Caleb’s/Valko Biggest Simp

Today was Saturday. Simone's birthday, the one you'd been planning with her for two weeks, color coded playlist and all.

You knew who'd show and who wouldn't. Zayne never came to anything with more than five people in a room; he'd send a gift and a text. Sylus would be there past midnight like the party had been waiting on him, which, in fairness, it usually was. Rafayel was still out of town and Xavier —Xavier had walked you to class yesterday and mentioned that he had a test to study for.

He hadn't brought up Wednesday. Hadn't asked for a repeat. He seemed happy just walking beside you in silence, matching his pace to yours, and that was enough. You were relieved because your thighs couldn't take another round like that. He'd made you cum more times than you could count and you'd blacked out before his second orgasm. You woke up to him wiping you down with a warm cloth, humming something under his breath.

And still. You missed Caleb.

He was the only friend who'd been there since high school, back when he felt like a brother —carrying your backpack when your arm was in a cast, threatening a guy who stood you up sophomore year. Then something shifted senior year, some line neither of you named, and it took root over the summer before college and never let go. He hadn't texted you all week. Not once. Not even a meme, not even the thumbs up emoji he used when he couldn't be bothered to type words. That had never happened before, not even the semester he broke his wrist and had to write messages one finger at a time.

You got to Simone's early to set everything up. Gideon showed up a couple of hours later hauling two bags of ice against his hip and Caleb wasn't with him. That was wrong on its own. Those two attended every party together.

"He's coming," Gideon said, before you'd even asked. "Said he had something to take care of."

The party filled up fast after that, someone's playlist too heavy on bass. You stayed near the kitchen with a cup you angled just right so you could watch the door without looking like you were watching it. By the second hour your stomach had knotted itself tight enough that you'd stopped tasting your drink.

Then he walked in.

Not alone. A girl had her hand curled around his arm, up on her toes to say something against his ear, dark hair falling over her shoulder as she leaned in. He laughed at whatever she said, that laugh you'd have recognized anywhere, head tipping back just slightly.

You didn't stay to see if he'd notice you. Cup abandoned on the counter, bag already in hand, the last thing you saw before you were out the back door was him still bent toward her, listening and laughing.

It was cold outside. Colder by the time you'd cut halfway across campus, arms wrapped around yourself, and ran into Greyson. One of Zayne's friends from pre med, someone you'd shared a class with and one very unfortunate group project. He took one look at you shivering in your thin top and shrugged his jacket off without asking.

"Here. You'll freeze before you make it back to your dorm"

"I'm fine," you said, already pulling it on.

He laughed and fell into step beside you anyway, talking about an anatomy exam he was dreading and his girlfriend's alarming obsession with plushies. Easy conversation that didn't ask anything of you, that let you nod and half listen while your mind kept circling back to the door, to the laugh, to the girl's hand on his arm.

At your door he said goodnight and jogged off toward his building as you went inside to let the quiet close over you.

You tossed the jacket over your desk chair and started peeling off your shoes when your hand brushed something hard in the pocket. Keys. You fished them out, it was a single silver one on a carabiner with a chewed up rubber duck keychain.

Not even ten minutes later, someone knocked.

You smiled, already reaching for the keys on your desk. Of course he'd come back for them. You scooped them up, grabbed his jacket and draped it over your arm and pulled the door open, keys dangling from your fingers before you'd even looked up.

"A bit soon to be giving me the keys to your place, don't you thi—?" it was meant to be a joke.

Caleb stood in the hallway, hands shoved in his pockets. His eyes went from the keys swinging from your hand to the jacket slung over your arm, and back again. Whatever smile he'd walked up with was already gone.

"Whose is that?"

His voice had lost the party in it. Gone was the easy tone, replaced by something flat that landed somewhere in your belly.

You knew that tone. Dug in. Stubborn. It was the same voice he used when men tried to put their hands on you. You'd forgotten what that sounded like until now.

Something reckless flared up under your nerves. Days of avoiding him and now he was standing in your doorway looking at you like that. You leaned your shoulder into the frame, unhurried.

"Just a friend's," you said, letting the jacket slip a little on your arm so he'd notice how big it was. "He walked me back from the party. It was cold."

"A friend."

"Mm-hmm." You tilted your head, biting back a smile you didn't try very hard to hide. "Nice guy. Gave me his jacket without me even asking."

"Did he?"

"He did." You shrugged, one shoulder, watching the muscle in his jaw tighten. "Very sweet, actually. I might keep it."

Caleb moved, one step, closing half the distance between you, and you found yourself backing up without deciding to.

"What's his name."

"Why does it matter?"

"I just want his name."

"Jealous?" The word came out lighter than you felt. You tipped your chin up, daring him.

His eyes narrowed. "Should I be?"

You didn't answer. You just held his gaze, arms crossed loosely, jacket bunched against your ribs, and let the silence do the talking. You'd meant it as a tease. It landed like a confession.

Caleb's hand caught the door before you could think to close it, and stepped over the threshold like he had every right to be there. The door closed behind him with a heavy sound that cut off the hallway light and the cold.

"You've been running from me all week," he said.

"I haven't—"

"Don't." One word, quiet, and it stopped you cold. "I saw you by the food truck Tuesday. Wednesday you turned around and walked into a building you don't even have class in. Today you bolted out the back door the second I walked through the front." He took another step. You were nearly at your desk now, nowhere left to go. "So don't tell me you haven't been running."

Your ass met the edge of the desk. He didn't stop until there was almost nothing between you, close enough that you caught the cold night air still clinging to him, and under it, the same warm cedar smell you'd have known blindfolded.

"Maybe I like it when you chase me," you said, the teasing thinner than you wanted it to sound.

Something shifted in his face. "Yeah?"

"Maybe."

He leaned in, slow, until his mouth hovered a breath from yours, close enough that if either of you moved even slightly you wouldn't be able to help it. Your heart was beating hard against your ribs.

"Say that again," he murmured.

You didn't say anything at all.

"Maybe I should go find him, thank him properly for lending you his jacket."

"Caleb—"

"What's his name?" A ghost of a smirk, infuriating. His nose brushed yours, and you nearly closed the gap yourself before he pulled back a fraction, just out of reach.

"You're impossible."

"You like impossible." He tilted his head, closing in again, slower this time, until his lips almost grazed yours and then he stopped there too, breath warm against your mouth, watching you through half lowered lashes. "Tell me to stop."

"Stop," you whispered, and it came out all wrong, breathless instead of firm.

"Try again." He was smiling now, a smile that didn't reach his eyes so much as darken them. "Say it like you mean it." he pulled back again, like he had all the time in the world and you had none.

Your fingers curled into the front of his shirt "You're doing this on purpose."

"Obviously."

He came in again, and this time you swore his mouth grazed yours, barely, gone before you could be sure it happened at all. A soft, frustrated sound climbed up your throat.

"Caleb."

"Yeah?" he still hovered there, he needed you to break first.

Fisting his shirt, you hauled him down and crashed your mouth into his.

He groaned like you'd finally given him something he'd been starving for, one hand sliding into your hair, the other gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him. The jacket dropped from your fingers, forgotten on the floor. He kissed you like the last few days had been sitting in his chest the whole time, like the wait had worn through whatever control he'd been holding onto.

He walked you backward until your knees hit the mattress, and when you sat down hard he followed you down "No more running," he said against your jaw "Not from me."

Your fingers shook, but the urgency in your chest didn't leave room for nerves to win. You caught the hem of his shirt and pulled it up his torso, and he lifted his arms without being asked, letting you drag it off and drop it behind you. You slid your hands down to his belt and he took over from there, working it loose himself, shoving his jeans down with one impatient kick until he was standing in nothing but his underwear.

The fabric strained. The thick outline of his cock was impossible to miss.

You didn't mean to stare and he didn't give you time to. He leaned over you, pulling your top over your head in one motion, and his hands went around your back a second later, unhooking your bra like he'd done it a hundred times in his head already. The marks Rafayel had left were still faintly there. You didn't notice him catch sight of them, you were too busy working your jeans down, kicking them off.

The room's light hit the bruises on your inner thighs.

Caleb went still. His breathing turned loud and something crossed his face you'd never seen on him before, not once in all the years you'd known him.

"Who?"

It wasn't even a full question. You couldn't answer it. You couldn't even lift your eyes to his, heat crawling up your neck, half shame, half something closer to fear.

His hand found your jaw, careful even now, but firm enough that you couldn't look away from him.

"I'll find out either way"

You said nothing. Your mouth stayed shut, lips pressed together, and he pulled back like he meant to walk away from the whole thing. Panic shot through you and you grabbed his forearm, held on.

"It wasn't a stranger," you whispered.

"Then who."

He was already working through it, you could see him doing it, running through the short list of people close enough to you that this made sense. He didn't need the full story. He just needed a name.

"Rafayel," you said, and then, because there was no version of this where you got to leave it there, "and Xavier."

The color left his face. "At the same time?"

"No." You shook your head fast. "No, it wasn't like that..."

