A love that never grows cold

His thumb strokes your pulse point one last time before his hand shifts, his fingers gripping your shoulder with an unyielding, firm pressure. "But a simple apology isn't going to clear your slate tonight. You still need to be taught a lesson about how we speak to each other."

Without waiting for a response, he guides you seamlessly out of your chair. Your legs feel slightly wobbly beneath you, but his hand on your arm ensures you stand up straight. He turns you around, his palm flattening against the small of your back to give you a firm, commanding push in the direction of the hallway.

"To the bedroom. Move."

You start walking, your mind still a bit hazy from the sheer intensity of the shift. But your steps are hesitant, a little too slow as you try to process the transition from your stressful workload to the impending discipline.

​Zayne notices the lag instantly.

​Before you can even take your third step, his hand comes down in a sharp, sudden smack across your ass. The warning swat echoes loudly in the quiet house, stinging just enough to make you gasp, your heart leaping into your throat.

​"I didn't say crawl." Zayne's voice cuts through the dark right behind your ear, his heavy footsteps following close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him. "Pick up the pace, or the count starts before we even reach the bed."

The stinging threat instantly snaps you out of your daze. Your pace quickens, the cool hardwood floors passing quickly under your bare feet as you lead the way down the dimly lit hallway. Zayne is right behind you, his presence a heavy, dark shadow that ensures you don’t think about slowing down again.

When you cross the threshold into the bedroom, muscle memory takes over completely. You don’t wait for an explicit instruction. Moving instinctively, you step up to the edge of the mattress and bend over, your hands reaching out to lightly grasp the soft sheets. You press your cheek flat against the blankets, your hips angled up, offering yourself to him in the exact position he always demands.

The quiet rustle of fabric sounds from the doorway, followed by the deliberate, slow tread of his footsteps coming closer.

"So eager to please now that you're where you belong. Perhaps you can behave after all." Zayne’s voice cuts through the dim room, smoother now, holding a trace of genuine, warm satisfaction.

Through the corner of your eye, you watch him approach the side of the bed. He’s dressed for sleep in comfortable sweats and a thin, dark long-sleeved shirt, one you bought for him months ago, but the casual attire does nothing to soften his features. He takes his time pushing his sleeves up, exposing his pale forearms.

Then, he steps directly behind you.

The expected sting of his palm doesn't come just yet. Instead, the sudden shift in his touch is almost jarring. His hands slide over your hips, his palms surprisingly warm as they mold to your curves with a soft, possessive pressure. The calm before the storm.

"Tell me again." He says, the low rasp in his tone sending a shiver down your spine. "Apologize to me again, sweetheart."

He doesn't need the repetition to know you're sorry. He just wants to hear the compliance in your voice, to savor how effortlessly he can make you submit when he has you right where he wants you. You don't hesitate for a second. With your cheek pressed to the mattress and his hands heavy on your hips, the words tumble out of you instantly, softer and entirely breathless this time.

"I'm sorry, Zayne... Please."

His thumbs hook firmly over the elastic waistband of your sweats, his large hands sinking down to grip the fabric along with your panties. Slowly, deliberately, he skims the soft material down your thighs, the fabric bunching at your knees. The cool air of the bedroom hits your bare skin, making you shiver, but the temperature shift does nothing to cool the intense, wet heat between your legs.

​You're already completely soaked for him, turned on by nothing more than a hand around your throat and a firm swat to your ass. It should be embarassing. It should make your cheeks burn the second you hear his breath hitch at the sight of your dripping cunt. Instead, it only makes you want more.

Without a single word of warning, his hand moves. Two long, cool fingers slide along your slick folds before he's knuckle deep in your tight heat. The sudden stretch catches you completely off guard. A soft whine leaves your lips as your hips rock back against his hand, forcing his fingers deeper inside. Your hands grip the sheets tighter, your velvety walls squeezing onto his fingers in a desperate plea for more.

Zayne doesn't let you have it. He keeps his hand perfectly still, his other moving to the small of your back to hold you still, denying you the rhythm you're begging for.

"Is this what you want?" He asks, his tone entirely even despite the frantic way you're pulsing around him.

"Yes." You gasp out, all your pride completely gone as you try to nudge your hips back against his hand again. "Yes! Zayne, please."

​"And is it what you deserve?" His voice drops an octave, the cold, disciplinary edge returning to snap you right back to reality. "Is a reward what you deserve after that little stunt in the kitchen?"

​The reminder hits like a splash of cold water, the stark truth of your misbehavior settling heavily over you. You let out a pathetic, broken little whimper.

​"No." You whisper into the mattress, your voice trembling but entirely honest. "No, it's not."

"Exactly." Zayne agrees softly.

Without another word, his fingers slowly withdraw from your slick heat, the sudden absence leaving you feeling agonizingly empty. You don't even have time to mourn the loss before his hand on the small of your back shifts, pinning you down securely, and his other hand comes down in a heavy, resounding smack across your bare ass.

The sudden pain flares bright and hot, a sharp contrast to the cool air of the bedroom. You let out a breathless gasp, your fingers clutching the sheets as you try and squirm underneath his hand. Zayne waits, his heavy palm resting over the spot he just struck, rubbing in slow, firm circles to soothe the immediate sting. The contrast of his comforting touch against the burning heat is dizzying, but his posture remains unyielding. He's waiting for something, and when the silence stretches too long, he shakes his head.

"You're not counting." He notes, his voice dropping into a dangerously quiet register.

Before you can offer a frantic excuse, he's moving again, delivering a firm slap to your ass, much harder than the first. The impact echoes loudly, a fierce, stinging heat that causes your hips to jump off the mattress. A sharp cry gets trapped in your throat as your skin instantly begins to bloom a bright, angry red.

"One." You sob out into the sheets, the pain forcing you to focus entirely on him.

Smack.

"Two." You whimper, tears finally spilling over your eyelashes and wetting the mattress beneath your cheek.

He doesn't rush. Zayne delivers each strike with a slow precision, ensuring you feel the full weight of the discipline. Three. Four. Five. With every strike, he firmly rubs the heat into your skin, a steady rhythm of pain and grounding comfort that keeps you entirely anchored to his touch. By the sixth and seventh hits, your skin is a vibrant, stinging crimson.

By the eighth, ninth, and tenth smacks, you are openly sobbing into the sheets. Your skin is a hot, angry red, the sting somehow finding its way deeper into your body every time you shift. Despite this, you're absolutely soaked, your thighs slick with the evidence of how turned on you are. You need him so badly it hurts, your walls clenching around nothing.

