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“Isaac, I don't own any shoes that are suitable for a gala” you say with frustration. One of Isaac's old colleagues is retiring and he invited us, sadly, you own zero pairs of chic shoes. “Mhm” he says, pursing his lips. “Wait right here” he says whilst walking away. You see him heading to his parents' old room, clearly in search of something.
“Got it!” You hear him mumble. “Isaac? Honey? What do you have?” You ask with curiosity. He brings out ...red bottomed shoes!!!????
“Isaac! What are those!?” You say with shock. Clearly Isaac doesn't know the significance of red bottomed shoes. “Uhm, shoes” he says casually. Shoes!? Shoes!? Red bottomed shoes aren't just shoes. “These were my moms/dad's, they seem to be your footsize” he says. “Here, let me put them on you” he says, leading you to the sofa.
You're still shocked by the fact that you get to wear such expensive shoes, I mean, You knew his family was rich but still! These shoes are expensive as fuck.
Okay wait, this is a Cinderella moment, stop procrastinating!
You sit down and he kneels before you, he slowly slides the shoe on. “Ah, perfect fit” he says, looking at you. You swear you could just kiss him. But then again, did he find those stupid posted notes of you saving money for red bottoms at your old apartment. “Do you like them?” He asks.
“Yes! I love them!” You say excitedly. “I knew you would like them” he says, getting up. What!? How!? Oh no, he found the stupid posted notes didn't he. “Uhhhh, how?” You say, clearly on edge. “You mutter ‘red bottom’ in your sleep” he says, chuckling slightly. WHAT!? since when??? “What!?” You say loudly, getting up off the couch. “Yeah” he says, laughing louder.
“Stop laughing!” You say smacking his arm. Gosh that's so embarrassing. Imagine dreaming about shoes, literal shoes. “Don't worry, it's cute” he says.
“Okay stop flirting, I just like my red bottom soles” you say, shrugging.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
different versions and some also suggestive (🗣️) doodles
Your honor they are absolute freaks and no one can convince me otherwise. Also you'll never guess how many times i had to redo the render, and I'm STILL NOT SATISFIED YAYYY but fuck it
WTF i just checked and I've been working on this drawing since may what
HONEY WHISKEY; ISAAC RHOADES. 3.5k wc && ao3 mirror.
SUMMARY: isaac works too hard. you want to give him something warm and sweet.
CWS: explicit sexual content, established relationship, dom/sub dynamics + undertones, handjob, fingering, nipple play, mild praise kink, aftercare, domestic fluff, kitchen sex, emotionally vulnerable sex, hurt/comfort, non-penetrative sex, gender neutral reader, mild breath play, cum eating, hand & finger kink.
A/N: this is my first time writing something explicit, so please be kind. i wanted to write something soft and intimate that felt true to Isaac’s character—someone who struggles to accept love but desperately deserves it.
First, line the loaf pan with parchment paper.
You tried to lightly brush the pan with oil to help the parchment stick to the pan. Lightly didn’t exactly click in your mind, because you’re sure you added a tad bit too much.
You click your tongue. Eyes darting around the kitchen, you swallow at the sight of the bread flour on the counter. You’ve set down a rectangular navy plate—from Isaac’s costlier tableware—on the table next to the counter. You figured it would be better to keep the dish away from the absolute mess you’ve made; flour on your fingers, still sticky from the honey.
Where did you place that whisk?
The honey is, unfortunately, too hot. Your lips thin, frowning. You could have sworn you kept it stored well to ensure the temperature. The scent of vanilla and honey does not distract you from the fact that you need to speed up if you want to get the Kasutera. (Upon research away from Isaac’s watchful eye, you found out that it carries the name Nagasaki cake).
It’s a delicate, honey-sweetened sponge cake that requires the utmost precision to get right; a notoriously difficult dessert to bake properly. You’re not sure what you were thinking when you picked this of all the Japanese desserts you could have chosen. Let’s just hope you can finish baking before he gets back. An empty house is perfect for preparing a gift for him; he works so hard. Though, you’re sure the house itself is not so satisfied by the mess you’ve made of the kitchen.
Isaac had raised a brow when you asked for a specific brand of honey—local or wildflower. Though you were able to distract him long enough to avoid explaining why. Not to mention the water syrup—Mizuame—is needed for the traditional recipe.
“You require…” Isaac tilts his head from the countless files sprawled across his desk, “Repeat that for me again?”
“Water syrup,” you affirm with a nod. “Oh, and honey. Not artificial, local.”
Isaac’s lips curl so slightly that someone who did not know how to read the subtle changes in his face would not notice the small smile. But you know. And you did notice it. Your lips follow in tandem despite the feeling of your shaky hands and sweaty palms.
