notification the exact second it pops up.

🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺

It didn't take long. After that little "digital accident," the silence between you two wasn't awkward so much as it was heavy. Charged. He didn't even tease you about the comment. He didn't even blush. He just looked at you with those piercing eyes, a tiny, knowing quirk at the corner of his mouth, and silently commanded you to come to him.

And now, here you are. Perched on his lap, doing the same thing you saw on that video. Your lower half is completely bare, your thighs hugging his muscular one as you press yourself flush against him.

The friction is driving you completely insane.

Zayne, however, is a man of terrifying discipline.

His left hand is braced on your lower back, while his right hand moves across his keyboard. He’s actually working. He’s reviewing files, typing out notes, behaving as if you aren't currently trying to melt into his lap. Every so often, he’ll pause, not to stop you, but to lean in. His breath, cool and smelling faintly of mint, brushes against the shell of your ear, sending a violent shiver down your spine.

"Ah... Zayne..." you whimper against his neck as you press yourself harder against him. The sound is loud, far too loud for his quiet office and you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

"Hush now," he doesn't even look away from the monitor, though you notice the slight tightening of his jaw. "I need to focus. These reports won't write themselves."

He’s being difficult. He’s being a tease. And you love him for it.

You try to be "good." You force yourself to still when he has to write something long on his computer. You sit there, trembling slightly, waiting for him to acknowledge the havoc you're wreaking on his concentration.

A moment passes. The only sound is the soft click clack of the keyboard. Then, you feel his hand slide from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you just a fraction of an inch closer, a subtle command for you to keep going.

"Good girl," he whispers, the words a warm caress against your ear.

His expression is completely professional, but the way his fingers linger on your skin tells a completely different story. He’s still working, yes but he’s also letting you feel exactly how much of a distraction you really are.

Every time your thighs tense up, every time you desperately bite your lower lip to stifle a moan that threatens to shatter the silence, the air thickens with indecency.

He’s struggling. You aren't blind. You can feel the insistent twitch of his cock beneath you, reacting to every open mouthed kiss you press against the pulse of his neck, the sharp line of his collarbone, and the smooth expanse of his Adam's apple. He’s trying to maintain that surgeon’s calm, but his body is betraying him with every shuddering breath you take.

You’re right on the edge. Your clit is catching perfectly against the fabric of his pajamas, the material already damp and clinging to you from the amount of arousal you're leaking.

"Look at me."

His voice cuts through the air, forcing your gaze up. He wants to see the exact moment your eyes glaze over, the moment your breath hitches and tells the truth that your lips are trying so hard to hide.

When his hand slides up to cup your jaw, it isn't the gentle, comforting touch you're used to during a quiet movie on the couch. It's different. It's possessive. It’s a disciplined kind of dominance, a reminder that while he is the composed Zayne in the daylight, there is a much darker man caged behind that professional composure and you are the only one who knows how to let him out.

"You are close, aren't you, love?" he whispers, his lips hovering so close to yours that you can feel the heat of his breath.

You can barely manage a nod, your lungs feeling too small for the air you're trying to pull in. You're breathing directly into his slightly parted mouth.

"Cum for me, then," he exhales, a rare flush creeping up his cheeks, betraying just how much this is affecting him too.

He shifts his thigh, bouncing it up and down in a rhythmic motion that catches your clit perfectly.

The world tilts. You feel your eyes lose focus and you can't tell if it's the shaking of your limbs or the pounding of your heart that's making you tremble so violently.

"Zaynie... Zayne..."

His name becomes your entire vocabulary, there are no words left, only the sound of his name on your lips and the crashing sensation of finally, finally letting go.

You are flicking through a never ending stream of mindless clips and memes. It’s supposed to be a quiet afternoon, just a bit of scrolling to kill the time until Caleb comes back, but then there...

A VIDEO pops up. It’s not your usual aesthetic travel vlog or a cooking hack.

You freeze, your heart doing a weird, little skip in your chest. You know you should probably swipe past it, but your eyes are glued to the screen. It’s a girl, her lace panties completely drenched. The guy in the video isn't even taking them off, he’s just sliding the tip of his cock against her through the wet lace.