Zayne stands over you for a moment, listening to your heavy, ragged breathing. His gaze softens just a fraction as he looks down at the bright red expanse of your skin. Suddenly, a faint, familiar frost creeps into the air. A subtle shimmer of ice blue light glints at his fingertips as he uses his Evol, deliberately chilling his palm until it carries a soothing, cool temperature. When he rests his hand against your burning skin this time, the relief is instantaneous. The frost only takes the sharp edge off the sting but the dulled sharpness makes you let out a weak, grateful sigh, your body slumping into the mattress.

His hands slowly dip down your thighs, leaving a cold trail as he hooks his fingers into the sweats and panties bunched around your knees. With a firm, steady hand, he helps you step out of them, guiding you to sit on the edge of the bed so he can tug your shirt over your head until you're completely bare in front of him. The friction of the sheets against the sensitive, heated skin of your ass has a soft hiss leaving you. It stings but you like it because it came from him.

You can see how hard he is as he stands in front of you, the fabric of his sweats giving you a clear view of the outline of his fat cock. Your mouth waters, but the slight, lingering guilt from earlier has you pausing before your hands ever reach for him.

You'd snapped at him when he didnt deserve it. You don't deserve a reward.

Zayne seems to think otherwise.

He motions for you to lay back against the pillows, his free hand coming up to remove his glasses and carefully set them aside on his nightstand. Next, his shirt is tugged over his head, the fabric left in a forgotten lump on the floor before his sweatpants follow. As much as he enjoys putting you in your place, he enjoys what comes after. The sex. Perhaps his indulgence is the reason you've become a bit of a brat, but neither of you seem to mind.

The moment you settle against the pillows, your cheeks wet with your own tears, he's moving to kneel between your knees, his big hands holding the underside of your thighs before guiding your legs around his waist. He doesn't make you beg. He doesn't make you apologize. He simply groans as he guides his cock into your cunt, the pressure of your walls squeezing him so tightly making his head swim.

As much as he wants to be rough with you, to fuck you until you can't walk for days, he knows that would cause unnecessary pain. He knows how badly your skin stings from his own hands. So instead, his larger frame blankets yours completely as he leans down to capture your lips in a kiss that has your hips bucking against him.

His pace is slow and deep, meant to slowly unravel you, meant to let you feel every single inch he's buried deep inside your dripping cunt. You cling onto him, your hands finding his dark hair as he swallows every little sound you make. His tongue slides seamlessly into your mouth, licking slow and possessive for a long, intoxicating minute all while you tug at his hair and claw at his shoulders.

When he finally breaks the kiss, he leaves you dazed, trailing a path of warm, softer kisses down your jawline to the sensitive skin of your throat. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, his breathing ragged against your skin. His large hands slide down to grip your hips, anchoring you firmly to the mattress as he picks up his pace. The friction is intense, a smooth, heavy rhythm that causes the headboard to begin lightly, rhythmically knocking against the wall.

Despite the quicker pace, despite how he feels you clench and tremble around his cock with every thrust, Zayne remains hyper-aware. He monitors every gasp, every hitch of your breath, and the subtle flex of your muscles to ensure he isn't causing the angry, bruised skin of your ass to ache further.

But you are already far past the point of pain.

The combination of his dominance, the lingering warmth of the punishment, and the sheer depth of him filling you has you so incredibly pent up. Your walls are dangerously tight, clenching frantically around him until you shatter. A broken, high-pitched cry escapes your lips into the quiet room as your core trembles around him, squeezing his fat cock in a series of tight, merciless ripples. Your back arches off the bed, your fingers digging helplessly into his shoulders as the pleasure completely undoes you.

"That's it, sweetheart." Zayne groans against your neck, his voice sending a fresh wave of tremors through your body. He doesn't stop. He continues to fuck you right through your orgasm, his thrusts turning heavier, more desperate as your pulsing walls drag him closer to the edge.

"Take it all. You're so good for me."

His big hands shift from your hips to cradle your body, pulling you impossibly close against his chest, completely anchoring you through the waves of your release as his own hips stutter. You barely register the broken, gutteral groan he lets out, your body exhausted after the late night punishment. He holds you like he's trying to crush you into his chest, thrusting once, twice, thrice before he finally stills, his body tensing as he cums inside your tight heat.

The heavy silence returns, broken only by the sound of your mingled, ragged breathing. Zayne remains buried deep inside you for a long moment, slowly rocking his hips into you like he's trying to force his cum deeper into your body.

Finally, he lifts his head just enough to look down at you, his gaze deeply affectionate

"Well?" Zayne murmurs, a low, broken rumble. "Have we finally learned some manners tonight?"

You look up at him, your body entirely melted into the mattress. Despite the exhaustion weighing down your limbs, you hold his gaze, and instead of giving him the compliant answer he expects, you slowly shake your head, a tired, mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Zayne lets out a low, amused hum at your response. He doesn't hesitate for a second.

Before the smile can even fade from your face, his hand darts up, his long fingers wrapping firmly around your throat. He doesn't squeeze, but the sudden, firm grip instantly angles your head back against the pillows, trapping you completely beneath him.

A soft, surprised gasp escapes your mouth before fading into a shy little giggle. You're right where you want to be. Zayne simply blinks down at you, utterly charmed by your refusal to be completely tamed.

"We'll see how long that attitude lasts tomorrow."

That's the breaking point. A frustrated, jagged sob escapes your throat, sounding so raw it makes his hand tighten around his phone. You're so stupidly horny that all you can focus on is him. You need him. You need his fingers, his mouth... his cock stretching you open.

"I tried everything. I took a cold shower, I tried to do chores. I used... I used my own damn fingers, Zayne. Nothing is working. It's not enough. It's not you." You cry out, squeezing your thighs together in a desperate attempt to try and alleviate that deep, needy ache.

Zayne's breath hitches, which only earns a quiet whimper from you. The thought of you at home, flushed and desperate, driven to tears by a biological ache only he is allowed to soothe, drives every professional thought from his mind. He imagines how wet you must be, how your cunt is likely clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled.

His cock throbs in his trousers. He stands abruptly, crossing his office to the heavy wooden door. The click of the lock is loud in the silence, loud enough for you to hear on your end.

"Zayne?" You whisper, your voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and curiosity. You hear the rustle of his white doctor's coat, the way he lets out a slow, controlled breath.

"If it's me you want, then you're going to listen very closely to what I tell you to do next."

