Apple Lover 🍎 Mama to one little Apple Pie ❤️

You’d always known Caleb loved to spoil you. He snuck you candy when you were little, sweet drinks when you were in school, and shopping sprees after you’d moved in with him in Skyhaven. It made him happy to know he was the one that gave you such joy or pleasure. You always returned it though, peppering his face with kisses or sitting on his lap and playing with his hair while you chatted idly.

He noticed how calm and happy you always looked after a hair appointment. You ran your fingers through the freshly washed and styled locks and sighed contentedly. Curiosity overcame him, and he asked to go with you to the next one.

It was several weeks later, but he didn’t let you forget your promise. He sat in the waiting area and watched as your stylist brought you to wash your hair. You grinned happily as the warm water hit your head and groaned with a laugh as she washed your scalp gently. As you two talked in between shampooing and conditioning, he understood. Your head was a little sensitive.

As you walked back to your seat with a hand holding a towel to your hair, you smiled at him and blew him a kiss. And being himself, Caleb just attacked like you shot him straight through the heart. Your giggle made him grin and he watched again as the stylist began brushing it. He noticed she took her time, making sure every tangle was gone and even sweeping all your hair into one hand and brushing up from the back of your neck. He couldn’t have missed the shivers and the way your eyes closed in delight at this action.

As he mentally took notes, he wished he’d realized this sweet spot sooner, planning to use it to his advantage as soon as possible.

Your hair was then blow dried into a style you loved and you couldn’t stop touching it even when the stylist lovingly smacked your hands away so you wouldn’t get it oily too fast.

You bounced over to Caleb and he pulled you in by the waist.

“You look amazing, honey,” he grinned, leaning in to kiss your temple and inhale the sweet scent from your hair.

“Thank you! It’s so soft…” you said, smiling as you brushed it lightly off your shoulder.

He continued complimenting you in order to pay without you noticing. Only when you pulled out your wallet and your stylist gave you a smirk did you understand.

“You smooth talker!” She scolded him, making him and your stylist laugh.

“You should have been using my card this whole time, Pip.”

“I have enough to pay for my own haircuts, Caleb,” you said, only slightly annoyed but mostly still enjoying the leftover tingles in your scalp.

—//—//

The next day, you woke up next to Caleb as usual and snuggled closer into him as he rubbed your back.

“Good morning,” he muttered. You would never tire of his voice raspy with sleep.

“Morning, Cay,” you responded, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him briefly.

“What should we do today?” He asked in between kisses. “Finally a weekend off.”

“Farmers market?” You suggested.

“You read my mind,” he grinned, kissing you deeply.

“Alright. We should get ready now since they open early.”

You begrudgingly rolled out of bed and began your morning routine: washing your face, brushing your teeth, doing your make up, and just as you were about to start the last step, Caleb came up behind you.

“Let me,” he said, grabbing the hair brush from your hand.

“Sure,” you smiled at him through the mirror.

He began brushing small tangles out, gently tugging and apologizing constantly until you told him you had a hard head and it didn’t hurt. Then he brushed it out of your face and your eyes drooped a little. He caught it in the mirror and hid the small smile that threatened to escape. Deciding to copy what your stylist had done, he swooped all of your hair into one hand and put the brush to the back of your neck and brushed upwards. The effect was immediate.

You shivered and closed your eyes, releasing a small, shaky exhale. He did it again and got the same result. He moved the brush slightly to the side and this time, your head lolled forward and you had to grab the countertop for balance.

“Oh my god, that feels so good,” you said with a smile, eyes still closed. He grinned openly and continued his ministrations, only faltering when a small moan sounded in your throat. You mistook his pause as him being done.

“Thanks, Cay. That was amazing,” you said, turning around to beam up at him. You weren’t prepared for the dark, hungry look in his eyes. You gave him a questioning look before he bent down to grab your thighs and haul you back to bed.

“What’s gotten into you?” You questioned, though not at all opposed to this turn of events.

Instead of answering, he leaned down to kiss you breathless, using his ridiculous strength to easily move you to the center of the bed. When he broke away to kiss and lick his way down your jaw and neck, he was panting.

“You know you make little sounds when I brush your hair like that?” He asked, nipping the skin just below your ear. “Drives me crazy…” your responding moan only made his kisses more frenzied.

You pulled at his clothes, trying to get them off as soon as possible while he did the same, opting to stand and rid himself of the offending fabric. You took the opportunity to do the same, kneeling on the mattress in front of him and kissing his exposed torso as he tried to kick off his boxers.

You were growing impatient, eventually grabbing his arms and pulling him back to your side and straddling his waist. He pulled you close quickly and kissed you harder than before, eager for what he knew was coming.

His hands wandered over your exposed skin while yours were on one of his shoulders or tangled into his hair.

“God, you’re too perfect,” he groaned into your collarbone, making sure to leave a bruise there. The little pants you made close to his ear were music to him.

You decided you didn’t need anymore foreplay, reaching down between you to line him up with your opening. A mutual moan escaped both of you as you sat on him fully.

“Oh, my god,” you whined, starting to move your hips in a pattern you knew would make you break quickly.

Caleb was no better, bucking his hips up into you when he could, groaning and cursing when you clenched down on him.

Your hands moved to claw at his shoulder blades but you didn’t expect what he did next.

One of his hands came to the back of your neck and gripped a fistful of hair and pulled it back roughly, earning him a breathy yelp from you. You held onto his biceps as he bit your neck roughly, keeping a firm grip on your hair.

“Oh, FUCK, Caleb!” You nearly yelled, causing his pace to stutter.

The next few moments were a mess of limbs and moans and ecstasy.

You groaned loudly as you came, your thighs burning and Caleb slapping up into you just a few more times before he came too.

As you both came down from your highs panting, you peppered slow kisses across his jaw.

His hands moved to rub your back and hips and thighs, humming in delight as you kissed his lips tenderly.

“Still want to go to the farmers market?” You asked, breathlessly. A chuckle left him as he wrapped his arms around you.

You couldn’t believe how angry Caleb was. You’d rarely seen him in this state and you were even more shocked that he was basically silent. You expected a lecture, firm voice never raised but unrelenting nonetheless. 

He’d caught you after you snuck out of the house to go to a carnival with a boy from school, and just as you thought you’d get your first kiss, Caleb stepped in. 

“We’re leaving,” he’d said, waves of anger radiating from him. “And you,” he looked at the boy behind him. “Try that again. I dare you.” The threat was clear and the poor kid just shook his head with wide eyes and left quickly without sparing you another glance. 

You scoffed at the whole scene before withering under Caleb’s glare, although you couldn’t help but be irritated at his interruption. This was the fourth time he’s interrupted a date, which is why you snuck out in the first place. 

He grabbed your hand and hauled you back to his car, opening your door with a hard look on his face before shutting it with a little more force than necessary. 

You watched him from the corner of your eye as he drove home. His hand was clenched on the wheel while the other systematically pushed his bangs back; a tell of his frustration he’d had since he was little. 

The ride home was deathly quiet, he didn’t even turn on music; another sign that you’d screwed up big time. 

“Cay-“ 

“Don’t.” The one syllable was so commanding that you didn’t dare try again, so you propped your chin up in your hand and watched the city go by. 

It was a perfect spring evening. The trees were blooming and the streetlights had just started to come on. You thought back to when that meant it was time for you to stop playing night games with the neighborhood kids and go home. 

After an eternity in the car, Caleb finally parked in front of the house and wasted no time walking around to open your door with the same hard look on his face from the carnival parking lot. 

You decided it would be better just to follow his unspoken instructions, stepping out and waiting for his lead. 

Without a word or look at you, he strode into the house and stood in the front room while you locked the door. 

“Where’s gran?” You asked quietly. 

“Out.”

“For how long?” 

“Long enough for us to talk about what just happened.” 

“Come on, Cay, I’m not a little kid anymore! I’m allowed to have fun and go on dates and, god forbid, kiss a boy!” You finally let yourself explode a little bit and it was cathartic. You’d been so frustrated with his constant interruptions and you realized in that moment that you hadn’t had a proper outlet for these bottled up feelings. 

“But you have to sneak out to do it? I thought you’d been kidnapped!” He snapped back. 

“Of course I had to sneak out! I wouldn’t have been able to go otherwise!” 

He let out a heavy sigh and shook his head with his hands on his hips. 

“You know, for someone as smart as you, you’re pretty dumb, Pipsqueak.” 

What the fuck? Did he actually just call you dumb? 

“Excuse me?” 

“This won’t happen again. Got it?” He had that same commanding tone and it made you shake with anger. Who did he think he was telling you what to do?

“You don’t control me, Caleb. I can do whatever the fuck I want, and you can’t stop me,” you stated, crossing your arms with a scowl on your face. 

That just made him laugh, which irritated you even more. 

“You don’t get it, do you?” He said, pushing his bangs back again. “I’ll always be there to interrupt. No matter where I am or how old we are, as long as I’m alive, no one will ever get that close to you again.” 

His statement both shocked you and made a warm ache bloom in your chest. 

“You’re insane,” you stated. His head whipped to you and even in the low light of the family room, you could see the way his spine straightened.  

He advanced on you slowly like a predator, his eyes both unnerved and excited you. 

“You think I like feeling like this?” He practically growled out. “Constantly being at the end of my rope but still falling, waiting for that final snap that will kill me?” 

He was getting dangerously close, so you took a few steps back until a wall stopped you, but he was still coming towards you. 

“I wish I could get rid of these feelings. Believe me, it would be better than this torture.” 

You shrunk back into the wall, holding an arm out to keep him from getting too close. You wouldn’t be able to bear it. 

“Caleb, don’t-“ your hand was pressed firmly against his sternum, but he inched closer easily, resting his elbow above your head. 

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t, Pipsqueak.” Even without looking at him, you could tell he was practically glaring at you. 

Truthfully, no response came to your head. Your fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt, eyes scrunched shut at what you knew was coming. 

“I-I can’t…” you finally managed with a shaking voice. 

An unamused huff left him and he brought his hand up to capture yours still crumpling his shirt. 

“Then why? What are you scared of?” He asked, leaning closer. 

“Everything will change. What if… what if we end up driving each other crazy?” 

This time, his laugh rumbled deep in his chest so you could feel it beneath your fingers. 

“I’m already crazy for you, silly girl. Are you really so blind?” 

That finally made you look up at him, and the look in his eyes shocked you. It was pure adoration mixed with barely withheld restraint. 

“Really?” You asked, honestly shocked. He swallowed and nodded his head, leaning down to kiss your temple lightly. 

You let out a shaky breath and closed your eyes, not realizing you leaned into his touch instinctively. This motivated him to cup your cheek, trailing his lips down slowly. 

“Why do you think I constantly interrupt your dates? Why I’ve told everyone at school that you’re off limits, or that any guy with enough balls to approach you has to go through me first?” His mouth was leaving torturous pecks along your jaw line moving closer and closer to your mouth with each question he posed. 

Your hands moved on their own, gripping his shoulders but unsure whether to pull him closer or push him away. 

“I should smack you for all of that,” you muttered. “I was wondering why hardly anyone talks to me at school.” 

“Mmhmm. You probably should,” he said. “But you won’t.” 

“And why is that?” 

“Because… you want this just as much as I do.” 

Before you could respond, his mouth was on yours and you melted into him, bringing your arms to wind around his neck and pull him closer. A small sound came from deep in his throat and he tilted his head, slotting your lips together at a new angle that made you dizzy. 

The hair at the base of his neck tickled your fingers as you gripped him there, knocking the pair of you back into the wall with a thud. It startled you both enough for him to pull away slightly, just enough to breathe but not without sharing each other's air. 

He watched you as you tried to comprehend what just happened, his eyes darting from your mouth to your eyes and back to your lips so quickly you could barely keep up. 

“How did you even know where I was?” You whispered. He rested his forehead on yours gently. 

“I don’t think you want to know the answer, Pip.” 

“…We’ll talk about that later,” you breathed out before pulling him back into another searing kiss. 

Your stomach felt like it was on fire, and you couldn’t get close enough to him. You tried pulling on his shoulders and neck and even his torso, but it just wasn’t enough. 

“Fuck, you’re going to kill me,” he mumbled against the skin of your neck. He bent down and quickly grabbed the back of your legs to hoist you up, quickly resealing your mouths as your legs wrapped around his waist and finally, you were a little bit closer to him. 

His hips kept you pinned to the wall and he continued his assault, and your hands moved down his back, hoping he would arch into you a little more. The groan he let out when your nails dug into his shoulder blades made your entire body shiver. 

“S’not enough,” you managed to say between kisses. His tongue that had been leaving wet marks on your collarbone was suddenly replaced by teeth. With the sound of your yelp still in the air, he renewed his grip on your thighs and started walking in the direction of his room. 

“You can’t say things like that. I’ll actually lose my mind.” He sat on his bed, back resting against the headboard and you tried to push your tongue into his mouth. His own tongue caressed yours and it made you tighten your grip on his hair. 

You didn’t like that his head was still so much higher than yours, you were sure his neck was starting to hurt. 

With your hands on his shoulders, you adjusted yourself so your legs were on either side of his hips, before you pushed him back a little. Just enough to make his mattress bounce a little below you. 

You took a moment to watch him. His eyes were hooded and dark, his lips were a little swollen and damp, and his hair was positively disheveled. 

A slow smirk spread across his face. 

“Enjoying the view?” He asked, rubbing his hands on your sides. 

“Asshole,” you muttered before diving back in. You sat on his lap fully, moaning into his mouth at the sensation of his erection pressing against your core. His hands moved your hips in a motion that made your muscles clench in the best way. 

“Fuck, Cay, it feels so good…” you whined, letting your head fall back as he nipped and licked the skin of your neck. 

“Keep going for me, Pretty. You’re doing so well,” he mumbled with a particularly aggressive roll of his hips. 

You yelped and he brought your mouth back to his, keeping a hand on the back of your head to hold you there. 

“Just like that,” he muttered as he bit your bottom lip. 

“Don’t stop,” you nearly begged. “M’so close…” 

“Let go for me, Pips. Let me make you feel good.” 

At that, your body seized with an intense pleasure and your moan was swallowed up once again by his mouth. His groan followed yours soon after, hips bucking lightly as he rode out his own orgasm. 

You reluctantly pulled away, still holding onto his shoulders and his hands still on your hip and thigh. 

Both of you were panting, still letting yourselves feel the high as it came down, but then Caleb got that determined look in his eye that scared you sometimes. 

You’re still obsessed with them, years later. 

Even when he doesn’t understand why, staring at the mirror in the early morning or late night, trying to make sense of what made the small dots on his face endearing to you when to him it was just an insecurity. Brows furrowed, lips turned down as he judged his own appearance. 

He hears your footsteps before he sees you. The soft, familiar manner of your feet on the floor– something he could recognize anywhere. You were looking for something in the bedroom, with the way you were opening and closing drawers like you were on a mission. 

When you open the door to the bathroom, your voice echoing against the tiles, he didn’t move from his place in front of the mirror. “Caleb, have you seen my eyeliner? The new one that I just got this week?” 

Your reflection appears behind him, searching around the bathroom, still in his hoodie and when your gaze lands on him, you see the small flicker in his gaze. 

You frown. “What are you doing?” 

“Nothing.” He mumbled, a bit too quickly than he hoped. 

Your eyes narrow immediately.

Caleb looks away first.

The silence stretches for a moment. It's the silence that exists between two people that know each other too well, and in the way you stare at him through the mirror, Caleb knew you always clocked him. 

Your arms cross over your chest, and he avoids your gaze, fixing it on anywhere but your reflection. The sink, the faucet– and the eyeliner you were looking for hidden behind the toothbrush cup. 

That alone tells you enough about what he was doing in front of the mirror, and you sigh. Quietly. “Caleb.”

“Mhm?”

“What were you doing?”

“Nothing.” 

Your frown deepens. His gaze moves to you for only a split second, before you catch him looking at his own reflection. It’s a short moment, but you could see the way he looked at the freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose. Then it clicks, and your expressions soften. “Oh.” 

His jaw tightens, and he avoids your soft gaze again. 

The silence that follows is heavier than the last one. It’s not heavy, nor uncomfortable. But vulnerable in a way that Caleb doesn’t let himself be around you too often. 

Because he is supposed to be the strong one. The protector. 

And to him, it’s stupid that this measly negative thought on his own features is making him this way. 

"They're still there." His voice comes out quieter than expected.

You blink. "What?"

"The freckles."

For a second, you simply stare at him. Then you almost laugh.

Not because it's funny. But because of course that's what had him standing in front of the mirror at six in the morning looking like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. "They've been there your entire life, baby."

"I know."

"So why are you surprised?"

"I'm not surprised."

"You seem surprised." 

He shoots you a look that makes you smile. He groans, just as you laugh. “There you are.”

“What?” Caleb frowns.

“You’re finally looking at me.”

He pauses, and the soft look in your eyes makes his ears turn pink. Your smile only widens as you step towards him. Your arms wrap around his waist, and you peer through the side to the mirror, humming. Caleb relaxes against you, moving you until you’re standing next to him in the mirror. Your eyes meet his through the mirror, then it drifts downwards to his freckles. 

There are more than most people notice. Tiny constellations scattered over warm skin.

Some  are darker than others. Some are barely visible unless sunlight hits them just right.

You have every single one memorized. A fact Caleb would never recover from if you told him.

Unfortunately for him, you decide honesty is important in relationships: "I think I know at least twenty-seven of them."

His eyes widen. “What?”

“Twenty-seven.” You tilt your head up at him to look more closely at his face. His eyes are widened slightly, brows furrowed, voice pitched slightly higher in disbelief. “You counted?”

“Maybe.” You shrug.

“You counted.”

“Maybe.”

“You;re insane.” 

You grin, and lean up to peck his cheeks. “I know.”

Caleb lets out a mix of a laugh and a huff. His ears are completely red now, the flush spreading to his cheeks as he shuts his eyes at the absurdity of you counting his freckles. 

When he opens them again, he catches you staring. Again. 

It’s not like you hide it, at this point. 

His voice drops into a mutter. “I don’t get it.”

“Hm?” You meet his gaze. 

“I don’t get why you like them so much.” 

You tilt your head and watch him carefully. You watch the uncertainty hiding beneath his expression, the remnants of old words. Old comments. Old wounds. Things said carelessly by people who probably forgot them the moment they spoke, but they were things that Caleb had quietly carried for years.

You reach up, and your fingers brush against his cheek. Gentle. Careful. 

As though touching something precious.

Because to you, he is.

Your thumb glides over the bridge of his nose. Over the freckles resting there.

Caleb's breath catches, and you smile softly.

"Because they're yours."

His eyes flicker. 

You continue before he can interrupt. "I don't like them because they're perfect." His gaze remains fixed on yours as you continue, your fingers still on his skin, tracing lines between his freckles. "I like them because when I think of you, I think of them. When I picture your face, I picture your freckles." You laugh quietly, "You know, when I was younger, I used to think they looked like stars."

His expression falters.

And you know you've won the moment he looks away. Because Caleb only looks away when he's overwhelmed.

"I still do."

His throat moves and Caleb looks back at you. Your other hand moves to the back of his neck, pulling him a bit closer so you could trace more of the freckles. "They make you look like you."

You cup his face. His hands immediately find your waist, like its instinct to him. And really, it is.

"There isn't a version of Caleb in my head without them."

Your smile softens.

"And honestly? You'd be less cute without them."

"Don't."

"You would."

He grumbles your name.

"You absolutely would."

"Stop."

"I think I'd cry."

"You would not cry."

"I'd mourn."

Caleb drops his forehead against your shoulder with a groan. A genuine one this time, one not out of frustration. Just hopeless, because just by your hands on his face, and your sweet, embarrassing words, he has been completely and utterly defeated by you.

You laugh, wrapping your arms around him, and his arms tighten around you immediately.

The bathroom falls quiet again. But this silence feels different.

Comfortable– Warm.

After a while, you feel him nudge his face against your neck, followed by his muffled voice."Twenty-seven?"

You burst out laughing.

"I knew you were still thinking about that."

"Twenty-seven?"

"Actually, it might be thirty."

Caleb makes a sound that suggests he's reconsidering every life choice that led him here.

You only smile wider and gently move his face up so you could press a kiss against his temple. Then to his cheeks – like you were kissing every single dot on his face.

Until his face is burning red enough to rival the sunrise peeking through the bathroom window.

The funny thing is, Caleb never truly learns to love his freckles.

Not the way you do. Not the way you look at them, like they're something worth admiring.

He can't rival the way you love it.

But over the years, he slowly stops hiding them. Stops treating it like something wrong on his face.

Because whenever he catches himself doing it, he remembers the way you look at him.

Like every freckle is something precious.

Like every single one belongs exactly where it should.

And Caleb stops frowning at the sight of them in the mirror.

It’s not that you’re keeping score—okay, maybe you’re keeping a little score—but there’s something about the way he seems to prioritize your satisfaction over his own that both warms your heart and frustrates you to no end.

Tonight is no different.

Caleb has you pinned against the couch, his weight pressing you into the cushions as his mouth works its magic along the column of your throat. His lips find that spot behind your ear that makes your toes curl, then travel down to the sensitive junction where neck meets shoulder.

Your fingers tangle in his dark hair, gripping the soft strands with increasing urgency as his teeth graze your pulse point, sending shivers racing down your spine.

“Wait,” you gasp, tugging at his hair until he lifts his head to look at you. His purple eyes are half-lidded, pupils dilated with desire, lips parted and slightly swollen from kissing you senseless.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, voice rough with arousal as he pushes a strand of hair from your face with unexpected gentleness.

You steel yourself, choosing your words carefully. “I want you to teach me how to make you feel good.”

The surprise that flickers across his face is quickly replaced by a smile. “Pips, you make me feel good all the time.”

“You know what I mean,” you insist, refusing to be distracted by his deflection. “I want to learn how to please you—not just with my mouth.”

Caleb’s hand finds your waist, fingers spreading to span your ribs as his thumb traces small circles on your lower stomach. “Watching you fall apart when I touch you pleases me more than you know.”

It’s such a quintessentially Caleb response—selfless, generous, infuriating—that you want to scream. Or kiss him. Or both, in rapid succession.

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” you huff, pushing at his chest to create some distance between you. “I mean I want to make you cum the way you make me cum.”

The words hang between you, and you watch as something darkens in Caleb’s expression—hunger and reluctance warring in his purple gaze.

“It’s not just about that,” he says finally, his voice dropping to that register that sends heat pooling in your core. “Seeing your pleasure is enough for me.”

You narrow your eyes, suspicion dawning. “Wait a minute. Is this because you’re a raging celibate virgin? Don’t get any when you’re at Skyhaven? Is that why you don’t want me to make you feel good? Because you’re afraid you’ll lose control?”

To your surprise, Caleb laughs, the sound rich and warm as his head drops to your shoulder. “Is that what you think, mei mei?” he asks, voice thick with amusement. “That I’m out there saving myself for marriage while I’m gone?”

“Well, you’re certainly saving yourself from me,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest in what you hope is a convincing show of pique. “Saint Caleb, patron saint of self-control.”

Instead of rising to your bait, he simply cups your face in his hands, thumbs stroking your cheekbones with maddening tenderness. “You have no idea how much control it takes not to devour you the moment I walk through that door.”

You’ve been building to this confrontation for days, watching Caleb bring you to screaming orgasms while remaining frustratingly clothed and composed.

“So you just—what? Beat off in the shower thinking about your sister like some kind of pervert?” The words are deliberately crude, calculated to get a rise out of him.

You watch the muscle in his jaw jump, a flash of something dangerous crossing his features before he reins it in. “Y/N,” he warns, but there’s no real heat in his voice.

“What? That’s not it?” You press on, sensing a crack in his composure. “You’re not a perv? Not a creep? Not a sister-fucking—“

“Enough,” Caleb cuts you off, but there’s still no sign that you’ve truly pushed him past his limits. If anything, he looks amused by your antics, which only makes you more determined to break through.

Your mind races, searching for the one button guaranteed to get a reaction. And then it hits you—the one person who can truly get under Caleb’s skin.

“If you’re not going to teach me,” you say slowly, watching his face carefully, “then maybe I should ask Gideon for lessons instead. I bet he’d be more than happy to show me how to make a man feel good.”

The change is instantaneous and terrifying. Caleb’s body goes rigid against yours, his hands flying to your shoulders to grip them with bruising force. His expression transforms—all traces of amusement vanishing, replaced by something primal and possessive.

“Don’t,” he growls, the single word vibrating with barely contained rage. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you taunt, your voice dropping to a whisper as you lean closer, knowing exactly what you’re doing now. “If I asked your best friend to fuck me instead of you? If I let him make me scream the way you do?”

Caleb’s eyes narrow, his fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to leave marks. “You have no idea what you’re playing with right now.”

“Then show me,” you challenge, your heart racing as you press your advantage. “Show me what happens when I push you too far.”

For a long moment, Caleb just stares at you, his purple eyes so dark they’re almost black. You can practically see the calculations happening behind them—weighing options, measuring control against desire.

And then, with a speed that leaves you breathless, Caleb moves.

You barely have a moment to catch your breath before Caleb moves with that lightning-quick precision that reminds you of his military training.

His arms—thick, powerful things that make your stomach flip—suddenly wrap around your waist, trapping you against his chest as he settles back onto the couch.

“Ge ge, what—“ you start to ask, but your question is cut short as his hands position you with deliberate strength.

Caleb’s big hands grip your waist, thumbs digging into the soft flesh above your hips as he lifts you effortlessly, arranging you so you’re straddling his lap. Your knees press into the couch cushions on either side of his thighs, your ass settling against the hardness still evident through his sweatpants.

“That’s better,” he murmurs, satisfaction coloring his voice as he looks up at you from this new angle. “Right where you belong.”

You’re still catching your breath from the previous intensity, your legs trembling slightly from both exertion and the sudden rush of new arousal. Caleb notices immediately, his hands running soothingly up and down your sides, though his eyes remain hungry.

“Feel better?” you ask, voice still rough.

His only response is a low growl, a sound that vibrates through your entire body where you’re pressed against his chest. And then his head dips, burying his face in the soft valley between your breasts.

You gasp as his hair tickles your chin, your hands automatically flying to his shoulders for balance as Caleb’s face presses firmly against your chest. His eyes close, nostrils flaring as he takes a deep, deliberate inhale, his breath hot through the thin fabric of your tank top.

“Mmm,” he hums against you, the vibration traveling straight to your core. “Fucking love how you smell, Pips. Always have.”

The admission sends a blush across your cheeks, though there’s no one here to witness it but Caleb—and he’s already seen and done far more intimate things to you than smelling your tits.

“Sweet,” he continues, nuzzling deeper between your breasts, his nose tracing the curve of one and then the other. “Mine.”

His arms tighten around your waist, keeping you securely in his lap as his face continues its exploration of your chest.

“Such pretty tits,” Caleb murmurs, voice muffled against your flesh. “Always knew they’d be perfect. All those years of wondering.” He pulls back slightly, looking up at you with eyes gone dark with hunger. “Worth the wait.”

You want it too—want everything he’s willing to give you. “Please,” you whisper, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair. “Please, ge ge.”

A smile curves his lips, slow and predatory. “Since you asked so nicely...”

With deliberate slowness, Caleb leans forward, his teeth catching on the neckline of your tank top. The wet heat of his mouth against your skin makes you gasp, your fingers tightening in his hair as he uses his teeth to tug the fabric down, revealing the top curve of one breast.

He doesn’t stop there, working the neckline lower and lower with a combination of his teeth, lips, and the occasional use of his tongue. Each new inch of skin exposed to the cool air is immediately warmed by his breath, his mouth, until finally the neckline has been pulled down enough to reveal both your nipples.

“Fuck,” Caleb breathes, his eyes fixed on your exposed flesh. “Even prettier than I imagined.”

Before you can respond, his mouth is on you—no teasing, no gradual build-up, just the wet heat of his tongue lapping at your left nipple while his hand comes up to squeeze your right breast. The sudden sensation draws a startled cry from your throat, your back arching to push your chest more firmly into his hands.

“Such sensitive tits,” Caleb murmurs against your skin, his tongue making another broad swipe across your nipple. “Getting so hard for me already.”

He’s right—your nipples have pebbled to tight points at the first touch of his mouth, aching for more contact. You find yourself nodding frantically, unable to form words as Caleb switches his attention to your other breast, his mouth moving to capture your right nipple while his hand takes over the left.

“That’s it,” he encourages as your hips rock forward of their own accord, seeking friction against the hard ridge of his cock beneath you. “Show me how much you like it. How much you need me.”

His free hand slides up to cup the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair to guide your face toward his. You follow his lead without hesitation, your lips meeting his in a kiss that tastes of salt and musk.

Caleb’s tongue pushes into your mouth, mimicking the way his cock had pushed into your throat earlier in the week. You moan around the invasion, your own tongue rising to meet his in a dance that leaves you breathless.

When you finally break apart, gasping for air, Caleb doesn’t give you time to recover before returning to your breasts. But this time, he does something different—he releases his hold on you, using both hands to cup your breasts instead, pushing them together to create a valley between them.

“Fucking perfect,” he growls, his eyes fixed on the sight of your breasts in his hands. “Look at these tits, Pips. Made to be played with.”

To your shock, he gathers saliva in his mouth, then deliberately spits directly onto your exposed cleavage. The warm glob lands between your breasts, some dripping down toward your stomach while the rest coats your skin with a glistening sheen.

“Caleb!” you gasp, too surprised to be properly scandalized.

His only response is a wicked grin before he’s leaning down again, his tongue making a broad swipe through the spit he just deposited on your skin.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he murmurs against your flesh. “So sweet. So fucking perfect.”

His tongue makes another pass, this time focusing on your nipples, each one receiving a thorough licking before he pulls it between his lips, sucking firmly enough to make you gasp.

“Look at you,” Caleb says, his voice rough with arousal as he glances up at your face. “So fucking responsive. Just from playing with these pretty tits.”

He switches breasts, his mouth moving to the one his hand had been attending while his now-free hand squeezes the spit-slick flesh he just abandoned. “Imagine how you’ll react when I get my mouth somewhere else.”

“Please,” you whisper again, no longer caring how desperate you sound. “I need more, ge ge.”

“Mmm, I know you do,” Caleb agrees, finally releasing your breasts to wrap his arms around your waist again. His hands slide down to grip your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks. “Such a greedy little sister. Always wanting more than I give you.”