A sudden warmth blooms deep in your belly, spreading down until it feels like you’re melting into the cushions. God, you’ve been craving that. The teasing, the slow, agonizing buildup. You’ve spent so much money on delicate, expensive little sets, thinking maybe Caleb would appreciate the way they look on you, but hes a fucking dog. He doesn't do "slow." He usually just rips them or tugs them off with impatience, going straight for the heat of you. You just want him to play with you like that. To linger.

Your inhibitions are a little frayed from the visual, and before your brain can catch up to your impulse, your thumbs are flying. You tap the comment section, the screen a mess of unhinged messages from strangers, and you add your own little confession: “I really need him to play with me like this, but he prefers to eat it raw from the start😢”

You hit send, a tiny, embarrassed flush creeping up your neck, and immediately swipe the video away, feeling a bit silly for being so vulnerable to a bunch of internet strangers.

You toss the phone onto the cushion next to you a second later, completely oblivious to one mortifying detail. He’d logged into his account on your phone earlier when his own battery died, and you hadn't bothered to switch back.

In his office, the most dangerous man in Skyhaven is about to watch, in explicit detail, how you want to be ruined.

🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷

It turns out your assessment of him was spot on. The man is a fucking dog.

He hasn't taken your underwear off. That’s the part that’s driving you absolutely insane. The delicate lace is currently soaked, clinging to your pussy like a second, translucent layer of skin. He’s been working his tongue against the fabric, licks so long and heavy they feel like they’re reaching deep inside you. You’ve already been hit by two earth shattering, toe curling orgasms, your vision blurring every time his mouth finds your clit through the damp cloth. He hasn't even slowed down. If anything, it's getting worse.

“This is the reason I usually take off those pretty panties you wear” he presses his face into you, his broad tongue sweeping up in one stroke against your entire slit. You let out a choked, broken sound, fingers tangling desperately in his dark hair, trying to push him away just to catch your breath.

“Your scent is so fucking addictive,” he groans against your skin, “Especially after wearing them all day... knowing you've been walking around, smelling like this, just waiting for me.”

Then, he says something that makes your heart skip a beat not out of fear, but out of pure shock.

“You have no idea, do you?” he pants, nose brushing against your clit. “Last two years of High School... I spent them stroking my cock raw just to the smell of your panties. Thinking about you. Wishing you were right there."

Your vision blurs. Your hips jerk upward involuntarily as a third wave of pleasure crashes over you. You cum hard, your entire body shaking as you spill yourself directly onto his tongue, voice breaking into a high, desperate sob of his name.

He doesn't pull away. He just drinks you in, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he tastes exactly what he's been craving.

The moment your legs stop trembling he hooks his fingers into the soaked gusset and drags it to the side, baring your swollen folds and your pulsing clit, sensitive from his relentless attention.

He doesn't thrust in. He doesn't go for the full stretch you’ve been silently praying for. Instead, he slides the drooling tip of his cock over your slit. He isn't even entering you yet, he's just... slapping it against your clit, teasing the very edge of your tolerance.

You wanted the lace, the play, the slow burn... but God, you also wanted him to fuck you until you couldn't remember your name. You wanted the stretch.

But Caleb is a man who listens. Or rather, he's a man who has spent a lifetime studying every detail of your desires and right now he is giving you exactly what you asked for.

He leans down, his eyes dark, watching the way your face contorts with pleasure and frustration. He doesn't give you the release of a full thrust, he just feeds you the tip. He slides just the head of his cock into your pussy, a teasing invasion that barely makes a dent.

The reaction is instantaneous. Your walls react to him like a living thing, clenching around him, desperately trying to suck him deeper, to pull the rest of him in. The sensation is so perfectly matched that a synchronized moan breaks from both of you.

He pulls out just a fraction and then he thrusts the tip back in. Over and over again.

“Please,” you whimper, the word sounding pathetic even to your own ears. “Baby, please...”

You’re trying to force him to go deeper. But he’s in total control. His left hand is working the length of his cock, pumping with a desperate rhythm, while his right hand finds your clit.