That was as far as you got before he pulled his arm free and stepped back from the bed like it had burned him.

He didn't look at you. He started pacing between your desk and the window, one hand dragging through his hair over and over, like he could pull the thought straight out of his own skull.

"Rafayel," he muttered, more to the wall than to you. "Of course. Probably had you half convinced it meant something, didn't he?" A short breath, no humor in it at all. "And Xavier." He said the name like it left a bad taste. "Quiet Xavier. Too tired for a party, but not tired enough for that."

He stopped at the window, both hands braced on the sill, shoulders locked up tight. For a second he just breathed.

"I gave you space," he said, quieter now, and the quiet was worse than the pacing had been. "After Zayne's, I backed off. Thought you needed space. Figured if I pushed, you'd run, so I didn't." He turned around, and the storm on his face had gone raw underneath. "And they didn't. They just moved into the space I left. Used it."

"Caleb, that's not fair, they didn't—"

"Didn't what?" his jaw ticked. "Know you were vulnerable right after? Because I think they knew exactly what they were doing." He crossed the room until he was close enough that you had to tip your head back to keep his eyes. "Did either of them ask what you wanted? Or did they just take what you were too shaken to say no to?"

"It wasn't like that."

"Then tell me what it was like." He crouched slightly, hands braced on the mattress on either side of you, caging you in without touching you "Because I waited. I told myself slow was better than not at all." His eyes dropped to the marks on your thighs and back up, something dark moving behind them. "They didn't wait for anything."

You fingers curled around his wrist "You're the one standing in my room right now."

Something flickered across his face —not a smile, too sharp for that, but close to one. "Yeah," he said. "I am."

His fury was still there, sitting in his jaw and his hands but his touch when it landed wasn't rough. It was heavy.

He didn't look for unmarked skin.

He went straight for what they'd left behind.

His mouth found your chest first, closing over the fading marks Rafayel had put there, and he sucked —slow and thorough— his tongue working until the skin flushed dark underneath his lips. His. Over the top of someone else's, but his now. When he was done he moved down, his thumbs pressing into the bruises on your inner thighs, pinning your legs open while his mouth found the soft flesh there and bit down soft enough not to hurt but hard enough to mark.

"Mine," he said, against your skin. "Every single one. By morning."

His fingers hooked into the leg bands of your underwear, pulling the fabric taut against you. "Your pretty pussy is already soaking through these."

He didn't take them off.

He dragged his tongue up the center seam instead, one slow stroke, and the friction of it through the soaked fabric hit your clit with a sharpness that snapped your hips off the mattress. He caught you, both hands pressing your hips back down, and then his mouth was on you again, lips closing around the swollen bud through the thin wet cotton, sucking in slow pulls that made your vision blur at the edges.

"I should have been first," he said, against the fabric, his voice vibrating through it and into you. The pressure of his lips didn't let up for a second while he talked. "I'm going to spend a long time thinking about that. How I had years and I waited and now I have to share something that should have been mine from the start."

The build was fast, mean and gave you no warning. You came with your fingers twisted in his hair and his name in your throat, soaking through the fabric completely.

He watched you, gave you approximately three seconds.

Then he pulled your underwear down your legs, dropped them off the side of the bed and his mouth was back before you'd finished shaking — bare now, his tongue flat and heavy against you, licking with an attention to detail that made your spine curl. He used two fingers to spread you open, his tongue pressing into your entrance, drawing back up to your clit.

"When I'm inside your mouth," his breath felt warm against your wet skin "I'm going to make you taste what you do to me." He kept going until you came a second time. This one was quieter and left you with tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, his name coming out in pieces.

He gave you a moment. Not a long one. Just enough to take his underwear off and then his hands grabbed your hips, lifting you slightly off the mattress, guiding himself to your entrance. He pushed inside — just the crown and the first two inches — and stopped there.

The sound you made was filthy.

It was everything you had imagined. The stretch, the fullness, the weight of him just sitting there while your body tried to accommodate it and couldn't decide between pulling him in and pushing him out. He stayed there until your mind went blank and your hands found the sheets and gripped. Then he pulled out.

The emptiness was felt awful.

He shifted up the mattress and settled on his knees in front of your face, fully hard, the evidence of the last few minutes glistening on his skin, and looked down at you.

"Tell me when to stop and I'll stop."

"Don't stop." Your voice had no strength left in it. Just the words, barely above a whisper.

"Open your mouth when I tell you to."

His thumb came down to your lower lip, pressing into the center of it, pulling it slightly down. He watched your mouth part under the pressure "Do you want me inside your pretty mouth?"

"Yes."

He leaned in just enough. Dragged the tip across your upper lip, leaving a hot wet streak against your skin, watching your face while he did it.

"Say it."

Your hands came up to grip his thighs, fingers pressing into the muscle there. "I want to suck your dick."

The exhale that left him wasn't quiet. "Good girl."

He took his time, dragging the head of his cock across your lips, down your cheek and back to your mouth, leaving a trail of pre across your skin that made something in your chest clench with how much you wanted it.

You kept your eyes on his the entire time. You wanted him to see how much you wanted this.

"Open up, sweet girl"

His cock came back to rest against your lips and your mouth opened wider on instinct, the whole talk flashed through Caleb's head in the same second —Zayne's voice, clipped and deeply irritating.

She isn't built like you. Don't push inside when she isn't ready or you'll hurt her throat. She has to breathe through her nose. Don't fight her jaw. Let her drool on it as much as she can, you'll thank me later. It needs to be slow. If you rush it, you hurt her.

His knuckles had gone white against the mattress. He slowed down.

Pressed inside carefully, just the tip, feeling your lips wrap around him and your breath change as your body adjusted. He stopped there. Watched your eyes. Waited for the slight shift in your expression that meant you were ready before he went any further.

"That's it," he managed, his voice mostly gone. "Breathe through your nose. Take your time."

You did. Your hands wrapped around the base, thumbs tracing the veins there while you let the saliva build and run, coating him in a way that made the slide easier and the visual of it more overwhelming than anything else that had happened tonight. You started to move, slow forward bobs that took him a little deeper each time, your tongue working the underside on the draw back.

Caleb made a sound above you that had nothing controlled left in it.

He matched the pace —hips rolling forward in shallow, careful thrusts that tested the back of your throat, a hand in your hair gripping without pulling, his whole body wound up and trembling slightly with the effort of not taking what he wanted at the speed he wanted it.

"You're so—" He stopped, jaw tight, trying again. "Suck it harder. Taste yourself on me. You can feel it, can't you."

You could.

You sucked harder, felt his thighs tense under your hands, felt the groan that moved through his whole body when your lips slid all the way down and your nose pressed into him and you held it there, looking up at his face.

The sight was doing something to him.

Your mouth stretched around him, eyes wet at the corners, saliva running down your chin and onto your chest in slow trails, and you were looking up at him. That was the part that was killing him. You were not looking away, not closing your eyes. You were loking directly at him with a ruined stare while you took him apart with your mouth, and every time he thought he had some grip on his composure you'd do something with your tongue and it was gone again.

He wanted to grip your hair and drive forward and lose his mind entirely.

Not yet. He held still. Let you set the pace. Let your mouth work him at the speed you'd decided on.

"God," he breathed, his head dropping back for a second before he forced it back down because he couldn't look away from you. "I've thought about this. Exactly this. More times than you can imagine."

The tears running from the corners of your eyes weren't distress. He knew the difference. Your hands were firm and steady on his thighs and every time you pushed forward to take him deeper there was a small sound in your throat that sent a pulse straight up his spine.

"That's it, just like that. Keep going just like that and don't stop."

You swallowed around him in response. His hips snapped forward an inch before he caught himself.

You noticed. Your eyes said so.

He pressed his thumb to the corner of your mouth, feeling the stretch of your lips around him. "You're so good at this," he said, the words coming out unsteady. "So fucking good. Look at you taking all of it. Other girls—"

He'd said it without thinking, his brain running three seconds behind his mouth, and he felt the exact moment it landed because your rhythm changed.

Faster.

Your eyes had gone somewhere else —still on his face, but different now, something sharp moving through them that had nothing to do with what you'd been doing a second ago. Your hands tightened on his thighs. Your mouth pushed forward, taking him deeper than you had been, the angle shifting in a way that made his breath leave him all at once.

"Wait—" he started.

You hummed. It wasn't accidental. A low vibration right around the tip of his cock, your throat working, your cheeks hollowed, and whatever sentence he'd been constructing about other girls dissolved completely because his brain stopped producing language.

"I didn't—" He tried again. Failed again. Your head was moving faster now "That's not what I —, I wasn't—"

You hummed again, deeper this time, and took him further.

"Okay. Okay. There are no other girls. There have not been — in any meaningful way — other girls. You are the only girl. You are the only—" His thighs were shaking. "Please, you have to—if you keep doing that I'm going to—"

You didn't stop doing that.

Your hands moved to grip his ass, pulling him forward, inviting a depth that made his whole body seize up.