That immediately grabs your attention. You pull your phone away from your ear with a confused whimper, as if double checking that you did indeed call Zayne. It's unlike him to indulge in your needs while he's at work, but you are in no place to argue.

"Are you sure?" You ask him softly, your breath hitching quietly.

"I am entirely sure." Zayne mumurs, the sheer weight of his devotion heavy in his voice. There's no judgement. No annoyance. Only a deep, vibrating promise to give you exactly what you've been crying for. He sits back in his chair, his free hand coming up to remove his glasses. You hear the soft clatter as they hit the edge of his desk, then the soft rustle of fabric as he undoes the buttons of his jacket.

"Put me on speaker, sweetheart. I want your hands free."

You obey instantly, your hands trembling as you set your phone down on your pillow right next to your head. The distance between his Asko Hospital office and your bedroom feels like it's shrinking, and for a split second, you're so delirious with need that you can almost feel his gaze on you.

"Good girl." He praises, the words a warm caress that has you squirming against your sheets. "Now, lie back. Spread your legs for me, just as if I were there kneeling before you." Through the phone, he can hear you shifting around. The mental image of you spread and wanting has a low groan leaving him.

"Close your eyes. Visualize my hands." He continues, his own breath hitching quietly as his free hand moves to his trousers. You can hear the metal click of his belt as he undoes it, the quiet hiss of his zipper. "Two fingers. Touch yourself for me. Slowly. Your clit is aching so much, isn't it?"

You slide a hand down your body, dipping right between your thighs, a ragged gasp tearing from your throat as your fingers find your swollen clit. rubbing slow, light circles into that sensitive peak. Your hips buck against your hand, quiet, needy moans leaving you. It's so good, so much better than when you had been touching yourself without the sound of his voice.

Zayne's focus is fully directed towards you, long fingers of his free hand wrapping around his fat cock. Outside his office, he can hear the rustle of carts, nurses speaking to each other, but he doesn't care. You're his biggest distraction, one that he wouldn't change for the world. He strokes himself in time with your heavy breathing, his eyes momentarily closing as he imagines you obeying his commands.

"S'not enough, Zayne... More... Need more." You beg him, your voice a desperate, breathy whine that has his own breath leaving him in a rush.

"Push your fingers inside. Tell me how wet you are. Tell me how easily you stretch yourself open for me." He commands, his knuckles white as he grips his phone. His thumb brushes along the tip of his cock, smearing precum down the length of him as he strokes himself.

You're quick to do as he commands, sliding your fingers through your slick folds until they're soaked before slowly, you push into your cunt. It's not nearly the same as when he fingers you, not the same initial stretch, but it works just fine for you now that you can hear him on the other end of the phone.

"Fuck, Zayne... M'soaked." You tell him. Your velvety walls clench around your own fingers as you push deeper, grinding against the heel of your hand. It's almost too much for you to handle. Your free hand grasps the sheets, your head tilted towards your phone to ensure he can hear just how good you feel.

In his office, Zayne tilts his head back against his chair, his breath coming in short, heavy pants. He can hear the wet slide of your fingers as you pump them into your needy little cunt, the pathetic, desperate edge your moans have taken on. He knows the signs. You're close.

He wonders if you got yourself close before you decided to dial his number. A shudder runs through his body at the thought.

"When I get home, I'm going to stay so deep inside you that you won't even remember your own name." He says, his voice low, ruined, his own release sneaking up quickly. "I'll fuck you all night if that's what you need, sweetheart. Until you're so full of me that I drip out of you for days. Is that what you want?"

"Zayneee... M'gonnacumsohard, fuck-" His filthy tone has your body tensing, a loud, shattered cry leaving your mouth as you fall apart around your fingers. You squirm, your head thrashing against your pillows. Through your phone, you can hear Zayne let out a muffled groan, his breathing frantic before a ragged gasp leaves him.

You're both quiet for a long moment, breathing heavy, slowly trying to come down from the high your body had demanded. You slowly withdraw your fingers with a quiet, shaky sigh, your entire body limp against the sheets. You can picture him in your mind, the calm Doctor Zayne so undone and messy simply because you'd called.

The thought has a satisfied hum coming from you.

Zayne is the first to move. You hear the rustle of paper towels as he cleans himself up, the soft hitch of his breath as he tucks his cock back into his trousers, then the jingle of his belt being fixed.

"I expect you to be waiting for me just like that when I walk through the door. Don't move too much." He says, his voice impossibly soft and affectionate.

"I will." You whisper in response, rolling over onto your side as if being closer to the phone might help you to feel closer to him.

"I have a consult in ten minutes." He murmurs. "I love you. See you soon, sweetheart."

The shift is instantaneous. You hear the screech of the chair against the floor as he shifts, and before you can blink, your world is tilting. He pulls you across his lap, one hand tangled in your hair while the other hikes the hem of his shirt higher up your body to fully expose your ass to him.

The first strike is heavy, a solid crack that echoes against the quiet of the office. You gasp, your hands grasping onto the fabric of his trousers. Instantly, your skin stings, heat blooming across your ass. But you like it. You like knowing you've pushed him to this point.

"That is for the photo you sent during my morning consultations." He says, his voice low. "I had a patient's chart in one hand and your indiscretion in the other."

Crack.

"Two. For the voice note. I don't recall giving you permission to speak to me that way while I'm at the hospital."

Crack.

The third one is firmer than the last two, making you cry out. You try and squirm to get away, to beg for his forgiveness and his touch all in the same breath. His hand simply tightens in your hair, a silent warning. You're so wet it hurts. If you could just get his hand between your thighs...

"Three. For that obscene paragraph at lunch. A thumbs up was all you deserved for such a blatant attempt to disrupt my focus."

He pauses then, and for a second, you think it might be over, but his hand doesn't move away. Instead, he rubs at the angry pink skin of your ass, his touch deceptively soft all while you twitch underneath his hand. Every slap has only turned you on further, and you almost can't help yourself as you try and arch into his hand.

Zayne raises an eyebrow as he watches you, noting the way you tremble across his lap. Slowly, his fingers dip between your legs, a quick, amused huff leaving him as he finds your dripping pussy. He should have known.

"This wet over a punishment? You really are a brat." He mocks softly, his long fingers finding your aching clit with a surgical precision. He circles once, twice, just enough to make you whimper and rock back against his hand, before he's pulling away again, leaving you cold and wanting.

​Crack.

"Four is for not listening when I told you to go find a book."

Crack.

"Five is because we both know you're going to act out again tomorrow just to see if I'll put you back over my knee."