“Only because you make me feel so good,” you admit, your hands moving to frame his face, thumbs tracing the sharp cut of his cheekbones. “Can’t help wanting more.”

A slow smile spreads across his face at your words, pride and hunger mingling in his expression.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises, pressing a kiss to your palm. “Always so honest with me.”

His hands on your ass suddenly tighten, pulling you forward until you’re pressed flush against his chest. Your breasts, still exposed from your pushed-down tank top, make contact with the hard planes of his pectorals, your nipples rubbing against the fabric of his t-shirt.

“Fuck, feel that?” Caleb growls, his hips jerking upward so that his hardness presses directly against your core. “How wet you’re getting just from me playing with your tits?”

You nod, beyond words as you grind against him, seeking more of the friction your body craves. “Please,” you gasp again, the single word encompassing all your desperate wants. “Please, ge ge.”

While Caleb’s mouth continues its relentless assault on your breasts, his right hand suddenly breaks away, reaching up to grab your wrist. His purple eyes lock with yours, pupils blown wide with lust as he slowly, deliberately guides your hand toward his lap.

“Feel how hard you make me,” he murmurs against your sternum, his free hand still working your breast with practiced skill. “Just from playing with these perfect tits.”

Your palm makes contact with the thick ridge straining against his sweatpants, and you can’t help the gasp that escapes your lips. Even through the fabric, the heat of him is intense—like touching a living furnace. And there’s a damp spot where the tip of his cock has leaked enough precum to soak through the thin material.

“So wet for you,” Caleb continues, voice rough with need as he guides your hand to rub up and down his length. “Always so fucking hard and leaking whenever I’m around you. Hasn’t changed since we were kids.”

“Wanted you for so fucking long,” Caleb admits, his lips moving from your breast to your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin beneath your ear. “Every night, lying in bed, thinking about touching you. About you touching me.”

His words make your core clench, another gush of wetness soaking your panties as you continue to rub his cock through his sweatpants. The fabric is growing damper by the second, evidence of just how much he wants you.

“Please,” you whisper, your hand trembling slightly against him. “Can I touch you for real?”

A dark smile curves his lips, satisfaction evident in his expression as he finally gives in to your pleading. With his free hand, he reaches down to the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging it down just enough to free his cock.

“I’ve been dreaming about this,” Caleb says, his voice dropping to that rough register that makes your stomach flip. “Your hand on my cock. Finally giving my little sister what she’s been begging for.”

The first touch of skin on skin draws a groan from deep in his chest, his eyes closing briefly as your fingers make contact with his cock.

He’s even hotter than you expected, the skin velvety soft over the steel-hard shaft beneath. And he’s so wet—precum already coating the head and upper shaft, making your hand slide easily along his length.

“Fuck,” Caleb hisses, his hand tightening around yours as you experimentally stroke up toward the tip. “Your hand feels so fucking good, Pips. So small and soft.”

He’s right—your hand is comically small compared to his cock, your fingers unable to fully wrap around his girth. You’d need both hands to properly encircle him, and even then, your grip would be loose.

“Look at that,” Caleb murmurs, his eyes fixed on where your hand disappears around his shaft. “Your tiny hand can barely hold my cock. Always knew you were made small, but fuck, seeing it like this...”

He guides your hand in another stroke, this one starting at the base and working all the way to the tip, where a fresh bead of precum is already forming. “That’s it,” he encourages as your thumb brushes over the sensitive head. “Get me nice and wet for you.”

As you continue to stroke him, Caleb’s mouth returns to your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin where your pulse jumps beneath the surface. You know what he’s doing—leaving marks, staking his claim—but you don’t care. You let him mark you. Let everyone know exactly who you belong to.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises against your throat, his lips moving to a new spot just below your collarbone. “Taking such good care of my cock.”

His mouth latches onto your skin, sucking hard enough to leave a mark—the first of what will undoubtedly be many by the time he’s done with you. The slight pain mingles with pleasure, your hand moving faster on his cock as he continues his possessive assault on your neck and chest.

“Caleb,” you gasp as his teeth scrape over a particularly sensitive spot. “Feels so good.”

“Mmm, I know it does,” he agrees, pulling back to admire the darkening bruise he’s left on your skin. “You like being marked up? Like everyone knowing you belong to me?”

You nod frantically, too far gone in pleasure to be embarrassed by your eagerness. “Yes. Please, ge ge. More.”

His smile turns predatory as he lowers his head again, this time targeting the upper curve of your breast. “Gonna cover you in marks,” he promises, lips brushing against your skin with each word. “Gonna make sure you remember who you belong to every time you look in the mirror.”

As his mouth works its magic on your skin, his hips begin to move, rocking up to meet each downward stroke of your hand. The rhythm is intoxicating—his cock sliding through your grip, his mouth leaving a trail of pleasure across your chest, his free hand squeezing your ass to guide your movements against him.

“That’s it,” Caleb encourages, his breathing growing ragged as your hand moves faster. “Just like that, mei mei. Show me how badly you want to make your big brother feel good.”

“Fuck, you’re so fucking wet,” Caleb groans, his hand sliding from your ass to between your legs, fingers pressing against your soaked panties. “Just from touching my cock? Such a greedy little slut.”

Each pass of your palm over the slit gathers more precum, making your strokes slicker, smoother.

“Right there,” Caleb hisses when your thumb brushes a particular spot on the underside of his head. “Fuck, that’s perfect.”

You focus your attention there, making sure each stroke includes that sweet spot. The effect is immediate—Caleb’s head falls back, a groan tearing from his throat as his hips jerk upward more forcefully.

“Gonna make me cum if you keep that up,” he warns, though there’s no real concern in his voice—just anticipation and hunger. “You want that, Pips? Want to feel me shoot all over your hand?”

“Yes,” you gasp, your own need making you bold. “Please, ge ge. Want to feel you cum.”

His free hand suddenly grips your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat to his hungry mouth. “Such a good little cocksucker,” he praises against your skin, his teeth grazing your pulse point. “Taking such good care of me.”

The wet sounds of your hand sliding along his cock fill the room, obscene and thrilling.

“That’s it,” Caleb encourages, his voice rough with arousal. “Just like that. Show me how much you love your big brother’s cock.”

You’ve never done this before—never touched a man like this, never felt the power of reducing someone to desperate moans with just your hand. But instinct guides you, your body responding to Caleb’s reactions, learning what makes him groan, what makes his hips jerk, what makes his fingers dig into your flesh hard enough to leave marks.

“So fucking good,” Caleb gasps as you twist your wrist slightly on the upstroke, adding a new sensation to your rhythm. “Your perfect little hand on my cock. Been dreaming about this for years.”

How many nights has he spent wanting you? How many fantasies has he built around the two of you?

“Did you touch yourself thinking about me?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “While I was sleeping down the hall?”

Caleb’s eyes darken further, his hand in your hair tightening almost painfully. “Every fucking night,” he admits, no shame in his voice—just raw hunger. “Stroking my cock to thoughts of you. Wondering if you’d be as tight as I imagined. If you’d take my whole length or if I’d have to go slow.”

His words paint vivid pictures in your mind—Caleb alone in his room, hand wrapped around his cock, imagining you spread open beneath him. The thought of him wanting you for so long, of him corrupting himself with thoughts of his little sister, makes your hand tremble against his length.

“Fuck, the way you’re looking at me right now,” Caleb groans, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek. “Like you’re finally seeing what I am. What I’ve always been.”

“A pervert,” you say, but there’s no judgment in your voice—just acceptance and a hint of pride that you’re the object of his obsession. “My pervert.”

Something flashes in his eyes—probably relief, gratitude, or maybe hunger—before his mouth crashes against yours in a kiss that’s more possession than passion. His tongue pushes past your lips, claiming your mouth as thoroughly as his cock claims your hand.

When you finally break apart, both gasping for breath, Caleb’s hand returns to guide your movements on his cock. “Not gonna last much longer if you keep that up,” he warns, though the smile on his face makes it clear he has no intention of stopping you. “Too fucking good with those hands, Pips.”

“Then don’t last,” you challenge, emboldened by his reactions. “Cum for me, ge ge. Show me how good I make you feel.”

His response is a groan so deep it seems to come from the center of his chest, his hips jerking upward to fuck into your grip. “Fuck, when you talk like that...” He shakes his head, seemingly unable to complete the thought.

You take his reaction as encouragement, your hand moving faster, grip tightening slightly as you focus on the sensitive head of his cock. Each downward stroke ends with your thumb brushing over the slit, gathering the copious precum there to ease your movements.

“Right there,” Caleb hisses, his free hand squeezing your ass hard enough to leave bruises. “Fuck, that’s perfect. Just like that, Pips. Don’t stop.”

His praise fuels your determination, your hand establishing a rhythm that has his breathing growing more ragged by the second. You can feel him getting harder, the veins along his shaft standing out more prominently as blood rushes to his cock.

“Gonna cum,” he warns, his voice breaking on the words. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m gonna—“

His warning cuts off in a groan as his cock pulses in your hand, the first jet of cum shooting up to land on his stomach. You don’t stop, your hand continuing to stroke him through his orgasm, milking every drop from his sensitive flesh.

“That’s it,” you encourage, watching in fascination as more cum spills over your fingers. “Give me everything, ge ge.”

Caleb’s head falls back, a guttural sound tearing from his throat as his hips continue to jerk upward, chasing the pleasure your hand provides. More cum spills from the tip of his cock, some landing on his stomach, some coating your hand, making your strokes even slicker.

“Fuck, Pips,” he gasps when the worst of the tremors have passed, his hand covering yours to slow your movements. “Too sensitive.”

You reluctantly ease your grip, though you don’t release his cock entirely. Instead, you continue to hold him, feeling the gradual softening of his flesh, the occasional aftershock that makes him twitch in your hand.

“Was it good?” you ask, suddenly shy despite the fact that you’re literally holding his softening cock in your hand.

Caleb’s laugh is warm, tinged with the slight breathlessness of post-orgasmic bliss.

“Was it good?” he repeats, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear with surprising tenderness. “Fuck, mei mei. That was beyond good.” He shakes his head, apparently unable to find the right words.

Caleb’s hand between your legs stills suddenly, his eyes widening slightly as he feels just how soaked you’ve become. His lips curve into a slow, predatory smile as his fingers press more firmly against your panties, gathering evidence of your arousal on the fabric.

“Holy fuck, Pips,” he murmurs, voice rough with renewed desire despite his recent orgasm. “You’re absolutely drowning down here.”

You shift your hips, seeking more pressure from his hand, but Caleb keeps his touch teasingly light. “Please,” you whisper, beyond pride now. “I need more.”

His smile turns wicked as he leans forward, his mouth brushing against your ear. “You need to keep working my cock,” he instructs, his free hand guiding yours back to his softening length.

While your hand works his length, his free hand returns to between your legs. But instead of pressing against your panties as before, his fingers slide beneath the elastic waistband of your panties, slipping underneath to make direct contact with you.

“Fuck,” Caleb groans, his eyes closing briefly as his fingers make contact with your cunt. “Even wetter than I thought.”

“Look at you, getting so fucking wet just from touching my cock. What would people say if they knew what a slut you are for your brother’s dick?”

“Please,” you gasp as his finger makes a slow, deliberate pass through your slit, gathering your wetness on his skin. “Need more, ge ge.”

“Patience,” Caleb chides, though the strain in his voice betrays how affected he is by your eagerness. “Good things come to those who wait.”

Despite his words, his finger makes another pass, this time circling your entrance without pushing inside. The tease is maddening—so close to what you need but not quite giving it to you.

“Caleb,” you whine, your hips shifting to try to force his finger inside. “Please.”

His response is to lean forward, capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s more possession than passion. His tongue pushes past your lips, claiming your mouth as thoroughly as his cock claims your hand. When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, a strand of saliva connecting your lips for a moment before breaking.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he murmurs, his finger finally pushing forward to breach your entrance.

The sudden intrusion draws a gasp from your throat, your inner walls clenching around the single digit as it slides inside you. You’re so wet that there’s no resistance, just the delicious stretch of being filled, even if it’s only by one finger.

“Fuck,” Caleb breathes, his eyes fixed on where his finger disappears into your body. “So fucking tight around me. Like your pussy was made to take my cock.”

“More,” you beg, your hand still working his cock but your attention now entirely focused on the point where your bodies connect. “Please, ge ge. I need more.”

Caleb shakes his head, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you? Not even giving me a chance to enjoy this before demanding more.”

Despite his teasing, his finger begins to move, establishing a slow, deliberate rhythm as it pushes deeper with each thrust. Your inner walls flutter around the intrusion, your hips rocking to meet each forward push.

“That’s it,” Caleb encourages, his free hand coming up to cup your breast through your pushed-down tank top. “Take it. Show me how much you love having part of me inside you.”

His finger curls slightly as it pushes deep, the new angle allowing him to press against your front wall. The change draws a startled cry from your throat, your back arching as pleasure shoots up your spine.

“There it is,” Caleb murmurs, satisfaction evident in his voice as he focuses his attention on that spot. “Your sweet spot. The place that makes my perfect little sister lose her mind.”

He’s right—each press against that bundle of nerves sends electricity racing through your system, making your thighs tremble and your breath catch.

“Fuck,” you gasp as he adds a second finger, the stretch immediate and intense despite your abundant wetness. “Caleb, that’s—oh god—“

“Too much?” he asks, though he makes no move to withdraw. Instead, his fingers remain still inside you, giving your body time to adjust to the increased fullness.

You shake your head frantically. Relief flashes across his features, quickly replaced by hunger as he begins to move both fingers in tandem.

“Look at you,” Caleb murmurs, his eyes fixed on where his fingers disappear into your body. “Taking two of my fingers like you were made for it. So fucking perfect.”

“Caleb,” you gasp, your free hand flying to his shoulder, fingers digging into the hard muscle there as you seek an anchor in the storm of sensation. “I’m close. So close.”

“Already?” he asks, surprise evident in his voice despite the satisfaction coloring his tone. “Just from my fingers? Such a sensitive little thing.”

He doesn’t ease up—if anything, his movements become more deliberate, more focused on that spot deep inside you that makes your vision blur. His thumb finds your clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“That’s it,” he encourages as your breathing grows more ragged, your hips rocking to meet each thrust of his fingers. “Cum for me, mei mei. Show me how good your big brother makes you feel.”

“Caleb,” you warn, your voice breaking as pleasure threatens to overwhelm you. “I’m gonna—“

“Let go,” he commands, his free hand coming up to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “I want to see it. Want to watch your face when you cum on my fingers.”

The order is the final push you need—the tension breaks, pleasure crashing through you in waves that make your entire body convulse. Your inner walls clamp down on his invading fingers, your back arching sharply as your climax tears a cry from your throat.

“Fuck,” Caleb breathes, his eyes wide with wonder as he watches you come apart. “So fucking beautiful like this. Taking my fingers so well. Cumming all over my hand like the perfect little slut you are.”

You’re dimly aware of your hand still wrapped around his cock, though your movements have grown erratic, uncoordinated as your focus narrows to the point where his fingers fill you.

“That’s it,” Caleb encourages, his fingers continuing their relentless assault on your sweet spot even as your inner walls pulse around them. “Give me everything. Show me how much you love having your brother’s hand inside you.”

When the final pulses of your orgasm begin to fade, Caleb slowly withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his mouth with deliberate slowness. His eyes never leave yours as he sucks your release from his skin, humming appreciatively at the taste.

“Sweet,” he murmurs, voice rough with renewed desire. “Just like I knew you’d be.”

As your orgasm begins to fade, you turn your attention back to Caleb’s cock, still hard and pulsing in your grip. You notice immediately how your movements affect him—each stroke drawing a different reaction, teaching you what he likes, what drives him wild.

A firm upstroke makes his breath catch; a twist of your wrist on the downstroke has his hips jerking forward; a thumb circling the sensitive head draws a groan from deep in his chest. It’s like learning a new language—one written in the tensing of muscles and the catching of breath.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his free hand flying to your wrist as if to stop you, though he makes no actual move to pull you away. “Jesus Christ, Pips. Warn a guy.”

“Did I hurt you?” you ask, concern momentarily overriding your arousal.

Caleb’s laugh is strained, his eyes dark with a hunger that borders on desperation. “No,” he assures you, his thumb brushing across your pulse point in a gesture that’s oddly tender given the obscene situation. “Quite the opposite.”

“Please,” you whisper, your hand moving faster, grip tightening further. “I want to see it, ge ge. Want to see what you’re really like when you stop holding back.”

Encouraged by his reaction, you shift your focus to the head of his cock, your thumb brushing over the sensitive slit where precum continues to bead. The change in technique has an immediate effect—Caleb’s entire body goes taut, a strangled sound escaping his throat as his head falls back.

“That’s it,” you encourage, circling the ridge where head meets shaft with deliberate attention. “Show me how much you like it.”

A drop of saliva escapes the corner of Caleb’s mouth, trailing down his chin before he can catch it with his tongue.

“Fuck,” Caleb gasps, clearly embarrassed by his loss of control even as another drop forms at the corner of his mouth. “Sorry, I—“

“Don’t you dare apologize,” you interrupt, your hand moving faster on his cock. “It’s hot. So fucking hot to see you like this.”

Caleb’s hand returns to between your legs. But this time, there’s a new urgency to his touch—his fingers pushing into your entrance with less finesse than before, driven by the desperate need your hand on his cock has awakened.

“Too much?” he asks, though he makes no move to ease his pace, his fingers establishing a rhythm that has your inner walls fluttering around the intrusion.

You shake your head frantically. “No. God, no. It’s perfect. Just like that, ge ge.”

“Caleb,” you gasp, your hand moving faster on his cock as pleasure threatens to overwhelm you. “You look so... fuck, I can’t even...”

He seems to understand without further explanation, a dark smile curving his lips as he watches your struggle for words. “This what you wanted to see?” he asks, his free hand coming up to frame your face with surprising tenderness. “Your big brother completely losing his mind over you?”

You nod frantically, beyond words now as his fingers find that spot deep inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. “Yes,” you manage between gasps. “Please, ge ge. More.”

His smile turns wicked as he leans forward, his breath hot against your ear. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Without warning, he adds a third finger, pushing it alongside the two already buried inside you. The stretch is immediate and intense, drawing a startled cry from your throat as your inner walls struggle to accommodate the increased fullness.

“Fuck, ride them,” Caleb encourages, his free hand coming to rest on your hip, guiding your movements. “Show me how much you love having your brother’s hand inside you.”

You follow his direction without hesitation, your hips beginning to rock against his hand, taking his fingers deeper with each downward movement. The change in angle allows him to reach spots his previous technique missed, sending fresh waves of pleasure crashing through your system.

“That’s it,” Caleb praises, satisfaction evident in his voice as he watches your face. “Use my hand however you need. Take what you want from me.”

“Caleb,” you warn, your voice breaking as tension builds at the base of your spine. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Let me feel it,” he demands, his voice rough with need. “Cum on my fingers, Pips. Show me how good your big brother makes you feel.”

Your inner walls clamp down on his invading fingers, your back arching sharply as your climax tears a cry from your throat.

“Fuck,” Caleb breathes, his eyes widening with wonder as he watches you come apart. “So fucking beautiful like this. Taking my fingers so well.”

He doesn’t ease up—if anything, his movements become more deliberate, more focused on that spot deep inside you that extends your pleasure with each careful press. More wetness gushes from your core, coating his hand and making obscene, wet sounds that fill the room.

“Can feel you cumming,” Caleb groans, his voice strained with his own need. “So fucking tight around my fingers. So wet for me.”

Caleb grabs your wrist, stopping your strokes. His eyes, dark with hunger, lock with yours as he brings your cum-slicked hand to his cock, using your combined fluids to coat his length.

“Fuck,” he groans, his head falling back as your slick palm makes contact with his sensitive flesh. “So fucking wet. Your perfect little pussy making my cock all nice and slick.”

“Want to feel your hand milking every drop from my cock while I watch that pretty face.” Caleb admits, his voice rough with need.

“Going to cum,” Caleb warns, his voice breaking on the words. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m gonna—“

His warning cuts off in a groan as his cock pulses in your grip, the first jet of cum shooting up to land on his stomach. You don’t stop, your hand continuing to stroke him through his orgasm, milking every drop from his sensitive flesh.

“That’s it,” you encourage, watching in fascination as more cum spills over your fingers. “Give me everything, ge ge.”

Caleb’s head falls back, a guttural sound tearing from his throat as his hips continue to jerk upward, chasing the pleasure your hand provides. More cum spills from the tip of his cock, some landing on his stomach, some coating your hand, making your strokes even slicker.

“Fuck, Pips,” he gasps when the worst of the tremors have passed, though he makes no move to stop your hand. Instead, he tightens his grip, guiding your movements to a slower, more deliberate pace. “Too sensitive. Too good.”

You ease your grip slightly, though you don’t release his cock entirely. Instead, you continue to hold him, feeling the gradual softening of his flesh, the occasional aftershock that makes him twitch in your hand.

“That’s it,” Caleb murmurs, his voice taking on that rough, satisfied edge that only emerges after intense pleasure. “Keep going. Milk every last drop.”

To your shock, he’s not done—despite the copious amount of cum already coating your hand and his stomach, more continues to spill from the tip of his cock with each downward stroke. It’s like he’s been saving up for this moment, his body producing more than seems physically possible.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, eyes wide as you watch another thick rope of cum join the mess on his abdomen. “How are you still—“

Caleb’s laugh is warm, tinged with the slight breathlessness of post-orgasmic bliss. “Told you,” he says, his free hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear with surprising tenderness. “Only for you, Pips. My body knows exactly who it belongs to.”

As if reading your thoughts, Caleb’s smile turns wicked. “Now,” he says, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes your stomach flip, “about this mess.”

Before you can ask what he means, he’s capturing your cum-covered hand, bringing it to his lips. But instead of cleaning it himself, he guides it to your mouth, his eyes never leaving yours as he pushes your fingers between your lips.

“Clean up,” he instructs, his thumb brushing your lower lip. “Show me how much you love the taste of us together.”

The command should shock you, should make you pull away in disgust. Instead, you find yourself obeying without hesitation, your tongue making a broad swipe across your palm to collect a drop of the mixed fluids there.

The taste is complex—bitter and sweet, musky and tangy, neither purely his nor purely yours but something new created from the combination. It should be disgusting. It’s not. It’s intoxicating, addictive—like the man currently watching you with hungry eyes.

“Fuck,” Caleb breathes, his eyes darkening as he watches your tongue work between your fingers. “Look at you, taking it so well. Such a good girl for me.”

His praise fuels your determination, your tongue making another pass, this one focused on cleaning between your fingers where the evidence of your shared pleasure has collected. You work methodically, making sure no drop is wasted, no spot untouched.

When your hand is mostly clean, Caleb captures your wrist again, guiding your still-damp fingers to his chest where a large glob of cum has landed. “Here too,” he instructs, his voice rough with renewed desire. “Can’t let any go to waste, can we?”

You follow his direction without hesitation, leaning down to lap at the mess on his chest. Your tongue makes a broad swipe through the puddle, gathering the thick, white fluid and swallowing it with deliberate slowness.

“That’s it,” Caleb encourages, his hand coming to rest on the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair with surprising gentleness. “Such a perfect little cleaner. Always so eager to please your big brother.”

You continue your careful cleaning, moving from his chest to his stomach, making sure no drop of his release goes untouched. Each new area presents a new challenge—the flat plane of his abdomen, the sensitive skin just above the waistband of his sweatpants, the trail of dark hair leading downward from his navel.

Throughout it all, Caleb watches with hungry eyes, his breathing growing more ragged as your tongue works its magic on his skin.

By the time you’ve cleaned the last visible drop, his cock is beginning to harden again, the tip emerging from the foreskin as blood rushes back to fill it.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hand tightening in your hair as your mouth hovers just inches from his now-half-hard length. “You’re going to be the death of me, Pips.”

You smile against his skin, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot just below his navel. “Only if you’re lucky, ge ge.”

His laugh is warm, tinged with the slight breathlessness of post-orgasmic bliss. “Always so fucking mouthy,” he says, but there’s no heat in the words—just fond exasperation and a hunger that never seems to fully abate. “Even with my cum on your tongue.”

You sit back on your heels, suddenly aware of just how obscene the situation is—you on your knees between your brother’s legs, his cum on your tongue, his cock still exposed from his pushed-down sweatpants.

“Was it good?” you ask again, unable to keep the smug satisfaction from your voice.

“What now?” you ask, suddenly uncertain despite the intensity of what just transpired between you. Are you done? Is this all he wanted from you? The thought sends a pang of disappointment through your chest.

As if reading your mind, Caleb’s expression softens, his hand sliding from your cheek to cup the back of your neck. “Now,” he says, his voice taking on that gentle tone reserved just for you, “we rest.”

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Already at the stove.

Already flipping something in a pan with the confidence of a man who learned to cook before he learned to shave.

He’ll glance over his shoulder at you and smile, and it’s that smile, the soft one with the slight crinkle at the corner of his purple eyes, and you’ll feel your irritation deflate like a sad balloon because god, he’s so annoyingly pretty.

You tried cleaning.

You got up early. Practically military-early, which for you is a genuine sacrifice.

You dug out the cleaning supplies from under the sink and you had the vacuum cleaner out before seven in the morning, which should have earned you some kind of medal.

Instead you found the living room already clean. Not recently clean. Impeccably clean. Like it had never been touched by the concept of mess. There was a note on the coffee table in his handwriting: Don’t strain yourself, Pipsqueak. — C.

You may have crumpled that note aggressively.

You may have then proceeded to sit down in the middle of the clean living room floor and have something that could generously be called a meltdown. A tantrum, if you’re being less generous.

Caleb came in from wherever he’d been — still in that black and orange flight jacket, hair slightly messed, looking unfairly effortless — and found you sitting on the floor with your arms crossed and your expression set to full operational sulk.

He didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you, and then the corner of his mouth tugged upward, and he laughed. Not mean. Never mean with you.

Just warm and rich and a little helpless, like you were the funniest thing he’d ever seen and also slightly exasperating.

“I just wanted to help,” you told him, which came out more like a whine than a declaration.

“I know,” he said, and before you could say anything else he had you up over his shoulder like you weighed nothing — like you were a bag of laundry, like the laws of gravity simply applied differently to you when he decided they did — and the world flipped upside down and his hand was firm and warm on the back of your thigh.

“Caleb—“

“You wanna work so much?” His voice had dropped, that particular low register that lived somewhere between teasing and intent. “Alright. Put that mouth to work.”

And the thing is. The thing is. You’re not going to dwell on what happened after that.

You’re absolutely not going to think about how you ended up on your knees on the floor of his office with his hands loose in your hair and his cock heavy on your tongue, or about the sounds he made, or about the way he looked down at you with those purple eyes gone dark and said good girl like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You are not dwelling on any of that.

You’re especially not dwelling on the fact that you’d have done it again. Enthusiastically.

But the point is — and you have to keep coming back to the point because your brain has a truly inconvenient tendency to wander — his birthday is in two weeks.

And you have done nothing.

Zero.

You’ve been outmaneuvered at every turn by a six-foot-two military pilot who apparently never sleeps and has a pathological need to do everything himself before anyone else can.

Domestic route: blocked. Culinary route: blocked. Cleaning route: blocked and mocked, very gently, via handwritten note.

Fine. Fine.

If he won’t let you help him with the house, you’ll help him in a different way. A much more interesting way.

The idea had come to you in the middle of the night, the way good ideas tend to. If Caleb loves his uniform, and he does, he’s meticulous about it in a way that borders on religious — the pressed lines, the insignia, the whole Colonel energy he wears like a second skin — then what better way to short-circuit his brain than to wear it yourself?

You’d ordered it three weeks ago, back before the tantrum, when you still thought the cooking plan might work.

It had been sitting in your closet ever since, tucked behind a row of regular clothes, hidden in plain sight as something so mundane that Caleb, who does occasionally poke his head into your room to return folded laundry like some kind of domestic nightmare, would never look twice at it.

Just a dry-cleaning bag. Just a work uniform. Nothing to see here.

You pull it out now, holding it up in the soft late-afternoon light that comes through your window, and you look at it critically. It’s exactly right. The cut, the fabric, the insignia you’d had replicated. The jacket. The pants. The whole setup.

Caleb is in his room, the door cracked open the way it always is when he’s working at his desk, which means you can hear the faint occasional sound of papers shifting or his pen moving, which means he is exactly where you want him.

You look at the uniform again. You look at yourself in the mirror on the back of your closet door.

You’re going to march into his room, and you’re going to make Colonel Caleb Xia Yi Zhou lose every single thread of his composure, because it’s almost his birthday and you refuse — refuse — to be outmaneuvered a fourth time.

But here’s what they don’t tell you about ordering a uniform online when you’re more focused on the fantasy of it than the logistics: size matters.

Size matters a lot.

You step into the pants first, which is a process. You get them up past your knees fine. Past your thighs is already a project. By the time you’ve wrestled them up over your hips you’re already slightly out of breath, and when you look in the mirror the fabric is pulled so tight across your ass that you can practically count the individual seams.

You turn sideways. You turn back. You try bending at the knee to test the range of motion and the pants make a sound like a warning.

Don’t, the pants say. Absolutely do not.

Okay, so bending is out.

Moving with anything resembling caution is also out.

If you sit down in these you might genuinely be trapped.

You accept this as the price of the plan and move on to the jacket, which is the least of your problems until it isn’t — the buttons close over your stomach fine, but once you get to your chest it becomes a negotiation.

The fabric strains. The buttons are doing their best. They are trying so hard and they are losing, and there’s a gap between the second and third button from the top that wasn’t there in the product photos, where the fabric pulls apart just enough to show a strip of skin and the edge of your bra.

You look at yourself in the mirror for a long moment.

“Okay,” you say.

Your ass looks genuinely extraordinary. You have to give the too-tight pants that — they’ve done something transcendent back there. The uniform jacket hits just above the curve of it, which means when you lean forward even slightly there is an event happening. And the gap at the chest is doing something. It’s doing something you hadn’t planned, but you’re choosing to count it as a feature.

You rake your hair back, let it fall, tilt your chin. You point at your own reflection.

“He’s not gonna know what hit him.”

Your reflection looks back at you with the energy of someone who is sixty percent confident and forty percent about to back out.

You do not give her the opportunity.