His eyes are pinned to yours, watching every flicker of emotion on your face as if he’s trying to memorize the way you fall apart.

And then, the teasing ends.

His mushroom tip, still nestled just inside your entrance, begins to pulse. Warm, thick spurts of cum hit your sensitive walls, flooding the tiny space he’s occupied.

Your pussy clenches around the tip of his cock, trying to suck every last drop out of him while his hand squeezes the rest of his length, forcing the remainder of his seed into you, filling you up until his cum starts to leak out.

He finally collapses against you, the weight of his body pressing you deep into the mattress.

"You're so loud when you're happy," he murmurs before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple, then your cheek, before finally settling his lips against yours in a kiss that tastes of salt and everything you are to him.

He pulls back just a bit, his gaze dropping to where the soaked lace of your panties still clings to your thighs, then back up to your eyes. There’s a flicker of that obsessive intensity returning to his expression.

"There isn't a single thing in this world you could ask for that wouldn't make me crawl to you. So don't hold back, Pips."

he leans down, his lips brushing your ear. "i know, baby. i know. but i’m going to make you wait. because the longer i take, the better it’ll feel when i finally touch you." he undresses you slowly, his fingers working each button, each zipper, until you’re standing in front of him in nothing but your underwear. he steps back, his eyes raking over you. "beautiful," he says. "now lay down."

olderbf!nanami who eats you out like it’s a meditation, like he could spend hours between your thighs and never get bored. you’re on your back, your legs over his shoulders, and he’s taking his time, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes.

"n-nanami—please—" you gasp, your hands fisting the sheets. he looks up at you, his mouth glistening.

"patience," he says, his voice calm even as he slides two fingers inside you. "i’m going to make you cum. but i’m going to do it my way." he curls his fingers, finding that spot that makes your vision blur, his tongue circling your clit with agonizing precision.

you’re moaning, your hips rolling, but he holds you down with one hand on your stomach. "stay still," he orders gently. "let me take care of you."

olderbf!nanami who fucks you slow and deep, his hips rolling in a rhythm that has you seeing stars. you’re on your stomach, your face pressed into the pillow, and he’s behind you, his chest pressed to your back, his cock buried so deep you can barely breathe.

"nanami—h-harder!!—" you beg, trying to push back against him. he stills, his hand sliding up your spine to grip the back of your neck.

"no," he says, his voice firm but kind. "you take what i give you." he starts moving again, each thrust deliberate, each roll of his hips dragging against your walls in a way that makes you sob. "you feel that?" he murmurs against your ear. "that’s me. all of me. and you’re going to take every inch, just like this. until you can’t think about anything but how full you are."

olderbf!nanami who makes you ask for what you want, his voice low and commanding. you’re straddling him, his cock inside you, but he’s not moving.

he’s just watching you, his hands on your hips, his thumbs stroking your skin.

"p-please, i.... i can't—" you whimper, trying to roll your hips. he holds you still.

"use your words," he says. "tell me what you want."

"i-i want you to move," you gasp. "i want you to fuck me."

he smiles, small and satisfied. "good girl. now ask nicely."

you bite your lip, your face burning.

"please fuck me, nanami. please."

he rewards you with a slow thrust upward, his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes you moan. "that’s it," he praises. "that's my girl."

olderbf!nanami who holds you after, his arms wrapped around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. you’re lying on his chest, your body still trembling, your mind fuzzy with pleasure.

he’s stroking your hair, his lips pressed to the top of your head. "you did so well," he murmurs. "so beautiful. so perfect." you nuzzle closer, your eyes already drifting shut.

"you’re too good to me," you whisper. he kisses your forehead.

"no such thing. you deserve everything. and i’m going to give it to you for as long as you’ll let me."

olderbf!nanami who wakes you up in the morning with his mouth between your legs, because he’s not done taking care of you yet. you’re half-asleep, your body warm and heavy, when you feel his hands on your thighs, spreading you open.

"nanami—" you start, but then his tongue is on you, and you’re gasping, your hands flying to his hair. he looks up at you, his eyes dark.