​You're shaking now, a few stray tears slipping out and trailing down your cheeks. Your ass is a vibrant, angry red, and the heat radiating from you is intense. You want more. You need more. If all you'll get tonight is a firm punishment, then you'll eagerly accept it.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

"That voice note is still ringing in my ears and I'm still quite irritated by it." He says, though you can feel the way his body is saying otherwise. As your stomach presses against his thighs, you can feel how hard he is just against your side. You shudder against him, a pathetic little moan of pure want leaving your lips.

His hand kneads the supple flesh of your ass, massaging the sting deeper into your skin until all you can focus on is how badly you need his fingers on your clit again. The hand in your hair slowly lets you go, moving to cup your cheek as he wipes your tears.

You think it's over.

Crack.

This last blow is far lighter than the ones before, almost a warning slap. A reminder of how easily he'd flung you over his knee. You need him so badly it hurts.

"What was that for?" You whimper as you tilt your head to lean further into his hand. Your breathing is shaky and ragged, your breath hitching quietly each time he brushes his fingers against the angry, burning skin of your ass.

"I felt like it. Now stand up."

You instantly move to do as he says, shifting off his lap to stand just beside him. You watch as his hands move to his belt, the metal clinking together for a moment before he's undoing his trousers, shoving the fabric down to free his cock. You want nothing more than to drop to your knees, crawl under his desk, and keep him in your mouth until his reports are done.

Instead, he gestures for you to sit on his lap. Your breath hitches. A reward so soon after your punishment? You could cry.

You're quick to climb right into his lap, your arms draped across his shoulders as you hover just over the tip of his cock. His hand sneaks between the both of you, fingers wrapping around himself as he slides the tip right through your slick folds. You clench around nothing, so close and yet so far away, but you don't rush it.

You let him grind up into you, a quiet whimper leaving you every time he rubs against your clit. The anticipation is killing you, but you force yourself to stay still even as you tremble on top of him. Then he slides home. A shattered moan falls from your lips, your hips instinctively rocking into him. He's so deep, you swear you feel him in your belly.

But he doesn't continue. He doesn't fuck you like the world's ending. He doesn't even offer you his thumb against your clit. Instead, he clamps his hands on your hips, waiting until you look up at him with your needy little whine. The corners of his mouth twitch, smug and deeply entertained by your eagerness.

"You sit there, and you feel every inch of me, but you do not move. If I feel you so much as shift to try and get more comfortable, I'll put you back on my knee for another ten. Am I clear?" He commands. You want to argue, to test if he's serious, but the cold edge of his tone has you agreeing.

"Crystal clear."

"Be a good girl and let me finish this page." He says, giving your hips one last squeeze before his attention is back on his reports, his pen scratching at the paper every so often as he leaves small notes for himself to read later. You let out a soft sigh as you bury your face in the crook of his neck.

You feel so full, so deliciously stretched, but it's not enough.

"You're so mean." You whine, hands tilting to find his hair. You don't pull, you simply twirl the strands around your fingers, trying to focus on anything other than how good his cock feels when it's buried deep in your cunt.

Zayne hums in acknowledgment, back to ignoring you.

This treatment feels like it goes on for hours, but in reality, it's nothing more than a few minutes. Finally, he's pushing his papers aside, the clatter of his pen against the wood instantly drawing your attention. You tilt your head to look up at him, a silent question in your gaze.

He answers by finding your hips with his hands, standing up, and pressing your back against the wood of his desk. Your legs instantly wrap around his waist, keeping him deep inside you as you look up at him. He moves to take his glasses off, setting them aside near the edge of the mahogany, before both palms are pressed against the wood on either side of your head.

"You've had a lot to say today. Now that you have my undivided attention, why don't you be very specific?" His hazel eyes drift down to your lips, jaw clenching as he rocks into you, slow and steady. Your nails find his shoulders as you arch up into him, the friction earning a quiet moan from you.

"Tell me exactly how you want it."

You swallow hard, your breath coming in shallow hitches. The sting on your ass is still humming, reigniting every time Zayne pushes deeper into you. For a moment, you can't think of how you want him to fuck you. All you know is that you want him. You need him.

"I want to feel... I want to feel how much I irritated you today." You manage to stutter out.

A smirk finally does appear on his lips and in that moment, you know you're going to be sore for days.

"Understood."

He doesn't give you a second to rethink your answer before he's moving. His cock slams deep into you, so deep you can feel it knock against your cervix, the dull ache mixing with the pleasure of his relentless pace. You cry out, your back arching off his desk as you claw at his shoulders, your thighs clamping around his waist.

His hips snap into yours, his balls slapping against your ass, the loud sound of skin on skin mirroring your punishment. The desk rattles underneath you, his abandoned pen rolling around before finally tumbling onto the ground. Zayne doesn't even blink. He simply brings his hand up to your shirt, easily undoing the buttons one by one until it falls open.

Bare underneath. You really had been waiting for him to fuck you.

He groans at the sight, long fingers instantly squeezing your breast while his head dips towards the other one. His teeth grazes your nipple before he draws you into his mouth, nipping and sucking at that hardened peak. You tremble underneath him, your moans tipping into loud sobs of pleasure as your hands finally find his hair.

You tug on the dark strands, a sharp cry echoing in his office as his fingers pinch at your other nipple, rolling it between his long fingers until you're squirming underneath him. He doesn't relent, just shifts his focus as his mouth moves to the swell of your breast, sucking a deep, dark bruise right into your skin.

His hand trails up your body again, long fingers wrapping around your throat and squeezing with just enough pressure to make your head swim. His other hand finds your hip, thumb digging a bruise into your skin as he pulls you onto his cock in time with his thrusts.

You clench around him, a shattered, broken moan leaving your lips as you fall apart around him. Your hips jerk against him as you writhe on top of his desk, but Zayne doesn't let up. He pins you down, his thrusts getting faster, harder, the snap of his hips against you making your ass sting all over again.

His breath hitches, his jaw clenched so hard he feels his teeth grind together as his movements falter. His thrusts grow sloppy, frantic, desperate to reach his own release. He's so close, so agonizingly close, and the moment your cunt clenches around him, he spills in you with a guttural groan.

His forehead presses against your shoulder, hand releasing your throat to cradle your cheek as his eyes squeeze shut. His entire body shudders, his breathing ragged and ruined. You let out a quiet whine before tilting your head into his hand, your own body sore and spent as you cling to him.

You're both quiet for a moment, too focused on breathing, too focused on the way his hips roll into yours like he's trying to force his cum deeper.