You turn away from the mirror before the forty percent can gain ground, grab the door handle, and head out into the hallway.

The apartment is quiet. The late afternoon has gone gold and long-shadowed, and Caleb’s door is still cracked the way it was before, a thin rectangle of warm light falling across the hall floor. You can hear him in there — the faint shift of paper, the soft particular sound of his pen, totally absorbed. He has no idea.

You stop outside his door. You breathe.

You arrange your face into an expression of worried contrition, which takes some doing because underneath it you are absolutely delighted with yourself, and you knock twice on the door frame, keeping your body just out of sight around the edge.

“Caleb?” Your voice comes out with exactly the right wobble — concerned, a little sheepish, the voice of someone who has done something they feel bad about. “I’m really sorry, but — I was trying to do something nice, and I think I kind of messed up...”

There’s a pause. You hear his pen stop.

“Messed up how?” His voice is careful, not alarmed. Just attentive, the way he always is when you sound uncertain, because Caleb has never once in his life been able to hear you sound uncertain without immediately paying attention. It’s one of his more exploitable qualities.

“I tried washing your uniform for you,” you say, and you let the words come out small and guilty. “And I think — I think it might have... shrunk.”

Another pause. You can picture him at his desk, his brow doing that slight furrow, trying to work out why that’s a problem that requires you to sound this apologetic.

“Sweetheart.” His voice is mild, unoffended, just a little puzzled. The chair shifts. “Let me see it. Come here.”

That’s your cue.

You step around the door frame and into the light of his room, and then you walk toward him. You take your time with it, because the pants make fast movement inadvisable anyway, and because the whole point is to let him see every inch of you in this thing that barely contains you — the jacket pulled tight across your chest, the gap where the buttons strain, the pants that have given up any pretense of modesty and are simply painting you in detail.

Caleb goes completely still.

He’d been turned partway toward the door, one arm braced on his desk, and that’s how he stays — perfectly, completely motionless — as you cross the room toward him.

His mouth doesn’t drop open. He’s more composed than that. But his eyes go somewhere darker and the breath he’d been in the middle of just... stops. You can see it. The stillness of his chest.

His cock is already pressing against his pants. You notice this without looking directly, the way you notice a fire — by the heat of it, by the fact that the room feels different suddenly

You don’t say anything. You walk to his desk, turn so your back is to him, and lean against the edge of it. Your ass settles onto his work papers with a soft, definitive sound. You glance back at him over your shoulder.

He still hasn’t spoken. He’s just watching you.

His eyes trace the uniform, absorbing every detail like a blueprint he’s determined to master. His jaw is tight. The smirk hasn’t arrived yet — it’s building, you can see it in the set of his mouth, the way the corner of his lip is just beginning to pull.

You cross your arms loosely, settle your weight back, and look at him.

“Well?” you say, keeping your voice light, unbothered, like you aren’t desperately aware of your own heartbeat. “What do you think? Think it shrunk?”

And there it is — the smirk, slow and deliberate as a knife being unsheathed, landing at the corner of his mouth like he was never trying to hold it back, just waiting to make sure you were watching when it showed up.

“Mhm,” Caleb says. It’s not an answer. It’s not even a word. It’s just a sound in the low register of his voice that goes directly down your spine. The look in his eyes is the look of a man who has already decided what’s going to happen next and finds it very, very funny that you thought you were in charge of this.

You swallow.

Maybe you didn’t think this through all the way.

You think — well, you THOUGHT — that you have the upper hand here.

You’re sitting on his desk, his papers crinkled under your ass, wearing his uniform like you own it, and he’s just standing there in front of you looking at you with that smirk, and you think: yeah, okay, I’ve got him. You think: he’s flustered and I did that. You think a lot of things very quickly, in the way you do when you’re trying to feel confident and your brain is helping you lie to yourself.

Then Caleb stands up.

He’d been leaning slightly forward, one hand on the arm of his chair. He rises to his full height like the tide coming in, slow and inevitable, and suddenly he is very tall.

You’ve always known he’s tall. Six-foot-two is not a secret.

You have lived with this man, you’ve stood next to him at the grocery store and craned your neck at him across the dinner table and had him tuck you under his arm for years without really registering it the way you register it now.

You have to lean back just to keep eye contact. Your hands go automatically to the desk behind you, bracing.

“Hi,” you say, which is not what you’d planned to say.

He doesn’t answer. Instead he reaches out — and picks you up. Both hands, one at your hip and one at your thigh, and he lifts you like you’re a piece of paper he’s clearing off the desk and deposits you further back on the desk surface, higher up, and the pants — the beautiful, already-suffering pants — finally meet their end.

The seam goes with a sharp tearing sound right down the middle, and you feel the cool air of the room find your inner thighs, and you make a sound you hadn’t planned to make, somewhere between a gasp and a laugh, and your hands fly down to cover yourself automatically. That does nothing, by the way, because Caleb’s hands are already there, wrapping around your wrists and holding them to the side with a calm, immovable firmness.

His hands are enormous around your wrists. You could probably fight it but you don’t, because you’ve already forgotten what you were fighting for.

Your panties are orange. Bright, irreverent orange, the exact same color as the stripe on his flight jacket, and they are completely visible through the wreckage of the pants.

Caleb stares at them.

And then he does something you didn’t predict, because you should have known by now that Caleb in this mode is ungovernable: he drops his head.

He dips down between your thighs and puts his nose right against the fabric, and inhales. Long and deep and completely shameless, like you’re something he’s been wanting to smell for a long time and he is going to take his time about it.

You feel the breath of it through the fabric, warm and deliberate, and your hands jerk reflexively in his grip but he doesn’t let go.

“Caleb—“

He licks. A long, slow drag of his tongue over the front of your underwear, and the fabric is thin enough that you feel all of it — the wet heat, the pressure, the shape of his mouth working against you like he’s trying to memorize you through the cotton.

He does it again. He makes a sound low in his throat that is not a civilized sound, that belongs to something older and less housebroken than any version of Caleb you’ve been allowed to see before.

There is saliva soaking into the fabric now. There is the obscene warmth of his mouth. And there is you, gripping the edge of his desk with fingers gone white, breathing through your teeth.

He lets go of your wrists, steps back, and reaches into his own pants. He doesn’t bother taking them off — just shoves them down to his knees, enough to free himself, and his cock springs out like it’s been waiting for this, already flushed and heavy, standing up toward his stomach.

He wraps one hand around the base of it and strokes it slowly, watching you, watching the orange of your panties, watching the evidence of what he’s already done to them.

“Mmm,” he says again, that low sound from before. Not a word. An assessment.

Then he steps forward, and instead of pushing in — instead of doing the obvious thing, the thing you are absolutely ready for whether you’ll admit it or not — he just leans against you.

Pushes his cock down flat against the front of your panties, along your stomach, and the length of him is just. There. You both look down at the same time.

His tip passes your navel. Surpasses it. There’s cock laid against your stomach in a way that makes the math of the situation very, very clear.

“Look here, Pips.” His voice is low and easy, like he’s making an observation about the weather, like he’s discussing something reasonable and not currently resting every inch of himself against your skin. “I’m gonna be in here one day.”

Not I want to. Not can I? Just — I’m going to. The same tone he uses when he talks about flight routes and promotions and things he’s already decided are going to happen.

Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

He pulls back, and there are wet spots on your panties, and he looks at them with an expression of profound satisfaction before he presses himself back against you. Not inside, just along you, rubbing the length of his cock over your pussy through the ruined fabric. You’re so wet that it soaks through immediately and he can feel it.. You can tell by the hitch in his breath and the way his hips rock forward once, twice, following the slick heat of you like he can’t help it.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and it comes out reverent.

His cock moves against you in long, rolling strokes, gathering up your slick, dragging it across the fabric. Spreading isn’t enough. It isn’t enough, and Caleb knows it, and you know it, and the knowing doesn’t stop anything.

You feel the exact moment he loses the last organized thought in his head. It’s in the shift of his hips, the way they press forward with new intent instead of the rolling stroke from before.

His hands grip the backs of your thighs, and he pushes, and the wet cotton of your panties catches him, gives just a little, and his tip nudges in by a fraction — barely there, barely a suggestion of inside — and that’s all it takes.

He cums.

Just like that.

A low, bitten-off sound tears out of him, and you feel it — the heat of it soaking into the fabric, spreading in a wet rush that joins everything already there, and he’s still pressed against you, shuddering, his forehead dropping toward your shoulder without quite landing.

“Jesus—“ he breathes, and it comes out broken, like he wasn’t expecting himself.

You look down. The orange cotton is wrecked, soaked through and stained, clinging to you with the weight of what he’s done, and Caleb is looking down at it too.

“Again,” he decides, out loud, which is not a request.

He draws back and pushes forward again, harder this time, and the fabric holds for approximately one more second before it doesn’t.

The seam at the center tears cleanly, cotton splitting apart, and with the combined slick of you and the mess he’s already made, his cock slides and then doesn’t quite find the angle it was looking for. Instead it slides up, and he ends up fitted snugly between your lips, sandwiched in the wet heat of you, your folds closing around him on either side without him getting inside. The tip of him grazes your clit.

You make a sound that isn’t your voice, or isn’t a voice you’ve used before.

He goes still. Then his hips roll, experimentally, once, feeling it — the slick of you on both sides of him, your flesh pressing in, and the soft brush of your pubic hair against the base of his cock strike him directly in the brain stem.

“Oh, fuck.”

His hips find a rhythm, a steady roll that sends his cock gliding between your lips. Each thrust drags him against your clit, his length slick with your desire and the remnants of his own release. The room echoes with filthy, sloppy sounds—the smack of skin on skin, the lewd squish of his cock plowing through the fucking mess you’ve made together.

He cums again. Just erupts, fountaining up your stomach, over the ripped hem of the costume jacket, and it goes everywhere and he watches it go everywhere. His cock is still twitching.

Then he looks up at you.

“Ma’am,” he says, and the word is wrong and filthy in his mouth. Wrong because you’re not his superior, wrong because he’s never called you that in his life, wrong because of everything. He says it with a straight face.

With his hand already moving, rubbing the flat of his palm over your stomach, spreading what he’s put there into your skin. His jaw is tight. “I don’t think this uniform belongs to me anymore.”

“Caleb—“

“’Yes, sir’ works.” He isn’t looking at your face. He’s watching his own hand move, the cream worked into your skin going slick and shining. His thumb drags through the mess of you and he pushes it between your pussy lips — against them, not in, just the pressure of him insisting — and your thighs try to close and his hips stop them. “You’re so wet for me, Pips. You’re soaking. Did you know that?”

You knew. You’ve known for the last fifteen minutes in excruciating detail.

“You did this to me,” you manage.

“Yeah,” he agrees, like that pleases him enormously. “I did.”

He takes the ruined waistband of your panties in both hands, the torn fabric hanging in tatters, and pulls the remnants taut. A strip of it pressed flat against you, between your lips, and then he presses his cock back over it, and the combined friction is something your nervous system genuinely wasn’t prepared for.

He drags. Long and deliberate and slow, forcing the fabric tight against your skin, and the edge of the seam catches your clit just right and you make a noise loud enough to embarrass yourself, your hands scrabbling at the back of his neck.

“There she is,” Caleb says, very quietly, and he does it again.

Your thighs shake. The pressure builds with a speed that makes you feel cheated out of the anticipation of it, and when you tip over the edge you take him with you. You squirt, sudden and surprised and messy, and it hits him across the lower stomach and the base of his cock and he makes a sound like he’s been hit.

You expected this to slow him down. You expected this to be the moment he regroups, take a breath, bring some of that Colonel composure back to bear.

He grabs your hips instead.

His eyes are wide and dark and there is nothing composed about him. He looks at the mess between your bodies, your slick and his cum and the ruined orange cotton of your underwear, and his expression is the expression of a man who has found the meaning of life,

“Need gege to clean you up?” He asks.

His hips roll forward, coating himself back in you, and the mess makes a sound, and Caleb Xia Yi Zhou, Colonel, decorated pilot, the most responsible person in your life, looks at you with your ruined uniform jacket hanging off your shoulders and your thighs wrapped around him and his cock slick with everything that’s passed between you, and he smiles. Wide and a little wild and completely without apology.

You are in so much trouble.

Caleb grabs the remnants of your panties in both fists and pulls, and they give immediately. The cotton is already destroyed, and the last of it comes away with a sound of final surrender.

He drops it somewhere. He grabs the shredded ends of the costume pants, what’s left of them still clinging to your legs, and those go too, peeled down and discarded over the edge of the desk. You’re bare from the waist down in the ruins of this cheap costume uniform and the cool air of his room comes for your skin all at once.

Caleb doesn’t notice, or maybe he doesn’t care. He’s looking at you with the focused, slightly unhinged attention, and his cock is still hard and flushed and absolutely ready despite cumming all his kids all over you.

He picks his cock back up in his hand. Looks at you. And then he brings it down against your pussy in a single, deliberate slap.

The sound it makes is obscene. Wet and sharp and loud in the quiet room, and the splatter of everything already there — your slick, his cum, the accumulated evidence of the last twenty minutes — goes everywhere, and you jerk. Your thighs try to close and Caleb puts one hand flat on your inner thigh, open-palmed, holding you in place.

“Stay,” he says, like you’re a very beloved problem.

He does it again. The slap of his cock against your pussy, light and then firmer, and every impact sends a shock up through your hips. The wet sound of it fills the room and he is watching — watching it happen, watching the cream fly, watching the way your lips part and close around the impact, and his expression is so rapt and so unabashedly delighted that you almost laugh except that you’re too busy making sounds that aren’t laughter.

“Caleb—“

“Sir,” he corrects, absently, still watching what he’s doing with the focus of someone who finds it genuinely fascinating. “Or ma’am, I don’t care, pick one.”

“I’m not calling you ma’am,” you say, breathless.

“No, you’re the ma’am.” He looks up briefly. “You’re in uniform, Pips.” Then back down. “You’re technically outranking me right now.”

This is demented reasoning and you both know it. But it doesn’t matter because he’s moved on from slapping his dick on you to pressing his tip directly against your clit, circling it in slow, lazy strokes like he’s drawing something. His free hand has found your pussy lips, two fingers sliding along either side, pressing them together, releasing, pressing again, the wet sounds mortifying and you’re watching him do it with your mouth open because apparently your body has decided to spectate.

“Hi,” Caleb says to your pussy, conversationally. His fingers press your lips together again. They make a sound. “Yeah,” he says, nodding, like he’s hearing something only he can understand. “I know. Me too.”

“Are you talking to it—”

“Shh.” His tip presses down and rolls over your clit again and your sentence evaporates. “We’re having a moment.”

You are going to lose your mind.

In fact, you are already losing it.

You lost it approximately seventeen minutes ago and you’ve just been running on the fumes of it.

And Caleb is still working that slow deliberate circle with the head of his cock and squishing your lips between his fingers with the focus of a man who has found his calling.

“You’re so goddamn soft,” he says, and now his voice has dropped all the way down, into that register that does things to your ovaries.

“You know that? Every time I think about how — “ he presses down harder, rolls, and you make a sound that does things to his expression — “how fucking small you are—“ another stroke, the tip dragging slick — “I can’t even, Pips. I would fill you up to your throat, do you understand that? I’m not — I’m being serious right now—“

“Caleb—“

“Sir,” he says again, more firmly this time, though it’s undercut by the fact that he’s clearly struggling to form sentences himself.

His hips have started moving again with that roll, working himself against you, and the slick built between you is audible and continuous and bubbly. “I would split you in half, sweetheart, I would be so far in you—”

He cums.

It happens mid-sentence, which would be funny under other circumstances. His voice just stops, replaced by a rough broken sound, and he tilts forward and his cock kicks upward and he paints you with it. Long white stripes landing across your stomach and the open front of the costume jacket, soaking into the fabric and your skin alike. And he keeps stroking through it with his fist, milking every last drop out, watching it land.

The uniform is destroyed.

It is a complete loss.

There is no dry cleaner in the world that could help this uniform.

You don’t care. You reach out and grab his wrist.

“Again, sir,” you say, which is what he said earlier.

He looks at you. His chest is heaving. His hair is messed up, falling across his forehead. His pants are still at his knees, which looks ridiculous, but on Caleb it just looks like a man who didn’t have time for niceties.

He tries. He genuinely tries.

His hips shift forward, his hand moves, and then his whole body seems to make a decision. Caleb falls forward, catching himself on his forearms on the desk, and lowers his head until his forehead rests in the crook of your neck. His weight on you but managed, warm and enormous, his breath coming against your collarbone in deep, ragged pulls.

He doesn’t move.

The room is very quiet.

After a moment, Caleb says, in a muffled, genuine tone, “I think my soul just left my body, Pips.”

You stare at the ceiling. Your chest is heaving.

There is cum on the costume. There is cum on you.

Your pants are in pieces on the floor and you are sitting on his work papers and his face is in your neck and he has just, apparently, experienced some kind of astral event.

“Are you dead?”

“Yes.” A pause. “Don’t tell Gran.”

You bring your hand up — slowly, because everything is a little slow right now — and rest it on the back of his head.

His hair is soft. It’s always soft, stupidly soft, and he makes a low satisfied sound at the contact like a very large, very spent dog who has found his spot and has no plans to relocate.

“Don’t die yet,” you tell the ceiling.

Caleb laughs into your neck. It’s muffled and helpless and warm, and it shakes through his whole chest and into you, and you feel it everywhere.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Refer to Party RSVP

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Already at the stove.

Already flipping something in a pan with the confidence of a man who learned to cook before he learned to shave.

He’ll glance over his shoulder at you and smile, and it’s that smile, the soft one with the slight crinkle at the corner of his purple eyes, and you’ll feel your irritation deflate like a sad balloon because god, he’s so annoyingly pretty.

You tried cleaning.

You got up early. Practically military-early, which for you is a genuine sacrifice.

You dug out the cleaning supplies from under the sink and you had the vacuum cleaner out before seven in the morning, which should have earned you some kind of medal.

Instead you found the living room already clean. Not recently clean. Impeccably clean. Like it had never been touched by the concept of mess. There was a note on the coffee table in his handwriting: Don’t strain yourself, Pipsqueak. — C.

You may have crumpled that note aggressively.

You may have then proceeded to sit down in the middle of the clean living room floor and have something that could generously be called a meltdown. A tantrum, if you’re being less generous.

Caleb came in from wherever he’d been — still in that black and orange flight jacket, hair slightly messed, looking unfairly effortless — and found you sitting on the floor with your arms crossed and your expression set to full operational sulk.

He didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you, and then the corner of his mouth tugged upward, and he laughed. Not mean. Never mean with you.

Just warm and rich and a little helpless, like you were the funniest thing he’d ever seen and also slightly exasperating.

“I just wanted to help,” you told him, which came out more like a whine than a declaration.

“I know,” he said, and before you could say anything else he had you up over his shoulder like you weighed nothing — like you were a bag of laundry, like the laws of gravity simply applied differently to you when he decided they did — and the world flipped upside down and his hand was firm and warm on the back of your thigh.

“Caleb—“

“You wanna work so much?” His voice had dropped, that particular low register that lived somewhere between teasing and intent. “Alright. Put that mouth to work.”

And the thing is. The thing is. You’re not going to dwell on what happened after that.

You’re absolutely not going to think about how you ended up on your knees on the floor of his office with his hands loose in your hair and his cock heavy on your tongue, or about the sounds he made, or about the way he looked down at you with those purple eyes gone dark and said good girl like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You are not dwelling on any of that.

You’re especially not dwelling on the fact that you’d have done it again. Enthusiastically.

But the point is — and you have to keep coming back to the point because your brain has a truly inconvenient tendency to wander — his birthday is in two weeks.

And you have done nothing.

Zero.

You’ve been outmaneuvered at every turn by a six-foot-two military pilot who apparently never sleeps and has a pathological need to do everything himself before anyone else can.

Domestic route: blocked. Culinary route: blocked. Cleaning route: blocked and mocked, very gently, via handwritten note.

Fine. Fine.

If he won’t let you help him with the house, you’ll help him in a different way. A much more interesting way.

The idea had come to you in the middle of the night, the way good ideas tend to. If Caleb loves his uniform, and he does, he’s meticulous about it in a way that borders on religious — the pressed lines, the insignia, the whole Colonel energy he wears like a second skin — then what better way to short-circuit his brain than to wear it yourself?

You’d ordered it three weeks ago, back before the tantrum, when you still thought the cooking plan might work.

It had been sitting in your closet ever since, tucked behind a row of regular clothes, hidden in plain sight as something so mundane that Caleb, who does occasionally poke his head into your room to return folded laundry like some kind of domestic nightmare, would never look twice at it.

Just a dry-cleaning bag. Just a work uniform. Nothing to see here.

You pull it out now, holding it up in the soft late-afternoon light that comes through your window, and you look at it critically. It’s exactly right. The cut, the fabric, the insignia you’d had replicated. The jacket. The pants. The whole setup.

Caleb is in his room, the door cracked open the way it always is when he’s working at his desk, which means you can hear the faint occasional sound of papers shifting or his pen moving, which means he is exactly where you want him.

You look at the uniform again. You look at yourself in the mirror on the back of your closet door.

You’re going to march into his room, and you’re going to make Colonel Caleb Xia Yi Zhou lose every single thread of his composure, because it’s almost his birthday and you refuse — refuse — to be outmaneuvered a fourth time.

But here’s what they don’t tell you about ordering a uniform online when you’re more focused on the fantasy of it than the logistics: size matters.

Size matters a lot.

You step into the pants first, which is a process. You get them up past your knees fine. Past your thighs is already a project. By the time you’ve wrestled them up over your hips you’re already slightly out of breath, and when you look in the mirror the fabric is pulled so tight across your ass that you can practically count the individual seams.

You turn sideways. You turn back. You try bending at the knee to test the range of motion and the pants make a sound like a warning.

Don’t, the pants say. Absolutely do not.

Okay, so bending is out.

Moving with anything resembling caution is also out.

If you sit down in these you might genuinely be trapped.

You accept this as the price of the plan and move on to the jacket, which is the least of your problems until it isn’t — the buttons close over your stomach fine, but once you get to your chest it becomes a negotiation.

The fabric strains. The buttons are doing their best. They are trying so hard and they are losing, and there’s a gap between the second and third button from the top that wasn’t there in the product photos, where the fabric pulls apart just enough to show a strip of skin and the edge of your bra.

You look at yourself in the mirror for a long moment.

“Okay,” you say.

Your ass looks genuinely extraordinary. You have to give the too-tight pants that — they’ve done something transcendent back there. The uniform jacket hits just above the curve of it, which means when you lean forward even slightly there is an event happening. And the gap at the chest is doing something. It’s doing something you hadn’t planned, but you’re choosing to count it as a feature.

You rake your hair back, let it fall, tilt your chin. You point at your own reflection.

“He’s not gonna know what hit him.”

Your reflection looks back at you with the energy of someone who is sixty percent confident and forty percent about to back out.

You do not give her the opportunity.

You turn away from the mirror before the forty percent can gain ground, grab the door handle, and head out into the hallway.

The apartment is quiet. The late afternoon has gone gold and long-shadowed, and Caleb’s door is still cracked the way it was before, a thin rectangle of warm light falling across the hall floor. You can hear him in there — the faint shift of paper, the soft particular sound of his pen, totally absorbed. He has no idea.

You stop outside his door. You breathe.

You arrange your face into an expression of worried contrition, which takes some doing because underneath it you are absolutely delighted with yourself, and you knock twice on the door frame, keeping your body just out of sight around the edge.

“Caleb?” Your voice comes out with exactly the right wobble — concerned, a little sheepish, the voice of someone who has done something they feel bad about. “I’m really sorry, but — I was trying to do something nice, and I think I kind of messed up...”

There’s a pause. You hear his pen stop.

“Messed up how?” His voice is careful, not alarmed. Just attentive, the way he always is when you sound uncertain, because Caleb has never once in his life been able to hear you sound uncertain without immediately paying attention. It’s one of his more exploitable qualities.

“I tried washing your uniform for you,” you say, and you let the words come out small and guilty. “And I think — I think it might have... shrunk.”

Another pause. You can picture him at his desk, his brow doing that slight furrow, trying to work out why that’s a problem that requires you to sound this apologetic.

“Sweetheart.” His voice is mild, unoffended, just a little puzzled. The chair shifts. “Let me see it. Come here.”

That’s your cue.

You step around the door frame and into the light of his room, and then you walk toward him. You take your time with it, because the pants make fast movement inadvisable anyway, and because the whole point is to let him see every inch of you in this thing that barely contains you — the jacket pulled tight across your chest, the gap where the buttons strain, the pants that have given up any pretense of modesty and are simply painting you in detail.

Caleb goes completely still.

He’d been turned partway toward the door, one arm braced on his desk, and that’s how he stays — perfectly, completely motionless — as you cross the room toward him.

His mouth doesn’t drop open. He’s more composed than that. But his eyes go somewhere darker and the breath he’d been in the middle of just... stops. You can see it. The stillness of his chest.

His cock is already pressing against his pants. You notice this without looking directly, the way you notice a fire — by the heat of it, by the fact that the room feels different suddenly

You don’t say anything. You walk to his desk, turn so your back is to him, and lean against the edge of it. Your ass settles onto his work papers with a soft, definitive sound. You glance back at him over your shoulder.

He still hasn’t spoken. He’s just watching you.

His eyes trace the uniform, absorbing every detail like a blueprint he’s determined to master. His jaw is tight. The smirk hasn’t arrived yet — it’s building, you can see it in the set of his mouth, the way the corner of his lip is just beginning to pull.

You cross your arms loosely, settle your weight back, and look at him.

“Well?” you say, keeping your voice light, unbothered, like you aren’t desperately aware of your own heartbeat. “What do you think? Think it shrunk?”

And there it is — the smirk, slow and deliberate as a knife being unsheathed, landing at the corner of his mouth like he was never trying to hold it back, just waiting to make sure you were watching when it showed up.

“Mhm,” Caleb says. It’s not an answer. It’s not even a word. It’s just a sound in the low register of his voice that goes directly down your spine. The look in his eyes is the look of a man who has already decided what’s going to happen next and finds it very, very funny that you thought you were in charge of this.

You swallow.

Maybe you didn’t think this through all the way.

You think — well, you THOUGHT — that you have the upper hand here.

You’re sitting on his desk, his papers crinkled under your ass, wearing his uniform like you own it, and he’s just standing there in front of you looking at you with that smirk, and you think: yeah, okay, I’ve got him. You think: he’s flustered and I did that. You think a lot of things very quickly, in the way you do when you’re trying to feel confident and your brain is helping you lie to yourself.

Then Caleb stands up.

He’d been leaning slightly forward, one hand on the arm of his chair. He rises to his full height like the tide coming in, slow and inevitable, and suddenly he is very tall.

You’ve always known he’s tall. Six-foot-two is not a secret.

You have lived with this man, you’ve stood next to him at the grocery store and craned your neck at him across the dinner table and had him tuck you under his arm for years without really registering it the way you register it now.

You have to lean back just to keep eye contact. Your hands go automatically to the desk behind you, bracing.

“Hi,” you say, which is not what you’d planned to say.

He doesn’t answer. Instead he reaches out — and picks you up. Both hands, one at your hip and one at your thigh, and he lifts you like you’re a piece of paper he’s clearing off the desk and deposits you further back on the desk surface, higher up, and the pants — the beautiful, already-suffering pants — finally meet their end.

The seam goes with a sharp tearing sound right down the middle, and you feel the cool air of the room find your inner thighs, and you make a sound you hadn’t planned to make, somewhere between a gasp and a laugh, and your hands fly down to cover yourself automatically. That does nothing, by the way, because Caleb’s hands are already there, wrapping around your wrists and holding them to the side with a calm, immovable firmness.

His hands are enormous around your wrists. You could probably fight it but you don’t, because you’ve already forgotten what you were fighting for.

Your panties are orange. Bright, irreverent orange, the exact same color as the stripe on his flight jacket, and they are completely visible through the wreckage of the pants.

Caleb stares at them.

And then he does something you didn’t predict, because you should have known by now that Caleb in this mode is ungovernable: he drops his head.

He dips down between your thighs and puts his nose right against the fabric, and inhales. Long and deep and completely shameless, like you’re something he’s been wanting to smell for a long time and he is going to take his time about it.

You feel the breath of it through the fabric, warm and deliberate, and your hands jerk reflexively in his grip but he doesn’t let go.

“Caleb—“

He licks. A long, slow drag of his tongue over the front of your underwear, and the fabric is thin enough that you feel all of it — the wet heat, the pressure, the shape of his mouth working against you like he’s trying to memorize you through the cotton.

He does it again. He makes a sound low in his throat that is not a civilized sound, that belongs to something older and less housebroken than any version of Caleb you’ve been allowed to see before.

There is saliva soaking into the fabric now. There is the obscene warmth of his mouth. And there is you, gripping the edge of his desk with fingers gone white, breathing through your teeth.

He lets go of your wrists, steps back, and reaches into his own pants. He doesn’t bother taking them off — just shoves them down to his knees, enough to free himself, and his cock springs out like it’s been waiting for this, already flushed and heavy, standing up toward his stomach.

He wraps one hand around the base of it and strokes it slowly, watching you, watching the orange of your panties, watching the evidence of what he’s already done to them.

“Mmm,” he says again, that low sound from before. Not a word. An assessment.

Then he steps forward, and instead of pushing in — instead of doing the obvious thing, the thing you are absolutely ready for whether you’ll admit it or not — he just leans against you.

Pushes his cock down flat against the front of your panties, along your stomach, and the length of him is just. There. You both look down at the same time.

His tip passes your navel. Surpasses it. There’s cock laid against your stomach in a way that makes the math of the situation very, very clear.

“Look here, Pips.” His voice is low and easy, like he’s making an observation about the weather, like he’s discussing something reasonable and not currently resting every inch of himself against your skin. “I’m gonna be in here one day.”

Not I want to. Not can I? Just — I’m going to. The same tone he uses when he talks about flight routes and promotions and things he’s already decided are going to happen.

Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

He pulls back, and there are wet spots on your panties, and he looks at them with an expression of profound satisfaction before he presses himself back against you. Not inside, just along you, rubbing the length of his cock over your pussy through the ruined fabric. You’re so wet that it soaks through immediately and he can feel it.. You can tell by the hitch in his breath and the way his hips rock forward once, twice, following the slick heat of you like he can’t help it.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and it comes out reverent.