"good morning," he says, his voice rough with sleep. "lay back. let me love you." and you do. because when nanami wants to be patient, you let him. every single time.

tags :

babygirl : @sadisticslut666

zayne doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. the door’s cracked open just enough so he can see you, and he just can’t seem to take his eyes off you. even through the fogged up glass of the shower he can see the silhouette of your body, blurs of pretty pink lace adorning your skin.

before he knows it, his hand is on his cock. thick and veiny, it’s hard just from the thought of you. he teases himself as he yearns for you, wishing it was your hand instead. he tugs on himself, eyes fluttering as his jaw grows slack, a breath escaping his throat. he turns around in the shower so the water hits his back before tugging again, eyes flitting closed as he rasps your name. he could physically feel his knees weaken; what was happening to him?

zayne reaches a hand towards the shower wall, steadying himself as hot water continues to downpour on him. he’s burning. it’s too hot, it’s too much. he turns the temperature down, turning around so the colder water hit hit face, his chest. his eyes are still closed as he unhurriedly strokes himself, another hiss of his lover’s name tumbling past his lips.

now that he thinks about it, when was the last time the two of you had been intimate? with both of you leading busy lives, zayne being a doctor and you being a hunter, spending time with one another was rare. but you knew it would be like this even before you became official, both of you did. nonetheless, you made it work—navigating through the thick and thin.

zayne’s horny mind quickly found itself thinking about the phone sex from a week ago; it had become a norm in your relationship. he loved hearing your sighs and whimpers over the call as you tried to keep yourself quiet in your cold, empty hotel room you often found yourself in during missions. but still, whenever it happened, your fingers could never replicate the feeling of his dexterous ones, and his fist didn’t feel as good as your dainty one. it was in no way as good as the real thing, but it was good enough to satisfy both of you when you’re apart.

but now you’re here, and so is he, and he’s so excited. it’s painfully obvious with the way he is shamelessly touching himself, eyes half lidded as they roam down your silhouette. his sweet, loving girlfriend is finally home, wearing new lingerie, has given him her consent and he is definitely going to be taking advantage of it.

he comes out of the shower a few minutes later, not even bothering with getting dressed. zayne just had his towel hanging low on his hips, hair still damp. he didn’t let himself finish, wanting to do it when he fucks you instead. plus, why would waste cum when he can dump it in you? his mind gets full of ideas, but when he’s standing beside the bed his heart goes soft. he picks up the note again, rereading it.

he flips the paper over. ‘i have the day off tomorrow!’

could this get any more perfect?

zayne puts the note down back on the nightstand before turning his attention to you. he sat down, the mattress creaking under him as he brushed the hair away from your face. he’s so soft, gentle and domestic, as he leans down to kiss your cheek, catching a whiff of your shampoo.

you started to shift, mumbling incoherently before you stilled again, still asleep. zayne pulled back, letting one of his hands wander. he traced to smooth curve of your neck, drawing mindless shapes as his hands travelled further down. it finally settled on your waist, thumb rubbing back and forth on your silky, pliable skin.

it didn’t stay there for long, though—he couldn’t stop himself from exploring further. his hand goes further south, tracing the intricate details of the lacy panties you wore. eventually zayne’s hand is between your thighs, forefinger swiping across your slit-

but then he realizes that they’re crotchless.

you, his innocent devoted girlfriend, bought crotchless lingerie.

dirty girl!

he couldn’t help but to smirk, his face heating up at the discovery.

he quickly bring his hand to his mouth, spitting on his middle and ring fingers. his hand returned to you cunt, teasing and spreading you open. you may be asleep, but he could feel the way your body reacted to his touch.