"You're—" he looked down at you with an expression that was completely gone for you. "You're jealous and you're doing this on purpose and it's working. You've made your point."

You hummed a third time. Longer. Right over the most sensitive part of him. Your eyes were saying everything your mouth was otherwise occupied with.

The sound that came out of him was not quiet. He didn't have time to pull back. He didn't even try.

He came hard, the first pulse hitting the back of your throat without warning, and he felt you swallow — fast and determined— and then the next wave and the next, each one heavier, the volume of it backing up past your lips and running down your chin, dripping onto your chest.

You were watching him fall apart and made sure he knew you were watching.

His thighs were shaking and he was coming back slowly, the room reassembling itself around the two of you.

He looked down at you.

Lips swollen, chin a complete mess, eyes bright and entirely satisfied with yourself.

He reached down and dragged his thumb slowly across your lower lip.

"Other girls do not exist. As far as I'm concerned, going forward, they never did."

Something in your expression shifted. The jealous edge softening into something warmer.

"Good," you said, and your voice was ruined too, something he found extraordinarily satisfying.

He brought his thumb to your lip. "Open."

You opened. He pressed inside, watched you close your lips around it, watched you hold his gaze while you tasted what was on it.

He pulled his thumb back.

"You're going to be the death of me," he said. Just a fact. A fact he was making peace with.

He brought his mouth to yours. Tasting everything, not flinching from any of it.

When he pulled back his forehead dropped to yours "I'm not done," he said, into the space between your faces.

"I know," you said.

"I want to do this right." His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones, "I've been waiting too long to rush it."

Years. Easy laughter. Carefully maintained distance. Him looking at you the whole time with that steady certain gaze that you'd been pretending not to understand.

"Then don't"

He kissed you again. Softer this time. And then he laid you back against the mattress and took his time.

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The smell of your favorite takeout hits you before you even get the door fully open. Your hand stills on the handle, your bag slipping lower on your shoulder as you step inside and find Valko standing in your kitchen with the paper bags open in front of him, transferring food onto plates. A small smile tugs on your lips, because there is something ridiculous and tender about the sight of him there, too tall for the space, too broad beside your cabinets.

Valko looks up as soon as he hears you.

“There you are,” he says, his voice warm with the usual excitement.

You close the door behind you. “I’m impressed,” you say. “You were smart enough to order takeout instead of trying to cook without me.”

He huffs out a laugh, glancing down at the plates. “I know my strengths.”

You manage another smile as you take off your shoes by the door and set your bag on the small table near the entry.

In the kitchen, Valko keeps moving, the plates clinking as he finishes dividing the food. “How was it?” he asks. “You had a good time?”

You head toward the sink instead of going to him, reaching for a glass from the cabinet before you answer. “Yeah,” you say, filling it with water. “It was good.”

You take a sip of water and keep your eyes on the glass.

You hear Valko move behind you, and when you turn, he is near enough that you have to tilt your chin to meet his eyes.

“Hi,” he says, softer now, like the first greeting had not counted because he had been too far away.

“Hi,” you answer.

He leans in for the kiss he always takes when you come home to him. You give him just a quick press of your mouth to his, and then you pull back with your glass still in one hand and your other palm braced against the counter.

Valko does not comment on the kiss, but you catch the brief change in his face before he turns back toward the food, a small crease between his brows, there and gone quickly enough that you could pretend you missed it.

“So,” you say, lifting your glass again as you move closer to the food, “what did you order?”

His gaze stays on you for another moment. “The usual,” he says, reaching for one of the containers, “and something from the new place across the street because I wanted to try it.”

“Of course you did.”

“It looked good.”

“You say that about everything.”

“Not everything.” He opens another box and tips his head, considering it. “Most things.”

Despite yourself, you smile as you step beside him, looking over the spread he has arranged – the familiar dishes are there, warm and fragrant, but there are two new ones too, both still steaming as he moves them onto the plates. “Okay,” you admit, “that does look good.”

“Obviously,” he says, with the confidence of someone taking credit for cooking it himself. “And if we’re having cocktails later, we should eat properly first. Especially you.”

You let out a small chuckle, setting your glass down. “Yeah, yeah. You’re probably right.”

Valko asks if you want to eat at the table or on the sofa, and you say, “Sofa’s fine,” without really looking at him.

This time, he does not move back to the food.

You notice the way he turns fully toward you instead of only glancing over.

“Okay,” he says, his voice lower now. “What’s wrong?”

You shrug too quickly. “Nothing.”

His eyes stay on your face. “I know you.”

“It’s really not a big deal.”

“Then tell me.”

You breathe out through your nose and look away first, because the last thing you want is to drag the ugliness of it into your kitchen. Still, the words come out after a moment, plain and clipped, enough to explain but not enough to make a whole scene out of it. You tell him that, on your way back, some jerk threw a crude comment at you, that you ignored him, that it annoyed you more than you wanted it to, and that it was stupid anyway.

By the time you finish, your own mouth has twisted with irritation.

“Whatever,” you mutter, shaking your head as if that can knock the feeling loose. “It doesn’t matter – ”

When you glance at Valko, the look on his face makes the rest of the sentence disappear.

His jaw has gone tight, the easy warmth from a minute ago pulled into something harder and much less familiar. You have seen him annoyed before, but this is different.

“It’s not nothing,” he says.

The roughness in his voice catches you off guard, even though you know it’s not aimed at you.

You shrug again. “It’s fine. It’s not the first time, probably won’t be the last, so there’s no point making it into something.”

“Don’t do that.”

You pause.

His tone has gone firmer, and when you look back at him, his attention has not moved from you. For a second, neither of you speaks. His expression shifts into something more careful, and his shoulders ease a little as he reaches for you.

Your body moves before the rest of you catches up.

You take a small step to the side, barely anything, but enough for his hands to stop between you.

You turn toward the counter, taking the plate. “It’s not worth thinking about,” you say, a little too lightly. “Let’s just eat.”

For a moment, you can feel him watching you, and you keep your attention on the food. Then he picks up his own plate and follows you to the sofa, giving you enough room to sit first before he settles beside you.

The TV comes on a minute later, filling the silence. Valko eats beside you, quieter than usual, though his attention keeps coming back to you.

Instead of pressing you further about what happened, he asks about your friend.

The question helps more than you expect. You tell him about the bookstores you wandered into and the café you found by accident, all pretty lights and beautiful little details, with coffee that was better than you expected and dessert good enough to make you regret not ordering a second one.

As you talk, the better parts of the day start coming back in pieces.

You remember the table by the window, the sound of your friend laughing across from you, and the comfort of staying longer than planned because, for once, neither of you seemed to be rushing anywhere.

He listens like the details matter.

You are grateful he doesn’t ask why you stayed out longer than you said you would. He could have. The two of you had plans, and he had still come over on time, still ordered dinner, still waited in your apartment while you turned an afternoon coffee into nearly three hours outside. Instead of making you feel guilty for enjoying it, he seems pleased that you did.

You tell him about the lipstick your friend gave you. “She gave it to me because she thought the color would suit me,” you say, glancing toward your bag near the entryway. “It’s still in my purse.”

Then your gaze drifts to him.

He is already dressed for later, and you notice it properly now that you are sitting beside him. He looks handsome enough that, on any other night, you would have teased him for it immediately, just to see the pleased little spark in his face when he realized you had been looking.

You glance down at your plate instead. “You know, we don’t really have to go out.”

Valko turns his head toward you.

“We can just stay in,” you continue, already reaching for a lighter tone. “We still have food, and we could try to make dessert or do some terrible homemade cocktails. Then we can just cuddle and watch something.”

You expect him to agree before you finish speaking.

Valko has never needed much convincing to stay close to you for hours, especially when there is food, a sofa, and an excuse to tuck himself around you until you can barely move. It is one of the things you love about him, how openly he wants the simple comfort of being near you, how little shame he has about reaching for it.

Instead, he pauses.

His face shifts into something more serious, and the change is small enough that anyone else might miss it. You do not.

“Do you want to stay in,” he asks, “or do you just not want to be seen tonight?”

You stare at him for a second. Part of you wants to be annoyed that he did not take the offer, because staying in would be warm and easy and comfortable. Another part of you knows this should not surprise you at all. Valko is sweet, almost painfully so sometimes, but he has never been the kind of sweet that lets you hide behind a convenient lie.

You look away first. “I’m a little tired.”

He keeps his attention on you.

“I know you dressed up,” you add, softer now. “Sorry, I just – ”

“That doesn’t matter.”

You stop.

He sets his plate on the coffee table and turns more toward you. “If you’re tired, we stay here. I’ll make bad drinks, you can tell me they’re bad, and I’ll still pretend I did well.” His mouth curves slightly, though his eyes stay serious. “But I’m asking if that’s the real reason.”

You press your lips together.

He waits, and somehow that makes it harder.

After a moment, you stand and take both plates. “I’m just going to rinse these.”