"Are you going to behave tomorrow?" He finally asks, his voice a broken rasp against your skin.

"No." You breathe in response.

He lets out an amused huff.

​​"Your vitals were stable two minutes ago." Zayne comments. He doesn't look at you yet, too busy flipping through your chart, completely unbothered by the steady, rapid beeping filling the exam room.

"Did something happen in the short time I was consulting with the nurse?" He asks.

"Just cold." You stammer, lying right to his face as you watch him move around the room.

Zayne finally looks up at you as he sets the clipboard with your medical information on the counter, easily closing the space between you both until he's standing directly in front of you. You try to ignore the way the beep of the monitor continues to speed up at his proximity.

Zayne certainly doesn't miss it. He glances at the monitor, his expression completely neutral and calm as he assesses the situation.

​"A chill usually results in a drop in temperature, not a cardiovascular spike that suggests you've just run a marathon." He notes as he turns his attention back to you. His gaze is clinical as he reaches out, his hand hovering near your collarbone to adjust one of the wires.

Your face heats up despite the fact that he doesn't touch your skin, the rhythm of the green line on the monitor stuttering for just a second. Zayne pauses, looking directly into your eyes before dipping down to the wires peeking out from underneath your shirt. You can't tell what he's thinking, but you suddenly feel as if he's staring right through your ribs and directly at the organ currently failing to keep its composure.

His hand moves to your wrist, his cool fingers pressing against your skin as he takes your pulse manually. He's quiet for a moment, his hazel eyes shifting from the wires taped to your chest to the monitor screen, then finally to your wrist. You know you've been caught.

​​"The machine is not malfunctioning. Your pulse is 120. Are you in any pain?" He asks you.

"No." You whisper.

​"Are you anxious?"

You don't trust that your words won't fail you, so you simply nod.

Zayne is silent for a long moment as he finally releases your wrist, putting space between the both of you as he retrieves your file from the counter. The sound of the metal clip snapping open is startlingly loud in the small room. He slides your printed medical history to the back before pulling out a pen from his white coat

"Resting heart rate significantly elevated." He murmurs, narrating his notes in that low, professional tone that makes your skin tingle. He doesn't list the real reason for your racing heart. Instead, he writes it off as nothing more than nerves and the normal anxiety that comes with being at the hospital.

When he sets the clipboard and pen back down again and finally looks at you, you can see the clincal mask is still there, but the intent has shifted entirely.

"If I were a different doctor, I'd be concerned about a heart rate this high." He tells you as he slowly walks back over to you, stepping right between your knees as his white coat brushes against your thighs. His hand comes up once again, his cool fingers finding that adhesive sensor just below your collarbone.

"But I know exactly what's causing this arrhythmia." His thumb grazes the edge of the sensor, his touch light enough to be a tease. Light enough to easily pass it off as nothing but firm enough to make the monitor let out a sharp, panicked spike. Finally, he peels the first wire away, the sting of the adhesive earning a small gasp from you.

One that Zayne mentally files away, intent on seeing just how many he can coax out of you before the hospital needs him once more.

"You've been wanting this since I walked in, haven't you?"

His question has you caught off-guard, your body tensing on top of that exam table, the paper crinkling underneath you as you squirm. You hadn't expected him to be so bold. You try yo find a retort, a lie, anything to save face, but you can't. You're left staring up at him like a deer caught in headlights, flustered and wanting to melt right into the floor.

​"The hospital is busy today." He notes as his eyes drop to the wires underneath your shirt. "The halls are full of staff, and the next patient is due in twenty minutes. It's a very tight window for a procedure."

Even so, he reaches for the next wire, carefully peeling the adhesive away until finally, he's silencing the monitor that had so easily given you away. The bundle of wires are placed on the exam table just behind you, an excuse for him to lean further into your space.

"However, as your primary physician, I believe I have just the right treatment for your condition." He whispers, his breath warm against your temple. Slowly, deliberately, Zayne begins to unbutton the cuff of his right sleeve, pushing the fabric up his arm while still managing to look perfectly composed.

His thigh presses further between yours, forcing your legs to spread further all while his hands find your hips to guide you so close to the edge that you feel as if you might fall off.

“Before we proceed with this treatment, I need to be certain. Do I have your permission to touch you?” He asks. You blink up at him, your hands trembling as they move to rest against his biceps. It's a huge risk, and you both know it. The door is unlocked. Anyone could walk in at any moment, and you really should say no...

"Yes." You gasp out, the word leaving you in a desperate rush. "Please, Zayne. Yes."

A flicker of satisfaction momentarily crosses his features. He doesn't waste another second. His hand moves to your waistband, easily undoing the button of your jeans. He doesn't bother taking them off. He knows he doesn't have the time to worship your body as he wants.

Instead, he slips his fingers underneath the denim, underneath your panties, finding your dripping cunt. The corners of his mouth twitch in amusement as he presses his ring and middle finger against your clit, rubbing quick, small circles.

A sharp, high-pitched moan falls from your lips before you can bite it back. Zayne's free hand is instantly there, his palm pressing firmly over your mouth to muffle the cry. It's the only warning he gives you before he's sliding his long fingers into you, your velvety walls instantly clamping down around him.

You squirm against him, the crinkle of the exam paper sounding like thunder in the quiet room. Zayne doesn't seem to care. He's far more focused on the way you squeeze his fingers. Far more focused on the way you would feel around his fat cock.

Your hands come up to his wrist as your body arches against him, your breathing heavy even as you try to hold back your whimpers and whines. You really can't help it. He's a doctor, of course he knows the perfect way to curl his fingers to reach the spot that makes you see stars.

You tremble on the edge of that exam table, nails digging into his scarred hand. You don't pull his hand away to try and free yourself. It really would be a shame if his treatment had to end early, after all. Instead, you guide two of his long fingers right into your mouth. The same two that are buried deep in your pussy. The same two that he's using to fuck you so deliciously.

You can be quiet for him. Maybe.

Zayne's breath hitches, a sharp intake of air that breaks his composed rhythm for a fraction of a second. He watches, his hazel eyes fixated on your lips as you suck on his digits. You swirl your tongue around the tips, tasting the faint, sharp hint of antiseptic that always clings to him, mixed with something that is so uniquely him.

He rewards your bold display by finding your swollen clit with his thumb, rubbing that sensitive point all while his two fingers push impossibly deeper into your greedy pussy. You moan around him, your eyes fluttering shut as you suck on his fingers with a rhythmic, needy force. The sound of wet, frantic suction fills the small space between you both, mixing with the quiet, obscene squelch of his fingers as they drive into your pussy over and over again.