“zayne,” he caught his name amidst your slumberous mumbling. it caused his smile to grow.

slowly, carefully, he could feel you getting wetter and wetter. his fingers traveled upwards towards your clit, not quite touching. he circled his finger around it, mindful of not applying direct pressure but still aware of how the muscles of your thighs twitched when he brushed against it.

even in your sleep, you’re so reactive to him.

zayne’s skilled fingers made their way back to you slit, prodding at your entrance before pushing in. of course he caught the way your walls happily welcomed him in, fluttering and throbbing like it’s been ages since they’ve had any attention. his fingers scissored and thrusted inside you, stretching you out to take his painfully hard cock. he fisted himself with his free hand, eyes blissfully closed and head thrown back as his thumb rubbed circles on your clit. the towel he wore was long forgotten on the floor, but he couldn’t care less right now—not when he had you all to himself after god knows how long.

your mindless whimpers were music to his ears, a sound he’d never tire from hearing. he felt your velvet walls fluttering and throbbing around his fingers, and combined with the way your thighs quivered and spasmed, he knew you were close. you arms tightened around his pillow and you buried your face further into it, shoulder rising and falling faster as your breathing picked up.

“mm-mmh,” your hums and whimpers filled the room, along with the squelches of your wetness against his fingers. with a hitched breath and a soft pant, you came undone around his fingers, cunt wildly throbbing around zayne’s digits.

he eased you through your orgasm, slowing down his fingers with a subtle smile on his lips. he withdrew them, leaving your puckering hole trying to clench around nothing as he brought his fingers to his mouth. zayne hummed at the taste of your sweetness, licking his fingers clean of your juices. he knew it was lewd. he just made you come while you’re asleep! but he just couldn’t resist; why would he waste a delicacy like this?

he stopped pumping himself—hard, fat cock resting against his stomach as he let himself go. with prominent veins and an angry tip, he was aching to finally be inside you. zayne grabbed a pillow, settling it so it was under your hips before he moved so he was on top of you, seamlessly slipping inside your heat and bottoming out into a prone bone.

you shifted under him, a looong whine leaving your throat when he pushed himself in. he waited until you settled to move again, slowly pulling himself out before gently pushing back in. he continued his slow, unhurried pace as he noticed you waking up from your slumber.

“zay- hah,” your voice was meek, quiet, riddled with sleep. “zayne,” you almost whined, tired tone taking over as mewls continued to leave you.

“good morning, sleeping beauty.” he whispered into your ear, leaning down to place a kiss on your trapezius. “sleep well?”

“mmhmmm,” you hummed dreamily, hiding the growing smile on your face by hiding your face in the pillow. “oh!”

“i apologize for being late,” zayne continued to sweetly talk to you, keeping his tempo slow and controlled. “there was an emergency surgery—you know how that goes.”

you hummed once more, only half paying attention to what your boyfriend was saying. your mind was more pre occupied with how he was making love to you. “‘s okay,” your words slurred, still quiet as you arms stayed wrapped about his pillow. “big fancy surgeon stuff.”

“mm, exactly.” he nosed where your neck and shoulder met, inhaling the sweet scent of your body wash. he let his eyes close, pace speeding up just a crumb. he let his lips linger on your skin, pressing his words into you. “i love you.”

“i- mmh, love you too.”

he smiled, one hand gliding down to you waist. “i like these,” he pulled at the waistband and let go of it, causing it to hit your skin with a smack! “did you get them while you were away?”

you hummed again, nodding. still too sleepy to form full, coherent sentences.

“words, sweetheart,” he grunted, a particularly hard thrust eliciting a moan from the both of you. “i need words. use them.”

“y-yes,” you replied quietly, eyes closed as your fingers curled against the pillow. “knew you liked the colour, so i- mm, got a pair.”

“they’re crotchless,” he smirked against your skin, eyes opening slightly to watch your expression. “dirty girl.”

zayne could see the way your cheeks grew rosier, matching the lingerie that garnished your body. “aw, are you shy, darling?”’

your whine of his name left him reeling. his pace sped up, the pap! pap! pap! of your skin drowning out your noises of pleasure.

“zayne!” you mewled with a gasp of his name, back arching deliciously against him. “hah- harder!”

“what’s the magic word, my love?”