His cock moves against you in long, rolling strokes, gathering up your slick, dragging it across the fabric. Spreading isn’t enough. It isn’t enough, and Caleb knows it, and you know it, and the knowing doesn’t stop anything.

You feel the exact moment he loses the last organized thought in his head. It’s in the shift of his hips, the way they press forward with new intent instead of the rolling stroke from before.

His hands grip the backs of your thighs, and he pushes, and the wet cotton of your panties catches him, gives just a little, and his tip nudges in by a fraction — barely there, barely a suggestion of inside — and that’s all it takes.

He cums.

Just like that.

A low, bitten-off sound tears out of him, and you feel it — the heat of it soaking into the fabric, spreading in a wet rush that joins everything already there, and he’s still pressed against you, shuddering, his forehead dropping toward your shoulder without quite landing.

“Jesus—“ he breathes, and it comes out broken, like he wasn’t expecting himself.

You look down. The orange cotton is wrecked, soaked through and stained, clinging to you with the weight of what he’s done, and Caleb is looking down at it too.

“Again,” he decides, out loud, which is not a request.

He draws back and pushes forward again, harder this time, and the fabric holds for approximately one more second before it doesn’t.

The seam at the center tears cleanly, cotton splitting apart, and with the combined slick of you and the mess he’s already made, his cock slides and then doesn’t quite find the angle it was looking for. Instead it slides up, and he ends up fitted snugly between your lips, sandwiched in the wet heat of you, your folds closing around him on either side without him getting inside. The tip of him grazes your clit.

You make a sound that isn’t your voice, or isn’t a voice you’ve used before.

He goes still. Then his hips roll, experimentally, once, feeling it — the slick of you on both sides of him, your flesh pressing in, and the soft brush of your pubic hair against the base of his cock strike him directly in the brain stem.

“Oh, fuck.”

His hips find a rhythm, a steady roll that sends his cock gliding between your lips. Each thrust drags him against your clit, his length slick with your desire and the remnants of his own release. The room echoes with filthy, sloppy sounds—the smack of skin on skin, the lewd squish of his cock plowing through the fucking mess you’ve made together.

He cums again. Just erupts, fountaining up your stomach, over the ripped hem of the costume jacket, and it goes everywhere and he watches it go everywhere. His cock is still twitching.

Then he looks up at you.

“Ma’am,” he says, and the word is wrong and filthy in his mouth. Wrong because you’re not his superior, wrong because he’s never called you that in his life, wrong because of everything. He says it with a straight face.

With his hand already moving, rubbing the flat of his palm over your stomach, spreading what he’s put there into your skin. His jaw is tight. “I don’t think this uniform belongs to me anymore.”

“Caleb—“

“’Yes, sir’ works.” He isn’t looking at your face. He’s watching his own hand move, the cream worked into your skin going slick and shining. His thumb drags through the mess of you and he pushes it between your pussy lips — against them, not in, just the pressure of him insisting — and your thighs try to close and his hips stop them. “You’re so wet for me, Pips. You’re soaking. Did you know that?”

You knew. You’ve known for the last fifteen minutes in excruciating detail.

“You did this to me,” you manage.

“Yeah,” he agrees, like that pleases him enormously. “I did.”

He takes the ruined waistband of your panties in both hands, the torn fabric hanging in tatters, and pulls the remnants taut. A strip of it pressed flat against you, between your lips, and then he presses his cock back over it, and the combined friction is something your nervous system genuinely wasn’t prepared for.

He drags. Long and deliberate and slow, forcing the fabric tight against your skin, and the edge of the seam catches your clit just right and you make a noise loud enough to embarrass yourself, your hands scrabbling at the back of his neck.

“There she is,” Caleb says, very quietly, and he does it again.

Your thighs shake. The pressure builds with a speed that makes you feel cheated out of the anticipation of it, and when you tip over the edge you take him with you. You squirt, sudden and surprised and messy, and it hits him across the lower stomach and the base of his cock and he makes a sound like he’s been hit.

You expected this to slow him down. You expected this to be the moment he regroups, take a breath, bring some of that Colonel composure back to bear.

He grabs your hips instead.

His eyes are wide and dark and there is nothing composed about him. He looks at the mess between your bodies, your slick and his cum and the ruined orange cotton of your underwear, and his expression is the expression of a man who has found the meaning of life,

“Need gege to clean you up?” He asks.

His hips roll forward, coating himself back in you, and the mess makes a sound, and Caleb Xia Yi Zhou, Colonel, decorated pilot, the most responsible person in your life, looks at you with your ruined uniform jacket hanging off your shoulders and your thighs wrapped around him and his cock slick with everything that’s passed between you, and he smiles. Wide and a little wild and completely without apology.

You are in so much trouble.

Caleb grabs the remnants of your panties in both fists and pulls, and they give immediately. The cotton is already destroyed, and the last of it comes away with a sound of final surrender.

He drops it somewhere. He grabs the shredded ends of the costume pants, what’s left of them still clinging to your legs, and those go too, peeled down and discarded over the edge of the desk. You’re bare from the waist down in the ruins of this cheap costume uniform and the cool air of his room comes for your skin all at once.

Caleb doesn’t notice, or maybe he doesn’t care. He’s looking at you with the focused, slightly unhinged attention, and his cock is still hard and flushed and absolutely ready despite cumming all his kids all over you.

He picks his cock back up in his hand. Looks at you. And then he brings it down against your pussy in a single, deliberate slap.

The sound it makes is obscene. Wet and sharp and loud in the quiet room, and the splatter of everything already there — your slick, his cum, the accumulated evidence of the last twenty minutes — goes everywhere, and you jerk. Your thighs try to close and Caleb puts one hand flat on your inner thigh, open-palmed, holding you in place.

“Stay,” he says, like you’re a very beloved problem.

He does it again. The slap of his cock against your pussy, light and then firmer, and every impact sends a shock up through your hips. The wet sound of it fills the room and he is watching — watching it happen, watching the cream fly, watching the way your lips part and close around the impact, and his expression is so rapt and so unabashedly delighted that you almost laugh except that you’re too busy making sounds that aren’t laughter.

“Caleb—“

“Sir,” he corrects, absently, still watching what he’s doing with the focus of someone who finds it genuinely fascinating. “Or ma’am, I don’t care, pick one.”

“I’m not calling you ma’am,” you say, breathless.

“No, you’re the ma’am.” He looks up briefly. “You’re in uniform, Pips.” Then back down. “You’re technically outranking me right now.”

This is demented reasoning and you both know it. But it doesn’t matter because he’s moved on from slapping his dick on you to pressing his tip directly against your clit, circling it in slow, lazy strokes like he’s drawing something. His free hand has found your pussy lips, two fingers sliding along either side, pressing them together, releasing, pressing again, the wet sounds mortifying and you’re watching him do it with your mouth open because apparently your body has decided to spectate.

“Hi,” Caleb says to your pussy, conversationally. His fingers press your lips together again. They make a sound. “Yeah,” he says, nodding, like he’s hearing something only he can understand. “I know. Me too.”

“Are you talking to it—”

“Shh.” His tip presses down and rolls over your clit again and your sentence evaporates. “We’re having a moment.”

You are going to lose your mind.

In fact, you are already losing it.

You lost it approximately seventeen minutes ago and you’ve just been running on the fumes of it.

And Caleb is still working that slow deliberate circle with the head of his cock and squishing your lips between his fingers with the focus of a man who has found his calling.

“You’re so goddamn soft,” he says, and now his voice has dropped all the way down, into that register that does things to your ovaries.

“You know that? Every time I think about how — “ he presses down harder, rolls, and you make a sound that does things to his expression — “how fucking small you are—“ another stroke, the tip dragging slick — “I can’t even, Pips. I would fill you up to your throat, do you understand that? I’m not — I’m being serious right now—“

“Caleb—“

“Sir,” he says again, more firmly this time, though it’s undercut by the fact that he’s clearly struggling to form sentences himself.

His hips have started moving again with that roll, working himself against you, and the slick built between you is audible and continuous and bubbly. “I would split you in half, sweetheart, I would be so far in you—”

He cums.

It happens mid-sentence, which would be funny under other circumstances. His voice just stops, replaced by a rough broken sound, and he tilts forward and his cock kicks upward and he paints you with it. Long white stripes landing across your stomach and the open front of the costume jacket, soaking into the fabric and your skin alike. And he keeps stroking through it with his fist, milking every last drop out, watching it land.

The uniform is destroyed.

It is a complete loss.

There is no dry cleaner in the world that could help this uniform.

You don’t care. You reach out and grab his wrist.

“Again, sir,” you say, which is what he said earlier.

He looks at you. His chest is heaving. His hair is messed up, falling across his forehead. His pants are still at his knees, which looks ridiculous, but on Caleb it just looks like a man who didn’t have time for niceties.

He tries. He genuinely tries.

His hips shift forward, his hand moves, and then his whole body seems to make a decision. Caleb falls forward, catching himself on his forearms on the desk, and lowers his head until his forehead rests in the crook of your neck. His weight on you but managed, warm and enormous, his breath coming against your collarbone in deep, ragged pulls.

He doesn’t move.

The room is very quiet.

After a moment, Caleb says, in a muffled, genuine tone, “I think my soul just left my body, Pips.”

You stare at the ceiling. Your chest is heaving.

There is cum on the costume. There is cum on you.

Your pants are in pieces on the floor and you are sitting on his work papers and his face is in your neck and he has just, apparently, experienced some kind of astral event.

“Are you dead?”

“Yes.” A pause. “Don’t tell Gran.”

You bring your hand up — slowly, because everything is a little slow right now — and rest it on the back of his head.

His hair is soft. It’s always soft, stupidly soft, and he makes a low satisfied sound at the contact like a very large, very spent dog who has found his spot and has no plans to relocate.

“Don’t die yet,” you tell the ceiling.

Caleb laughs into your neck. It’s muffled and helpless and warm, and it shakes through his whole chest and into you, and you feel it everywhere.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Refer to Party RSVP

Comment to be tagged!

“I-I can’t help myself” he claims innocently. “I just want to…” his voice breathy and needy, as he tugs at your tank top, exposing your tits “…drink some more” his voice now a growl and he – “CALEB!!” you gasp – snags your nipple into his mouth.

“CALEB–OUCH! GENTLE!” you let out as Caleb’s nibble turned into a bite. '“Oh—OH NO, I’m sorryyy!! I didn’t mean- I mean, I did, but not like- not to hurt you” he’s sitting on his heels, hugging your thighs now, genuinely guilty – your core burning up from cuteness aggressions. “Let me..,” he stands up, still a bit unsteady on his feet “..make it up to you, yeah?” and scoops you up, carrying you bridal style…

Determined he wobbles towards the bedroom, accidentally stubbing his toe on the dresser, before throwing you on the bed with a bit too much force. “Caleb, softer please!!” you say, landing a little unsteady. Caleb moves to undress, his voice now suddenly serious, but the amusement in his tone slips through: “10-04 Pipsqueak has landed! Jetstream jitters included, all systems stable. Initiating boarding, brace for impact.”

He’s throws himself on you, then goes in for a hungry and sloppy kiss. He buries his tongue deep into your throat, grunting loudly from pleasure and breathing heavy, his kisses are wet and messy.

He sits up and pulls you with him… only to topple onto his back with you on top, having misjudged his own strength. “You really go full factory reset when you’re drunk, huh?” you tease, letting your fingers glide through his hair. You feel his cock pulsating against you, but Caleb is clearly too drunk to top you.

He glances down, then back at you, eyes wide and needy. “Requesting assistance…” he says, tone kind and innocent. You give him a sweet smile. You love it when he gets all nerdy and needy when drunk. “Say please?” “Please” no hesitation, his voice soft.

You begin stroking him, occasionally teasing him by caressing your clit with the tip of his cock or brushing it lightly against your entrance, never fully sliding him in. Caleb can’t stop whimpering & gasping sharply through his teeth, clearly loving it but also tormented by your teasing.

He doesn’t protest, so you decide to free him. As he tightens his grip on you, you decide to take his full length in one swift motion. “Fuck…” you hear him swearing under his breath as you slowly move up and down.

"I know you're sensitive. It's been two weeks." He mumbles, pressing his finger deeper. His finger curls softly, the pads moving against your walls. You try your best to keep your noises down. You're right in the door way, anyone could hear you two.

"Xavier.." You moan out, pressing his head closer to you. Your hips weakly grind against your face, rolling into his touch. You can feel him smiling, slipping another finger into you. You stretch around him with little to no restraint, your body giving into his mouth.

"Did you try touching yourself?" He asks, pulling away from your clit for a moment. Frazzled, you look down with confusion.

"I, uh— What?" You stumble on your words, too engulfed in how he's making you feel. Xavier repeats his question, kissing around your clit. You buck your hips, silently begging for more. "Yeah, it didn't—Ah— go well…" You admit, ears flushing with shame.

"I thought so.." He says softly, returning to your skin. Xavier continues curling his fingers, thrusting them in and out of you. "I am sorry though." He speaks again, pulling his fingers out. You whine at the loss of contact, but Xavier soothes you. He lets your leg fall off his shoulder, opting to wrap his arms around your hips. His thumbs rub at your lower stomach, pushing up your shirt.

His hand smooths over your skin, applying a soft pressure to your pelvis while his thumb rubs at your clit. He dips lower on his knees, angling his head to lap at your slit. Your skin is puffy, desperate for his touch. This time, you pull at his strands with a soft grunt.

"Xavier, please. If you're going to keep teasing me, I'll be even angrier." Your brows furrow, watching his eyes go wide. That pitiful, pathetic stare makes you clench around nothing. But he listens—He's good at that—focusing on the task at hand. Xavier presses his mouth against you, his tongue curling inside of you.

It's an entirely different feel from his fingers, softer yet more prominent. You buckle against his mouth, his thumb continuing to swirl at your clit. It throbs under his fingers as you become nosier. Concern for who can hear you has long since left your mind.

"Fuck, Xavier. Keep going!" You cry out, head resting against the wall. Weeks after working with just your fingers has left you frustrated. Granted, you caused your own issues, but still. Having his mouth and attention on you is suffocating in the best way possible. You want nothing more than drown into his affections and touch, choke on the feeling of ecstasy. He builds you up so gently, guiding you to an overwhelming pinnacle before he guides you down.

The pressure he applies on your lower stomach only adds to the stimulation, driving you crazy. Your head spins with desire, grinding against his mouth. The entire time, Xavier's eyes never stray from your expressions. It's euphoric, being strung so high, knowing you're going to be just as ardently guided down.

Xavier rumbles something against your sex, but you're too far gone to pay any mind. You can feel your orgasm washing over you, ebbing straight into your body. Before you can process it, you're clenching around Xavier's tongue, staining his mouth and chin with your slick.

Xavier doesn't let up though, gently slowing his movements. You pant as roll into his touch before you start flinching away from overstimulation. You push at Xavier's forehead, feeling his detach from you. His arms still stay looped around your hips, pressing kisses into your pelvis and stomach. His chin rests against your stomach as he cranes his neck to look at you.

"My star… Am I forgiven? Or shall I keep going? I'll do it as much as you'd like— I'll do anything." He says it so pointedly you don't have the heart to tease him. You shake your head, letting go of his blondish strands.

"You're forgiven, Xavier…" You say with a sigh, thighs trembling in his hold. "Though, I wouldn't mind a massage—"

"Anything you desire, my love."

ZAYNE 黎深:

"Your greed knows no bounds, Doctor." You remark, narrowing your eyes at Zayne. The blue light of his laptop reflects in his glasses has his gaze flits up to you. He's in his night clothes, yet he's still sitting at his desk. To add salt to the wound, he ate your dessert. Zayne's brows raise slightly, his crimes dawning on him.

"I'll be there in—" Zayne begins to speak, but you abruptly cut him off.

"Ten minutes, I know. I heard that an hour ago, dear." You walk towards the front of his desk, placing your hands on the wood. He stares up at you, eyes flitting down to the screen. You lean in, pulling his glasses off his face. "Don't you think you owe me reparations, Doctor? You ate my pudding and now you're lying to me." You jut out your lip in a faux pout watching his expression morph. Zayne rubs his temples, sighing.

He rises from his desk, glancing at his phone to check the time. He walks around the desk as your eyes follow him, his arms soon caging you against the wood table. He rests his face into the back of your neck, hands smoothing down your sides. You tangle a hand into his hair, guiding his lips towards yours.

As you press into Zayne you can feel his heart beating on your shoulder, the hitch in his throat as you slide your tongue against his. He lowers his head once more, kissing down the back of your neck. Pulling down the straps of your shirt to feel the skin of your shoulder.

"Will this suffice?" It's rhetorical. Zayne knows that you are far greedier than he is. He huffs a laugh near your neck, massaging his fingers into your hips and tail bone. "Tell me how I can right my wrong, darling." He breathes against your ear, guiding your chin back.

Zayne presses his lips against yours, feeling you willingly part your lips for his tongue. His hands stay busy, thumbs pulling down your pants and letting it pool by your ankles. You step out of the fabric, turning around quickly to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

He takes a step back as if to guide you towards the bedroom, but you pull on the collar of his night shirt. You shake your head,

"No. Here. So next time you lie to me, you can remember what it will cost to make it right." You chuckle against his lips, kissing him once more. Your lips move in tandem and Zayne is quick to prop you onto his desk. He shuffles his things to the side, knocking down a few papers in the process.

That isn't important right now.

You raise your hips, slipping your panties off before tugging on the edges of Zayne's shirt. He quickly disposes it, allowing you to feel the contours of his body. Your fingertips glide over his chest, collarbones, and expand over the plains of his abdomen.

Zayne works quickly. An arm wraps around the backs of your shoulders, guiding you to lay across his desk on your hip. Zayne manages to slip a hand between your thighs, knuckles running along your soaked slit.

"Tell me where you want me." He whispers into your ear, kissing the underside of your jaw when you lean back. He manages to get you onto your knees, kneeling on the desk as your back faces him. Zayne kisses down your spine, fingers lingering near your sex.

You take his hand, guiding the tips of his fingers between your folds, dragging them up and down. His fingers flex gently, prodding your hole. Zayne presses a kiss to your shoulder as your hips push back into his hand. Two of his fingers slip effortlessly into you, eliciting a moan from you.

"I should have known you wouldn't wait for me. Did you get tired of playing by yourself?" He questions, holding back a smile. You huff into your forearm, flushing.

"You took too long." You groan, pushing back against his fingers. He curls them into your sweet spot, allowing you to set the pace. Zayne hums against your back, feeling the chill of his skin against yours. His thumb finds your clit, pressing down on the bud as he continues to arch his fingers. You gush around him, squeezing your thighs together.

"My apologies." There's no bite to his words, a soft smile displayed on his face. You glance over your shoulder, brows furrowing as he leans in to kiss you again. You're impatient though, growing far too tired of simply having fingers inside of you. You press the arch of your foot against his thigh, straining your ankle to drag it higher up his leg.

Zayne catches your ankle with his spare hand, pressing his thumb into the center. It effectively restrains you foot, causing it to curl inwards. You whine against his lips, but soon hear him shuffling out of his pants.

"Good things comes to those who wait." Zayne humors you, sliding your foot outwards. He parts your legs, guiding the head of his cock between your thighs. He groans at the sheer heat of you, feeling your ass pressed against his pelvis. "Greedy." He remarks, seeing you push back against him. His hand rests on your hip, guiding you onto him.

You groan as Zayne pushes into you, your body rolling against his hips. He holds you down, keeping you in place despite your incessant whines. Gently, Zayne guides you to sit up, his chest against your shoulders. With his lips beside your ear, you can hear his heavy breathing and groans.

"impatient and greedy." He repeats, coiling an arm around your center to palm at your exposed chest. Your head falls back into his shoulder, sucking and biting marks onto his neck. Come tomorrow, he may flush at the bright red markings on his pale skin, but for now, Zayne allows you to do as you please.

When he finally bottoms out, he doesn't waste anytime. He sets the pace for you, pressing a hand on your lower abdomen. You feel the pressure of him, his cock running into the deepest part of you. It drives you insane, your fingers coiling around his wrist.

The compression on your stomach makes your head spin, not to mention Zayne's moans and scent flooding your senses.

"So noisy. Is this what you wanted, my love? Is this a sufficient apology?" Zayne is aware a conversion will occur later as he peppers kisses into your chest and shoulders, uttering a promise to be more cautious about his time working late at night.

Especially on days where he is supposed to be in bed, curled into your warmth. But for now, he's willing to satiate your desires. Pleasure you until your eyes are rolling back and sweat under the folds and panes of your body. You nod fervently, jaw agape as you pulse around his length.

"Cum, my love. I know you want to. Let me—" Zayne pauses, a moan interrupting his speech. "Ah, let me makes you feel better." His hand drags from your hip to your chin, guiding your lips against his as you shatter in his arms. You can't escape the pleasure and sincerity he's forcing upon you. You're wrapped in his ember, indulging to the highest degree in the pleasure he provides.

Even as your lips part, your foreheads press against one another. Zayne pants against your lips before his orgasm crashes into him. His hips stammer, but continue rolling through the pleasure. Gently, you two ride out your highs together, collapsing against his body.

"I love you." Zayne mutters, imprinting kisses into your shoulder. "I'll manage my time better."

"No, don't." You chuckle, bringing your hand up to his face. You lightly squish his cheek between your fingers. "I like to kiss and make up." Zayne chuckles, shaking his head before pressing a kiss to your sweaty temple.

"Greedy."

RAFAYEL 祁煜:

Rafayel doesn't argue with you majority of the time. When you get angry, fuming at his behavior, he's quick to shrug it off. A master at adverting your attention to anything other than his wrongdoings. He refuses to address any issues with your relationship with the fear that you will give up on him— Leave him for good.

"Isn't this nicer, cutie?" Rafayel's breath tickles your ear, biting down on the soft flesh. You twitch under him, hips rutting into his palm. "You don't need to worry about anything. Just focus on me, okay?"

It's hard to focus on anything except him. His fingers curl into your just right, rocking his palm with the correct pressure. It should be a crime how good Rafayel makes you feel. The way you kiss and make up is addicting. The high you get from arguing to grabbing his collar and kissing him senseless.

Your arms coil around Rafayel's neck, sucking on his skin. He hisses, palming at your hip with his free hand. You bite around his neck and collarbone, decorating him with your markings. You refuse to leave him because regardless of his shortcomings, Rafayel makes up for them in a plethora of ways.

"Are you close, cutie? I can feel you. It feels so good, doesn't it? Grinding on my hand instead of yelling, hm?" He doubles down, pressing his thumb against your clit. He mercilessly swirls the bud, jerking his fingers to press deep inside of you. You moan into his skin, biting down harder the closer you get. Your hips press into his palm, meeting him halfway.

Your body stutters though, the sensitivity growing to an all-time high. Though, just before you cum, Rafayel pulls his hand away from your sex. A string of your slick chases his fingertips, making him smile at the sight. You're huffing, panting as you gaze at him with anger.

"All you do is make me angry." Your words hold no bite though, not when your thighs are shaking with need. He knows you won't be mad for long, not when he holds the power of your pleasure in his palm.

Rafayel snickers, leaning onto his forearms as he undoes his zipper. The bed sinks under his weight as your hands impatiently undo his belt. The metal clinks as it falls to the floor, your body moving in to kiss him. Your hands cup his face, drawing him in as he undresses himself.

You already know what's coming next. He forces you to sit up on your knees, pressing a hand to the backs of your thighs. Rafayel doesn't wait for you, sinking you down on his cock as his tongue takes the opportunity to slip into your mouth. Your moans muffle against his tongue as he pulls you down further.

Your nails drag into his skin, creating red angry marks. You push against his chest, letting him lay flat against the sheets. His hair puffs out, cheeks flushed as you rise up on your knees. Rafayel reaches out to touch you, but you swat his hand away.

"No. Just sit still. Do something good for me for once." You furrow your brows, sinking back onto his cock with ease. He watches from below as your knees spread, the way your head tilts back. Your hand presses onto his chest for stability, arching onto him. You lay flat onto him, your hips bouncing.

Rafayel groans beneath you, the tips of his ears a bright red. The room fills with heavy pants and moans. Despite your orders, his hands rest on your ass, aiding you. Your fingers splay over his sides, leaving marks down his chest and shoulders.

"You're such an ass, you know?" You grunt, legs trembling like jelly as you spread your knees wider. The burn feels so good, blurring the lines of pain and pleasure. "Making me chase you down all afternoon. Just for you to ignore me." Your nails dig into his skin as you try to push yourself up.

You swat his hands away again, ruffling your own hair to bounce on his cock properly. He lies deep in your stomach as you bite down on your lip.

"You're so fucking immature." You drag your nails down Rafayel's torso, his cock throbbing inside of you. You clench around him rhythmically, his hips winding into yours. His hand raises to your chest, pinching your nipple between his fingers. He lets out a strained huff, smiling despite all your insults.

"You still love me though. Right, cutie?" Rafayel pulls you down against his chest, hands grabbing your hips to bounce your ass onto him with a steady pace. You grasp at the sheets, digging blunt crescents into his skin.

"Never going to let you leave me, okay?" He hisses through gritted teeth. Despite his ability to speak, Rafayel isn't faring any better than you are. "We'll figure it out. I'll do better." The base of his spine tingles under your weight, a force driving his climax closer and closer. The longer it goes on, the sloppier Rafayel gets. His body tenses, growing dizzy at your mewls and whines.

His hand leaves your hip, driving your face towards him. The kiss is a mess of teeth and tongue, bitting at each other's lips as you both try to contain yourselves. But it feels too good. The way you tighten and gush around him drives Rafayel insane. In the same manner, Rafayel sinks deeply into you, thrusting his hips into yours with precision.

In sync, the two of you shudder chest to chest. Your nails tug at Rafayel's scalp, the pain forcing his orgasm to crash down. Your entire body trembles, thighs quivering as you gush around Rafayel's length. It's almost painful how hard you cum. You can hear Rafayel moaning into your ears before biting down on your shoulder.

Tit for tat.

Sweat drips down your bodies, slack against one another. Neither of you move, afraid to rock the serenity of the moment. Rafayel rests his hands against your upper back, leaning down to kiss the top of your head.

"I will do better, I promise." He mumbles into your hairline, drawing you in for a much softer kiss.

"We'll see."

SYLUS 秦彻:

The first thing Sylus does when he returns home is seek you out. Especially right now considering he's committed a criminal offense: He has missed date night. A ritual you two have at least once a week. Today though, he was caught in unfortunate circumstances. He almost got caught into a trap, negligent of his surroundings due to his mind being occupied by you. He finds you laying in your shared bed, slumped over the sheets.

You're still wearing your outfit. Your heels have almost slipped off your feet as they dangle over the bed, your dress riding up your hips. He has an incredible view, but he can't help but feel a pang in his chest. He doesn't even shed his gloves before laying beside you. His hand runs up your thighs, massaging the exposed skin of your hip. Sylus pulls you close, watching you rouse from your blissful sleep.

"Sylus?" You breathe out, eyes still shut. Your body curls into his, the cool leather of his hand smoothing over your forehead. Your makeup has gone askew, eyeliner smudging. He gently runs a hand under your eye, smiling softly. The low lights make it easier to see his face even as he draws near.

"I'm late. I'm sorry." There's a deep furrow in his brows, his silver strand swaying. You match his expression, linking your fingers together at your hip bone.

"I got all dressed up. I wanted to see the opera." You're disappointed, he knows it. Sylus leans down to kiss you, lips softly pressed into yours. You turn over, letting him hover over you.

"I know, sweetie. I'm sorry." He mutters into your lips, letting you coil your arms around his neck. You feel the prickly edges of the back of his head, fingers finding his strands. He feels nice pressed against you, holding you through the negative emotions that backpack off disappointment. Sylus cups your ribs, hands molding over your breasts as he kisses down your dress.

"So beautiful, hm?" His lips bite your skin gently, lapping at the wounds. Your thighs make room for his knee as it settles between your legs. You let your fingers make do of his shirt, unbuttoning the top as you tug his tie off. You can see the dust that sticks to his shirt, the splatters of blood on his cheek. You furrow your brows at the sight, pulling him closer.

"Did you get hurt?" You whisper against his lips, afraid that if you spoke any louder it would break the moment. Sylus shook his head, reassuringly kissing you. His lips move with yours in tandem, arms coiling around one another. "I'd be more angry if you did." You tell him when you part. Sylus laughs when your arms slip off his shoulders. You remove his shirt, hands exploring his body.

It's familiar terrain. The small dots on his body, the contours of his abdomen and hips. You know this area well, running a hand over his chest. He's sensitive there. Sylus moans above you, pulling your hips up to fully push your dress up. It clings to your waist as Sylus kneels near the edge of the bed. He pulls you forward with a tug to your ankle as he slips your heels back on.

"Can I walk you through what we would have done?" He mutters against your knee, looking up through his lashes. Your fingers find home against his head, nodding gently as you place your thigh over his shoulder. Sylus smiles softly, the edges of his eyes softening. "The opera would have been the first spot. And dinner afterwards, that's our tradition." He speaks fondly of your weekly routines.

"Then we would walk around a park. You always stuff yourself full, kitten. I'm glad though. Seeing you become greedier as the days pass." Sylus fully settles on his knees now, gently parting your thighs. He can see the way your panties gently glisten under the soft lighting. He smiles, kissing the insides of your knees.

"By then, I would have reaches my limit. Especially when you look this divine. How could I not?" You flush under Sylus's compliments, letting a small giggle slip. "Where would you let me have you? Near the entrance or in the elevator? Perhaps the lower living room? That is your favorite, no?" Sylus slips a thumb under your panties, gently tugging them down your thighs.

"Maybe the stairs on the way to the bedroom. I grow more impatient as the days pass, kitten" You can imagine it now, running away as he chases you up the stairs. Sylus is adept in chasing you though, a master in his craft. Pressing you into the stairs as your thighs squish his head.

That is his idea of paradise after all.

With your panties out the way, Sylus parts your thighs further. You scoot closer, guiding his mouth to where you need him most. He hums, satisfied with your orders. His tongue runs along your folds, wasting no time.

"Maybe the bathtub like last Friday? You enjoyed that greatly, didn't you? I've never seen you make such a face before." Sylus reminiscences the way you were trembling on top of him as your hips rose and sank. Desperately holding onto his hand, tears streaming with need. Tragically beautiful.