Valko lets you go, then follows with the empty glasses, taking his place beside you at the sink. The two of you work in silence for a minute, you rinsing, him clearing the leftovers and wiping the counter, the routine familiar.

Then he speaks more quietly.

“We can go out,” he says. “You can wear whatever you wanted to wear.”

Your hands slow under the warm water.

“I’ll be there,” he adds. “You can just enjoy your night. If someone wants to be stupid, I’ll handle it.”

The words warm your heart, and this time the smile that comes to your face feels genuine.

The question is still there, waiting for an answer you do not have yet.

“I’m going to take a quick shower,” you say.

Valko nods. “Okay.”

*

By the time you come out of the bedroom, your skin is glistening from the body lotion, your makeup is fixed, and the dress you picked for tonight is smoothed down over your thighs, though the zipper sits open along your back where you couldn’t reach it.

You pause in the doorway with one hand holding the fabric in place.

The living room has changed while you were gone. Only the lamps are on now, with pillows and a blanket spread across the sofa and a TV show playing quietly in the background. Valko’s waiting on the sofa, and when he sees you, his attention lifts immediately, his face easing into a smile that is softer than his usual grin.

You suddenly feel a little shy standing there with your back half-open and your dress held together by your fingers.

“Can you zip me up, please?” you ask.

Valko stands without making you ask twice.

His fingers find the zipper carefully, and his other hand settles near your shoulder blade just long enough to keep the fabric steady.

When he finishes, he lets his hands fall away before you turn to face him.

“So,” he says, looking you over with a small smile, “we’re going out.”

You nod, smoothing your hands down the front of the dress. “Yes. Unless you really want to stay in now.” Your gaze flicks toward the sofa, the blanket, the pillows, the room made soft for you. “It looks like you already started getting comfortable.”

Valko shakes his head. “I was ready for either answer.”

That makes something in your chest loosen.

His eyes move over your face, then settle on your lips. “Do you need to finish your makeup?”

“Oh.” You glance toward your bag. “Yes, actually.”

Valko stays where he is while you use the mirror by the door, giving you space to apply it without leaning over your shoulder.

You press your lips together, studying the color first, then the rest of your reflection. A pleased smile forms on your lips, your posture straightening a little as you look at yourself.

“There she is,” Valko says softly.

You turn toward him, suddenly flustered by the realization that you were almost posing in front of the mirror while he watched.

“You look beautiful,” he says.

“Thank you,” you say softly, your cheeks still a little warm.

Shortly after, you leave the apartment together.

*

By the time you return to the apartment, the warmth from the cocktails has already begun to fade, leaving behind only a pleasant looseness in your body and the ache in your cheeks from smiling so much.

Valko holds the door open for you, and you step inside with your heels clicking softly against the floor. After he slips out of his shoes, he heads towards the kitchen while you stay at the entryway, still taking off your heels.

While he pours the water, you look at him properly.

You had noticed him before you left, of course, but now you let yourself linger on it – the way his hair has fallen slightly out of place, the fabric of his shirt pulling around his biceps, the rolled sleeves showing his forearms. He looks unfairly handsome like this, and the sight of him makes something sweet spread through you.

When he comes closer and hands you a glass, he catches you staring.

“What?” he asks, smiling because your expression must be giving you away.

You take the water from him and let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Nothing.”

“That doesn’t look like nothing.” His eyes narrow playfully. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No.” You take a sip, then lower the glass, still smiling at him over the rim. “I was just thinking that you look really handsome tonight.”

The faintest color rises in his face.

“I see the alcohol is still in your system,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “It’s mostly gone.”

“Mostly?”

“I can feel my feet again,” you say, glancing down at your feet. “That’s how I know.”

Valko laughs under his breath.

“Sit down, sweetheart,” Valko says, taking the glass from your hand before you can ask why.

You let him lead you to the sofa, where he drapes a blanket over your lap.

“Stay here,” he says.

“Where else would I go?”

“With you, I never know.”

You make a face at him, but he only smiles and disappears toward the bathroom.

For a minute, you sit there with the TV playing in front of you, your glass of water waiting on the coffee table. You can hear him moving around in the bathroom, the rush of water, the opening and closing of a cabinet.

When he returns, he’s carrying a basin filled with warm water, faintly cloudy from the bath salts dissolving inside.

Your expression softens. “Valko.”

“What?” he says, setting it carefully on the floor in front of the sofa. “Your feet hurt.”

You look down at the water, then back at him, and the fondness in your chest feels almost too full for something so simple. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

You dip your feet into the basin, and the first touch of warm water makes your eyes close for a second as you sink deeper into the sofa.

Valko sits next to you, looking a little pleased with himself.

By the time the episode ends, the water has cooled and your whole body feels heavier in the best way, softened by the warmth, the drinks, and the steady comfort of Valko’s presence beside you.

He gets up before you can decide whether you should move, disappearing into the bathroom and returning with a towel in his hands. When he sits back down, he spreads it over his lap, then pats it lightly.

“Feet here.”

You lift your feet from the basin and place them over the towel on his lap. Valko wraps the towel around one foot first, drying you with gentle movements, then does the same with the other. He folds the damp towel aside and places your foot between his hands, pressing his thumbs into the sole.

“Oh,” you breathe, your head falling back against the cushion. “That feels really good.”

His mouth curves, but he keeps his eyes on what he is doing. “Good.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me.”

The TV keeps playing, though you stop following the episode after a while.

Your attention drifts instead to his hands, to the way they move over your foot and up to your ankle, then higher to your calf when he shifts closer and draws your leg a little more securely across his lap.

A soft smile stays on your face.

You look from his hands to his profile, letting yourself linger on the slope of his nose, the line of his jaw. He looks calmer now than he had earlier, though there is still something attentive in him, something that keeps checking on you without needing to ask every few minutes.

Valko’s thumb presses into a tender spot near your heel, and you let out a small sound.

He glances at you.

You clear your throat and look back at the TV as if you have been paying attention the whole time.

His smile deepens, but he says nothing, only continues the massage on the other foot with the same patience.

After a while, Valko’s hands slow, his thumbs resting lightly against your arch as the episode continues playing in front of you.

You draw your legs back slowly, feet settling on the floor as you turn toward him. Valko’s gaze follows, shifting from your face to the way you’re leaning closer now.

“Tired?” he asks, softer than before.

You shake your head. “Not yet.”

Your eyes drift to his lips. When you glance up, he’s already watching you with that adoring gaze that stirs butterflies in your chest. He leans in just a fraction, then holds there, waiting.

So you close the rest of the distance yourself.

The first kiss is gentle, almost testing, your mouth brushing his before you press closer. Valko answers immediately, one hand lifting toward your back while the other stays on the sofa, giving you room to decide how much of him you want.

You kiss him again, longer this time, letting yourself sink into the warmth of his mouth, and the low sound he makes when you lean in more fully sends a pleased little shiver through your body.

After a few moments, you sit up and move before you can overthink it, swinging one leg over his lap until you are straddling him.

You slide your hands to his shoulders, then up to the sides of his neck, feeling him beneath your palms, solid and close and real. His hands settle against your back and pull you nearer before one slides down to your calf, almost absentmindedly, his fingers finding the same sore place he had been working on before. The touch is still gentle, still soothing, but now it runs through you differently as his thumb presses into your skin while his mouth moves over yours.

A small sound slips from you.

Valko’s hand pauses for half a second, then continues, slower than before.

You smile into the kiss, and he catches it, his mouth curving against yours as his palm slides along your calf. Your dress rides higher over your thighs as your fingers curl lightly at the back of his neck, and every slow movement of his hand makes you lean into him more.

Your heart beats harder in your chest, a sweet ache spreading low in your belly as his fingers trace idle patterns along your skin. You pull back just a little, and the words slip out in a soft whisper against his lips.

“Take me to the bedroom.”

Valko’s breath catches for the briefest moment, and then his arms tighten around you – one hand splaying across your lower back while the other cradles your thigh. “Hold onto me,” he murmurs. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, fingers threading into the soft hair at his nape, and hook your legs around his waist as he rises from the sofa with effortless ease, as if you weigh nothing at all. The movement presses you even closer, your chest flush against his as his arms hold you securely, his mouth never leaving yours.

When he reaches the bedroom, the lamplight from the living room spills through the doorway, casting warm shadows across the bed. Valko sits down on the edge of the mattress with you still wrapped around him, so you settle easily back into his lap, straddling him once more.

His hands stay gentle at your waist, holding you steady on his lap as the kiss lingers between you. Being this close to him makes something in you ache softly for more. When you finally draw back enough to speak, your lips brush his.

“Unzip me, please.”

He does not hesitate. One hand leaves your waist and finds the zipper at the small of your back. He takes his time, pulling the zipper all the way down before his palm rests lightly against the bare skin he has uncovered.

Only then do you break the kiss. You rise just enough to slide the dress from your shoulders and over your hips. You step out of it slowly, standing before him in the lamplight while his gaze follows every movement.