“nnmh- please,” your face went deeper into the pillow, fingers gripping at the pillowcase helplessly.

he listened, humming contently as you did as he asked. “very good,”

your body rocked back and forth with the power of his thrusts, sweet mewls trailing past your lips. zayne’s head was up in the stratosphere with how well you were taking him, velvety walls gripping onto him like a vice. he sped up his pace, one hand resting on your waist—pulling you down onto him—while the other stayed by your head, supporting himself.

you turned your head just slightly, looking over your shoulder at the doctor. you took in his drip-drip-dripping hair and the way the smell of his body wash was stronger, even if it was masked by the scent of sex. you concluded he must’ve just taken a shower. you were snapped out of your thoughts when the bulbous head of his cock bumped against your g-spot, eliciting a breathy moan from your lips. “hngh, zayne, there!”

“right—“ he grunted, biting his bottom lip in concentration. he thrusted again, hard, hitting the spot you wanted. “here?”

“yes!”

he chuckled at your earnest response, pushing his cock against that spot repeatedly. he looked down, watching the way he kept disappearing into you, mesmerized.

“atta girl, taking me so well.”

“theeere you go, just like that.”

you could feel that familiar coil in your stomach, the one that left your body tingling and buzzing with electricity. your noises became sharper, more needier, and he picked up on that almost immediately.

“wait, wait-“ zayne panted quickly pulling out. you clenched around nothing, whining at the feeling of being empty. “wanna see your face with you come, love.”

he flipped you around effortlessly, pillow still under your hips as he spread your legs. his cock easily found its way back into you, like coming home from a long day. your back arched at the new angle, lips parted and eyes closed as zayne cradled you head in his hands.

“so pretty f’me, darling,” he praised, hips moving again as he found his pace once more. he leaned down, capturing you lips a with his own, devouring your little noises.

your hands came up to touch him, raking through his hair, clawing at his shoulders, just trying to hold onto anything. “z-zayne, mmh, so- so close! keep going!”

one of his hands snaked down your body, past the valley between your breasts and down your stomach, index finger just ghosting past your clit. it was teasing, mischievous, and he knew it. smirking against your lips, he nibbled at them as you let out a needy and annoyed whine.

“hah-harder!”

he didn’t have to be told twice.

zayne pinched your swollen, puffy clit before he drew stars on it, observing with a watchful gaze as your body shook and spasmed. he couldn’t help the smirk that crawled onto his lips—he was the one making you feel this way. he’s the one that’s making you tremble beneath him, right on the brink of your orgasm. it was his name that sweetly fell from your lips like a mantra.

that gave him a bigger ego boost than it probably should’ve.

your cunt fluttered and squeezed around him, trying to milk him for all he’s worth. “so- so close-!”

“i know, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he cooed, his thumb tracing the shell of your ear. your thighs shuddered, chest heaving with your quick intakes of air.

you came with a cry of your lover’s name, back arching off the mattress as your legs grew numb. your walls pulsated are him, desperately trying to keep him in you. a few more thrusts and zayne came as well, head hanging above yours as he whispered sweet nothings. he stilled, making no movement to take himself out of you—just staying together in the most intimate way possible, coming down from your highs and breathing syncing up.

your eyelids flitted open, your hands coming up to cup zayne’s face. you pulled, bringing his head down to yours as you placed a sweet kiss onto his lips. “thank you,”

“mm,” he hummed, smiling against you as he placed another kiss onto you. “of course.”

he reluctantly pulled out, eyes flickering down to your poor, picking hole, oozing with the combined aftermath of your orgasms. zayne moved off the bed, quickly making his way to the bathroom to grab a washcloth and running it under some warm water before he returned to you.

your eyes were closed, blissfully fucked out, legs still spread for him. a sigh escaped you as he ran the towel on your thighs before making his way between them, careful and delicate, like the gentleman he is.

after discarding the towel, he came back to you. the mattress dipped under his weight as he pulled you onto his chest, kissing the top of your head as his hands raked through your hair. you were already close to falling asleep, he could tell, and a small smile graced his lips. “i love you.”

“mmh, love you too.” you mumbled, pushing yourself further onto his body.

his eyes flickered to the bedside table again, where your pink fuzzy still rested. maybe he’ll use those next time, he thinks before joining you and falling asleep.

-

tags: @envy-of-greed @sethell @doncbaguette @hirostrvw @naammiii