His fingers join the mix, circling your entrance to gather your slick. You accept his touch, rolling your hips into his fingertips. He thrives off watching you like so. You let out a shaky breath, his middle finger sinking into you. You feel the bump of his ring by your folds, thighs pressing around him. That has never stopped Sylus though. His free hand dips your body back, laying on the bed flat.

With a hand on your lower back, Sylus raises your hips into his mouth. Your weight settles onto his palm as your legs splay. He gets a clearer view of your sex now, noting the way you pulse around him. Sylus likes the take his time, savor every sound and taste. But tonight he has a mission to fulfill: Satisfy his beloved. Make it up to you.

Sylus does just that, his finger curling into your sweet spot. His fingers are your favorite part of him, long and stocky to hit in just the right places. You fist the sheets, tugging at the burgundy silk. It's sickening how smooth his sheets are. They slip from your fingers as your hips roll into Sylus's touch.

"Please. More, Sylus. Don't tease me…" You moan from above, letting your hand slip beneath the bodice to squeeze your breast. Sylus takes his hand from our lower back to glide up your body. He shushes you, bitting the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

"Let me. Just enjoy, my love." He cups your exposed breast, kneading the skin before using the sides of his fingers to pinch and roll your nipple. All the while, he slips another finger inside of you. He works you well, curling and prodding your sweet spots. "That's it. It must feels so nice, right?" Sylus rises from your thighs to kiss up your stomach. He's bent at an odd angle, so you pull him back on top of you.

He cages you with his body against the numerous pillows, gliding his tongue against yours. Sylus moans into your mouth, angling his wrist to better touch you. His thumb glides between your lips to press at your clit. You jerk against him, thighs squeezing his wrist. It doesn't stop Sylus though, he keeps his pace.

With his free hand, he fully tugs down the top of your dress and lets the material bunch at your torso. Your nipples harden under the newly found air. Sylus suckles around the buds, but quickly changes his tune when you whine under him. He commits to the act, directly suckling at the bud. It hardens more in his mouth, growing puffy and swollen from his ministrations.

"Kitten." Sylus purrs against your skin, creating bites into your skin. "Beautiful. My beautiful sweetheart. I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you as much as you'd like." His voice rumbles in your ears. Your hands explore his bare body, dragging red lines down his biceps and shoulders. Sylus shudders under the pain, eyes gently rolling back.

He works guides you through it all, murmuring sweet words into your skin while his fingers curl and roll into your cunt. You pulse and gush around him, legs flailing.

"Sylus!" You cry out, tears brimming your eyes. Sylus kisses your lids, smiling.

"Cum for me, sweetie. You deserve that much." He whispers, feeling your body seize under him. It's euphoric, like fireworks exploding behind your eyelids. Your jaw slackens, pitchy moans and whines escaping your lips the longer Sylus keeps your strung out for. His fingers don't stop even as you cum, clenching around his digits. His palm rolls into your clit, hips chasing his movement.

"Good girl, good. I have you, sweetie." He rocks you through your high, even has you slacken under him. Sylus does not stop, gently guiding you into another high. You don't mind it though, your body in desperate need of his touch. Sylus presses a kiss to your lips, saliva pooled around the edges.

"We'll keep going until I've paid my dues, kitten. Be as greedy as you please."

CALEB 夏以昼:

Caleb is a nuisance when you argue. He would perish if he gave you even an ounce of space. He wants to solve issues in the moment rather than letting them linger in your mind for hours on end. Nip it in the bud, kind of guy. You hate that about him though— So clingy and in your face when all you need is a little space.

Though, you can't quite be mad at him when his tongue is buried deep inside of you.

"Pipsqueak, please? I'm sorry, honey. Won't ever put the cameras up again, okay?" Caleb says, pressed into your sex. You push at his forehead, yet your hips chase after his touch. You feel like a fool. How could you fold so fast?! Yet, how could you pass up the opportunity? It's not as if Caleb has ever given you a bad experience in the bedroom— Far from that.

You falter, seeing his eyes glimmering in the low lighting of his home. You shouldn't even be here, you should be ignoring me. You were headed back home after a bad argument, but he insisted you stay for dinner and or at least take something home. Yet, as the water on the stove comes to a roaring boil, Caleb pays it no mind.

"I'll be a good boy, yeah?" Caleb whines, his fingers working into your sensitive walls. You twitch above him, gripping onto the granite tiles. It digs into the base of your spine as you tremble on your toes. You tug at Caleb's strands as your heart races in your chest. His touch drives you mad, tongue swirling over your clit as his fingers veer into your sweet spots.

He plays so unfair.

Caleb presses a wet kiss to your clit, kissing all along the meat of your thighs. His nose rubs into the skin as he hums, watching your composure fail. He draws your hand covering your mouth back to his head, letting you push him further into your wet folds.

"I'll do anything, baby. I'm sorry, okay? I'll be such a good boy." He laps at your clit again, suckling on the swollen bud. Your hips jerk into his mouth, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. Caleb's eye brim with faux tears, pleasuring your most sensitive places. He rambles on, mouth pressed into your folds.

He works into your body, dragging two orgasms out of you. Your legs tremble around his head and thighs before he twirls you around. Gently, with an arm wrapped around the front of your shoulders, Caleb bends you over the table, pulling your panties to the side. From the corner of your eye, you can see your discarded jeans and one of your boots. Your eyes flutter shut as Caleb kisses down your spine, your hand seeking out his.

"Hm? What is it, pretty? You forgive me?" You ignore his teasing, looking over your shoulder to whine at him. Just as Caleb knows your every weakness, you know his all the better: Your needs. With flushed cheeks and glossy eyes, you give him the neediest look you can muster.

"Oh, my baby. Look at you. You just need me, huh?" You nod in reply. Caleb falters, cooing at your expression. He guides you back up, pulling you into his arms. His pants hand low on his hips as Caleb guides you to his bedroom. With your arms looped around his neck, you hold on tight.

"I'll be good, yeah? No more spying on you, baby." Caleb nudged the bedroom door open with his foot, guiding you to his bed. As your placed onto grey-ish black sheets, Caleb hovers over you. He aims for your neck, kissing and lapping at your skin. You let his chest press against yours, legs locking around his hips. "Would you like that, honey? Me being good for you? Is that what you need?"

Again, you don't reply, letting your noises answer for you. His hand rub at your sides, fingers finding their way between your thighs again. A shiver treks up your spine as Caleb's fingers spread inside your walls. He tugs on your earlobe, pulling away with a chuckle when you punch his chest.

"Behave, boy." You narrow your eyes, letting him place your ankles on his shoulders. Caleb doesn't like to waste time, not when you're ready for him. He nods, his bangs swaying softly.

"Can I, baby? Promise I'll make you feel so good, okay?" His eyes wane, melting into a look of needy tenderness. You can't say no, you don't want to. You roll your eyes at him, pressing your hips forward. As his hips presses into you, Caleb groans. Your wet heat envelops his length as he grinds on his molars. But soon, noises slip out of his mouth and his brows knit.

"Thank you, baby." Caleb sighs, relief spreading through his body. The deeper you sink onto his cock, the louder he gets. He repeats this mantra of thanks over and over into your neck, lapping and nipping the skin. His hips have a mind of their own, raising yours to thrust into you as deeply as possible. Eventually, he rises to see your face. The flushed, dazed expression makes his cock throb.

"My baby. You're so pretty." He mumbles into your lips, placing wet kisses all over your face. "I couldn't help myself. You were so beautiful and I just—Ah!— Wanted to make sure nobody hurt you, honey." In between thrusts he speaks, trying his best to keep his composure. But Caleb falters feeling your walls clench around him. His pelvis knocks into your swollen clit, only amplifying the pleasure.

"My pretty baby." He coos, kissing the insides of your knees, down to your ankle. Caleb pulls your sock off with his teeth, letting your foot rest in his palm before pressing a kiss to the underside. He strays down your heel to the sides before one final one at the base of your foot.

"Promise I'll be a good boy, okay? No more cameras, baby. Yeah?" Caleb lets your foot rest on his chest as his head smooths the hair out of your face. Sweat lines your naked body the closer you get. Your whines grow louder as your hips try to back away from his obsessive pleasure, but Caleb has never let you stray far.

"Shh, shh. Don't run, baby." Caleb whispers, pressing his body weight onto you. The pressure only makes you dizzier, unable to run from the onslaught. It's too much, yet not enough all at once. Caleb knows, he knows everything about your body. So his fingers find your chest, pinching your nipples between his thumb and pointer, gently tugging at it. "Shh, don't be fussy, I know. I know, baby. I have you."

He suffocates you with his love, locking his lips against yours. Caleb suckles on your tongue, letting you pull at his hair. Your nails rake angry marks all along his back, his necklace making its way between your lips. Your run your tongue along the beaded apple, letting the thick silver slip onto his.

"Cum for me, baby. Wanna make you feel so good, yeah? Let me do that much." Caleb's arms encompass your body, rutting into your heat before your nails dig into his biceps. It's too much, your body can't handle it. You spasm under him, eyes rolling back before the knot in your stomach bursts.

"There you go, baby. I have you." Caleb babbles, lost in the heat and tightness of your cunt. His hips keep rutting into you as he digs his face into your neck. With what little strength you have left, you tighten your hold on Caleb's necklace. You tug it towards you, drawing him into a kiss. Your teeth dig into his bottom lip, iron coating your taste buds.

That's the final push he needed.

Before you know it, Caleb cums inside of you. A warmth fills your lower regions as your ankles lock against his spine. He can't move, forced to withstand the overstimulating waves of his orgasm. He whimpers and jerks in your hold, but you guide him through it.

"Will you forgive me, baby?" His voice is so shaky, eyes brimmed with tears. You can't tease him now, not when he's trembling and desperate for your forgiveness. You sigh, your face hot with his breath. "I've been a good boy, tell me what else I can do, my love. All I want is for you to forgive me." You smooth his hair out of his eyes, pressing a kiss to his sweat lined forehead.

"I'll let it go just this once.." You grumble, reluctant. Caleb's eyes glow with joy, encompassing your body into a hug. He peppers kisses all along your exposed skin as he gently pulls out of you. You tag back on his necklace, whispering against his lips.

"Do me one favor though, Caleb." You say, watching his brows raise. If he had a tail, you'd imagine it would be swaying quickly.

"Yes, yes! Anything, baby." You push yourself a bit higher on the bed, your elbows shakily supporting your weight. You guide Caleb's face back between your leaking folds, watching his ears twinge red.

"Clean me up?" Caleb smiles in return, pressing a kiss to the top of your foot.

"Anything for you, baby."

your apartment was silent, except for the faint hum of the city outside. tossing your jacket onto the back of the couch, you leaned against the wall, exhaling shakily. the weight of the day pressed down on you like a vice, your fingers brushing the edge of the message from linkon city hall still lying unopened on the counter.

confirmation of deceased: caleb. adoptive grandmother, dr. josephine. cause of death: explosion – classified incident.

you hadn’t needed to open it. the words were already carved into your memory, and the weight of them had crushed you all day. it didn’t matter that the explosion was months ago—seeing their names on an official report felt like losing them all over again.

you pushed away from the counter, willing your mind to focus on anything else. the hunter uniform hugged your frame perfectly, as it always had, and your reflection in the glass windows of your living room showed how tired you looked.

did anyone notice how wrecked you felt? you wondered if tara had gossiped to the other hunters about your predicament, and if she had left you alone because she somehow understood the weight of what had happened to you.

the message was awful. being asked to confirm the deaths of your loved ones had thrown you into a depressive spiral you hadn’t felt in days after returning from the N109 zone. your troublesome heart sometimes made you feel like you shouldn’t have even been born. when you trauma-dumped this on rafayel a few days ago, he had almost hit you with his paint brush, the words coming out of your mouth too much for him to process. the painter was pissed that you could think of yourself like that.

but that was how you felt—unworthy of being alive, because the person who raised you had been brutally killed.

why not me? you wondered.

linkon city was adorned with shiny skyscrapers, and your privileged view of the city made you feel even smaller, your grievance nothing more than a joke to the world outside of your apartment. knowing you’d have to show up to work again tomorrow added to the weight pressing down on your shoulders from choosing to be a deepspace hunter.

these last few weeks, you had questioned why you chose this job in the first place. since coming back from onychinus and befriending sylus of all people, you’d been thinking about your life decisions more frequently. sylus made you question every little thing you had once thought was a virtue, which now seemed like selfishness in disguise.

the man was good at disturbing your thoughts and making you feel things that put you on the spot.

you became a deepspace hunter because you were selfish. you wanted to make a difference, like the people you grew up with had made.

you wanted to be smart like zayne and attentive like josephine. you wanted to be helpful like caleb and as notorious as your other anhaunsen classmates. you wanted to do anything to escape the feeling you’d had since birth—uselessness.

as you sank deep into the living room cushions and exhaled heavily into the lonely air of your apartment, your phone buzzed with a text from zayne.

fate was joking with you today.

are you okay?, it read.

his worry made your heart flutter a little before sadness took over your entire form again.

you didn’t have the heart to respond. lying required more strength than you had in that moment, so you tossed your phone onto the center table and ignored him.

i’m sorry, zayne, i wish i was stronger for you.

your stomach rumbled, and your ribs ached. earlier in the evening, you had let a wanderer get too close before killing it, distracted as you were. the mistake had left you with a swollen rib and a deep sense of shame. you’d promised to take care of it when you got home, but right now, all you could do was discard a few of your sharp weapons onto the floor before dozing off on the couch.

you’d probably hate yourself in the morning for sleeping with these tight boots on.

for you, the hardest part wasn’t the silence left behind. it wasn’t the way the world seemed to keep spinning while yours had shattered. the hardest part was feeling like you needed to smile, to nod politely when people said, “stay strong,” as if strength could stitch together the pieces of your broken heart.

the hardest part was the way people looked at you, expecting you to move forward, to let the memories be enough. but how could you, when the smell of smoke still haunted your nightmares, when you could still hear caleb’s laughter drowned by the deafening roar of the explosion? how could you heal when your soul was still bleeding, the wounds too fresh, the pain still pouring out with every breath you tried to take?

how could you move forward when you still couldn’t clench your fists as strong as you were accustomed to because you were thrown into the air and broke both of them at the incident?

you wondered if it would ever be enough, and if someday you’d find out who was responsible for all of this pain.

the kitchen candles were the only light in the room when you heard the doorbell ring. sharp and sudden, it cut through the haze and fought off your sleepiness in a second, your hunter’s bells ringing warningly.

your heart jumped, and your hand instinctively went to your side where your pistol usually rested, only to find it absent. you’d left it in your locker at the deepspace headquarters, thinking you wouldn’t need it tonight.

the bell rang again, more insistent this time.

“probably xavier,” you muttered, trying to shake off the lingering unease. your neighbor and cute colleague had been away on a special mission as a hunter. his absence had started to feel noticeable in the quiet moments.

you liked spending time with xavier because he seemed to understand you on another level. he never seemed to expect anything from you, which made grieving next to him a little less daunting. you missed his midnight visits and occasional talks about claw machines and stupid wanderers, and you wished he would respond to your texts asking when he was coming back.

you felt like you needed to hear his voice right now.

without thinking much, you unlocked the door, combat boots still on and dark circles framing your usually bright eyes.

“took you long enough—”

the words died on your lips.

it wasn’t xavier.

standing in your doorway, dressed in a pristine daa military uniform, was a man—ridiculously intimidating and strange. he looked at you with judgment and arrogance, making you step back a little and guard more of yourself.

thank god you still had your uniform on and wasn’t wearing some flimsy nightgown. the man seemed to be eating you alive in his head.

before you had the chance to question the stranger’s presence at your door on this random thursday night, he tossed you aside and pressed you against the corridor wall of your kitchen, your breath instantly hitched and your ribs ached from the impact.

your hunter’s awareness triggered instantly, instincts flaring and mind still trying to process what the hell was going on. your hands struggled against his grip, desperately searching for an evol to resonate with. if your mind had already been spiraling out of control before, now you felt like you could fight a thousand wanderers at once and focus on surviving with mere instinct.

you couldn’t scream. his right hand clamped over your mouth, his left gripping both your wrists in front of your chest and preventing you from punching him like you planned to. somehow, this was a professional individual who knew your fighting mannerisms and wrestling tendencies.

with great effort, you managed to bite his hand that was closest to your mouth and heard his pained grunt right after. you swore you heard him cussing before his head raised and his eyes finally met yours.

your heart stopped. the world narrowed to the faint outline of his silhouette as you finally were able to look at his face. his hair was concealed beneath a presumptuous cap, the daa symbol shining bright at its center. black, red, and gold adorned the unknown uniform of the man who handled your body as if it were weightless, plastic.

you thrashed and twisted in his grip until he was forced to pin both your hands above your head, hissing when you managed to land a kick on his right knee. the door clicked shut beside you as he silenced your attempted scream with his hand again.

amethystine eyes stared back at you, thick brows furrowed as your gazes locked. chills ran down your spine. your hunter uniform pressed uncomfortably against the wall, your combat boots barely touching the floor. yet, despite your effort, he towered over you.

you wanted to cry.

the hidden freckles were the first clue your mind was playing tricks on you, the shape of his mouth the second, and his skin tone the third. countless times since the explosion, you’d dreamed of caleb’s touch—more nights than you could count. but as the weight of the day bore down on you, your fighting spirit waned, the initial rush of adrenaline fading as you stared into his eyes.

everything felt cruelly unfair.

his gaze was uncharacteristically hard as he watched you, his bruising grip on your mouth and wrists warming for a moment before you snapped out of your daze.

a smirk made way to his lips and his stupidly manly perfume set itself on your senses. another attempt at kicking him made him press himself further into you, ribs screaming from the pressure. if he noticed your pained expression, he didn’t mention it at all.

“caleb,” you whispered, the name barely audible. your voice cracked, your body frozen in place, your mind unable to reconcile the impossible reality before you.

he didn’t seem to hear you, but his hand left your mouth, his gaze sweeping over your body and his face so close to yours you could count his naturally defined lashes.

the tension between you two shifted as he eyed you closer, curious eyes landing on your pretty figure. he could swear for a moment you wouldn’t recognize him and that thought perturbed his mind for the next few seconds he allowed himself to bask in your beauty.

caleb was familiar with the sight of you in a hunter’s uniform, but never had he seen you looking this wrecked.

so pretty, but so unfairly exhausted, he thought.

in the weeks leading up to the explosion, he’d promised himself he’d never let you get hurt by ever ever again. now, seeing you like this, he wondered if things looked different from your perspective.

would you hate him?

would you hate him for the decisions he made? for the people he deceived and the families he destroyed? for the secrets he exposed so he could be at advantage and fight for you from a more privileged position?

would you hate him for wanting you all to himself and sharing the same fate as him as a human experiment? for wanting to take you to the ever base and expose you to everyone right before killing them? for being the demise of your life but still wanting to keep you as close as possible?

would you still love him after he told you all of the wrongings he did to make things right for you and him?, he wondered.

the look in your eyes told you no, and because of that, his grip on your pinned hands loosened, the silence between you two remaining charged with tension. he saw the exact moment reality crashed down on you. your gaze faltered, and for a moment, you looked like you were going to cry.

he would hate to see you cry because of him, even though deep down he knew how lovely you looked while pouring your eyes out. he have seen it a thousand times before. caleb wanted to make you cry in other circumstances, not right now.

his lips pressed into a forced smile, and your breath hitched as his eyes shone faintly in the dim light of the kitchen candles. though the light wasn’t very effective, the touch of his gloved hand was enough to confirm the truth: this wasn’t a fucking stranger.

caleb felt when you stopped fighting and caved into his touch, scared to death. he let go of your mouth and stared right at your lips.

“no,” you muttered, shaking your head as if to clear a hallucination. your hands remained bound, your feet still searching for the floor. “this can’t be true.”

he tilted his head slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “it’s me.” his voice was calm, too familiar, too real. too cruel.

your body trembled with his tone, his breath fanning on your cheeks while your eyes scanned his. it felt wrong to say anything at the moment, fear still there in your eyes.

your body snapped into action, reality slamming into you like a tidal wave. you raised your knee, aiming to knock him off balance, desperate to banish the ghost standing in your kitchen.

but the colonel moved faster.

his hand shot out, catching your leg with unnerving precision. before you could react, he hoisted you over his shoulder effortlessly.

you stumbled, panic surging through your veins. your instincts screamed at you to fight, to move, to do something.

“let me go” you demanded, your voice trembling with equal parts fear and fury, punching his back in a futile attempt to stop him. “who are you? who sent you?”

“i came to see you,” he said simply, his voice steady and unnervingly calm. his eyes darted around the apartment, scanning every corner like a predator assessing its prey. “you didn’t think i’d stay away forever, did you?”

why did he sound so smug and heartless? it pissed you off.

“you’re a fucking asshole.” you didn’t care that this man was more than six feet tall or that he wore a military uniform of all things, you kicked and screamed as much as you could after he threw you onto the couch—the very place you’d landed earlier that evening.

the moment he released you, you inched toward the center table where your spare weapon was stashed.

caleb’s smile faltered, replaced by something darker. his voice dropped, softer but laced with unsettling intensity. “i hope you cooperate from now on, pipsqueak.”

the words sent a chill down your spine.

“who the fuck do you think you are?” you spat, pistol in hand, ready to aim.

his gaze flicked to your movement, and before you could react, he was there. his hand closed around your wrist, pinning it to the couch with a force that made you gasp.

“you’re not going to hurt me, pipsqueak,” he murmured, his tone almost teasing, though the intensity in his purple eyes told a different story. “i’d never hurt you. you know that.”

you struggled against his grip, your heart pounding as fear twisted into anger. “let me go, caleb.”

“not until you listen,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. he leaned closer, his breath brushing against your ear. “will you stop fighting and thrashing around? i need to see if you are ready”

“ready for what?” you spat, your voice trembling with rage.

“for us,” he said simply, his tone calm, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

your breath hitched as his words sank in, the weight of them pressing down on you like a storm. “what the hell is ‘us’? you died. i watched you fucking die, caleb.”

he leaned closer, his forehead almost brushing yours, his voice a low whisper. “and i came back—for you.”

the weight of his presence, his words, was suffocating. for a moment, you froze, your mind racing for a way out.

it sounded so intimate, so romantically unsettling having him above you and saying things that made your heart clench. you hoped the hurt in your eyes was visible to the man. you hoped he still had sympathy and felt guilt somewhere underneath that uniform.

caleb stepped back, releasing your wrist but still blocking your path, his expression softening slightly as he examined you. “i need you to be quiet until i can tell you everything.”

“who do you think you are? you filthy liar”. 

caleb’s gaze flickered as your words hung between you, unspoken accusations slicing through the air like shards of glass. he shifted his weight, his broad frame now more a shadow than a presence in the dim room. for a moment, it seemed like he might say something—anything—but instead, he exhaled, a quiet sound that carried the weight of a thousand unspoken apologies.

"you think you know anything?" he asked, voice low but steady. his eyes, catching the faint glow of the candlelight, held yours. he looked scary above you. 

"you think that you are right?," you bit back, the ache in your ribs forgotten under the pressure of the moment. "faking a death isn’t something i take lightly in my books”.

his jaw tightened, the faintest tremor in his hand betraying him as he sighed. the silence stretched again, taut and heavy, before he finally spoke. “trust me to take care of you as i always did, pipsqueak, i just need more cooperation from you this time. i needed to do that so I could've gotten rid of josephine”.

the vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard, stealing whatever biting retort was forming on your tongue. you searched his face, the faint scars etched into his skin, the weariness in his eyes. "what the fuck did you just say?" you said softly, your voice trembling with the effort to keep it steady. 

caleb’s expression shifted as he saw the tense tone of your voice, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. regret? anger? it was gone too fast to tell. "i said what i said," he replied, his tone measured, almost calm—too calm. "josephine was a threat. she had to go, and i handled it and you should put this in your mind and forget about it."

"you handled it?" the words came out as a growl. the disbelief, the rage, the grief—it all boiled over. "you’re talking about the woman who raised me, caleb. who raised you. and you expect me to just—what—trust that you had your reasons? that it’s fine because you handled it?"

you got up from the sofa and watched him tower over you once again, not being afraid to fight him out of your house this time. you took a step further and watched the surprise on his face mix with a hint of mischief.

"you must have lost your mind, who the fuck sent you here? answer me." you asked, your voice sharper now, frustration spilling over.

he stepped closer, the shadow he cast stretching long across the dim room. his voice dropped, soft but firm, the kind of tone that brooked no argument. "the sooner you accept the truth, the easier all of this will turn out for you. josephine was a loose thread that could put you at harm and, trust me, i won’t let anything or anyone put you in the slightest danger."

"shut up," you snapped, your hands shaking as they clenched into fists. "don’t you dare put this on her. don’t you dare tell me you did this for me." you pushed past him, pacing to the other side of the room as if distance could lessen the fury building inside you. "you’re out of your fucking mind if you think i’m going anywhere with you. you—i mourned you, caleb".

caleb turned, his movements slow and deliberate, his gaze locking onto yours. "you don’t have a choice," he said simply. "if you want a chance of surviving, you’ll accompany me to the farspace fleet so you can prove to me that you are not a threat, this isn’t a quest, Y/N.”

"stop acting like you’re my savior," you shouted, spinning to face him. "you lied to me, faked your death, and now you show up here, in my home, telling me what to do? you’ve lost the right to give me orders, caleb. i don’t have to prove you shit"

his eyes narrowed, and for a moment, something like frustration flashed across his face. "you’re impossible," he muttered, more to himself than to you. “don’t make me take you by force, princess, this is already enough for me”.

his presence felt heavier now, more intimidating and more overwhelming. “hear me out on this one, pipsqueak, you do as i say and we can have a nice chat. there’s more than one pair of eyes observing you in this room, can’t you see? you do what you’re told and you don’t cause any trouble, this is my final warning”.

caleb’s gaze didn’t waver, feelings too strong for him to back down.

“you think i trust you wholeheartedly as well? don’t you think i know about what you’re capable to do, what weapon they made you become?”, he questioned, raising more questions about your past to the surface.

you hesitated, your chest heaving as you glared at him, every instinct screaming at you to fight, to run, to do anything but listen.

“you think i don’t know what you’re capable of? you’ve got every right to hate me, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re in danger and i’m the only one who can keep you alive.”

he stepped closer, his boots echoing softly against the tiled kitchen floor, the flicker of candlelight casting shadows that seemed to stretch and twist with your unease. the space between you vanished with every deliberate step he took, and before you realized it, the cool edge of the counter pressed against your back.

“i came here to get you so i can protect you,” he said, his voice softer now, almost tender, though his eyes burned with something far less kind. “won’t you trust me, pipsqueak?”

you swallowed hard, your ribs aching as the tension tightened around you like a vice. the pain flared again on your right side, but you forced it down, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing your weakness. caleb’s arms came up, caging you between them, his palms braced on the counter on either side of you. his breath was warm against your skin, the faint scent of mossy perfume and something metallic clinging to him.

his amethystine eyes locked onto yours, drawing you in and daring you to look away. “josephine wasn’t innocent,” he murmured, the words deliberate, each one cutting deeper than the last. “she was the only way left they could get to you easily. so i had to get rid of her.”

the shock and fury bubbling in your chest clawed their way to the surface, but before you could lash out, he moved. slowly, deliberately, he raised his hands, his movements calm but weighted with unspoken meaning. his right hand hovered between your bodies as he tugged off his glove, revealing cold, gleaming metal where flesh once was.

your breath hitched, your eyes widening despite yourself. the intricate machinery of his prosthetic glinted dully in the dim light, a jarring contrast to the warmth of his other hand still braced beside you.

“i didn’t get out of there without paying a price,” he continued, his tone dipping lower, the faintest hint of bitterness creeping into his words. “if that makes you feel better.”

the sight of the metal, the weight of his confession, sent your mind reeling. you wanted to stay angry, to hold onto the fury that kept you standing, but the cracks in his armor—the familiar of his voice, the faint tremor in his hand—made it harder to breathe.

“turns out i gave them everything they wanted to have even more control over my body,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly, studying your reaction like a predator watching prey. “you’re not the only ever victim in this room, princess.”

his words hit like a punch to the gut, the nickname twisting something deep inside you. your eyes burned, the sting of unshed tears making your vision blur. compassion clawed its way forward, fighting against the iron grip of your fury.

he leaned closer, his voice softening, wrapping around you like a velvet noose. “don’t you see now? i’m your only way out. only i can make you safe, princess.” his head tilted slightly, his gaze piercing through the layers of anger and fear you’d built around yourself. “why don’t you see it?”

the way he said it—like it was inevitable, like you were foolish for resisting—sent a fresh wave of defiance coursing through you. your fingers twitched at your sides, curling into fists. the tears threatening to spill were not ones of submission but of frustration, of fury that he could twist your pain and vulnerability into leverage.

your hands trembled as you shoved against his chest, trying to create even an inch of space between you. “you’re the danger here, caleb.”

his expression hardened, though the faintest flicker of something else—hurt? regret?—crossed his features. he caught your wrists before you could push him further, his grip firm but not painful, his proximity suffocating.

“i won’t let you go this time,” he said, his voice quieter now, the sharp edge replaced with something closer to desperation. his ears seemed to ignore every red signal you emitted. “what are you afraid of, pipsqueak? it’s me, caleb”.

the charged silence that followed was unbearable, the tension between you a living, breathing thing. the weight of his words, the intensity in his gaze—it all felt too much, too close, and yet not close enough.

“answer me.”, he demanded, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. “you need me, Y/N.”

you wanted to scream, to shove him back, to wipe that look of control and simmering frustration off his face, but the words stuck in your throat. it wasn’t fear keeping you quiet—it was the truth you didn’t want to admit. the truth you couldn’t admit.

“you don’t get to do this,” you managed, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “you don’t get to leave me, fake your death, and then come back like nothing happened. like i’m supposed to just—just fall in line and listen to you.”

his lips parted as if to respond, but no words came out. instead, he exhaled sharply, his jaw clenching as his grip on your wrists loosened ever so slightly. “i didn’t come back for you to listen,” he said, his tone soft but laced with an edge of frustration. “i came back to make sure you survive. with me.”

“you are crazy” you spat, shaking your head as you finally yanked your hands free from his grasp. “you call this survival? being hunted, manipulated, dragged into whatever mess you’ve made? that’s not survival, caleb. that’s hell.”