You unhook your bra next, the straps slipping from your shoulders, and you let the garment fall away. Valko’s breath leaves him in a low, appreciative sound, but he does not reach for you yet. He waits, watching as you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your panties and ease them down your legs. They join the rest of your clothing on the floor, and when you straighten again you are bare before him – every inch of skin touched by the soft light and the heat of his undivided attention.

A quiet thrill moves through you at the way he looks at you, like you are something precious he has been given permission to cherish.

You take a step toward him, ready to return to his lap, but his fingers wrap gently around your wrist before you can climb back onto the bed. The touch is light, yet it stills you completely. He draws your hand toward him and presses a soft kiss to the back of it, then turns it over and brushes his lips against the sensitive skin of your inner wrist. The touch sends a small shiver up your arm.

Without a word, he guides you closer to the bed. His hands settle at your waist as he helps you onto the mattress, and you lie back against the pillows.

He lifts one of your legs, his mouth finding your ankle with a slow press of lips before he gives the other the same lingering attention. Then the heat of his mouth trails upward, each kiss drawing closer, and something low in your stomach tightens with anticipation.

You watch him as he settles between your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours. The first slow drag of his tongue through your folds makes your breath hitch. He does it again, firmer this time, and your thighs instinctively part wider for him.

His hands slide under your hips, holding you steady as he licks into you with more purpose now – slow, thorough strokes that have you growing slicker by the second. When he finally seals his lips around your clit and sucks, your back arches hard off the bed with a broken moan.

Your fingers thread into his hair as your hips start to move on their own, rolling against his mouth. Valko groans at the movement, gripping your hips harder and letting you grind against his tongue, meeting every roll of your body.

The pleasure builds fast now. Every stroke of his tongue, every time he sucks on your clit, sends sparks racing through you. You can feel how wet you are, how easily his mouth moves against you. Your moans grow breathier, your thighs starting to tremble around his head as the tension coils tighter in your stomach.

You keep your eyes on him the whole time. His gaze is locked on your face, but there’s a new tension in his expression now – his pupils are blown, brows drawn, like he’s fighting to stay focused on you while his own hunger bleeds through.

And then you notice the rest of him.

His hips are moving in small, involuntary thrusts against the mattress, rutting into the bed in time with the way his mouth works over you. The sight of it – how turned on he is just from tasting you – makes you clench hard around nothing.

His name slips from your lips in a broken moan, soft at first and then louder as the heat inside you coils tighter and tighter. Valko answers with a low sound against your soaked folds, and then he murmurs right against your skin.

“I can feel you getting close... Come on my tongue, baby – I want to taste you when you do.”

One of his hands finds yours, threading your fingers together and holding on tight. Your hips move faster now, grinding down against his mouth with desperate little rolls. The moment his lips close around your clit again, the tension finally snaps.

It rolls through you in heavy, pulsing waves. Your thighs shake around his head as your fingers tighten in his hair, and a string of broken, breathless sounds spill from your lips – his name tangled with soft, incoherent praise you barely register saying.

A deep, rough groan tears from his throat as his hips jerk harder against the mattress, the movement no longer small or controlled, and the hand holding yours tightens. His eyes stay locked on your face even as they darken further, that faint crease between his brows deepening as he fights to keep his focus on you.

The knowledge that your broken praise is undoing him only makes the pleasure burn hotter, dragging another helpless moan from your throat as the last ripples of your orgasm roll through you.

For a little while, neither of you speaks. Your body feels pleasantly spent, your fingers still loosely threaded with his while your other hand moves slowly through his hair in gentle, absent strokes. Valko stays exactly where he is, his breath warm and uneven against your soaked skin. For a long moment he doesn’t move, only presses soothing kisses along the inside of your thigh, then higher, brushing his lips over the soft curve of your stomach and the sensitive crease where your hip meets your leg.

Then, instead of rising, he begins to kiss lower again.

His mouth trails back down, lips parting against your still-sensitive folds as if it is the most natural thing in the world for him to keep going.

Your fingers tighten in his hair.

“Valko,” you breathe, your voice still shaky.

He lifts his head immediately, eyes finding yours.

You swallow, your hand sliding from his hair to gently touch his jaw.

“Come here,” you say softly.

His voice comes out low and rough. “I am here.”

You shake your head, a small, almost shy smile tugging at your lips.

“Up here.”

He hesitates for a second – just long enough for you to see the way he is still caught in that deep, giving place he goes to when he has his mouth on you. Then, slowly, he begins to crawl up your body, pressing kisses as he goes. His mouth moves over your stomach, the center of your chest, your breasts.

When he finally reaches the crook of your neck, he pauses there, nuzzling into the warm space under your jaw, his nose brushing your skin as he breathes you in.

You stay like that for a while, your fingers still moving slowly through his hair while his face remains tucked against your neck.

After a moment, you speak, your voice soft and a little hoarse.

“Are you planning on taking those clothes off at some point?”

Valko lets out a quiet huff of laughter against your neck.

He lifts his head, and you see the familiar teasing smile on his lips. “Why?” he asks. “Do you want me to?”

You roll your eyes, but the smile that follows gives you away completely. Your hand slides from his hair down to the back of his neck as you pull him closer until your lips are almost brushing his.

“I need to feel you against my skin,” you whisper. “I need your warmth. Your everything.”

The teasing in his expression softens. His hand tightens gently around yours where your fingers are still linked.

Valko doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he kisses you once more before pulling back to sit up. You watch as he reaches for the buttons of his shirt, his fingers working them open one by one. The fabric parts gradually, revealing his chest and the defined muscles of his torso. He shrugs the shirt off his shoulders and lets it fall somewhere beside the bed, never once breaking eye contact with you.

When his hands move to his belt, the quiet clink of metal and the slow drag of leather send a fresh, unexpected flutter through your already sensitive core, making your thighs press together. He notices, and the corner of his mouth lifts before he finishes undoing his belt and pushes both his pants and underwear down in one smooth motion.

He steps out of the last of his clothes and returns to the bed completely bare.

The sight of him makes your breath catch. In the dim light, his cock stands thick and flushed a deep, aching red, the head glistening with precum that has already begun to leak down the shaft. He braces himself above you on one forearm before lowering his body until his full weight settles over you. The pressure is immediate and sweet, sinking into your skin and muscles in the most comforting way. His mouth finds yours at the same time, lips locking in a hungry kiss as his tongue slides against yours. You can taste yourself on him, and the realization only makes you kiss him harder, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back as you hold him close.

When you wrap your legs around his hips, the movement drags the thick length of his cock through your soaked folds. The blunt head nudges against your clit, and a broken moan slips from your throat into his mouth. He’s so hot and heavy against you, the underside of his cock gliding through your wetness with every small shift of his body.

You start to move first.

Your hips roll upward in a slow grind, coating the length with your arousal and his saliva. He follows your rhythm, the tip nudging just barely at your entrance before sliding past again, teasing you both with how close he is to sinking inside.

“I need you inside me,” you whisper against his lips. “I want to feel all of you.”

You spread your legs wider for him, opening yourself completely as he begins to ease inside, slowly and carefully. The stretch is intense and delicious, your body yielding to him while his eyes stay locked on your face, watching every flicker of pleasure that crosses your expression.

Your arms wrap tighter around him, one hand sliding up to grip the back of his neck while the other stays curled on his shoulder. He holds you just as close, one arm braced beside your head, the other sliding under your back to pull you flush against him as he sinks deeper.

“You okay like this?” he asks quietly.

When you nod, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your eye. He stays there for a moment, buried deep inside you, his forehead resting lightly against yours as he just breathes with you.

Then, slowly, he begins to pull back – almost slipping out – before sinking back in. The movement pulls a soft sound from your throat, your hips lifting instinctively to meet him.

He picks up the pace gradually, each thrust growing a little heavier, a little deeper. Your arms stay wrapped tightly around him, holding him close as soft moans spill from your lips with every stroke. The heat between you builds quickly – the slick drag of his cock inside you, the way his pelvis grinds against your clit on every downward thrust, the way his breath fans hot across your mouth.

You can feel how close he is.

It’s in the way his cock keeps twitching inside you, in the tension locked through his shoulders, in the rough, broken groans that escape him. His face is tight with pleasure, brows drawn, jaw clenched as he fights to keep control.

You whisper against his lips.

“You can let go… I want you to. Don’t hold back.”

Valko shakes his head once.

“No,” he breathes. “I just… want to savor this a little longer.”

After a moment, Valko shifts his weight and wraps both arms tightly around your torso. In one smooth motion he sits up, bringing you with him until he’s kneeling on the mattress with you straddling his lap. Your legs instinctively wrap around him as you adjust, your arms sliding around his shoulders while your chests press flush together. The new angle makes him sink even deeper inside you, and the sudden fullness draws a breathless moan from your lips.

He holds you close – one strong arm wrapped around your back, the other hand gripping the curve of your ass, keeping you anchored against him. Your bare skin slides against his with every breath, your nipples brushing his chest. Neither of you speaks for a moment. You simply breathe each other in, bodies locked tight, his cock pulsing deep inside you while your arms stay wrapped around his shoulders like you never want to let go.

