jupe

anywhere, anytime - he couldn't care less.

much like this fleeting moment.

"don't stop me" he implores - his voice just above a whisper.

it's slow, deliberate - almost torturous - the way he sinks to his knees, in front of you. the raw, crimson fire behind his eyes burned every inch of your flesh, his gaze holding you hostage in his personal descent to the pits of hell.

a barmy, nearly deranged 'thud' whips though the stagnant, closet room air. his body stills. his muscles scream, shout, beg for mercy. trembling and painfully stretching under the immense force of his resolution. sylus looks up at you - his massive frame pitifully hunched backwards, allowing you to see every quivering inch of his regret.

his arms dangle lifelessly, by his sides - as though hollowed out, devoid of every purpose. his big, slender fingers twitch; spasming in a yearning, debauched dance.

"touch me," he soughs - brushing the ghost of his lips against the soft, silky skin of your forefinger. "please, grant me the weight of your presence"

"sylus . ." you sigh - feeling every millimetre of restraint and anger rapidly drift away from the depth of your system.

reluctantly, you rest a hand over his face, sluggishly caressing the sharp, rough edges of his jaw. sylus moans into your touch - eyes shamelessly rolling in the back of his skull as the faintest of frictions settles, like the prettiest of snowflakes, over his searing flesh.

"fuck, harder" a guttural, bestial growl rumbles in his throat, the second his face buries into the iciness of your naked palm. you gasp, biting your desires into the plush of your bottom lip, as soon as his evol slithers around your body. vivid, almost incandescent spikes of red creep, like untameable vines, across your arm. guiding, no pushing your hand closer, deeper over his face. "let me feel you"

your finger close around the prominent, defined arch of his jaw. cupping his face into 'your' hold, you lead his face closer to your body, letting the moonlit arch of his nose scrape against the lacy texture of your dress.

"huh, that's it — fuuuck, let me properly apologise to you, kitten" a filthy, crazed smiles wildly tugs at his lips. "put it all on me, yeah? let me be the bearer of you anger — fuckin' use me"

without wasting another precious second, sylus clasps one of his enormous hand over your thigh. coddling, squeezing your flesh in between the famished hold of his fingers. without ever breaking the erotic encounter between your eyes, he lowers his head. grazing his teeth over your thigh, white, feathery strands of hair tickle your sensitive flesh.

he bites his mark, deep into your system.

you gasp, abandoning your head to rest against the firm wooden frame of the door - entwining your fingers around the faint, almost useless strap of your dress.

biting back a pathetic, pitchy whine, he lifts your leg upwards, hiking your trembling limb over his broad, muscular shoulder. in a heartbeat, he dives his face in between your thighs, grinding the bridge of his nose over your swollen nub.

"'m sorry," he mumbles.

in a wretched, despair filled motion, he uncovers the hidden, heavenly form of your pussy. his lips close around your clit, harshly sucking the little, hardening nub into the darkness of his mouth.

his tongue laps, grinds, dances across your drenched folds - gathering every bit of your nectarine juices.

"fuck, baby — 'm sorry —" 'sluuurp!' "so fucking sorry — please, god . . you're shaking — fuckfuckfuck!"

♱⋅── MDNI just horny thoughts about zayne, once again.

"Zayne is such a wonderful husband."

The entire hospital knows of the mystery lady who seems to be the only thing more important to the man than surgery itself. The one who, if you ask about the cute homemade bento box or a cup of caramel coffee (with whipped cream on top) and a sticky note on the side, will say, “my wife got it for me,” with a smile that you might have thought impossible for him to make.

"Zayne is such a wonderful husband."

Even your apartment neighbors know him as such, the sweet elderly lady on your left always greeting him with a hug and a coy smile, asking what goodies he brought for you today. It’s his own fault, really, always bringing back a new bouquet of flowers, groceries he noticed you running out of, or a new pile of books you begged him to pick up from the library on his way over. 

"Zayne is such a wonderful husband."

Especially in your eyes. 

Especially when he’s been stuck in the hospital or on a god-forsaken business trip, pushed away from you for days (although he insists anything more than 24 hours is unbearable enough), and nothing can keep him from you once he returns.

He’s such a wonderful husband, especially when he has you on your back, gasping for air and mercy you don’t want as he forces your legs up higher, quivering thighs shoved against your chest. 

COWBOY CALEBBBBB ART BY:

Reblog this if you want readers to come into your ask box and ask for the “director’s commentary” on a particular story, section of a story, or set of lines. 

Not only does his tail look so regal and beautiful the movements are so fluid!? Oh not to mention his hip movent is so freaking SEXY LIKE DAYUM I could watch that for hooours. me next I mean what