“didn’t you want answers?!” he snaps, his voice cutting through the charged silence like a whip. his tone is sharp, frustration crackling in the air between you. “answers about your past, about granny, about the aether core inside you?”.

caleb throws his daa hat on the floor and runs his gloved hand over his hair, desperation clinging into his actions. a move you were so used to seeing him doing as a teenager now seemed to paint his figure as someone totally different.

“guess what,” he continues, stepping closer, his boots scraping against the floor as the small space between you shrinks to nothing. “i’m the only one who can give you that.”

your back hits the counter again, the cold surface biting through your shirt as his presence looms over you. his hands grip the edge of the counter on either side of you, boxing you in, and his voice drops lower, quieter, but no less intense. “i know you’ve been looking for the truth. don’t pretend you haven’t. every decision you’ve made, every risk you’ve taken, it’s all been for answers.”

the weight of his words pressed down on you, heavy and suffocating, as if the walls of the apartment were closing in. his voice, low and deliberate, carried the kind of certainty that felt like a blade against your resolve. you hated that he knew so much, hated the way his presence seemed to draw out every buried question, every lingering doubt you’d tried so hard to silence.

the truth of it stung more than you wanted to admit. because it was true—wasn’t it? every decision, every desperate move you’d made since josephine’s death had been about finding the missing pieces. about understanding why your life felt like a jigsaw puzzle with crucial parts deliberately torn away.

you grew up with people like zayne and caleb so you’d become the best version of yourself. still, you felt unworthy of everything you have ever achieved.

your back pressed harder into the counter, the cold seeping through your shirt and grounding you in the moment. you wanted to push him away, to snap back with something that would shatter the arrogance in his voice. but instead, you found yourself staring at him—really staring—seeing the desperation etched into every line of his face. it wasn’t just his words that rattled you; it was the way his shoulders seemed to carry the weight of something far greater than just your shared past.

you noticed the tremor in his hand, the way it lingered too long on the counter’s edge, as if he were holding himself back from reaching for you. the way his eyes, though sharp and unrelenting, flickered with something almost... pleading.

caleb seemed to be holding himself back—as he always did. this time, though, you were not sure if you wanted him to break and consume you or to let you go and forget the two of you. this was the first time in your life where you felt close enough to the truth, close enough to calm the storm of questions in your mind. still, your grip on your ego seemed to be as tight as ever.

you need me, he said.

it was a bold statement, a manipulative one, but the worst part was the whisper of doubt it planted in your mind. what if he’s right? what if caleb, with all his possessive behavior, really did have the answers you’d been chasing? could you afford to ignore him—risk losing whatever truth he claimed to hold—just because you didn’t trust him?

your gaze dropped to his gloved hand, still gripping the counter, then to the hat he’d thrown carelessly onto the floor. there was something raw about the gesture, something that pulled at a part of you you’d long thought buried. it was the same caleb you remembered, the one who’d run his hands through his hair in frustration when things didn’t go his way, but now there was a hardness to him, an edge that made him almost unrecognizable.

he leaned in slightly, his proximity sending a shiver down your spine. caleb’s hands cradled your face with an unsettling gentleness, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to memorize every inch of your skin. his breath, warm and steady, fanned over your face, and the proximity made your pulse race despite every instinct screaming at you to pull away.

“do as i say, princess,” he murmured, his voice a mix of honeyed persuasion and steel. “you know deep down that i’m right.”

you hated how easily he saw through you, how his words made your chest tighten with the weight of unspoken truths. but there was a flicker of something else now—a sliver of curiosity, of reluctant consideration.

“you’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, softer, as if the words were meant for no one but you. “what are you afraid of, princess? me?”.

his breath fanned over your cheek, the tension between you felt alive, electric, as if the air itself buzzed with anticipation. caleb’s hands cradled your face with a deliberate slowness, his fingers grazing your jawline like he was afraid you’d shatter under his touch. his thumbs traced lazy circles just below your cheekbones, sending faint shivers rippling down your spine.

caleb was very meticulous about the way he touched you. his words—carved in desperation just for you.

his breath brushed against your skin, warm and steady, the faintest hint of mint and wood lingering in the space between you. the closeness made your pulse quicken, the steady rhythm in your chest now erratic and impossible to ignore. his forehead almost touched yours, his lips dangerously close but not quite there, as if he were savoring the moment, drawing it out until the anticipation was unbearable.

you gripped his forearms, confused at the needy feeling clawing its way out of your chest, the longing for closeness and safety that always seemed tied to the body in front of you. the tenderness he reserved only for you made your heart flutter despite the cruel truths and harsh words that had passed between you.

“what are you afraid of, princess?” he murmured again, his voice impossibly soft, like a velvet thread weaving its way into your thoughts. “it’s just me.”

his words cut through the haze, both reassuring and maddening, as though he knew exactly how to keep you on edge. the way he said it—low and intimate, like he was speaking to the deepest parts of you—made your knees weak. and yet, there was no condescension in his tone, no arrogance. only raw emotion, carved into every syllable, into every inch of his presence.

his metal hand slid down from your face, the cool pads of his fingers brushing over the curve of your neck and coming to rest lightly on your shoulder. the weight was grounding, steadying, but it also sent sparks racing across your skin. the meaning behind his touch was at odds with the coldness of his prosthetic; it felt like both a tether and a promise.

you wondered if he was using your evol against you, manipulating your emotions, or if it was just your stupid, traitorous heart making you feel like you were floating.

your breaths came shallow and uneven as the tension between you thickened, palpable and inescapable. his gaze flickered to your lips, the intensity in his eyes making your stomach twist with anticipation. you hated how much you noticed the way he leaned closer, the way his presence filled every inch of the space around you, until there was nothing left but him.

“you don’t have to be scared of me,” he said softly, his lips brushing the words into the air between you. “i’d never hurt you.”

the warmth of his breath sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could think of a reason to stop him, he closed the distance.

his lips pressed against yours, slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away. but you didn’t. the kiss was soft at first, hesitant, like he was waiting for you to decide, waiting to see if you would break the moment or lean into it. and for a heartbeat, you froze, the shock of it rooting you in place.

but the tenderness of his kiss, the way his hand tightened slightly on your shoulder as if to steady himself, drew you in. your fingers curled into his forearms, no longer in protest but in something closer to surrender, the heat of his closeness chasing away the cold air of the room. you felt something stir deep inside you when you felt the dips of his muscles underneath his uniform.

the kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a mix of urgency and restraint, as though he were holding back a tidal wave of emotion. you felt the shift in him—the desperation, the longing he’d tried to bury under layers of control. it poured out now, raw and unguarded, and it pulled something equally raw from within you.

when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and uneven. his hands stayed where they were, steadying you as much as himself, and for a moment, the silence between you felt heavier than any words could.

“just me,” he whispered again, his voice breaking slightly, as if he needed you to believe it as much as he did.

author's note — me blindly posting this without even remembering how the story goes lmao. i just remembered i didn't sleep for several weeks so i could finished this.

Caleb stared at it. For a second, his brain, usually so quick to calculate and react, simply stalled.

He had given you that black card four months ago. He remembers the exact look on your face—the stubborn tilt of your chin, the way you tried to hand it right back, insisting you didn't need his charity. He’d had to press it into your palm, wrapping his larger fingers over yours, telling you it wasn't charity, it was security. It was his. And by extension, yours.

Since then? Nothing. Not a coffee, not a grocery run, not a single cent. Until today.

A low coil of heat unraveled in the pit of his stomach, heavy and sudden. He leaned back in his leather chair, the paperwork completely forgotten as he swiped the notification open to look at the details.

L'Étoile. He knew the place. It wasn't just a boutique, it was an exclusive, high end atelier known for custom evening wear. The kind of dresses that clung like a second skin, made of silk that practically begged to be slid off a woman's shoulders.

The timing wasn't a coincidence. The Skyhaven Gala was this weekend, and he had asked you to be his plus one days ago. You hadn't answered, but this... this was the confirmation he was desperate for.

You were actually going. And you were letting him dress you for it.

Caleb ran a thumb over the edge of his jaw, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The thought of you standing in that boutique, picking out something beautiful, and handing over his card to pay for it sent a rush of addictive adrenaline straight through his veins. You were finally letting him take care of you. You were finally accepting the hold he wanted to have on you.

His mind immediately betrayed him, painting entirely inappropriate pictures for a Thursday morning at his desk. He imagined you in the dressing room, the smooth fabric of a formal gown slipping over your hips. He imagined the deep, plunging back of a dress, exposing the soft skin he wanted to press his mouth against. He imagined walking into that Gala with his hand anchored firmly at the small of your back, letting every elite in Skyhaven know exactly who you belonged to.

The heat in his gut tightened, turning into a restless, demanding hunger. Caleb picked up his personal phone, his fingers moving deliberately across the screen. He couldn't just let this pass. He needed you to know that he saw it.

He deleted his first three drafts. They were too forward, too loud about the possessive grip tightening in his chest. He needed to play it cool. He was a patient man, after all. He had waited months for you to use the card, he could wait a little longer for the rest.

​He typed out a short, simple message.

​Caleb: Just saw a notification from L'Étoile. Good choice. I can't wait to see what you picked out.

🍎 🍏 🍎 🍏 🍎 🍏 🍎 🍏 🍎 🍏 🍎 🍏 🍎 🍏 🍎 🍏

You stood in front of the full length mirror in his bedroom, adjusting the drape of the fabric over your hips.

​The dress was breathtaking. It was the kind of luxury you’d never allow yourself to even look at, let alone wear—heavy, liquid silk that pooled around your feet and clung to every curve.

​When you had first seen it at L'Étoile, you’d stood in front of it for ten minutes, paralyzed. You had your hand in your purse, fingers brushing against the black card he had forced into your hands months ago. “For emergencies,” he’d said “Or for anything you want. Just use it.”

​But you hadn't. You couldn't. You had to be careful.

Using his money felt like crossing a line you couldn't uncross. You were already so deeply, desperately in love with him, a secret you guarded with everything you had. Because Caleb was always the perfect gentleman. He was attentive, protective, and constantly there for you—but sometimes, that care felt dangerously close to the way an older brother might protect a younger sibling. He treated you like something fragile, something to be kept safe.

​You had nearly choked when you read the price, but the thought of Caleb seeing you in it—the foolish hope that maybe, just maybe, this dress would finally make him see you as a woman—had won.

​When you’d sent him a picture of the dress on the hanger, your heart had been in your throat. His reply had come a few minutes later:

​Caleb: Beautiful. You’re going to look perfect.

It was a nice text. A good text. But it was exactly the kind of text a supportive friend or family member would send. It didn't have the heat you were craving. It didn't give away a single hint of what he was actually thinking.

​A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you touched the delicate strap of the dress. Today was huge for him and because of his tight schedule, he had to get ready at work, leaving you to dress at his place alone.

​The sound of the front door’s electronic lock chiming cut through the silence.

​Your breath hitched. He wasn't supposed to be back. He was supposed to meet you there, or send a car.

​A moment later, heavy, familiar footsteps echoed down the hallway, stopping right outside the cracked bedroom door.

​"Hey," Caleb’s deep voice called out "I changed my mind."

​The door was pushed open.

Caleb stood in the threshold, already dressed in his formal gala uniform. The crisp lines of the dark jacket, the sharp tailoring emphasizing the broad span of his shoulders, and the silver accents made him look entirely commanding. Imposing.

​But the moment his eyes landed on you, all of that military discipline vanished.

​He froze. His hand, which had been reaching up to loosen the high, stiff collar of his shirt, dropped slowly to his side.

​The silence stretched between you, thick and suddenly heavy with suffocating tension. Caleb didn't move. He didn't say 'you look nice.' He didn't smile his usual easy, comforting smile. Instead, his dark eyes darkened further, raking over you from the exposed skin of your collarbones, down the sleek, expensive lines of the silk, all the way to the floor, before snapping back up to lock onto your face.

​There was nothing brotherly about the way he was looking at you right now.

Within seconds, he regained his composure, tightening his jaw as the mask slipped back on. "You look beautiful, as always," he said, eyes lingering just a moment too long. "I'll wait for you in the living room."

​There it went again. That agonizing feeling of being kept at a distance. You swallowed the lump in your throat, finished your makeup, and walked out.

​The ride to the gala was quiet. Caleb kept his eyes on the road, answering your attempts at conversation with polite, clipped murmurs, but the moment you stepped out of his car he anchored you to him.

As you walked through the grand, crystal lit ballroom, you could feel the weight of dozens of eyes on you. Other men noticed you immediately. Lingering glances followed you across the marble floor, and Caleb knew every single one of them. Whenever a younger officer or an elite stepped up to talk to you, Caleb’s hand would find the small of your back, his grip tightening just enough to guide you away, his voice smooth and perfectly diplomatic as he excused the two of you.

​An hour into the night, Caleb was pulled into a conversation with a high ranking officer. Seeing him occupied, you quietly murmured that you were going to grab a drink and slipped away toward the grand ice sculpture bar.

​"I was wondering when he’d let you out of his sight," a smooth, unfamiliar voice said beside you.

​You turned to find a young man in an expensive tailored suit, looking at you with an appreciative smile. "I'm Julian. I couldn't help but notice you the second you walked in. Tell me, are you here with Colonel Xia, or—"

​Before Julian could finish, the air pressure seemed to drop.

​Without a single word of warning, a large, warm hand wrapped firmly around your waist, his fingers pressing deep into the silk of your dress. The sudden heat of Caleb’s chest brushed against your bare shoulder.

​"She's with me," Caleb’s voice cut through the air, laced with a quiet authority that made Julian’s confident smile instantly falter.

​"Colonel," Julian stammered, raising his glass defensively. "Just making conversation."

​"We were just leaving for the floor," Caleb replied, his eyes holding a gaze so unyielding it felt like a physical threat. With a seamless sweep of his arm, Caleb turned you around and guided you directly into the center of the crowded ballroom.

​When he pulled you into his arms it wasn't the gentle, respectful distance he usually kept. He pulled you in tight. His right hand clamped against the small of your back, pulling your hips flush against his. He looked incredibly tense, his shoulders rigid, it looked as if this important day for him was not going his way at all.

​"Caleb," you whispered, looking up at him, your breath hitching at the sheer proximity. "Are you okay? Is the event not going well?"

​He didn't answer right away, guiding you through a flawless turn. His eyes dropped back down to yours, the hard line of his mouth softening just a fraction.

​"I'm fine," he murmured, his voice still carrying a rough edge. He looked at you, really looked at you, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to bleed out into a weary, heavy sigh. "You just... you reminded me of something tonight."

​"What?" you asked, tilting your head.

​A faint, nostalgic shadow of a smile touched his lips. "Do you remember your high school prom?"

​You blinked, surprised. "My prom? Yeah, of course."

​"Do you remember that boutique downtown? The one with the emerald green dress in the window that you used to stare at every day after school?"

​A genuine laugh escaped you, the tension breaking. "Oh my god, yes. I wept over that dress. It was way too expensive, and I knew grandma couldn't afford it. I was devastated." you smiled at the memory. "But then, a week before the dance, it just showed up on our porch. I still don't know how Grandma got the money. She always refused to tell me."

Caleb stopped guiding you for a fraction of a second before he resumed the slow, swaying rhythm.

​"She didn't get the money," Caleb said softly.

​You paused, staring up at him. "What do you mean?"

​"Grandma didn't buy that dress, I did."

​Your steps faltered entirely, and Caleb had to catch your weight, anchoring your body firmly against his so you wouldn't stumble on the dance floor. "You? But... you didn't have that kind of money."

​"I picked up extra shifts at the mechanics. Worked some night gigs," he said, his voice dropping into a whisper. "You wanted it. You cried because you couldn't have it. There was no way in hell I was going to let you go to that dance in anything less than what you wanted."

Your breath trapped itself in your throat. The silk of your current dress suddenly felt hot against your skin. The dots connected in your head—the way he had always taken care of you, the way he had worked himself to the bone just to give you what you wanted.

​You looked up at him, your eyes searching his, desperate for him to finally bridge the gap, to say the words you had been dying to hear. The tension between you was vibrating, so thick it felt like the entire ballroom had vanished around you. His thumb traced a deliberate line across your hip, his eyes burning into yours.

​But Caleb just swallowed hard and didn't say another word about how he felt. He just held you, turning you back into the rhythm of the dance, leaving you completely breathless and suspended in the space between what you were and what you desperately wanted to be.

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The front door of his home clicked shut, sealing out the noise of Skyhaven and leaving you both wrapped in a ringing silence. It was late. The adrenaline of the gala was fading, replaced by a heavy exhaustion that only made the unspoken tension between you feel twice as loud.

Caleb slipped off his shoes first, his movements practiced and calm. The moment you leaned down to fumble with the delicate buckle of your own heel, he was already moving.

Before you could even protest, Caleb was down on one knee in front of you.

He didn't say a word. He just tapped his thigh, a commanding gesture for you to rest your foot there so he could help. He had done this a bunch of times over the years but tonight the intimacy of it felt completely different. When his warm fingers brushed against your ankle, carefully working the strap free, your heart hammered violently against your ribs.

The moment the second shoe slipped off, you muttered a breathless thank you, peeled off your coat, and practically fled down the hallway toward the kitchen.

You needed a barrier. You needed a distraction. You grabbed a glass, filled it from the tap, and drank it slowly, staring into the dark marble of the countertop. Your hands were shaking so badly the water rippled. You didn't know what to do with yourself, especially because you could hear his slow, deliberate footsteps following you.

He didn't stay at the doorway. He walked right into the kitchen until he was standing directly behind you.

He didn't say anything at first. He just stood there, watching the tight line of your shoulders, the way your fingers white knuckled the glass, and, most damning of all, the frantic, tiny pulse fluttering under the delicate skin of your neck. It completely betrayed you.

The moment he stepped a fraction closer, he saw your breathing stutter, then change completely, turning shallow and fast.

He could see the effort it was taking for you to pretend to be calm, how your eyes stared straight ahead as if you could somehow ignore him. He noticed the way you pressed your lips together, trying to stay completely silent because you knew—you knew—that a single word, a single sigh broken by his name, would completely ruin this whole innocent act you'd been playing all night.

But you had no idea. You didn't know that was exactly what he liked the most.

The act.

Caleb loved your pretty, stubborn control. He loved your careful face, the way you fought so hard to keep the boundaries up between you, thinking you were hiding it from him. You thought he was blind to it. You thought he didn't notice the way you looked at him when he turned away, or the way you flushed whenever he touched you.

He noticed everything. He had been noticing for years, cataloging every micro expression, every nervous breath, waiting with disciplined patience for the day you would finally break.

"Still thirsty?" Caleb spoke so close to your ear that the warmth of his breath sent a violent shiver straight down your spine. He didn't reach out to touch you yet, but the gravity of his weight behind you felt like a physical hold. "Or are you just hiding from me?"

You had a chance to step away. The kitchen was wide enough. The hallway was right there. You could have turned around, made a joke, laughed it off like you always did to keep the peace.

​But you didn't move an inch.

​And that was your first confession. Not with words, but with silence.

​This was the part that made you dangerous. You liked being read by him. You liked the thrill of him stripping away all your defenses without you having to say a single word. You liked the way his attention felt like a physical hand on you—heavy, warm, and demanding—long before he even actually touched you. And Caleb? He liked watching you try to hold onto the last frayed threads of your innocence while your body practically begged him to tear them down.

His control was the dirtiest part of all.

​It wasn't the hunger. Any man could hunger for you, any man could look at you in that expensive silk dress and want to rip it off your body. But Caleb’s control was entirely different. It was a weapon. Because here he was—a man standing too close, a man fully capable of ruining you right here against the kitchen counter—and he chose patience.

​He was a man who knew exactly how to make you tremble, who knew he had won the moment you refused to step away, but decided to make you wait for it first.

​He let out a slow, quiet breath that hit your neck like gasoline on a fire.

The heavy glide of his palm against your waist was almost a relief, but it brought no release. He wasn't trapping you. He wasn't pinning you against the cold marble of the counter. His hand was just holding the moment still. Holding it exactly where it was, long enough for you to fully understand what you were choosing.

​Because Caleb didn't want fear. He didn't want confusion, or the blurry edge of an impulse you'd regret tomorrow. He didn't want a single thing your body didn't willingly surrender to him. He wanted the absolute truth.

​"Say yes."

​The command is barely a whisper against your ear, but it carries the weight of an ultimatum. He wants to hear it from your mouth. Honest, and stripped of all the careful facades you’d both been hiding behind for years.

​You swallow, your throat dry, your chest heaving against the suffocating weight of his presence. You turn your head just enough, eyes meeting his.

​"Yes," you breathe.

The word had barely left your lips—soft and entirely undone—when the entire room changed. The air got hotter. Hesitation gone. The safe, comfortable boundaries turned to ashes. Now, neither one of you had to pretend you didn't want the fire.

​Slowly he lets his mouth hover just a fraction of an inch away from the sensitive skin of your neck. There is no kiss yet. No pressure of his lips, no sharp nip of his teeth. Just the heat of his breath ghosting over your collarbone.

​It's an agonizing little space—the gap between what you were begging for and what he hadn't given you yet. He is letting your own filthy imagination do the work. He is letting your body ache for the contact, letting your mind picture exactly how his mouth would feel against your skin, forcing you to crave.

When his lips finally touch your skin, it's right against your pulse, making your eyes flutter closed without your permission. It was the kind of kiss that made your entire body said 'Finally' when your mouth was still far too terrified to utter the word.

​Caleb feels the sharp, ragged breath you lose against his cheek, the stiff posture of your back instantly softening against his chest, and the way your fingers leave the marble counter to look for something—for him—to hold onto.

​"There she is," he whispers against your skin.

​This is the version of you he has been starving for. Not the careful woman who smiles politely in public and hides her filthiest cravings behind a quiet face. He wants the one underneath her. He wants the raw, undone version of you that burns just as hot as he does. The one who wants tenderness, but wants it with teeth.

He turns you around slowly until you are forced to face him completely. The front of your silk dress brushes against the crisp fabric of his shirt, making your nipples pebble. He slides his thumb under your jaw, lifting your chin until you can feel the ghost of his breath against your lips.

"Tell me what you want, pretty."

You kind of hate him for asking you that because silence is safer. But Caleb waits. He just watches you, his eyes fixed on your mouth, completely unbothered by the quiet. He can wait. He has been waiting for years, a few more seconds of you squirming under his gaze is nothing to him.

"I want more..." you whisper, the confession torn from your throat.

The way his lips finally meet yours feels like restraint died proud.

It isn't a frantic, clumsy collision. It's slow, deep and enough to make you lean forward, chasing his mouth when he pulls back just a fraction.

Caleb steps into your space, his body pushing yours back until the edge of the marble counter presses into your lower back, making you feel the hard reality of what you do to him. Until you finally understand. His control was never the absence of desire. It was a warning. It was the very last polite thing about him.

And now, it’s gone.

Once his control starts slipping, you feel it everywhere. It’s in the possessive grip of his hands gathering the fabric of your dress, it’s in the demanding rhythm of your shared breath. An intoxicating heat coils deep in your stomach and climbs up your neck, making you feel as if your entire body is blushing from the inside out. He devours your mouth, his tongue tangling with yours with an unchecked hunger that tells you there is no going back.

Every touch feels like a slow burning sin you are committing together, but it's too good to be wrong.

​Because there was no zipper to quickly pull down, your dress had to be worshiped off your body, and the patience required only made his intent feel more dangerous. His hands slid over the expensive silk, tracing the exact lines of your hips, gathering the fabric up with a slow friction that made your skin flush everywhere his hands touched.

​"Look at me"

​You force your eyelids open, vision blurred by the weight of your arousal.

​"You're shaking, baby," he murmurs, his hands sliding to your waist, the bunched fabric resting there as his thumbs move across your ribs "Is it too much?"

​"No," you gasp, pulling him closer. You didn't want him to stop. You needed the friction, needed the weight of him to ground you because your mind was spinning entirely out of control. "Caleb, please..."

​A deeply satisfied smile tugged at his lips at the sound of his name breaking on your tongue. "Please what? Tell me."

​He was doing it again.

​But you couldn't wait anymore. The slow agony of his control was driving you out of your mind. You hooked your arms around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss, your hips tilting forward against his, begging for the relief he was withholding.

In one swift motion, his hands grab the silk at your waist and guide it up and completely over your head. The expensive dress pools onto the floor, leaving you entirely bare under his gaze.

He lifts you effortlessly. Your feet leave the floor as he sets you onto the edge of the marble counter, parting your thighs with his hips.

His mouth comes back down on yours, a demanding possession that tastes like a lifetime of starved patience. He reaches down, shifting the fabric of his trousers out of the way, his breath turning heavy and ragged against your lips.

Then, his hands grip your hips, lifting you slightly to line his hard lenght against your entrance. Your fingers dig frantically into the fabric of his shirt as your whole world narrows down to the heat of him filling the space between you.

He takes you right there on the kitchen counter, his rhythm deep, heavy, and slow. The friction of his trousers against your bare thighs a dizzying reminder of how undone you are compared to him. You can hear the uneven sound of his breathing, the low, masculine groans he can't catch in his throat.

His fingers dig into your hips to tilt you up, forcing you to take every inch of him. A tight, sweet ache coils so deeply in your stomach that it makes your head tilt back, your throat baring to the ceiling as a breathless, fractured sob escapes your lips.

Caleb immediately buries his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing the skin right over your racing pulse as he drives into you harder.

The rhythm he sets is relentless, leaving no room for your mind to catch up with what your body is feeling.

His hands move from your hips, sliding up your ribs to cup your soft breasts. His face is entirely tight, his jaw clenched so hard the muscles jump under his skin.

"I want you looking at me when you break."

Your thighs clamp tightly around his waist, your toes curling in the empty air as you try to pull him even deeper, consumed by the need to reach the edge.

"Cay, baby, ple-ase..."

"I've got you, give it to me."

The coil inside you snaps, a blinding wave of heat crashing over you, making your entire body lock tight. A broken cry leaves your throat as the world spins completely out of focus, leaving you floating in nothing but pure pleasure.

Feeling the pulsing tremors of your release wrapping around him, Caleb loses the very last of his restraint.

His hands lock onto your hips with a bruising grip, lifting you up and driving himself into you one last time as his own body shudders violently against yours.

You stretch, deliberately making your t-shirt ride up above your navel, but Caleb doesn’t even glance your way. His pen scratches against paper in a steady rhythm that only intensifies your growing agitation.

Boredom is a physical ache, and Caleb is the only cure.

“Ge ge,” you call, infusing your voice with sweetness that doesn’t match the mischief bubbling beneath your skin. “I have a question.”

“Hmm?” He doesn’t look up, just makes another note in the margin of whatever document holds his attention captive.

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

That gets his attention.

His pen stills, and he looks up at you with one eyebrow raised, purple eyes meeting yours with amused confusion. “A worm?”

“Yeah.” You nod seriously. “Like, a regular earthworm. All slimy and wiggly. Would you still love me then?”

The corners of his mouth twitch. “I suppose I would. Though I’d have to find a very small jar to keep you in.”

“You‘d keep me in a jar?” You feign outrage. “That’s cruel imprisonment!”

“Would you prefer I let you loose in the garden, where birds could eat you?”

He’s back to his paperwork already, amusement dying on his lips as his attention returns to whatever boring military matters consume his day.

This won’t do at all.

You slouch deeper into your chair, studying his profile. His jawline is sharp enough to cut glass, especially when he’s concentrating like this.

You think about how that jaw felt between your thighs, how those perfect lips stretched around your clit, and heat blooms low in your belly.

“Don’t you wish you were taller?” you ask suddenly, knowing full well that at 6’2”, Caleb towers over most people.

He doesn’t even look up this time. “Not particularly.”

“I bet if you were taller, you’d have made Colonel faster.” You keep your tone innocent, fishing for any reaction. “Maybe they’d respect you more.”

Caleb’s lips curve into a patient smile, still not rising to your rage bait. “I think my height is adequate for commanding respect, Pips.”

You huff, frustrated by his nonchalance.

Most brothers would have snapped by now, told you to shut up or go away.

But never Caleb.

His patience with you seems inexhaustible, which only makes you more determined to find his limits.

“I bet I could beat you up,” you declare, rising from your chair to strike a martial arts pose you vaguely remember from a movie.

This earns you a genuine laugh, the sound rich and warm. Caleb finally puts his pen down, giving you his full attention as he leans back in his chair. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely. I’m scrappy. You‘re getting soft behind that desk.” You dance around him, throwing fake punches that disturb the air inches from his shoulders. “All that paperwork. Not enough action. I could totally take you.”

Caleb catches one of your wrists mid-swing, his grip gentle but impossible to break. His thumb presses against your pulse point, feeling it race beneath your skin. “You think so, mei mei?”

There’s a challenge in his voice that makes your stomach flip, but he releases you just as quickly, returning to his paperwork with maddening composure. The brief contact only sharpens your need to provoke him further.

“You didn’t even deny it!” you crow, spinning away. “You know I’m right.”

“I’m simply choosing not to engage with your delusions,” he replies mildly, flipping to the next page in his stack. “Some might call that maturity.”

You stick out your tongue at his bent head, even though he can’t see it. “Maturity is boring.”

“So I’ve been told. Repeatedly. By you.”

His calm dismissal stings more than it should.

You pace the kitchen, trying to think of another angle of attack.

What would actually get under Caleb’s skin? What would crack that infuriating composure?

You glance at him, taking in the steady hands that have explored every inch of your body, the strong neck you’ve marked with your teeth, the mouth that’s tasted every part of you.

And suddenly, you know.

If there’s one thing Caleb can’t stand, it’s having his devotion to you questioned.

The way his face changes when someone even hints you might not be his priority, the possessive gleam that enters his eyes when another man looks your way for too long.

That’s your ammunition.

You pause your pacing, studying him with new purpose. Questioning his love for you—not as a joke, but as a genuine doubt—that’s what will finally break through his calm facade.

The thought sends a thrill down your spine, pooling heat between your legs. You want to see that look again—the one that says he’s going to devour you whole and make you thank him for it.

But you can’t just blurt it out. This requires a more tactical approach, something that will catch him completely off guard.

You need to position yourself where he can’t easily escape, where he has to confront your challenge head-on.

Your eyes drift to the laundry basket by the couch, filled with clean clothes waiting to be folded.