You begin to move first, rocking slowly against him.

Valko lets out a low, guttural sound the second you start moving. He kisses you again, but this time there’s nothing controlled about it – his tongue pushes past your lips with no hesitation, sliding against yours in a wet, hungry glide. The kiss turns messy fast. It’s all heat and spit, the wet sound of it mixing with the low groans rumbling from his chest as his teeth catch your bottom lip, grazing, nipping.

His hand on your ass tightens, fingers spreading wide as he begins to guide you. The motion stays shallow, limited by how tightly you’re pressed together, but even with how little you can move, it feels devastatingly good. Every slow circle of your hips makes his cock rub against that sensitive spot inside you while your clit drags over his pelvis, slick and swollen and aching.

“That’s it… take what you need,” he murmurs against your lips. “I love feeling you like this.”

The fullness is constant, overwhelming in the best way – every tiny shift of your body makes you feel stretched around him. Your nipples slip and slide against his sweat-damp chest with every movement, the friction making your body grow hotter.

“I can feel how close you are,” he murmurs against your lips. “I can hear it in the way you moan for me. You’re gonna come again, aren’t you?”

You can only whimper in response, your arms tightening around his shoulders as you hold on. You can feel how close he is too – the way his cock keeps twitching inside you, the tension coiled so tightly through his body, the way his breathing has turned ragged and uneven. He’s holding back, barely, and it only makes you want to push him over the edge with you.

You shift your legs, planting your feet flat on the mattress on either side of his hips. The change in angle lets you lift yourself higher, and when you sink back down, you take his thick length even deeper than before. The helpless, strained whimper that tears from Valko’s throat makes your pussy cream around him, slick and messy. His forehead drops to your shoulder, hot breath fanning over your damp skin as his arms tighten around you like he’s trying to hold himself together.

Valko lets out another broken sound against your neck as you start lifting and dropping on him. His arms lock tighter around you as he tries – and fails – to keep guiding your hips the way he was before. The new angle has him sinking impossibly deep with every stroke, and a wrecked groan tears from his throat.

“Fuck – you feel too good,” he pants, voice strained. “I’m trying to let you have this… but – ha-ah – you’re gonna make me lose it.”

You slide one hand up to the back of his neck, fingers threading into his damp hair as you roll your hips again, using your new leverage to grind down on him harder.

“I want you to come,” you breathe. “I need it. I need to feel you.”

That’s all it takes.

Valko’s hand squeezes your ass in a bruising grip as his hips jerk up to meet yours in short, desperate thrusts. His mouth latches onto the side of your neck, sucking hard while his tongue drags over your skin between bites. His sweaty chest slides against yours with every desperate grind, your nipples dragging over the slick, overheated skin. His pelvis is soaked with your arousal, and every roll of your hips grinds it firmly against your swollen clit, sending sharp, relentless sparks racing through your entire body. The combination is too much – the way he stretches you open with every thrust and the constant, filthy pressure on your clit. It builds so fast it feels dizzying.

Your climax crashes into you with overwhelming force.

A silent whimper catches in your throat before it breaks into a loud, shattered moan. Your walls clamp down around him in hard, rhythmic pulses, your thighs shaking as your fingers dig into his shoulders. The pleasure is blinding, ripping through you so intensely that all you can do is cling to him, your body trembling as wave after wave crashes over you.

Valko’s arms lock around you the second your orgasm hits. His forehead presses hard into your shoulder as his cock throbs violently inside you, and you feel the way your pussy squeezes around him, milking him. His whole body goes tense, muscles straining as he fights to hold on for just a few more seconds.

“That’s it – I’ve got you –” His voice cracks. “Just hold onto me – please – ”

His breath hitches.

He yanks your hips down hard and holds you there as he starts to come. You feel every thick pulse of his cock as he fills you – hot spurts that seem to go on and on while he keeps grinding you against him through it. His mouth finds yours in a breathless, messy kiss, all tongue, groans, and the sharp graze of teeth. He kisses you like he’s drowning as he empties himself inside you in thick, relentless waves.

He holds you so tightly against his sweat-slick body that you feel every tremor run through him, his cock still twitching and spilling deep inside you.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. You just stay like that, chests pressed together, breathing hard against each other’s skin. Then Valko tilts his head and kisses you again – slower this time, softer, lingering. When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t go far. He presses a kiss to the side of your neck, then higher, brushing his lips against your cheek.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your mouth. “More than okay.”

He makes a soft sound of relief and nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his nose brushing your skin as he just breathes you in. You smile against his hair, your fingers grazing his undercut… until a dull, tingling ache starts to spread through your thighs.

You shift a little, wincing. “Okay, wait. My legs are going numb.”

Valko lifts his head, blinking at you for a second. Then a quiet chuckle rumbles out of him.

He carefully helps you untangle your legs from around his waist, one hand supporting your lower back while the other guides you down onto the mattress. You stretch out with a soft sigh of relief, the sheets cool against your overheated skin. Valko stays close for a second longer, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.

“Don’t move,” he murmurs. “I’ll be right back.”

He disappears into the bathroom and returns a moment later with a warm, damp towel. You feel a little flustered when he settles between your legs again, but the look on his face is so gentle and focused that you don’t stop him. He cleans you with careful strokes, the warmth of the cloth soothing against your skin.

When the towel grazes your still-sensitive folds, you flinch a little.

“Shh,” Valko soothes, caressing your thigh with his free hand. “Just a little more.”

He finishes with the same tender care, then leans down and presses a soft kiss to the inside of your knee.

“There,” he says, tossing the towel aside. “All clean.”

He crawls back up the bed and pulls you into his arms again, tucking your head under his chin. One hand starts slowly stroking up and down your back, warm and steady.

He murmurs your name against your hair, barely more than a breath. “You okay? Really?”

You nod, your cheek pressed to his chest. “Yeah… Just a little floaty.”

He makes a pleased sound and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Good,” he says quietly. “You were so beautiful like that. I loved every second of it.”

You smile against his skin, a little shy. “You didn’t have to clean me up, you know.”

“I wanted to.” His fingers keep tracing slow paths along your spine. “I like taking care of you.”

There’s a short, comfortable silence. Then he shifts just enough so he can look at you, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“You need anything?” he asks. “Water? Snacks? Or just me?”

You laugh softly and burrow closer. “Just you, baby.”

He chuckles and wraps both arms around you more securely.

“Alright then,” he says, settling back against the pillows with you. “You’ve got me.”

You began pouring yourself a glass of wine, before offering some to Zayne. You didn’t drink often, but you felt you’d be needing it tonight. He’d sent you a text throughout the day, warning you he needed to speak to you about something over dinner. 

Your stomach has been tangling itself in knots ever since. When he confirmed he didn’t want any of the chardonnay, you put it away and slid into the seat across from him. Even as you took your first, generous sip Zayne hasn’t spoken a word. 

He is taking another bite of the maple-glazed salmon when you finally broke the silence. “Is everything okay?” 

His green eyes moved from the plate in front of him to you, looking a little caught off-guard. “It’s delicious, is this a new recipe?” 

Your eyebrows furrowed as he brought up the dinner you’d made instead of the ominous text message from earlier. “Well, yes it is, but-” 

“You should make it more often.” His words came out a little muffled through the next bite of fish he’d gotten. 

“Thank you, but I wasn't talking about the food.” You clarify. Under the table you are worrying your napkin between your fingers. 

Zayne hums, his tongue darting out to lick off excess maple glaze lingering on his lips. The movement catches your attention and you find yourself gripping the napkin tightly. “Is something else the matter?” 

“I was talking about the text you sent earlier.” Your words seem to kickstart something in his brain as he sits up straighter. 

You mirror his movement, sitting up in your seat as you study the way the city’s lights are illuminating his features. Telepathically urging him to just get on with whatever he has to say. You prepared yourself for the worst, but a life altering confession never came. 

“There’s a charity gala I’ve been invited to as head of the cardio surgery department. I wanted to make sure you could come as my plus one.” 

You let out a breath of relief. “Is that all?”

He reaches for his glass of water, looking at you with a small quirk of his eyebrow. “Were you expecting something else?” 

You shake your head, if only to avoid his striking green eyes boring into you for another second. “I didn’t know what to expect to be honest.” 

As you look at him you can make out a smirk he’s hiding behind his glass. <em>Was he teasing you on purpose?</em> 

“It’s nothing to be nervous about.” His deep voice reaches your ears, having the opposite effect of what his words intend to do. You take another sip of chardonnay, the smooth liquid leaving a warmth in your throat. “However… there is a black tie dress code.” 

You ponder over your closet, thinking of the classiest dresses you own, before Zayne catches you by surprise once again. “You can pick out whatever dress you’d like. I’ll leave my card with you tomorrow.” 

“I’m sure I could find something in my closet.” In all honesty, you weren’t sure if you could. However, the idea of using his card to buy something for yourself was already making your palms sweat. 