"Look at you." He mocks, his voice laced with a rare, biting edge of heat as he watches you practically whore yourself out to him in his exam room. "So eager to be handled in a room where anyone could walk in. You really should learn some restraint, but I suppose that's why you're in my care."

His tone has you coming undone around him. Your hips buck against his hand, your teeth grazing against his knuckles as a choked cry vibrates around his fingers. You squeeze his wrist, your cunt clamping down onto him like a vice all while his gaze never leaves you, drinking in every single little reaction of yours.

He doesn't immediately still his hand. If anything, his touch becomes desperate, like he's trying to coax a second orgasm out of you in the span of a minute. He circles your clit over and over and over again, his fingers sliding out of your tight cunt only to push impossibly deep once more.

As your breath hitches, you find the strength to release his wrist only to shove weakly at his chest, overly sensitive. Even if you do want him to keep going, you know there's not enough time, so you arch away from him, your hips stuttering against his hand.

Zayne finally relents, but he doesn't immediately move away. The muffled, distant bustle of the hospital corridor is a sharp reminder of what waits for him, but all he can focus on is the way his cock aches. The way he knows you'd let him bend you over the exam table. It probably wouldn't even take him long to cum in you, not after watching you squirm under his touch.

He lets out a slow, controlled exhale as he forces the doctor persona to the front of his mind, a silent confession of just how much restraint he's currently exercising. With a slow, wet slide, he finally withdraws his hand from your jeans only to hold those slick, glistening fingers up between you both.

A promise for more when you two have the time.

With one last press against your tongue, his fingers leave your mouth next as he steps back, giving you the space to come down from your high and regain some sense of control over yourself. The heat is still there, simmering just beneath his skin, but his expression has already turned into that mask of professional indifference.

He turns towards the counter currently housing your medical chart, moving to the small sink just to the side, the sound of the sensor-activated faucet masking the creak of medical paper as you shift to button your jeans back up again. He scrubs his hands with a meticulous, surgical intensity, removing the evidence of his treatment.

"Your vitals have sufficiently stabilized. I'll expect you back in two weeks for a follow-up." He commands, calm as ever as he dries his hands on a paper towel before tugging his sleeve back down his arm. He doesn't look back at you as he reaches for your medical file, sliding the pen back into his pocket.

"Freeze the whole apartment?" He repeats softly. "That would be an egregious waste of my energy. Not to mention, the structural integrity isn't designed for rapid cryo-expansion."

"Stingy." You tease, flopping back against the sofa cushions with a sigh.

Zayne stands up. He doesn't head for the thermostat. He doesn't even spare a glance at the air conditioning unit in the window. Instead, he walks towards the sofa, each step deliberate and precise.

"If you are truly experiencing heat exhaustion, localized cooling is a much more efficient medical intervention." He says as he stops just beside the sofa, looking down at your flushed face and the way the thin cotton of your shirt is plastered to your body. The air around him always felt a few degrees lower, but as he reaches out, the temperature drops sharply.

"Give me your hand."

Curious, you reach up for him. The moment his fingers close around your wrist, you gasp at the icy sensation. He had called his Evol to the very surface of his palms, creating a wonderful, cooling sting that sends a shiver down your spine despite the heat.

"Better?" He asks, his voice a low rasp.

"So much better." You whisper in response, letting your eyes flutter shut.

Zayne doesn't let go. Instead, he sits on the edge of the sofa, dragging your arm towards him. He traces the sensitive skin of your inner wrist with his thumb, leaving behind a thin, crystalline layer of frost that melts instantly within the heat.

"Your pulse is remarkably high." Zayne notes, his other hand moving to the side of your neck. His fingertips are freezing as they press against your pulse. This earns another shiver from you.

"As a doctor, I really should be thorough. We wouldn't want you to overheat." He whispers as his hand slides from your neck, slowly dragging his fingertips down the front of your shirt. His icy touch through the thin cotton has your nipples immediately hard, a physical reaction he doesn't miss.

The corners of his mouth twitch, not quite a smile. A warning of what's currently on his mind.

He lets a small shard of ice manifest in his palm, his hazel eyes fixated on your face as he presses it against the hollow of your throat. It melts instantly against your hot skin, and he catalogues the way you gasp underneath him.

"Zayne..." You hiss out.

"I'm merely regulating your temperature." He murmurs, moving with quick, predatory grace to hover over you and pin your wrists against the arm of the couch with one big hand. The contrast is enough to nearly drive you mad. The heat of the room is so uncomfortably warm, yet all you can focus on is the way his free hand slides underneath the hem of your shirt.

"You complained it was too hot. It would be unprofessional of me to leave the treatment half-finished." He remarks, channeling his Evol to turn his hands icy. His palm is a shock of absolute zero against the feverish skin of your stomach, coaxing a broken, ragged gasp out of you as the initial chill sends a jolt through your body.

He's slow and patient as he slides his cold hand up your body, pushing the hem of your oversized shirt up as if he has all the time in the world to cool you off. He's always been patient, especially when it came to you, and now is no different. Where he touches you, he leaves behind a trail of crystalline frost that shimmers like diamonds before the sheer heat of your body melts it into slick, cold moisture.

With a flicker of concentration, a small, perfect cube of ice manifests in the air, caught instantly between his long fingers.

"Zayne." You breathe, your voice hitching as you look between the ice and him, searching his gaze but finding nothing other than that calm, clinical precision.

"Be still. This is for your own comfort." He murmurs. It's a lie and you both know it, but you don't have it in you to argue. Not when his hands were touching you so intimately. Not when he was the only source of the cool relief you were searching for.

"Take your shirt off." He commands as he releases your wrists, his Evol keeping that cube of ice from melting. You're quick to do as he asks, your own hands tugging the damp cotton over your head before tossing it to the floor. Where it lands, you have no idea. Frankly, you don't care.

You even rest your wrists against the armrest of the couch, mirroring how he'd had you pinned. That earns another twitch of his lips. He's pleased with how obedient his favorite patient is being. That big hand holds your wrists down once more as the other presses that cube of ice against your collarbone.

You gasp, the chill of the ice making your back arch off the cushions, but he doesn't let up. With the steady, calm hand of a surgeon, he begins to drag the cube downward. It leaves a glistening, wet trail in its wake, the ice melting rapidly against your skin. As it reaches the curve of your breast, the sensation is almost unbearable, the cold so intense it feels like a brand as he circles it around your nipple.