“Alright.” He shifts his chair away from the desk, now facing you. “Indulge me for a second. Why do you need water syrup exactly? Not to mention the honey. Should I be expecting something from you?”
Your breaths frantically shiver between your rib cage. The air somehow is hotter and heavier. If you didn’t have a clandestine mission to surprise him for once instead of him turning the tables on you, you might have decided to tell him the truth. But the tenseness in his shoulder, twitching in his fingers and dark eye bags remind you why you started all of this in the first place.
You step closer, thigh now between his parted legs. His eyes do not leave your frame for a single second. You could get drunk on his gaze; irises blurred over with your mirrored desire that rivals the taste and sight of the most intoxicating wine.
You push forward.
Your leg brushes against his inner thigh. Your mind reels when you feel his body slightly twitch against yours. You place a hand on the chair’s armrest. Isaac gives no sound or touch to signal you to stop, other than a breathy gasp. Taking that as a yes, you place your right hand above his abdomen.
The air felt even heavier, but there’s a force pulling you closer to Isaac. The bemused look on his face spurs you on.
“Sweetheart,” he breathes out; music to your ears—
“Pickle?”
Crap.
You freeze, whisk still in hand. Flour dusts your apron as if you were in a snowstorm. The kitchen is in absolute disarray—melted honey, butter, and sugar cooked together in a pot; amber-hued residue on the stove top, spoon, and saucepan rim. You’re in the middle of it, honeyed fingers still sticky. You turn around, trying to block the messy counter.
Isaac is standing in the doorway. His expression is always neutral, almost pensive and melancholic, but this time, there is something else in his gaze. A small glint of curiosity mixed with the amused raise of his lips.
“You’re home early.” You note, with your voice a little too high.
His head leans to the side. For a moment, he just watches you. You feel small under his gaze; pinned down like you’re playing a game of cat and mouse. Too bad for him, two can play at that game.
“Everything wrapped up better than I expected.” His voice is smooth, and words spill from his lips like a river.
He takes a step closer. You notice that he looks a tad bit more disheveled than usual—slightly tussled hair; blazer gone, only left with his pristine white button-up. Your eyes trail to the top, undone buttons; his skin peeks out. Sweat lightly coats his neck and temples. Probably from the heat.
“Really?” You mirror the way Isaac has tilted his head. “Here I thought you came back early because you missed me.”
Isaac closes the distance between you quicker than you expected. Your chest tightens, hands grip the counter tighter. You might slip, considering how the growing heat in the room is making your palms sweat.
“Couldn’t keep me out of your mind?”
You scoff. “It’ll take a lot more than that for you to get an answer out of me.”
“I don’t doubt that I could get anything—” he hums, “—out of you. Move to the side.”
Isaac’s voice sends shivers down your spine. As much as you’d like to push back, say something akin to a bite to see that controlled and amused smile wiped off his pretty face.
His hand lifts and snakes around your waist. The skin, even beneath the layer of clothes, burns at the touch as if his fingers were akin to a cold burn. You bite your lip as you let him lead you away from the counter.
“What happened here?” You swear you can hear the way his voice has that familiar tone of sing-song mirth.
You stand behind him. Lying your head on the back of his shoulder, you snort lightly. He slightly turns his head. His lips graze the top of your head. You wonder if he’ll reward you with a small kiss. You know he’s a giver, but not before making you work and beg for it.
You sigh, knowing you can’t exactly lie to him. He’ll know in an instant. You’ve already gotten used to the fact that he knows you like the back of your hand.
“I…” you try to find the proper words. “I wanted to surprise you.”
Isaac’s eyes widen. You could get lost in the way his pupils dilate when his gaze is on you.
“Surprise me?”
“Well, you work so hard—”
“So do you, pickle.”
“Let me finish.” Your hands wrap around him from behind.
Isaac breathes in deeply. He can feel the rapid beat of your heart against his back and he’s sure you can feel his too. Your honeyed hands trail up his shirt, taking home against his chest.
He sure is easy to catch off guard with the right… touches. You wonder what other sounds you could coax out of him.
“You’ve been spending even more nights in your office.”
“Are you upset that I leave you alone at night?”
“I visit, don’t I?” Your fingers trace shapes mindlessly on his shirt, nails catching on the buttons. “But that’s not it. I do miss you, but I wanted to make you something you could enjoy. Like a sweet dessert. Unfortunately, I was a tad too overconfident.”
“Tad?” Isaac smiles while wiping a finger on the flour dusted across the counter.
You roll your eyes. “You’re welcome, by the way. It’s a honey cake. Kasutera, I think. Should have chosen something easier.”
You free one hand, lifting it to the melted honey. The liquid is heavy and warm on your finger.
“Is that the honey you asked me to purchase for you?”