“I insist, just make me aware of whatever you choose.” He’s so nonchalant with his request, resuming his meal without sparing you another glance. It seems the conversation is over since he’s decided on you buying a new dress. It’s only fair that he wants to see it. Make sure his money was used wisely. 

You down the rest of your wine before eating your own food. 

—

Days later, you find yourself in the guest bedroom, inspecting yourself in the full length mirror. The dress you picked out was as flattering as could be, along with the tallest heels you could walk in successfully. You’d chosen something backless, mainly because it was your favorite color and one of the cheaper options in the high-end dress store Zayne had recommended.

Just as you turn to grab your bag you hear three quiet knocks on the door. The guest bedroom was the first room Zayne had shown you on the tour of the penthouse. You’d taken it as his way of showing you the room he wanted you to stay in. Since then, he hadn’t come into the room uninvited. 

Your heels click across the hardwood floors as you make your way to the door. You open it to see Zayne on the other side, his eyes finding your face and then moving over your figure. “Ready to go?” He asks. 

You swallow thickly before nodding, your own gaze falls on the long neck-tie draped on his chest. The same shade of the dress you’re wearing. As if the wedding rings on your respective fingers weren’t enough to mark you as a pair, he’d gone the extra mile to match you. 

He reaches out his left hand, the gold of the ring glinting in the light of your room before you take it. He guides you all the way down to his sleek expensive car, opening your door and helping you in. 

You rationalize his actions, of course he wants to practice his appearances for the night. He couldn’t afford people talking about his marriage being fake. 

You weren’t sure what to expect from the gala, you were a little surprised to have Zayne taken from your side almost as soon as you arrived. One of his coworkers asked his advice for something urgent. You found yourself alone, standing against one of the walls of the fancy banquet hall. 

You were nursing a champagne you’d barely taken a sip of. Watching Zayne from across the room where he was engaged in a conversation with a group of important people. You didn’t notice the man sidle up to you, “All alone this evening?” 

He was tall, though not taller than Zayne. Dark brown hair and blue eyes, you couldn’t help but think he looks remarkably plain. Especially compared to your husband. You shake your head at his question, letting your left hand rise enough for him to see the large diamond. “I’m here with my husband.” 

He took the opportunity to grab your hand, shaking it gently before getting a look at the ring. “Simon, it’s lovely to meet you. Is your husband one of the doctors here tonight?” 

His touch left an uncomfortable feeling in your stomach. You introduced yourself before dropping his hand as quickly as you could. “My husband is over there.” 

You nod your head over in Zayne’s direction, but Simon doesn’t even turn his head. “Have you two been married long?” 

“A month.” You answer his question curtly, taking a sip of champagne to punctuate. 

“Newlyweds then.” He’s clearly grasping at straws to keep this conversation going. His eyes keep lingering over your body more than your face. You wish you had any excuse to leave the area, but Zayne is still clearly engrossed in whatever his colleagues are discussing. 

He speaks again, trying to get your attention back on him. “Is he treating you well?” 

Simon clearly has no reservations at making his intentions clear. You wonder if he’d bothered at looking at Zayne, if he’d still be so bold. You open your mouth to respond before a large hand is wrapping around your exposed back. 

“Dr. Zayne, head of the cardio department.” Your head snaps up to Zayne as he moves the hand not on your back to shake Simon’s. You’re not even sure how he’d managed to get over to you so quickly.

Simon looks intimidated to say the least, his face goes pale as his head moves to look up at Zayne. He takes the handshake, though it’s a late response. “Nice to meet you, I was just-”

Zayne cuts him off before he gets the chance to come up with an excuse. “Keeping my wife company?” 

You blush at the title, still unused to him calling you that. His warmth at your side is welcome, especially as the air conditioning nips at your exposed back. You fight the urge to lean in, Simon and the indistinct chatter of the party becoming afterthoughts. 

“I was just introducing myself, Doctor. No need to worry.” Simon was definitely trying to do more than introduce yourself, although you’re sure all three of you knew that already. 

“Well, it seems like your job here is done then.” You’ve never heard Zayne’s voice so… cold. You’re rethinking your previous assumption that Zayne disliked you. If this was how he spoke to those he truly dislikes. 

Simon seems to have gotten a burst of confidence, however. “With a wife as beautiful as yours, I wouldn’t leave her side.” You tense at his words, disturbed by the compliment and bracing yourself for Zayne’s response. 

“Luckily, I’m the one who gets to take her home and not you. I think it would be in your best interest to step away.” If your face could get any redder, it certainly does. 

Simon’s eyes go wide at Zayne’s comment. “Understood, have a good evening.” His expression is tight as he finally steps back. 

You don’t turn to look at Zayne until Simon has walked away, once you do he’s already looking at you. “Do you want to get out of here?” 

His hand hasn’t moved off your back, his voice has gained a softer tone. One you now know is reserved for you. You want to leave as soon as you can, but you don’t want to hold him back. “Do you have anyone else you need to talk to?”

“No one is as important as you.” Your breath hitches at his words. This is something you’ve never heard from Zayne before. Such an intimate expression, meant for your ears only. 

At your nod of approval, he guides you out of the banquet hall. He doesn’t spare a farewell to the group he was speaking to earlier, seemingly as desperate to escape as you. Perhaps, you were an excuse to leave. Even as you think that, his actions towards Simon make you second guess yourself. He seemed jealous, possessive even. You couldn't come up with <em>any</em> reason for such a genuine reaction. 

Unless Zayne was an incredible actor, you were pretty sure there was more to this arranged marriage than you had thought. 

Your mind races with thoughts up until Zayne locks the door behind you two. You move to head to your bedroom before he stops you. “Wait.” You turn, looking down at where his long slender fingers are wrapping loosely around your wrist. 

“I must apologize.” 

You blink up at him, utterly dumbfounded. “Apologize?” 

“For leaving you alone at the gala. I haven’t been fulfilling my duties as your husband. If you’re unhappy, I want you to speak your mind.” You take a minute to digest his words, over the course of the night your whole perception of Zayne has changed. 

He lets go of your wrist at your lack of response. Flexing his hand at his side instead, like he wants to reach out again, but is stopping himself. You finally find your voice. “Did you mean what you said?” 

He looks into your eyes with that piercing stare of his. “Of course.” 

You open your mouth, but close it once more. You wanted to ask about his previous actions, finally get the clarifications you’ve been searching for. He beats you to it, taking your hands in his. His touch stays as gentle as it always is, holding your hands tenderly. “You’re my wife. No one has any priority over you. If I’ve made you feel as though that’s not the case, I’d like to apologize for that as well.”

“Zayne.” The use of his name has him gripping your hands tighter for a fraction of a second. “I know our situation isn’t typical. I’m not expecting you to care for me in that way.” 

Oftentimes, trying to read his expression is like trying to read in a language you don’t speak. Now, when you look up at him, he looks <em>heartbroken.</em> 

“I do.” He speaks quietly. “Care for you.” 

The confession feels like a punch to the chest. You had no idea this was where the night would lead. You’re rendered speechless as he waits patiently for you to say anything. In your silence, he drops one of your hands to reach for your chin. He lifts your face until you’re looking at him. 

You can feel your heart beating against your ribs as you respond. “You make me so nervous.” 

Zayne hesitates in his movements, moving to take a step back before you stop him. You grip his hand tighter. “No, not like that.” You clarify before he can move further. 

“Of course I care for you. You’re one of the hottest men I’ve ever seen.” His eyebrows shoot up at that, he’s as shocked as you are that you’ve said that. You move on before the flush on your face can get any worse. “And I thought you didn’t like me. I’ve just been trying my best to make you happy, but you’re so hard to read. Every time I look at you, I have to stop myself from trying to get closer to you.” 

“You don’t have to stop yourself.” He blurts out. It’s the least control you’ve ever seen from him. “I’m sorry for making you think I didn’t like you. I’m more than happy to prove that <em>isn’t</em?> the case.”

You can’t help but think how backwards this all is. Getting married <em>and then</em> confessing your attraction for one another. You still have to clarify nonetheless. “Prove it how?” 

“However you’d like.” He lifts the hand still in his grip to his lips as he leaves a soft kiss there. 

You gasp quietly, the implication takes you by surprise as you picture the ways he could show you. His free hand grabs your waist, pulling you closer to his large frame. You try to stutter out a response, but your words come out stilted. 

“It seems like I’ve been neglecting my duties as your husband. Let me make it up to you.” He moves your hand he’s holding to his chest. You can feel the quick rate of his heart through his dress shirt, betraying his own nerves. His eyes catch your lips, making his intentions clear. “May I?” 

You nod in permission as he moves closer, stopping just before his lips can reach yours. “I need to hear you say it.” You think distantly that he is teasing you once again, but you give in. Letting out a breathless “<em>Yes,</em>” that he cuts off with the press of his lips. 