His eyes track the path of water, his pupils dilating as the ice grows smaller and smaller under his touch. Then, it's gone.

Then, he leans down. The heat of his breath hits you first, a shocking reversal of the chill before you feel his tongue against your skin. He starts at the hollow of your throat, catching a bead of that melted ice before it could fully soak into your skin before dragging his tongue along the exact line he had just formed with the ice.

His breath hitches softly as he tastes the salt of your skin, making him restless. Making him deliberate. You let out a broken sound underneath him, your hips rocking up into his as his tongue swirls along your cold nipple. He doesn't make you wait, doesn't tease. He simply sucks that peak into his mouth, grazing his teeth against your skin.

His hand releases your wrists to find your other nipple, brushing his cool thumb against you until you're whimpering just underneath him.

"Zayne... You're driving me insane here." You mumble as your hands find his hair, tugging at the dark strands until he looks up at you.

"Hush." He says in response, though he doesn't make you wait. Just hearing your quiet gasps and whimpers at his touch has him painfully hard in his trousers. He's impatient too, but he's always had an easier time hiding it.

He doesn't rush as he sits up between your legs, his hands finding the waistband of your shorts. He hooks his thumbs into the elastic, sliding the fabric down your thighs before tossing it aside with a flick of his wrist, but as his gaze settles on the thin lace of your panties, he paises. The fabric is slick, clinging to you in a way that makes the state of your arousal impossible to ignore.

He lets out a soft, huffed breath as he reaches out a single finger, still holding a lingering chill from his Evol, and traces the damp line of the lace.

"It seems my assessment was slightly off." He murmurs, his eyes flicking up to yours as he drags that icy finger right through the center of the damp fabric. Your hips buck against him in desperate search of friction even as your cheeks heat up in embarrassment at how easy his touch had turned you on.

"Look at this. A moment ago, you were complaining about the weather. I suppose I have no choice but to be thorough with the cooling process." He tells you, his voice shifting to something possessively fond as he peels that wet lace from your body.

His fingers go to his own waist then, his movements tighter, more urgent. You watch, mesmerized as he undoes the silver buckle of his belt with a sharp, metallic clink that echoes through the quiet room. Zayne makes no move to push the trsouers off, simply undoing the button and drawing the zipper down with a slow rasp.

"You're staring." He notes softly. His hands reach up, his fingers tugging the front of his crisp button-down free from his waistband, the white fabric bunching around his midsection. He isn't going to undress fully. He's too impatient. Too hard.

He shoves his trousers down just enough to free himself, his cock aching, precum smeared all along the tip. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him, a perfect blend of the composed doctor and the man who was currently losing his fight with his own self-control.

He doesn't waste a second.

One hand moves to your hip, holding you still against the couch cushions as the fingers of his other hand wrap around his fat cock as he guides himself to your dripping cunt. A low, shuddering breath leaves him as he easily slides the tip through your folds, deliberately brushing against your clit just to watch you try and squirm underneath him.

"Zayne, please..." You whimper underneath him.

That's all the encouragement he needs as he slides into you, your velvety walls instantly clenching around him. A breathy moan leaves your lips, mixing with the quiet groan he lets slip.

Then, he's fucking you like he needs your body to be sore even days after. His hips snap into yours, his thrusts deep and fast, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with every pass. It's so deliciously unhinged that you can't help but wonder if his composure has finally shattered.

Despite the heat of the apartment, his body is a welcome chill against yours as his hands find the back of your thighs, pushing your knees into your chest. This has you spread open and pinned just how he likes you, unable to do anything other than take what the doctor gives to you.

He slowly pulls out, his hazel eyes tracking the way your cunt clenches like you're trying to keep his cock seated deep in you where it belongs. This earns another one of those huffed breaths from him, amused and painfully turned on all at once as he relishes the way you squeeze him.

Your hands grip onto the armrest just above your head, nails digging into the fabric. All you can focus on is the obscene sounds of skin on skin as it echoes in the apartment, the friction of his cock against your tight walls earning a whimpered moan with every snap of his hips.

It's almost embarrassing how quickly you feel your own release building, the tension in your lower body building until finally, it breaks.

You let out a choked sob as you fall apart around his cock, your hips twitching uselessly underneath his weight. Everything is too much and not enough at the same time, but all you know is that you need more. More of Zayne. More of his chilly hands on your body. More of his cock stretching your pussy until you can't breathe.

If anything, Zayne is incredibly flattered at how easily he coaxed an orgasm out of you, though you can tell by the way his jaw clenches that he'll be quick to follow.

His movements, once so precise and meant to push you to the brink, became sloppy. His rhythm stuttered, his hands gripping onto the back of your thighs hard enough to leave bruises later. He almost can't help himself as his breath hitches, one hand releasing your thigh only to grasp the arm of the couch just between your own smaller hands.

With a broken groan of his own, he cums right in your greedy pussy. His eyes shut, eyebrows furrowed as he lazily rocks into you. For a moment, you're wondering if he's savoring the way you hug him so tightly.

The heavy silence that follows is broken only by the sound of your shared, ragged breathing and the distant hum of the AC, which finally seems to be making headway now that the storm of Zayne's Evol has settled.

He remains buried deep within you for a long moment, eyes squeezed shut as he waits for his racing heart to find a manageable rhythm. His desperation is already beginning to recalibrate into his usual, cool composure, though the flush on his cheeks and the way his fingers still twitch against the soft armrest tell a different story.

Slowly, he shifts, pulling out even though there's nowhere else in the world he'd rather be. He doesn't move far. Instead, he remains kneeled between your thighs, looking down at the mess he's made of you. Looking down at the way his cum absolutely coats your pussy.

"Your skin temperature has dropped significantly. I'd say the immediate crisis has passed." He rasps, his voice wrecked as he drags his thumb across your slick folds, using the digit to push his cum back into you. This earns a mildly dazed whine from you.

"However, post-operative care is just as vital as the procedure itself. You're a mess. I'll draw a bath." He continues, a hum of satisfaction leaving him as he feels you clench around his finger, though he knows it would be unwise to keep you on the couch forever.

He withdraws his finger, channeling his Evol one last time until his fingertips are a nice, icy cold, slowly circling your swollen clit just to watch you squirm. You yelp at the chill against your sensitive pussy, head falling back against the cushions as you try and squirm away.

He watches intently, looking down at you with a tilt of his head and a slight, smug tilt to his lips.

Your hands easily find the buttons of his silk shirt, further leaning your weight into his lap as you undo them one by one to expose the pale expanse of his chest. Your hips shift, grinding down onto him in a way that's too firm to be anything other than deliberate.