“Yes,” you chirp. “How nice of you to get me everything I ask for. How so—”
A chuckle vibrates in his body. The feeling reaches your chest. You take a step closer, taking note of how his leg instinctively gives you a piece of opening to slide a thigh between.
“—very obedient.”
“What do you want?” Isaac’s voice is heavier. Not need— want. Like you’re being a brat, pushing his buttons. Like he’s waiting for you to have your fun before he has his own.
He knows you so well.
You raise your honey-covered fingers just a breath away from his lips. “Want a taste?”
Isaac’s breath is caged in his throat. A crooked smile forms on his lips. His hands grip the counter, just where you were just a second ago. His mind is wrapped in a euphoric haze, bordering on erotic because of what you’ve just asked of him.
He’ll deliver, he always does. Not once has he ever disappointed your whims and fantasies. Though after entertaining you, he’ll want—no—need even more.
Isaac’s hand leaves the countertop. He snatches your wrist. He can feel your chest shift against his back in surprise. He’d drink in the sight of your eyes, locked onto how he takes your fingers in, tongue wrapping around you. Though he realizes you planned all of this to give yourself the upper hand, leaving him purely to his senses while you watch entranced.
“I’ll indulge you.” His lips graze the inside of your wrist, feeling the unsteady pulse under the hot skin. “For now.”
Isaac’s lips part. You almost gasp at the sight. He takes your honey-covered fingers into his mouth. His tongue curls around the tip, and you sense the warmth of his mouth, every deliberate graze of his lips along your fingers, the heated flicks of his tongue as he parts your fingers. Or maybe you parted them. Honestly, because of your hazy mind, you can’t really tell.
He abruptly stops, and you whine at the slight suction as he pulls away, at the loss of touch.
He hums, considering. “Sweet.”
“Just sweet?”
His hand catches your wrist, holding you there. He brings your finger to his lips again, kissing the tip this time. “Like you. Do you want to taste it?”
Isaac slowly turns away from the counter, now facing you. His gaze is heavy upon your form, but you don’t break or bend. Your straightened spine, ghost of a smile now replaced with your sweet lips slightly parted.
“You already know my answer.” You say with a hiss escaping your lips.
“I want to hear you say it.”
A small scoff leaves you. “Seriously?”
“Is that a no?”
Of course it’s not. He knows that.
“You’re messing with me on purpose.”
His hand reaches your cheek, cradling the skin with the softest touch you’ll ever know in your life. It’s cut short as his hand lowers to your jaw. You swallow. His lips curl at the sight.
“Maybe I am—” he doesn’t get to finish the sentence. Not before your hands grip his collar.
His lips feel so familiar. You’ve tasted the peppermint on his tongue so many times, but every time you do, the sensation lights your skin on fire.
A small gasp from Isaac is muffled by your lips. The knots in his shoulders seem to dissipate. His body melts into yours— one hand on your back, trailing up your spine, making you arch into him. Your chest grazes his own. He moves his hand from your jaw and presses it into the clothed flesh of your hip.
Your knees weaken just for a moment. Isaac catches the change in balance, using the moment to slip his leg between your parted thighs.
“You’re eager.” You tease, already feeling his arousal graze the inside of your thigh. “I could help with that.”
“You will.”
You giggle as he pushes you against the table. There’s barely any space between you. The need to feel his bare skin under your hands becomes more and more unbearable with every passing teasing second. He’s enjoying this so much— collar left open, button up clutched in your hand, eyes dark with craving only you can satisfy.
His lips find your neck, and you tilt your head, giving him access. He hums into your skin in approval. His teeth graze your pulse point, making you lean your head back. The glide of his lips is taunting.
Your hands trail to his belt, fingers hooking through the loops. You coax him closer. The table’s surface is cold against your clothed skin; the temperature change makes you ache.
“How do you feel?” You can barely make out the sound of Isaac’s words.
You’re a mess of muffled giggles and whispers as he pulls away. His lips have turned red and flushed, and the sight is downright sinful to look at.
“I feel—” you move your fingers to his belt, asking for permission, “—like the dessert I made tasted good. But…”
He’s towering over you now. Letting out a soft laugh, his hand traces the same shapes you did on him just a few moments ago.
“Not enough for you?”
“Not nearly.”
He’s left breathless, and you want to push him even more. See him unravel under your fingertips.
“You can let go, you know.” You’re fine with begging, no matter how it makes your mind spiral.
“Greedy.” He tuts.
“What can I say?” The words tumble out of you as his hands lie on top of yours, guiding you while undoing his belt. “I like sweet things.”
“Take your fill then.”
He lets out a shaky gasp as you trail your fingers down his exposed abdomen. Your lips curl. The twitch of his own lips sends electricity through your nerves. You don’t break eye contact, too hungry to let go of the blurry way his eyes tear slightly at your teasing hands.