It isn’t your first time kissing, since you’d kissed at the altar. However, this is much different than the diplomatic kiss from before. His lips are <em>insistent</em> against yours. Pressing firmly before moving away to change the angle in the fraction of a second. He moves both of his hands to grab your hips, squeezing over the lavish material of your dress. The movement has you gasping against his lips. He uses the opening to slot his tongue over your lips. 

He tastes like the sweet puffs they were serving at the banquet and you couldn’t imagine anything sweeter than this moment. He pulls away to look over you intently, his eyes catching on your lips that must be swollen from his ministrations. 

His voice sounds deeper than normal when he speaks. “If I don’t stop now, I won’t be able to control myself.” 

You move your hand from his dress shirt to his tie. You tug it gently, having no problems finding his eyes now. “Don’t stop. Please.”

He looks a little surprised at your words, not expecting you to be so direct maybe. He uses his grip on your hips to move you backwards. “Is that what you really want?” 

With a quiet, “Yes, Zayne.” He’s carrying you bridal style towards his bedroom. Kicking the door open and sitting you down on the edge of the bed. He tears off his glasses before speaking. 

“Then allow me to consummate this marriage.” He pulls his tie off before taking off his suit jacket. The sight of him undressing in front of you causing you to squeeze your thighs together. 

His eyes are drawn to the movement, causing the side of his lips to quirk in amusement. Once all of his buttons are undone, showing off the lean muscles of his torso and chest he moves forward. One hand falls on your thigh while the other moves under the strap to your dress. “I know how you’re feeling darling. This dress was driving me mad.” 

His knee presses into the mattress on your side as he moves closer. His face finding your neck and trailing kisses back to your face. You whimper quietly, his teasing leaving you shaking. You reach his hand out for his belt, but he stops you before you can. 

“So impatient, let me prepare you first.” He allows you to put your hand on his shoulder as he kneels between your legs. The sight of him looking up at you leaves you biting down on your lip. 

He tsks, his thumb is warm as he smooths it over your lip. “Wanna hear you. Won’t you take your dress off for me?” 

You nod, your hands coming to slide the straps of your dress off, exposing your breasts to the open air. He moves his hands to help slide the dress off of you all the way. Leaving you in just your soaked panties in front of him. You want to look away, but his serious expression is captivating as his eyes rake over you. 

He takes the final step to hook his fingers on the edge of your panties, his hands still avoiding touching you anywhere but the meat of your thighs. “Zayne…” His name comes out in a whine, your hands gripping the sheets on either side of you. 

He hums, his face moving closer to your thigh so he can leave a wet kiss there. “Love it when you say my name.” He drags his tongue closer to your core, before pulling his face away to look at you. 

“Please…” You trail off, your voice failing when he stands up. 

“Please what?” He lifts up one of your legs to help you lie on the bed. Climbing over you as he braces one of his arms beside your head. His other hand touches your breast, kneading slightly. 

“Touch me.” You tell him, though you think the way your hips lift for friction is enough to display what you want. 

“I am touching you.” His thumb tweeks your nipple as proof, a stilted moan spills from your lips. 

You’re sure your face is bright red at this point, though he must enjoy the sight because his eyes are glued to your face. “Please Zayne, touch my pussy.” 

He leans forward until his mouth is close to your ears, he murmurs a quiet, “Good girl.” To accompany his praise, two of his slender fingers part your folds, sliding easily through the slick. “You’re so wet for me, almost ready for my cock?” 

You mewl loudly as he precisely circles your clit. Your thighs clamp down on his hand, trapping it over your heat. His filthy words only make you wetter, gushing over his digits. You hadn’t thought he’d be so vulgar, but you certainly aren’t complaining. “Hah… I’m ready, Zayne.” 

He groans in response, his lips pressing over your neck and down to your collarbone. You move one of your legs up until it makes contact with his groin, feeling evidence of his own arousal. His dick is rock hard where it’s straining against the slacks he never took off. The second he feels your leg against it, his hand moves away from your pussy, making you whine. 

“So needy… you just need me to fill you up that bad? When I’m trying to take my time with you?” He moves his face away from the mark he was leaving on your collarbone to look at you. 

You find it hard to keep eye contact when his green eyes are looking at you so sternly, but you manage it. “Yes, please. I need you.” 

His Adam apple bobs as he swallows, seemingly thinking it over before coming to his conclusion. “So be it.” He leans away from you, his hands coming to undo his belt and push his dress pants off. He isn’t taking his time anymore, his movements are hurried until the offending clothing is thrown on the floor. 

You can’t help yourself from glancing down at his leaking cock, red and swollen from being neglected. He pumps it slowly from the base to the tip as he looks over your exposed body. You fight the urge to close your thighs. Focusing instead on the quiet huffs coming from his mouth, the previously stoic man you once knew finally losing his cool. 

You think about sitting up and putting him in your mouth, your own needs falling to the sidelines, but before you can he’s moving forward. He grabs either of your legs to wrap around himself so there’s enough room for him to slide between them. You let out a whimper as his member makes contact over your pussy, grazing your clit. 

He lets out a small grunt in response, taking intense focus as he lines himself up in front of you. “Are you ready to take me darling?” 

The words make you shiver, but you manage to let out a small affirmation. As soon as it’s out of your mouth, he’s slowly sheathing himself in you. You aren’t sure if he’s taking his time to tease you more, or if he’s being considerate. Regardless, the way his cock splits you open as you arch against him has you reaching up to grab his shoulders. 

“Zayne…” His name comes out high-pitched and breathy. His stoic expression cracks at the noise, his eyes shut as he focuses on the feeling of your walls squeezing over every vein of his member. 

You feel stretched open by the time he’s fully buried in your core. The hand not bracing himself up has come to hold onto your hip tightly, like he’s stopping himself from pounding into you right away. You reply by tightening your legs around him, the heel of your foot pressing into his back. 

His eyes open when he begins to slide out of you, making sure he can watch your expression once he thrusts into you. Your mouth falls open in surprise as he manages to hit your g-spot with the first thrust. He smirks slightly, like he’s proud of himself before he slides his hand up to cup your face. “Ready for more?” 

You want to shout that you’ve been ready this whole time. Instead, his fingers slide into your mouth, allowing you to suck on them while he starts to thrust into you rhythmically. Your hips move in time with his, allowing him to slide into you even deeper. The blinding friction you’ve been waiting for has you digging your nails into his shoulders.

His head falls forward, losing focus as you hear him groan beside your ear. “Take me so good, love the way you squeeze me.” You’re moaning around his fingers, even as some drool manages to leak from the sides of your lips. 

As his speed picks up, you can feel where your shared arousal has begun to pool at the base of his cock. He moves his fingers out of your mouth, making a path down to your clit before getting distracted by your pert nipples. Without his fingers stunting the noise, you moan loudly as he pinches the sensitive bud between his soaked fingers. 

He moves his face back to yours when his hand finally reaches its destination on your bundle of nerves. He’s more than pleased when your face contorts with pleasure at the added stimulation. “Are you close? Going to cum around my cock?” 

You try to nod, but he slows down his speed when you don’t respond. “Want to hear you.” 

“Yes! I’m almost there Zayne, don’t stop.” Your desperation for him to keep moving allows you to shout out, which he takes in stride. 

He loses his rhythm, chasing his own finish while his lips find yours in a messy kiss. His tongue licks over yours as small grunts escape the back of his throat. Your hands rake down his back, searching for something to ground yourself since you feel your orgasm approaching. 

You finish in tandem, feeling the warmth of his cum spilling inside you. Your kiss loses its momentum as you call out loudly. Zayne is quiet, but you can feel his whole body shake against you while he grinds the tail-end of his orgasm against you. 

He leans back to look over at your spent expression once both of your aftershocks have subsided. Zayne himself looks prostrate, his eyes lidded and his dark hair sticking to his forehead. You move one of your hands to run through his hair as he looks at you fondly. “Thank you.” He whispers. 

You aren’t sure if it’s for your action, or for the sex as a whole. You think it’s a little silly for him to thank his own wife for such things, but you’re touched nonetheless. You lean forward to peck his lips once more. 

Even after all the lewd acts you’ve just done, the kiss brings a redness to the tips of his ears that wasn’t there before. <em>Cute</em> is the word you’d use to describe him. 

Eventually, he has to pull out of you, though he seems pained to do so. He moves to the attached bathroom of the main bedroom to grab a towel. You almost melt into the sheets when you feel the warm towel he wipes you with. He’s very methodical, making sure you’re thoroughly clean before discarding the towel and offering you one of his shirts to wear. 

“Is this okay?” He’s sure to ask, in case you would prefer your own clothes instead. 

Of course you’re more than okay with wearing his shirt and you slip it over your head gratefully. You almost panic when he leaves the room, but you’re pleased when he comes back with a glass of cold water for you. On his way back in, he admires the sight of you in his bed until he dims the lights. He puts it on the nightstand before slipping under the sheets beside you. 

He reaches out to pull you against him before pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder. “Are you going to start sleeping in here from now on?” He asks into the darkness.