Perfect.

Caleb always folds the laundry when he finishes his paperwork—a habit from his military training. He claims it helps him decompress.

You’ll wait until he moves to that task, then strike. Your bratty behavior has earned you his attention before, but this time, you’re playing for higher stakes.

A slow smile spreads across your face as you watch Caleb sign the last document with a flourish. He stands, stretching his arms above his head, his black t-shirt riding up to reveal a strip of toned abdomen that makes your mouth water.

“Finished?” you ask innocently.

“For now.” He cracks his neck, then glances at the laundry basket. “Thought I’d fold these before dinner.”

You watch him walk to the couch, exactly as predicted, and settle beside the basket. It’s time to put your plan into action.

Without hesitation, you launch yourself across the room and drop directly onto Caleb’s lap, sending a t-shirt he was folding tumbling to the floor.

Your weight lands squarely on his thighs, your back pressed against his chest in a move calculated to disrupt his perfect composure.

His hands immediately fly to your waist, strong fingers gripping your sides to steady you both and prevent you from toppling the entire laundry operation.

“What the—“ he starts, but adapts instantly, his military training showing in how quickly he regains his balance. “Y/N, I’m trying to fold laundry here.”

You wiggle your hips, settling more firmly against him. “Boring.”

Instead of pushing you off as most would, Caleb sighs and stands in one fluid motion, lifting you with him as if you weigh nothing at all.

His hands remain locked around your waist as he carries you the few steps to the couch, then sits back down with you still attached to him like a barnacle.

“There,” he says, his breath tickling the back of your neck. “Now at least the clothes won’t end up on the floor.”

You turn sideways in his lap so you can see his face, your legs draped over his thighs. His expression is one of fond exasperation, purple eyes warm with the affection he never bothers to hide when it comes to you.

“You’re so accommodating,” you say, poking his chest with one finger. “It’s annoying.”

His laugh rumbles through his chest, vibrating against your side. “Would you prefer I toss you on the floor?”

“Maybe,” you challenge, jutting your chin out. “At least that would be exciting.”

Caleb rolls his eyes, one hand settling on your thigh while the other reaches for another shirt from the basket. “Your definition of excitement concerns me sometimes, Pips.”

He attempts to return to folding, managing to fold one sleeve of the shirt while keeping you balanced on his lap. You need more. You need his full attention.

You pout dramatically, pushing out your lower lip and widening your eyes in the expression that used to get you extra dessert when you were children. “You’re ignoring me.”

“I’m multitasking,” Caleb corrects, though his lips twitch with amusement. “Some of us have responsibilities.”

“Folding t-shirts is hardly saving the world,” you scoff, plucking the garment from his hands and tossing it back into the basket. “And you’re avoiding the question.”

His eyebrow arches. “What question? You haven’t asked one.”

Perfect opening. Your heart rate kicks up a notch as you prepare to deploy your tactical strike. You shift in his lap, turning to face him more directly, your eyes locked on his.

“Caleb,” you begin, your voice deliberately soft, vulnerable. “Do you love me?”

The question hangs between you, transforming the air. Caleb’s expression shifts from amusement to something more serious, his purple eyes darkening slightly as they search your face.

“Of course I love you, mei mei,” he answers without hesitation, his hand squeezing your thigh gently. “You know that.”

The tenderness in his voice almost makes you reconsider your plan.

Almost.

But the heat simmering beneath your skin demands more, and you’ve come too far to back down now.

“Then why haven’t I tasted you?” you ask, the words tumbling out in a rush.

You watch his expression carefully, delighting in the way his eyes widen fractionally, the only sign that you’ve caught him off guard.

“If you love me so much, why haven’t you let me taste you the way you’ve tasted me?”

Caleb’s breath catches, his body tensing beneath yours. His hand on your thigh tightens imperceptibly, fingers pressing into your flesh.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, but his voice has dropped half an octave, taking on that rough edge that only emerges when his control begins to slip.

You press your advantage, leaning closer until your chest brushes against his. “You’ve had your tongue all over me, inside me. You’ve tasted every drop I have to give.” Your own boldness surprises you, but you don’t stop.

“But I don’t know what you taste like. Do you taste bad? Is that it?”

A flash of something dangerous crosses his features, there and gone so quickly you might have imagined it. But his breathing has changed, grown deeper, more measured, like he’s deliberately controlling each inhale and exhale.

“You’re crossing a line, Y/N,” he warns, but makes no move to push you away.

“Or maybe,” you continue, ignoring the warning, “it’s because you’re stinky? Poor hygiene? Is that why you won’t let your mei mei taste you?” You wrinkle your nose in mock disgust. “I bet that‘s it. Colonel Stinkypants.”

The ridiculous accusation hangs in the air for a beat before Caleb’s expression transforms. A slow, predatory smile spreads across his face, turning your insides to liquid heat. This is the look of a man who’s decided to stop playing nice.

“I mean, seriously, when was the last time you showered? Yesterday? The day before?”

You continue your teasing assault on Caleb’s cleanliness, the words spilling from your lips in a nervous stream as you register the dangerous shift in his demeanor.

His eyes have darkened to near-black, the purple barely visible around dilated pupils.

“Because I’ve heard that guys can get pretty funky down there if they don’t wash properly, and—“

Your words die in your throat as Caleb moves with military precision—one hand shooting up to grasp the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair and forming a tight fist.

His other hand finds your throat, not squeezing but holding—his thumb and fingers positioned on either side of your windpipe, applying just enough pressure to make his control unmistakable.

“You want to keep running that pretty little mouth?” he asks, voice dangerously soft. The sudden shift in power steals your breath more effectively than his hand on your throat.

Your spine curves like a drawn bow, ribs lifting toward the ceiling as if pulled by invisible strings, a puppet responding to its master's touch without conscious thought.

You try to respond but can only manage a small gasp as Caleb’s grip in your hair tightens, pulling your head back to expose more of your throat to his hold.

“I’ve been patient with you all day,” Caleb continues, his breath hot against your ear. “Answered your stupid questions. Let you sit on my lap and interrupt my work.”

His thumb traces a gentle line along your jawline, contradicting the firmness of his grip. “But questioning my love for you? Suggesting I’m not clean enough for your precious mouth?”

He pulls your head back further, your neck stretched taut under his hand.

“That‘s crossing a line, mei mei.”

You reach up instinctively, your hands finding his forearms, feeling the corded muscles tense beneath your touch. You don’t try to pull him away. Instead, your fingers curl around his wrists, holding on like he’s anchoring you in a storm.

“If you want to act like a brat,” Caleb says, his lips brushing against your ear with each word, “if you want to push me until I snap, then you better be prepared to take whatever I give you. You understand that, Y/N?”

The question demands an answer, but his grip makes it difficult to speak. You manage a small nod, feeling the slight increase in pressure against your throat as you move.

“No,” Caleb tightens his hold on your hair, sending pinpricks of pain across your scalp that somehow translate into pleasure between your legs. “I want to hear you say it. Tell me you understand what happens when you push me too far.”

He releases just enough pressure on your throat to allow you to speak, his eyes watching your face with predatory focus.

“I understand,” you whisper, your voice hoarse and unfamiliar to your own ears.

“And what happens when you push me too far?” He’s teaching you, making you articulate the consequences of your actions.

You swallow hard against his palm. “You—you snap.”

“And when I snap?”

“You take control,” you manage, heat rushing to your cheeks at having to say it aloud. “You make me take whatever you give me.”

“That’s right. And is that what you want, Y/N? For me to take control? To make you take what I decide to give you?”

The question hangs between you, weighted with meaning. This is your chance to back out, to laugh it off and return to safer ground.

But the heat pooling between your legs, the way your nipples have hardened beneath your shirt, the quickening of your breath under his hold—all betray your body’s answer before your lips can form the words.

“Yes,” you gasp, your hips shifting restlessly in his lap. “Please, ge ge.”

His hand moves from your throat to cup your jaw, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your cheeks.

“Such a fucking brat,” he murmurs, but there’s a note of affection beneath the roughness. “Always pushing, always testing limits.”

His thumb traces your lower lip, pressing against it until your mouth parts slightly. “Well, congratulations, mei mei. You’ve found my limit.”

His grip on your hair loosens slightly, not releasing but adjusting for better control. You feel his other hand leave your jaw and slide down to your waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks.

“So you want to know what I taste like?” Caleb asks, his voice pitched low, resonating through your body like a physical touch. “You want to put that smart mouth to better use than asking stupid questions?”

You nod eagerly, your hands still gripping his forearms, feeling the power contained in those muscles.

“Yes,” you breathe, unable to tear your gaze from his face. “I want to taste you. All of you.”

Caleb studies you for a long moment, his eyes tracing every feature of your face as if committing it to memory. Then he nods once, decision made.

“Good,” he says, and there’s that dangerous smile again, the one that promises both pleasure and punishment in equal measure. “Because I’m going to feed you every fucking inch of me until that pretty throat bulges with it. I’m going to make you taste me until you can‘t remember any other flavor.”

“And if you still think I’m ‘stinky’ after that,” he continues, his voice hardening, “I‘ll wash your filthy little mouth out with soap. Understand?”

“Yes, ge ge,” you respond immediately, your body humming with anticipation. “I understand.”

“Then let’s see if you can be a good girl for me after all that bratty behavior.”

Caleb’s hands move with decisive strength, lifting you off his lap only to force you down onto your knees in front of him.

Your legs hit the hardwood floor with a thud that sends shock waves up your spine, the sudden position change making your head spin.

You barely have time to adjust before he‘s spreading his legs wide, his grey sweatpants pulling taut across his thighs as he creates a space for you to kneel between them.

“There,” he says, satisfaction coloring his tone as he looks down at you from his seat on the couch. “That’s where bratty little sisters belong when they question their ge ge’s love. On their fucking knees.”

His hand finds the back of your head again, fingers threading through your hair with deceptive gentleness before closing into a tight fist.

“Caleb—“ you start, but he cuts you off by using his grip to guide your face toward his crotch. Through the thin material of his sweatpants, you can see the outline of his cock beginning to harden, the impressive length making your mouth go dry.

Your hands instinctively fly to his thighs, trying to brace yourself as he pulls you closer. His muscles feel like steel beneath your palms, tense and unyielding.

For a moment, you resist the pressure of his hand in your hair, not out of reluctance but from the sheer overwhelming reality of what’s happening.

“Be a good girl,” Caleb commands, his voice dropping to that low register that bypasses your brain and speaks directly to the ache between your legs.

He tugs your hair sharply, the brief sting bringing tears to your eyes. “After all that talk, all those questions, this is what you wanted, isn‘t it? To taste me?”

You nod as best you can with his firm grip controlling your head. “Yes, ge ge.”

“Then stop fighting me,” he growls. “Put that fucking mouth to better use than asking if I‘m stinky.”

You feel a familiar weightless sensation enveloping your arms. Caleb’s gravity evol activates with a subtle purple glow in his eyes, and your arms are suddenly pulled behind your back, wrists crossing at the small of your spine as if bound by invisible restraints.

“What—“ you gasp, testing the hold and finding it unbreakable. Without your hands to brace yourself, you’re completely at his mercy, your balance dependent entirely on his grip in your hair.

“Can’t have these getting in the way,” Caleb explains, his free hand gesturing toward your restrained arms. “I want your mouth focused on one task only. No helping with your hands like a little cheater.”

“Now,” he continues, gathering your hair into a makeshift ponytail, “since you’re so concerned about my hygiene, why don’t you help me out of these pants?” His smile is all predator as he watches your face. “With your teeth.”

You blink up at him, momentarily stunned by the degrading request. Leaning forward with Caleb’s grip guiding you, you bring your face to the waistband of his sweatpants.

Your nose brushes against the warm skin of his lower abdomen, and you inhale deeply, finding not the imaginary stink you teased him about but the clean scent of soap and that unique musk that's sole scented. He must've been using your soap again.

You open your mouth, catching the elastic band between your teeth. It tastes of laundry detergent and salt, not unpleasant but strange against your tongue. With Caleb’s hand still firmly in your hair, you begin to tug downward, teeth clenched on the fabric.

“That‘s it,” Caleb encourages, lifting his hips slightly to aid your efforts. “Such a good little bitch now that you’re getting what you want.”

The praise makes your core clench, your thighs pressing together as you continue your awkward task.

The waistband rolls down inch by inch, revealing the defined V of his hips, the trail of dark hair leading downward from his navel. When you reach the base of his cock, the fabric catches, requiring a harder tug.

“Come on, mei mei,” Caleb taunts, his voice rough with growing arousal. “Show me how badly you want to see if I’m clean down there.”

Determination fuels your efforts, teeth clamping harder on the fabric as you pull downward with renewed vigor.

The waistband finally clears his cock, which springs free with enough force to make you flinch back slightly.

Caleb’s grip in your hair prevents you from retreating far, holding you just inches away from his now exposed flesh.

“Keep going,” he orders, and you obey, continuing to drag the sweatpants down with your teeth until they’re bunched around his thighs. Only then does he release your hair, allowing you to sit back slightly and take in the sight before you.

Caleb’s cock stands at half-mast, thicker and longer than you’d imagined even in your most private fantasies.

The head is flushed dark pink, emerging partially from the foreskin, a bead of moisture already gathering at the slit. Veins run along the shaft, giving it a texture that makes your mouth water at the thought of feeling it on your tongue.

“See? Not stinky at all,” Caleb says, his tone mock-offended as he watches your wide-eyed assessment. “Clean enough to eat off of.”

His hand returns to your hair, this time grabbing a fistful at the crown of your head. “And that’s exactly what you’re going to do.”

With firm pressure, he guides your face forward until your cheek makes contact with his cock. The heat of it against your skin is startling—like touching velvet-covered steel, hard yet somehow soft on the surface.

Caleb sighs at the contact, his grip tightening as he begins to rub his shaft against your face in slow, deliberate strokes.

“This is what questioning my love gets you,” he murmurs, using your face as if it’s his personal toy. “My cock marking every inch of this pretty face. Is this proof enough for you, Y/N? That I love you enough to let you taste me?”

Your eyes flutter closed as he drags his cock across your cheekbone, then down to trace the seam of your lips. The musky, clean scent of him fills your nostrils, and you can taste the salt of his skin when the head brushes against your mouth.

“Open those eyes,” Caleb commands. “I want you to see what you begged for.”

You comply immediately, looking up to find his purple gaze burning into yours, pupils so dilated they nearly swallow the color entirely. The intensity of his stare pins you in place as effectively as his evol holding your arms.

“Now get it hard for me,” he instructs, still rubbing himself against your face. “Show me what that bratty mouth can do besides ask stupid fucking questions.”

With your arms still pinned behind you by Caleb’s evol, you lean forward and extend your tongue, making that first tentative lick along the underside of his shaft.

The taste is clean, slightly salty—nothing like the imaginary funkiness you teased him about. You trace the prominent vein from base to tip, feeling it pulse against your tongue as his cock hardens further under your attention.

Each stroke of your tongue reveals more of his flavor, drawing a small grunt from deep in his chest that fuels your determination to draw out more sounds.

“See how fucking clean I am?” Caleb taunts, watching your exploration of his cock with hooded eyes. “All that shit-talking about me being stinky, and now you can’t get enough.”

You respond by lapping at him more eagerly, dragging your tongue up and down his length in long, wet strokes.

With each pass of your tongue, his cock grows harder, fuller, the head swelling to an angry purple-red that matches his eyes when he uses his evol.

When you reach the tip, you circle it with your tongue, tracing the ridge where the head meets the shaft before focusing on the sensitive underside. A drop of pre-cum beads at the slit, and you gather it with the flat of your tongue, savoring the slightly bitter tang.

“Fuck,” Caleb hisses, his grip in your hair tightening. “Look at you, finally putting that mouth to good use.”

Emboldened by his reaction, you wrap your lips around the head of his cock, sucking lightly as you glance up to gauge his response. The angle forces you to look up through your lashes.

Caleb’s expression is a mix of arrogance and strain—lips curled in a smirk even as his nostrils flare with each inhale, eyes narrowed but unable to hide the flash of vulnerability your mouth draws from him.

You hollow your cheeks, increasing the suction around his sensitive head, and are rewarded with a sharp exhale that sounds almost like surprise.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, the harshness in his voice softening momentarily. “Take it in that pretty mouth.”

You maintain eye contact as you work your lips further down his shaft, taking him deeper into the wet heat of your mouth.

The size of him stretches your lips wide, the weight of his cock heavy on your tongue. You can only manage about halfway before feeling the urge to gag.

But what you lack in deep-throating skills you make up for in pure horniness, going at his dick like it's your last meal, tongue working overtime while your head bobs up and down like a dashboard ornament on a dirt road.

Caleb rolls his eyes, though the gesture is belied by the pleasure evident in his tense jaw and the pulse you can feel against your tongue.

“Amateur hour,” he taunts, but his breathing has grown ragged, his chest rising and falling more rapidly than before. “Is that the best you can do?”

The challenge in his voice spurs you to take him deeper, relaxing your throat as you’ve seen in videos. Your effort earns you another inch before your body rebels, eyes watering as you pull back slightly.

Apparently tired of your pace, Caleb’s hips suddenly thrust forward, pushing his cock deeper into your mouth than you were prepared for.

The unexpected movement makes you gag slightly, your throat constricting around his intrusion.

“That’s better,” he groans, holding your head in place as he rolls his hips, feeding you more of his length with each shallow thrust. “Taking what I give you, just like you promised.”

Tears spring to your eyes from the effort of accommodating him, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you focus on breathing through your nose, on relaxing your jaw and throat to make room for his increasingly forceful movements.

Just as you’re getting into a rhythm, Caleb abruptly pulls you off his cock, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his glistening head. You gasp for breath, lips swollen and wet, cheeks flushed with exertion and arousal.

“Not bad,” he concedes, his voice rough with desire despite the casual assessment. “But I think we need to make sure you understand exactly who’s in charge here.”

Without warning, he grabs the base of his cock with his free hand, the other still firmly tangled in your hair.

“This cock is a fucking privilege,” Caleb states, his tone shifting to something harder, more colonel than brother. “Not something you get just because you decided to be a brat today.”

Before you can respond, he slaps his cock against your cheek, the wet smack echoing in the quiet room.

The impact isn’t painful—just enough to startle you, to remind you of your position kneeling before him. He does it again, harder this time, leaving a wet streak of pre-cum and your own saliva across your skin.

“This what you wanted?” he asks, continuing to slap his cock against your other cheek, your chin, your forehead. “To be marked up with my cock? To have my cum all over your pretty face?”

Each smack makes your whole body shiver with that dirty, fucked-up pleasure that gets you so wet, the humiliation turning you on even more till you're writhing around on your knees like a bitch in heat, desperate to grind against anything that'll give your aching pussy some relief.

“Open wide,” Caleb commands, his voice leaving no room for hesitation. “Stick out your tongue like a good little slut.”

You comply immediately, opening your mouth and extending your tongue, presenting it as a target for his next blow. Caleb rewards your obedience by slapping his cock directly onto your waiting tongue, the weight and heat of it making you moan around the intrusion.

“That’s it,” he praises, dragging the head of his cock across your outstretched tongue in slow circles. “Taste every fucking inch of how clean I am.”

He keeps it up, switching between smacking that hard dick on your eager tongue and sliding it all over your lips, leaving them sticky and shiny with his juice.

Your jaw aches from being held open, drool beginning to spill down your chin, but damn, the sheer dirtiness of it all has you squeezing your legs together like that's gonna help the throbbing ache between them that's practically begging to be touched.

“Please,” you manage to whisper when he pulls back for a moment, your voice barely recognizable to your own ears.

“Please what?” Caleb asks, eyebrow raised as he continues to stroke himself inches from your face, occasionally tapping the head against your lips.

“Please feed it to me,” you beg, surprised by your own desperation. “I want to taste more of you.”

A slow, predatory smile spreads across his face. “Since you asked so nicely.”

With deliberate patience, Caleb begins to push his cock back into your mouth, inch by excruciating inch. This time, he doesn’t thrust—he simply feeds you his length gradually, allowing you to adjust to the invasion at his pace, not yours.

“Take it all,” he encourages as you struggle with the last few inches. “Breathe through your nose. Relax your throat.”

Following his instructions, you manage to take him deeper than before, your nose nearly touching his lower abdomen as the head of his cock nudges the back of your throat.

Tears stream down your cheeks from the effort, but the pride in Caleb’s eyes makes everything worth it.

“Perfect,” he breathes, holding you there for a moment before allowing you to pull back for air.

As you enthusiastically begin sucking him again, you become increasingly aware of your own neglected arousal.

Without conscious thought, you begin to rock your hips, seeking some relief for the ache between your legs. Finding Caleb’s foot positioned between your knees, you press your core against it, grinding down in small, desperate movements that match the rhythm of your mouth on his cock.

Caleb notices immediately, his lips curving into a smirk. “Look at you, humping my foot like a desperate little dog while you suck my cock.”

He doesn’t move his foot away—if anything, he presses it more firmly against you, giving you something solid to ride. “Go ahead, get yourself off. Show me how much you love serving me.”

You increase the pressure and speed of your grinding, shamelessly using his foot for your pleasure while continuing to work his cock with your mouth.

Your pussy’s soaking wet while his fat cock stretches your mouth open and his foot grinds against your clit, making you dizzy with how fucking good it feels.

“Such a filthy little slut,” Caleb growls, watching you grind against his foot while sucking him. “Look at you, so desperate you’d fuck anything. Even your brother’s feet.”

His words only make you wetter, hungrier for more. “Is this what you wanted all along? Why you were being such a pain in my ass today? Just needed to be put on your knees and shown your place?”

You moan around his cock, the vibration traveling up his shaft and drawing a hiss from between his clenched teeth.

Now you’re exactly where you wanted to be. On your knees, being used for his pleasure while he watches you fuck yourself on his foot.

“That’s it,” he continues, voice rough with arousal. “Take it deeper. Show me how sorry you are for questioning whether I love you enough.”

You relax your throat further, taking him deeper than before, your nose brushing against the coarse hair at the base of his cock.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hips jerking slightly. “Always knew this fucking mouth was good for something besides talking back.”

Your saliva flows freely now, coating his shaft with each bob of your head, creating obscene wet sounds that fill the room. Strings of drool connect your swollen lips to his glistening cock when you pull back for air, only to dive down again with renewed enthusiasm.

The messier it gets, the more Caleb seems to enjoy it—his breathing growing ragged, his grip in your hair tightening to the point of pain.

“Such a sloppy cocksucker,” he taunts, though the strain in his voice betrays how much your efforts are affecting him. “Getting your fucking drool all over me. This what you needed, huh? To be treated like the little cumslut you are?”

You try to nod around his thickness, earning another grunt of approval as the movement causes your throat to constrict around him.

Growing impatient with your pace, Caleb suddenly releases your hair only to grab your head with both hands, fingers splayed across your scalp for maximum control.

With this new grip, he begins to thrust more forcefully into your mouth, using you as if you’re nothing more than a warm hole for his pleasure.

“Gonna fuck this pretty throat,” he warns, his hips picking up speed. “Show you exactly what happens when you question me, my love.”

You struggle to keep up with his brutal pace, your jaw aching as he pushes deeper with each thrust. Just when you think you might need to tap out, to signal that it‘s too much, Caleb’s foot beneath you flexes, his lace of his feet pressing firmly against your clit through your clothes.

The sudden pressure sends a jolt of pleasure through your core, momentarily distracting you from the assault on your throat.

“That’s right,” Caleb murmurs, noticing your reaction. “Hump my foot like the desperate little bitch you are. Get yourself off while I use your throat.”

“Open wider,” Caleb commands, his voice strained now, control slipping as his pleasure builds. “Let me see those fucking eyes.”

You comply immediately, stretching your jaw to its limit and looking up at him through tear-spiked lashes.

“That’s it,” he praises, his thumbs stroking your temples in a brief moment of tenderness. “Taking my cock so fucking well now. Such a good little sister.”

You moan around him, trying to communicate without words how much you need this, need him.

Suddenly, you feel the restraint of his evol release, your arms falling free at your sides. The return of sensation is almost painful, pins and needles racing up and down your limbs as blood flow returns to normal.

Before you can fully process the change, Caleb’s hands tighten in your hair, holding you firmly in place.

“Gonna cum,” he warns, his voice dropping to a growl that seems torn from somewhere deep inside him. “Gonna fill this fucking throat. And you’re going to swallow every drop, aren’t you?”

You can only make a muffled sound of agreement, your hands now free to clutch at his thighs, feeling the muscles tense beneath your fingers as he approaches his climax.

“Look at me,” Caleb demands, waiting until your eyes lock with his before delivering his final thrust. “Don’t you fucking look away.”

His cock drives deep into your throat one last time, his hands holding your head firmly against his pelvis as his entire body goes rigid.

You feel him pulse against your tongue, hot spurts of cum shooting directly down your throat, giving you no choice but to swallow or choke. His eyes never leave yours, forcing you to witness his pleasure.

Your orgasm crashes through you without warning, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure radiate outward from your core. You moan around his still-pulsing cock, the vibration drawing a hiss from Caleb as he empties himself down your throat.

“Fuck,” he gasps, his hips jerking with aftershocks. “That’s it, take it all. Every fucking drop.”

You swallow reflexively, again and again, your throat working around him as your own orgasm continues to pulse through your system.

As the intensity begins to fade, your movements become languid, your mouth lazily suckling at the head of his cock, reluctant to release him completely.

Your hips continue to roll against his foot in slow, deliberate circles as you chase the last tremors of your climax.

His hands have loosened in your hair, fingers now gently massaging your scalp where he had pulled so roughly moments before.

Slowly, carefully, he withdraws from your mouth, his softening cock slipping past your swollen lips with a wet sound. You open your mouth to show him the evidence of his release—a small pool of cum mixed with your saliva on your tongue.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing your lower lip. “Swallow it.”

You close your mouth and swallow obediently, maintaining eye contact as his seed slides down your already well-used throat.

A small smile of approval curves his lips, but it’s quickly replaced by something more wicked.

Before you can react, Caleb leans down, gathering saliva in his mouth. With deliberate slowness, he spits directly into your open mouth, the warm glob landing on your tongue alongside the lingering taste of his cum.

“That too,” he commands, his voice softer but no less authoritative. “Swallow everything I give you.”

You don’t hesitate, closing your mouth and swallowing his spit just as eagerly as you swallowed his cum.

When you’ve swallowed everything, you open your mouth again to show him your empty tongue, seeking his approval.

Caleb’s thumb traces your swollen bottom lip, his eyes taking in the mess he’s made of you. Your face is tear-streaked from the effort of taking him so deeply, saliva and traces of cum glistening on your chin and cheeks.

With careful movements, he begins to clean you, using his fingers to wipe away the evidence of your submission from your skin.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice gentler now that his lust has been sated. “Such a fucking mess. My mess.”

Instead of wiping it away, he pushes it back between your lips, watching intently as you automatically suck his thumb clean.

“That’s it,” Caleb encourages, repeating the process with another drop that had escaped down your chin. “Don’t want to waste any, do we?”

You shake your head, still floating in the hazy aftermath of your orgasm and the intensity of what just transpired between you.

Caleb continues his cleaning, gathering every stray bit of cum and saliva with his fingers and feeding it back to you.

When he’s satisfied that he’s reclaimed every drop, his hands cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheekbones with surprising tenderness.

“So beautiful like this,” he whispers, leaning down from his seat on the couch to press his lips against your forehead. “All fucked out and sweet for me.”

His mouth travels across your face, placing featherlight kisses on your eyelids, your tear-stained cheeks, the tip of your nose.

“Never question my love for you again,” he murmurs against your skin, the words both command and plea. “You understand?”

“Yes, ge ge,” you respond, your voice hoarse from the abuse your throat has taken.

Caleb’s kisses continue their journey, trailing down to your jaw and then your neck. When he reaches the sensitive juncture where neck meets shoulder, he lingers, sucking gently at the skin until you know he’s left a mark.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, pulling back to examine your face with sudden concern. His hands run down your arms, checking for any damage from being restrained by his evol. “Was I too rough?”

You hadn’t considered whether anything that happened could be classified as “too rough.”

“No,” you assure him, your hands reaching up to rest on his thighs. “It was perfect. I wanted all of it.”

“You did so well,” he praises, his fingers threading through your hair much more gently than before. “Taking me so deep. Swallowing everything I gave you.”

His praise warms you from the inside out, making you glow with a sense of accomplishment that seems disproportionate to the act of sucking his cock.

But that’s how it’s always been between you—Caleb’s approval means more than anyone else’s, his praise capable of sustaining you through the darkest times.

“Did I taste bad?” Caleb asks, a hint of teasing returning to his voice as he references your earlier taunts. “Stinky, was it?”

You shake your head, a smile tugging at your lips despite the residual soreness. “No. You tasted...” You search for the right words, wanting to be honest rather than just flattering. “Sweet and tangy. Nothing like I expected.”

“And what were you expecting?” His eyebrow arches, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I just wanted to get a rise out of you.”

Caleb laughs, the sound rich and warm. “Well, you certainly managed that.” His hand drifts to your chin, tilting your face up to ensure you meet his gaze. “You were amazing, Y/N. Taking me like a fucking champ.”

The praise makes you blush, as if you haven't been sucking the life out of him just seconds before.

“My perfect little cocksucker,” he continues, thumb brushing across your still-swollen lips. There’s genuine wonder in his voice, as if he’s discovered something precious and unexpected. “Who knew you had such talents hidden away?”

You duck your head, suddenly shy. Caleb doesn’t allow the retreat for long, his fingers under your chin gently but firmly guiding your gaze back to his.

“Don‘t hide from me,” he says softly. “Not after that. Not after showing me how perfectly you can surrender.”

“I‘m not hiding,” you whisper, your hands sliding up his thighs to rest on his hips. “Just processing.”

Caleb nods, understanding without further explanation. His hand moves to the back of your neck, massaging the tight muscles there with expert pressure.

“How about we get you off this hard floor? Get you cleaned up properly?”

You nod gratefully, allowing Caleb to help you to your feet. Your legs wobble slightly, pins and needles shooting through your calves as circulation returns.

Caleb steadies you, his arm wrapping around your waist. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your temple, pressing another kiss there. “Always got you, mei mei.”

Refer to Party RSVP

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He had noticed, over time, how you always seemed to cover yourself around him, always pulling away when things started to get heated between you two. It wasn't that you were a tease, not at all. You just had a certain...reserve. A hesitation about letting him in, fully in.