Zayne's breath immediately hitches, his hazel eyes fixated on your figure as your hips rock right into the growing ache between his legs. After years together, he's become well acquainted with the curve of your smile and that mischievous look in your eyes from time to time.

Seeing it in action now that he's restrained and underneath you has a quiet groan leaving his lips.

He wants to reach out, to hook a thumb in your belt loops and pull you flush against him. To guide the rhythm of your body until it's no longer a tease but a demand. Instead, his arms strain against his silken restraint, his biceps tensing with a frustrated, useless strength.

"Is this what you wanted? To see me like this?" He asks with a slight tremor to his words, his voice low. Even through the blur of his vision, his gaze is intense, obsessed, fixated entirely on the way your hips are rocking against him.

Another slow, deliberate slide of your hips makes his jaw lock so tight it aches.

​"You’re playing a very dangerous game. Do you truly think you’re prepared for what happens when these come off?" He tells you, his gaze finally drifting up your body to meet your eyes. His own cheeks are lightly flushed, his breathing noticeably heavier, a far cry from how calm and collected he usually appears.

With you, he doesn't seem to mind seeming less put together.

You don't immediately respond. Your hands push at his shirt, easily shoving it completely open as he lay underneath you before you lean down to press a kiss just underneath his jaw.

"You're so tense, Zayne. Let me take care of you, doctor." You purr against his skin, nipping at his neck just to hear that quiet little hitch of his breath.

The sting of your teeth is the final thread to snap. A low groan vibrates through his chest, and for a moment, he doesn't quite care about continuing to fight the silk around his wrists. Instead, he bucks his hips against you, a sharp, desperate movement that has you falling into him with a surprised gasp.

Your hands find his bare chest, using him for balance while your face is just centimeters away from his. You hadn't expected him to snap so easily. You'd been planning on teasing him for hours to finally crack that icy composure of his, but here he was, pupils dilated and painfully hard just underneath you.

"Either untie me and face the consequences, or don't... but I'm done waiting." He commands, though he doesn't give you a chance to answer as he tilts his head to crash his lips against yours. You shiver on top of him, one hand sliding up his chest to cup his cheek.

For a moment, that teasing rhythm of your hips stops, too caught up on the way he licks into your mouth. A soft moan leaves you, swallowed by him as the bedframe creaks. Zayne struggles against his tie again, desperate to hold you. Desperate to have you under him.

Too bad you aren't giving in just yet.

Slowly, you sit up, your palms firmly pressed against his torso as you take in the sight of him, eager and impatient below you. If you had really wanted to push his buttons, you might have continued that slow grind against him.

But for now, you shift on his lap, scooting back onto his thighs so your hands can find his waistband. You're quick to undo his belt, unzipping his trousers before finally pulling the fabric down to free his cock.

Zayne watches intently as you quickly shed your own clothes, his breathing ragged and wrecked as you reposition yourself to hover just above him.

Then you're sinking onto his cock. Then he's feeling your greedy, slick walls clamping around him like a vice. Then he's hearing that delicious little whine that always escapes you whenever he stretches your pussy.

Zayne's head falls back against the pillows as a groan leaves him, unable to help himself as he rolls his hips up into you. You're so tight around him that it's driving him insane.

You don't give him a chance to focus on it as you raise your hips only to sink back onto him once more, the sound of skin on skin mixing with the wet sound of your dripping pussy as it grips him so tightly.

You set a modest pace, slow and deep, just the way you know he likes it.

The rhythm is agonizingly perfect, a calculated torture that has him trying to find his own pace underneath you. Unable to help himself, he meets every downward slide with a desperate thrust of his own. Not being able to use his hands to pull you closer, to trace the arch of your back and the curve of your hips has a frustrated moan leaving him.

He hates being still. He hates being a spectator to his own pleasure, yet the way you're looking down at him as your pussy takes the thick length of him over and over again is undoing every bit of his medical discipline. Since he can't touch you how he wants, his focus narrows entirely on the sensation of your walls squeezing him so deliciously tight and the wet sound of skin on skin each time your ass falls right into his lap.

It doesn't take you long before you're falling apart around him. Your head tilts back with a sharp cry as your hips stutter against him, squirming and rocking against his cock. Your nails scratch into his chest, leaving tiny pink welts that stand out against his pale skin.

He's so agonizingly close, just seconds away from his own release, but then you stop. Instantly, his eyes are roaming your body, assessing you as only a doctor can, making sure you haven't hurt yourself in your attempt to drive him insane.

But then you're leaning down, your breathing heavy and uneven as you undo that silk tie around his wrists.

His hands are on your hips within the blink of an eye, rolling you onto your back as he settles between your thighs. He isn't rough; he never is, but the way he thrusts into you steals the very breath from your lungs.

He pulls your legs around his waist, his much larger body covering yours as he leans down to kiss you, patient as ever now that his hands are free.

"Zayne... You're so deep..." You whimper against his lips, earning a hum of acknowledgment from him as his mouth finds its way to your throat. He buries his face in the crook of your neck as his hips snap into yours in that deep, slow way of his.

Each drag of his cock against your walls has you crying out underneath him, but soon enough, his rhythm falters. This is your only warning before he's slamming into you like he wants to fuck you into the dirt, desperately chasing his own pleasure after you've teased him for so long.

Your hands easily slide into his dark hair, tugging at the strands as your body arches up to meet every brutal thrust of his. You try to tell him it's too much, that you won't be able to walk later, but all that comes out of your mouth is a string of moans and whimpers.

When he comes in you, his entire body tenses, his hands kneading your hips in a way that suggests he wants to keep you underneath him forever. He rocks into you once, twice, three times before he finally stills, his breathing wrecked and ruined against your bare skin.

The silence that follows is heavy, broken only by the synchronized, heavy rhythm of your shared breathing. Zayne remains drapes over you for a long moment, his weight a grounding, solid comfort. When he finally shifts, it's to pull back just enough to look at you. One hand releases your hip to slide up your body, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a gentleless that contrasts with the way he was squeezing you just moments ago.

"You're full of surprises." He murmurs, his voice a low whisper against your skin as he leans in to press an apologetic kiss to the pulse point in your neck. "I suppose I should be more careful about where I leave my ties in the future."

He huffs, a small, quiet sound as he presses a kiss to your cheek, then finally, to your lips. This one lacks the desperation he felt just moments ago, but it is no less possessive, as if he's reclaiming the territory he was denied while tied up.