He kept his gaze locked on your cute butt as it jiggled with each movement around his room. He was happy you were lost in thought, giving him more time to watch you unnoticed. That was until you caught him staring, which always made you feel a bit uneasy.

"Hey Sy," you started to say, before pausing and looking at him with a hint of insecurity in your eyes. It was strange when you caught him ogling you like that. Sylus was so different from you in every way, making you wonder why he still wanted to be with someone like you at all.

"If you are looking for your make-up remover its in the bathroom, you left it there last week"

His eyes stayed on you, not looking away this time. It made you feel awkward, so you quickly grabbed your pajamas and hurried to the bathroom to change.

It was the weekend, and like many weekends before, you were spending the night at his place. Ever since you two started dating, this had become a regular thing. Now, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, you found yourself stripped down to just your panties and bra. Without any makeup on, you felt exposed and uncomfortable looking at your reflection.

Your eyes drifted over the stretch marks on your butt then up to the ones on your breasts and stomach. It was too much to take in, and all you could do was rush to cover your body back up with your pajamas, feeling self conscious and insecure about your appearance.

When you walked out of the bathroom you felt his eyes on you right away. You climbed into bed awkwardly, feeling a mix of comfort and nervousness around him. He made you feel safe but the thought of him seeing your body completely naked was too embarrassing and scary to imagine.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"It's nothing," you replied, stifling a yawn. "I'm just a bit tired. You're leaving in a few hours, right?" you asked, even though you already knew the answer.

"Yes," he confirmed, before adding with a slight smirk, "unless you want me to stay a bit longer. Want me to tell you a bedtime story?."

You chuckled softly and rolled over to face him. "Maybe..." you said hesitantly.

"Mhhh, you are a fussy kitten. Tell you what, stay here a few more days, after all it's just the two of us, and I'll tell you all the bedtime stories you want"

"I'll think about staying longer if you sleep with me tonight," you proposed, hoping to spend more time with him.

Sylus glanced at you, amused by your request. "Did you forget what time it is? For me, the day has only just begun"

He then sighed dreamily and said, "Since you don't seem sleepy at all, I'll tell you a story. It might be a little boring by the way"

"It's fine" you replied, scooting closer to him

"It took place in an old castle..." he stopped for a moment and then said "tuck yourself in and close your eyes"

He continued, painting a picture with his words "Once upon a time, there was a castle shrouded in heavy fog. Every year, there would be a day when the fog disappeared. Only then can one truly see the castle"

"Wait, is this story real?"

"An old man who used to live nearby told me about it," he explained, his voice taking on a slightly conspiratorial tone. "How am I supposed to know if the story is real or make believe?"

"Anyway...a girl found herself in the woods. She was lucky to stumble upon the castle when the fog was gone. She knocked on the door."

You chimed in again with a skeptical laugh "Let me guess," you said, rolling your eyes behind your closed eyelids. "A handsome prince opened the door to welcome her inside." You were clearly expecting a classic fairy tale ending.

"I'm afraid not. Sorry". he teased gently "the castle was empty, so the girl decided to live there"

"Then one day as she was getting ready to sleep, the fireplace suddenly roared to life."

As he continued his story, you suddenly felt him shift beside you. His movement made you realize you were gripping his hand tightly in yours, a reflexive action you hadn't even registered doing.

"Why are you holding my hand so tightly?" Sylus asked with a soft, amused chuckle, glancing down at your intertwined fingers.

"Relax," he soothed, noticing your tenseness. "It's not scary" He had to stifle another laugh as he felt your arms instinctively wrap around him in a tight hug.

"How is this not an excuse to cuddle me?" Sylus said playfully, his chest rumbling with soft laughter as he held you close.

You looked up at him with wide, curious eyes, eager to hear more "What happened to the girl then?"

He smiled, enjoying your engagement in his story. "Lie back down first," he instructed, guiding you to get comfortable "Let me continue,"

As you settled back into the bed, Sylus carried on with the story "The girl took a deep breath, turned around, and saw..." he began, only to be cut off by your excited interruption.

"Don't tell me..." you said, feeling yourself inexplicably drawn closer to him again, your body instinctively seeking his warmth and presence.

"Yes, the window was open"

You frowned slightly and when Sylus noticed your expression he asked "You seem to be disappointed. I told you it wasn't scary. What were you expecting?

"I don't know," you admitted, a hint of excitement in your voice. "Maybe a monster or a vampire?"

"A vampire?" he repeated "Hm. I guess that makes sense. I mean the movie we watched earlier did the same thing. The girl had walked into a vampire's castle..."

Sylus's gaze drifted to your lips, and he caught you biting your bottom lip thoughtfully. "What are you thinking about?" he asked, his red eyes gleaming with curiosity.

"You know, Sy...now that I think about it, you do kind of look like a vampire yourself."

"Do I? How so?"

"Well, those red eyes..." You felt a flutter in your chest as you gazed into them.

"Aaaand" you continued "you're always so active and energized during the night."

Sylus listened intently to your observations, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I do sound like one when you put it that way. What else?"

You gulped nervously as Sylus leaned in closer, his low, hypnotic voice making your heart race. Without really thinking, you blurted out the first thing that came to your mind in response to his question.

"You also bully people..." you said, voice coming out slightly shaky.

Sylus raised an eyebrow at your words, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "How exactly does a vampire bully someone?"

Before you could elaborate, Sylus moved, closing the distance between you until you were face to face. He gazed down at you with those mesmerizing red eyes, his cool breath ghosting over your skin.

"Like this?" Sylus whispered, his face moved slowly but purposefully towards your neck, his nose nearly brushing against your racing pulse.

"Let me sniff your neck"

You felt your face flush intensely as he inhaled deeply "Mmm..." you heard him groan softly "Your scent..." he murmured, his lips brushing against your neck as he exhaled. "I want it. I'll just nibble this"

A breathless moan escaped your lips as Sylus's teeth grazed your skin, and you quickly tried to stifle any more sounds by biting down on your bottom lip, trapping it between your teeth.

Sylus pulled back slightly, enough to see your reaction. He noticed your eyes fluttering shut and your lip caught under your teeth, a sign of your building arousal and nervousness.

Slowly, he reached out with his thumb and gently tugged your lip free from its prisoner, his touch lingering on your soft skin. "Don't bite your lip"

He searched your face, his eyes gazing deeply into yours "Was I too rough?" He asked, genuinely wanting to know if he had crossed a line.

You shook your head in response, letting him know that he hadn't. Your cheeks were flushed, breathing not yet fully under control.

"Is that what you call bullying?" His voice was pure sin, the sound of it alone enough to make your core throb. "I didn't do it on purpose, you're the one who brought up the vampire comparison." His smile was playful and dangerous, a perfect blend of charm and predatory intent.

"And in the movie," Sylus murmured as he tapped a finger on the skin of your neck where he had nibbled moments before. "The girl got marked right here." His eyes locked with yours and before you could move, he leaned in once more, his lips parting slightly. He bit down on the same spot on your neck, a little harder this time. "I want to leave a mark too"

You couldn't help but rub your thighs together, feeling the growing ache between your legs.

He seemed to sense your desperation and moved his attention to your ear. He caught your earlobe between his teeth, nibbling and tugging on the sensitive flesh. As he did, he whispered hotly into your ear, "And it's still not enough, is it? I can feel how much more you need."

His words were a dark vow to push your limits and satisfy your deepest cravings. The desire in his voice made your core clench with want, your panties growing damp with your arousal.

"Sy," your voice trembled slightly "I want more, I really do. I'm just feeling a little anxious and maybe a bit... insecure right now."

Sylus's gaze softened with understanding and he reached up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "You have nothing to be insecure about, sweetie, trust me on that." He paused, taking a deep breath as if trying to maintain his composure. "It's taking every ounce of my self control not to strip you bare and fuck you right here, right now."

His lips moved to your mouth, hovering just above the soft skin as he placed the lightest of kisses on each corner. He worshipped your mouth with a reverence that made your toes curl, his touch feather light and achingly tender. "I've only had the privilege of feeling the soft curves of your body once before," he murmured against your lips, "and that moment has already become the highlight of my fucking life." He pulled back slightly to gaze into your eyes "And yet, I still haven't had the chance to see all of you"

"We can stop right here if that's what you want," he said, giving you the choice to end things now "But if you want to keep going, I promise to worship and adore every single inch of your body until you can finally see yourself through my eyes. Until you understand just how incredibly beautiful and desirable you truly are."

"Can we turn off the lights?" you asked tentatively, feeling a bit shy and vulnerable about the idea of being fully exposed.

"If we are going to do this, I want to see you," Sylus replied "I need to see you, kitten. Every. Single. Inch. Of. Your. Body." He enunciated each word deliberately, driving home the depth of his craving to lay eyes on your naked body. "It's all or nothing at all. I won't settle for anything less than having you bare and beautiful before me."

You took a deep breath, realizing that now was the moment of truth. With nervousness and determination, you moved to kneel on the bed in front of him. "Can you help me take this off?"

Sylus reached out, his fingers brushing against yours as he removed your shirt, leaving you in a black lace bra. You felt your cheeks burning hotter when you reached back and unclasped your bra. As the lacy fabric fell away, your breasts spilled out softly, the cool air of the room pebbling your nipples, gasping slightly at the sensation.

His eyes were glued to your face, watching every flicker of emotion play out across your face. But as your breasts were revealed, his eyes drifted downwards, taking in the sight of your newly exposed curves and a shaky breath escaped his lips.

However, as his eyes roamed your body, you suddenly felt a wave of self-consciousness wash over you and you moved your arm up to cover your breasts, hiding them from view.

"Why are you hiding from me?" Sylus asked as he reached up to tilt your chin with his fingers, forcing you to meet his eyes. He studied your face intently, his eyes searching yours. "Is it because it's more comfortable for you to do so, or are you worried that I won't find the way you look... appealing?"

"Sy..."

"I don't want you to feel like you need to hide yourself in any way."

With those words, he watched as you slowly lowered your arms to your sides, revealing your breasts in their full glory. The sight took his breath away.

He reached out and covered your hands with his own as you began to slowly slide your pajama pants down your legs, his hands covering the expanse of your thighs as you lifted each one to slip the fabric off completely.

"Fuck, you should see yourself right now"

When your fingers moved to the waistband of your panties, Sylus stopped you with a commanding "No, let me." He wanted to unwrap the rest of you like a precious gift, to make this a moment to remember. "Lay down again for me, sweetie"

You moved to comply, your head sinking into the pillow as you settled back onto the bed. As you did, you watched Sylus remove his own shirt, and your eyes widened as more and more of his perfect body was revealed. The sight of his toned muscles and smooth skin made your mouth go dry with desire. He was absolutely breathtaking.

His body loomed over yours as he positioned himself between your now bare legs. Slowly he lifted one of your legs, lips trailing soft kisses along your sensitive inner thigh.

"Do you want it, kitten?"

Your voice came out small and raspy as you breathed out, "Yes." The word was barely audible, but the longing and want behind it was crystal clear.

Suddenly, his hands gripped the waistband of your panties. With a decisive tug, he pulled them down your legs, leaving you completely bare. Before you could even process the sudden vulnerability, he had settled himself between your thighs, his face just inches from your core.

Your heart pounded wildly in your chest as you gazed down at him, anticipation and need burning in your eyes. You were completely exposed, but you had never felt more alive or aroused in your life.

When Sylus's tongue glided up your wet slit, your legs quivered. Sylus took advantage of your moment of weakness, guiding one of your thighs to rest on his shoulder. Your body yielded to him, parting wider to grant his tongue free reign over your soaked cunt.

You once believed your toys at home and your own touch could satisfy you fully, but Sylus's mouth proved you wrong. Pleasure surged through you, raw and intense, unlike anything you'd experienced before. It was as if Sylus had unlocked a hidden world of sensations that left you breathless and aching for more.

In a matter of minutes you felt a familiar tingle igniting in your clit and the small of your back. Your body tensed, like a string pulled taut and ready to snap. Each pass of Sylus's tongue, each nip and suck, stoked the flames of your impending release higher and hotter.

You were moving towards a climax that promised to be devastating in its intensity. The room spun around you as Sylus played your body like a finely tuned instrument, his tongue your conductor. He was reshaping your understanding of ecstasy with each stroke of his tongue.

Just as you reached that explosive climax, he plunged two long fingers deep inside you. His fingers reached places you could never touch yourself, caressing hidden spots that made your body seize with overwhelming sensation.

The additional stimulation was too much and you shattered, fragmented into a million glittering pieces, each one a shard of electric bliss. Sylus's appreciative groans moved through your core, drawing out your pleasure until you swore you could feel it in your very bones.

He showed no mercy, wringing every last tremor and aftershock from you until you thought you might dissolve into a puddle of skin and quivering nerves.

With difficulty, you managed to grab Sylus by the hair and tug his head away, desperate for a moment's respite from overstimulation.

When he finally lifted his head from between your trembling thighs, you looked down at him "I would gladly take my last breath from between your thighs."

Overwhelmed and giddy from the sheer audacity of his bold declaration, you could only bury your face in your hands and let out a burst of laughter.

"Oh my god, Sylus," you giggled, peeking at him through splayed fingers. "You're absolutely shameless." Despite your words, you couldn't stop the grin spreading across your face.

Sylus just chuckled as he reached out, gently prying your hands away from your face to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips. "Guilty as charged. But can you blame me? When I have a feast laid out before me as delectable as you, I can't help but want to sample every...single...bite."

He rose from the bed and your eyes roamed over his body, tracing the hard lines and planes, as he began to shed the last of his clothing. The prominent tent in his underwear drew your gaze, it looked painfully hard.

You moved to the edge of the bed and reached out, tugging his underwear down. His cock sprang free, slapping against his abdomen, thick and hard, the head flushed an angry red. But it wasn't the tip that made your pulse quicken, it was his size. Sylus was not just bold in his words, his endowment matched his cocky confidence.

Before you could ponder the implications, Sylus moved and positioned himself behind you, one hand covering your eyes as he guided you back against his chest until your bare ass nestled against his erection. The heat of his skin seeped into your flesh, his arm encircling your waist in a possessive embrace. You felt petite and delicate in comparison to his larger, harder body, your own molding perfectly into his.

The position left you completely at his mercy, and yet somehow enveloped in his arms, you felt a profound sense of safety and belonging.

Settling into his lap, you adjusted your position until your weight rested fully on your knees. Sylus noticed the shift and, with a knowing smirk, reached out to push your knees apart. The sudden movement made you lose your balance, and instinctively, you braced yourself against his thighs, your hands splaying over the firm muscles.

"I want to feel all of you. Your weight, your warmth, your soft skin against me. You're perfect. Exactly the kind of body I crave."

You gasped softly when you felt the head of his cock against your entrance, the heat and hardness of him unmistakable. Your body instinctively clenched in anticipation, yearning to feel him inside you.

As he began to push forward, slowly sinking inside your pussy, he suddenly removed his hand from your eyes. Blinking in the sudden absence of his warm palm, you found yourself staring at your reflection in a mirror held up before you. Sylus, with his evol, held the mirror, allowing you to watch your every reaction.

The sight of your naked body, flushed and wanting, combined with his cock slowly pushing deeper inside you, only heightened the eroticism of the moment.

"Look at how gorgeous you are" His gaze remained locked with yours through the mirror, reflecting the raw desire and appreciation shining in his eyes.

"I feel so full, Sy," you breathed out, voice trembling slightly.

"Only half of my cock is inside you right now, sweetie"

You reached down to grip his thighs for support and with a needy whimper pushed yourself down, sinking onto his length until you felt the head of his cock kiss your cervix. A deep groan tore from Sylus's throat as you took him to the hilt, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips.

You started to move first, slowly, Sylus's hands guiding your hips. His touch was firm yet gentle, helping you find the perfect angle and pace to drive your pleasure higher with each passing second.

"I've wanted this, wanted you, for so long. You have no idea how many nights I've spent imagining this moment, dreaming of you bouncing on my cock just like this."

Your breasts swayed with each thrust, the soft mounds a mesmerizing sight. You could see the lust burning in Sylus's eyes as he watched your body respond to his touch, your pleasure, your need. It was clear that he was enjoying every second of this as much as you were, if not even more so.

Lost in pleasure, you let your head fall back against his shoulder, his name escaping your lips. But suddenly, you felt a sharp smack to your pussy, the sting quickly giving way to a burst of pleasure.

"Eyes on us, I want you to watch"

" I ca...can't Sy..."

"You can. Look at how beautifully you're taking my cock, like you were made for it."

You could see a milky ring forming around the base of his cock as he continued to thrust into you. The sight was incredibly erotic, a tangible sign of the way your body responded to his touch, craved his presence deep inside you.

His fingers moved with purpose, one hand finding your swollen clit, circling it in pleasurable rhythm. The other hand reached up to palm your breast, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh before he pinched and rolled your nipple between his fingertips.

Both your faces and bodies were flushed. It was filthy and raw, the way you moved together, the way you chased your mutual release. The slap of skin against skin, your breathy moans and Sylus's groans, the sheen of sweat coating your writhing bodies, it was a deliciously sinful spectacle.

"Sy..." you whimpered, your voice breaking on a particularly deep thrust. You could feel your climax building, the coil of tension in your core winding tighter and tighter.

"Yes, that's it, are you going to come for me like this?

You could only nod, your entire body was trembling, your skin prickling with goosebumps as you teetered on the edge, ready to shatter in Sylus's hands at any moment.

"What you are seeing right now, that's all I see everyday. You are everywhere I go. Everywhere I see. You haunt my every waking moment, kitten."

You felt him tense beneath you, the flutter at the base of his cock signaled his impending orgasm.

"I'm gonna...cum..." Sylus grunted, voice tight with his own release building.

Your eyes rolled back and you whined for him to keep going as your climax thundered through you.

He gasped then moaned, muttering praises against your skin as his own release hit, spurting rope after rope of cum deep inside you while the head of his cock pressed against your cervix.

Together, you weathered the storm of your shared ecstasy, bodies trembling in sync. He held you tight, his arms a sanctuary as he pumped you full of his cum. Your combined fluids leaked out around his softening length, trickling down your thighs. You clung to him, fingers digging into his sweat slicked skin, both of you gulping in air as you drifted down from the highest of highs.

When Sylus regained his breath and could form words again, he gazed at your reflection in the mirror, still holding you close. " You don't need to love yourself everyday. That's an unrealistic expectation. But know this, I'll be here, loving you fiercely, on the days when you struggle to see your own beauty."

the low hum of the air conditioner is entirely drowned out by the sheer, chaotic violence of your breathing. caleb doesn’t just take you; he pins you down with a heavy, unyielding finality that makes the mattress sink deeply beneath his weight, trapping you beneath the wall of his chest and the rigid command of his body.

he shoves your knees wide apart, forcing your legs open until your hips ache with the stretch. his large, calloused hands lock onto the soft flesh of your inner thighs, his fingers digging in so ruthlessly that you already know the purple-black marks of his grip will be painted across your skin by morning. he doesn’t care. the sight of you completely exposed, slick and dripping under the dim light, snaps the very last thread of his composure. all that trademark precision and calm control he prides himself on goes completely to hell in an instant.

"look at you," he rasps, his voice a dark, jagged growl that vibrates through the mattress. "look how fucking ready you are for me."

he doesn't waste another second. caleb buries his face roughly, single-mindedly into your crotch. the impact is sudden and bruising, smearing your slick, hot lubrication all over his lips, his jaw, and his stubble-roughened chin. when his tongue makes contact — flat, broad, and heavy — it’s not a gentle caress; it’s a demanding, territorial stroke that travels from the very base of your opening all the way up to your swollen core.

a wrecked, high-pitched scream tears from your throat, your back instantly arching completely off the bed as a violent jolt of electricity fires through your spine. but he doesn't give you a single second to catch your breath or adjust to the intensity. he begins to fuck you with his mouth—hard, fast, wet, and entirely shameless. he drives his tongue deep inside your opening, mimicking the brutal rhythm of a real penetration, before withdrawing to lash at your clitoris with an agonizingly sharp pressure. he sucks the hyper-sensitive bud into his mouth, drawing it between his teeth, and bites down just hard enough to make your vision blur, forcing you to sob and beg for mercy.

"please, calebb — please— "

"beg for it," he growls against your wet skin, his hot breath hitting your dripping core and sending another wave of intense shudders straight down your thighs. "drip right into my mouth, sweet girl. let it ruin you. take every single bit of it."

the slick, friction-heavy sounds of his mouth working against you fill the quiet room, loud and incredibly filthy. but your desperate whimpers only make him hungrier, pushing him past the brink of sanity. just using his tongue isn’t enough to satisfy the possessive urge tearing through him. without a word of warning, caleb rams three long fingers straight inside you, driving them all the way to his knuckles in one deep, unyielding thrust.

your eyes fly open as you shriek, your fingers clawing blindly at the bedsheets, tearing at the fabric as your body tries to reject the sheer magnitude of the fullness. you are incredibly tight, burning hot, and dripping wet, your internal walls instantly clamping down around his thick knuckles like a vice. caleb lets out a choked, gutteral sound at the tightness, and immediately begins to furiously, brutally fuck you with his hand.

the sound in the room turns completely decadent — a loud, wet, sloshing rhythm as his hand pumps deep and fast inside your channeled heat, while his teeth and lips relentlessly wring out your clit at the exact same time. the double assault is entirely too much for your nervous system to handle. you lose your mind, your thoughts fracturing into pure, unadulterated sensation.

in a blind panic of overwhelming pleasure, you try to scramble backward, trying to crawl away from the agonizingly perfect friction of his mouth. but caleb’s iron grip on your thighs hardens instantly. he pins your legs down to the mattress with terrifying strength, completely locking you in place and forcing you to take every single punishing, deep thrust of his hand. your frantic movements only cause your juices to flow heavier, pouring over his fingers, covering his face, and soaking into the sheets beneath you, which only drives his arousal to a dangerous, manic peak. he cranks up the pace even more, the sheer force of his hand driving into you so hard that the heavy wooden frame of the bed begins to creak and shake against the wall.

you are completely unraveled, sobbing hysterically as your hips helplessly tilt into his face, your body betraying your fear and chasing the very destruction he’s giving you. every internal muscle you have is seizing, spasming around his buried fingers as the oncoming climax hovers directly over you like a crashing wave.

caleb feels the warning ripples of your release, but he refuses to slow down or give you an easy escape. instead, he fucks you even harder, his movements becoming zany and relentless. he presses his mouth flat against you, sealing his lips around your core and practically sucking the moisture out of you, driving his fingers in to the absolute hilt over and over again.

when your body finally breaks, it’s a total collapse. your spine stiffens, your toes curl tight, and a wild, hoarse cry is ripped from your lungs as a massive, toe-curling orgasm crashes over you. you arch into him, your body locking up in violent, prolonged convulsions as you come heavily, shooting your release right across his face and lips. your internal walls go into overdrive, clamping down on his fingers in tight, rhythmic, crushing spasms.

caleb doesn't pull back for a second. he stays buried right there, holding your trembling thighs securely against his shoulders as he rides out the storm. he swallows your cries, drinking down every ounce of your climax, and licks you completely clean with slow, possessive strokes of his tongue until the very last twitch of your release fades away.

slowly, he pulls his soaked fingers out of you, the wet sound echoing in the sudden silence of the room. he leans up, his dark eyes wide, blown-out, and fiercely triumphant as he looks down at you. his face is completely flushed, smeared with your slickness, and his chest heaves as he watches you lie there—utterly wrecked, thoroughly used, and completely drowning in the heavy, breathless afterglow of your own undoing.

you are completely spent, gasping for air on the soaked sheets, but caleb gives you no time to recover. the raw, heavy tension in the room hasn't broken — if anything, your screaming release has only pushed him over the edge. he stays over you for a fraction of a second, his chest heaving, his face still gleaming with your slickness, before he shifts.

with a low, gravelly grunt, he grabs your hips and pulls you down the length of the mattress, repositioning you until your head is resting near the edge of the bed and he is standing right over you.

he doesn't ask. he unbuckles his belt with a sharp, metallic snap, his dark eyes locked on yours, tracking the dazed, blown-out look in your eyes. when he shoves his trousers and boxers down, his length snaps free, fully erect, throbbing, and dangerously thick. he is burning hot, a heavy vein winding down his shaft, already leaking thick drops of pre-cum from the sheer intensity of watching you break.

"ur turn," he rasps, his voice completely wrecked. "open your mouth."

you don't even hesitate. the contrast of his dominant, commanding tone against the raw vulnerability of his erection makes your core ache all over again. you shift, dropping your knees to the floor and kneeling between his legs, looking up at him just like he looked at you.

when you wrap your fingers around his shaft, he lets out a sharp, ragged hiss, his hips instinctively twitching into your palm. he’s huge — your hand can barely close around him, his skin smooth, tightly stretched, and scorching against your cold fingers. you lean in, opening your mouth wide, and run the flat of your tongue from the very base of his shaft all the way up to the swollen, purple head, swirling around the slit to catch the bead of moisture waiting there.

caleb’s hands instantly fly to your hair, his thick fingers tangling in the strands, tight but not enough to hurt. a deep, guttural groan vibrates from his chest.

"fuck... just like that," he growls, his knuckles whitening in your hair as you take the head of his cock into your mouth.

you draw him in, your lips sealing tightly around his crown, and begin to suck him hard, using the wet heat of your mouth to drive him insane. the taste of him is musky, sharp, and intensely masculine. emboldened by his ragged breathing, you push forward, letting his thickness slide past your teeth, past your lips, coating him in your saliva as you take him deeper.

caleb loses his footing on his composure almost instantly. he’s not a man who breaks easily, but the feeling of your warm, wet mouth squeezing around him is too much. his hips start to move on their own, a slow, heavy tilt that forces him deeper into your throat. he holds your head in place, his grip firming as he guides the rhythm, his breathing turning into shallow, desperate gasps.

"you're so fucking tight," he gasps, his head tossing back, his jaw clenching so hard the muscles stand out in his neck. "suck it, sweet girl. eat it."

you look up at him through your eyelashes, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from the sheer depth of him, but you don't back down. you wrap one hand around the base of his cock, pumping him rhythmically to match the wet, devouring strokes of your mouth, while your other hand reaches up to cup his heavy, aching balls, squeezing them gently.

the touch completely shatters his restraint. caleb lets out a loud, filthy curse and takes total control. his hands grip your hair tightly, and he begins to fuck your mouth — brutally, rhythmically, driving his hips forward with a desperate, heavy force. he bottoms out against the back of your throat, his thick shaft stretching your lips to the absolute limit. in the quiet room, the sounds are incredibly dirty — the wet friction of your mouth, the heavy thud of his pelvis hitting your chin, and his ragged, animalistic grunts.

he is completely consumed by you, his thoughts entirely wiped out by the friction of your throat clamping around him. he forces you to take him over and over, his pace turning frantic, punishing, and utterly relentless.

"i'm going to come," he chokes out, his hips jerking violently as his entire body goes rigid. his fingers twist in your hair, pinning you flat against his pelvis so you can't escape. "don't you dare stop. take it all."

with one final, desperate thrust that drives him down to the absolute root, caleb breaks. he let out a loud, ruined groan as his body convulses, and a massive, burning torrent of cum shoots straight into the back of your throat. he pumps inside your mouth, thick wave after wave of his release coating your tongue and filling your cheeks.

you take every single drop, swallowing hard against the thickness, your throat working rhythmically to drain him completely clean as his hips violently twitch against your face.

when the spasms finally fade, caleb collapses forward, his forehead resting against the top of your head, his breathing so heavy it burns against your skin. his cock is still leaking, twitching weakly between your lips. he slowly pulls out, leaving your mouth wet and swollen, and looks down at you with a gaze that is completely dazed, dark, and utterly possessed by you. he reaches down with a trembling thumb, wiping a stray drop of cum from the corner of your lip, and pulls you up onto the bed to hold you tightly against his chest, completely spent.

you lie there, pressing your cheek against his heavily heaving chest, listening to the frantic, erratic thumping of his heart. the room is thick with the scent of sex, musk, and soaked sheets, the air between you so heavy it feels almost tangible. caleb refuses to let you out of the iron vice of his arms; one of his large palms rests on your bare lower back, sometimes digging his fingers into your skin, sometimes tracing barely-there, soothing strokes, as if he’s still trying to steady his own pulse.

his breathing gradually levels out, becoming deep and measured, but the gaze he keeps fixed on the ceiling remains dark and brooding. he runs the fingers of his free hand through your tangled hair, gently parting the messy strands.

"fuck..." he murmurs quietly into the silence of the room, that short, hoarse exhale sounding like both the ultimate praise and an admission of his own defeat. "what the hell are you doing to me."

you lift your head, propping your chin on his chest to look at him. your lips are still heavily swollen, and the corners of your eyes bear the drying tracks of your tears. caleb instantly shifts his gaze down to you. the raw ruthlessness from before is gone, but in its place burns something much more dangerous — an absolute, unyielding attachment mixed with a possessive instinct he doesn't even bother to hide.

he brings his hand up, cupping your cheek, and slowly runs his thumb over your bottom lip, tugging it down slightly as if inspecting the beautiful damage he just caused.

"does it hurt?" he asks softly, his voice still carrying that rough, low gravel.

you shake your head, pressing a soft kiss against his palm. a faint, lazy smile touches his lips —ba rare sight for a man who prides himself on keeping his composure under any circumstances. he pulls you higher up his body, guiding your leg to drape over his hip until you are completely sprawled on top of him. your core, still wet and aching from his fingers and mouth, brushes against his bare skin, and you feel his length, which hadn't even fully gone soft, instantly start to grow heavy and twitch between your thighs again.

caleb lets out a short, breathless chuckle, his hands sliding down to your waist to anchor your hips firmly against his groin.

"don't even think about it," he rumbles, though his fingers still possessively squeeze your ass, bruising the soft flesh into his palms. "you need to rest. and so do i, if i have any hope of getting out of this bed tomorrow."

he buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, drinking in the scent of your skin mixed with his own sweat and musk. his powerful arms lock around your back, completely sealing off any escape. you feel entirely safe, sheltered by the massive wall of his body like a shield against the rest of the world.

"go to sleep," he mumbles against your skin, leaving a brief, weightless kiss just below your ear. "i'm not going anywhere. you're mine. remember that."