“You’re stalling,” he spits out through unsteady breaths.
“Greedy,” you repeat his words back at him. “Do you have any idea how it excites me that even though I am the one basically pinned to the table, you’re the one unraveling. Literally.”
His jaw tightens. You watch him fight for control— and lose. His lips part—a gasp, whine—you’re not sure. You don’t let him finish.
Your hand slips beneath his waistband, finding him warm and hard. He gasps—a sharp, broken sound—and his forehead drops to yours. You flick your wrist near the base of his cock, trailing slowly up till you reach his tip—wet, you note.
“There you go…” You whisper near his ear, teeth grazing his lobe.
Your fingers glide over the flushed tip, forming a gentle hold over his length. His head drops into the crook of your neck. You hear him barely forming the words—
“What about you?”
“What about me?” You are too busy tracing the vein along his cock right back down to the base. “Tonight isn’t about me. You coming undone in my hands is enough to sate me for the entire night.”
Isaac’s breathing speeds up. You can see how today’s stress melts off his shoulders. He curls into you, closer, and needier. You readjust, coaxing his voice higher. His hips twitch under your moving hand. The physical sensations are completely drowned out by the rush you’re instilling in him.
But, of course, he can’t let you have all the fun.
His shaking hand rises, tracing up your abdomen.
“Isaac—”
Your skin twitches as his fingers trace your collarbone, completely missing your chest. Your brows furrow.
“What are you planning?” Your wrist flicks again, holding just below his cock.
He doesn’t answer. His fingers find the sides of your neck first, cradling the column of your throat. His thumbs press against your pulse points, feeling the rapid, unsteady beat beneath your skin.
“I need to feel you,” he breathes. “Please. I need to feel you.”
You swallow. He feels it—the movement of your throat beneath his palms. His gaze is completely unguarded.
“You’re feeling me right now,” you say, your voice falling back into the same fit of soft giggles and gasps.
He shakes his head. “Not enough.”
His hands trail down slowly from your neck to your chest. His palms press flat against the fabric of your shirt, feeling the heat of your skin beneath. His thumbs find your nipples through the cotton, circling them in slow, measured strokes.
Your breath catches. Your hips press forward, and you sense him twitch against your wrist.
“Sensitive,” he murmurs. You can’t tell if it’s an observation or him teasing you.
“Isaac.”
“I want to make you feel good too.” His voice is rough and strained. “Let me. Please, sweetheart.”
His hands press a little harder against your chest, pinching and rolling your nipples through the fabric. “I want to make you feel as good as you’re making me feel. I want to touch you, taste you, hear you. I want—” He swallows. “I want to do something for you. For once.”
You shake your head, knowing the one thing he cannot stand to even think of is not being enough to please, protect, and satisfy you.
“Isaac,” you call his name again, and this time his hand slowly leaves your chest. “I already told you that tonight is about you. This is what I want. Is it what you want as well?”
There’s a storm in his eyes. Though it does not last for long before he’s bucking his hips back into your wrapped fist. A yes, barely above a whisper, is all you need.
Your hand slips lower, pressing into the sensitive skin just behind his balls. He jerks against you, a shudder running through his whole body.
“There,” he breathes, his voice catching. “Please—"
You press harder, circling the spot with your thumb. His hips buck into your hand, desperate and uncoordinated.
“That’s it,” you murmur against his ear. “Let go, Isaac. I’ve got you.”
Your thumb finds the sensitive ridge beneath the head of his cock, and you circle it slowly. He makes a sound—not quite a moan, not quite a whimper—and his face hides deeper into the crook of your neck.
His whole body tenses against yours. You feel the way his breath hitches, the way his hands grip your waist.
“I’m—” His voice breaks.
“I know.” You press harder against that sensitive ridge, and he cries out—a broken, desperate sound that makes your chest ache. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
He does. His body arches against yours. You feel the warmth of him, the way he shakes, the sound he makes—raw and vulnerable and completely, utterly yours.
You hold him through it. Your hand slows, stroking him gently through the aftershocks. Your other hand finds the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair.
“I’ve got you,” you repeat. “I’m right here.”
His hands tremble against your waist, along with breathing hitching, uneven, and broken.
“I’m here,” you say again.
He lifts his head. His eyes are red-rimmed, his cheeks flushed. His lips are parted, still catching his breath. He looks wrecked—and beautiful.
“Shh.” You press a kiss to his forehead. “Don’t say anything.”
Slowly, deliberately, you bring your honey and cum slicked fingers to your lips. His eyes widen, tracking the movement—watching you taste him, taste the honey, taste the heated moment that passed between you two.
You let your tongue curl around your fingers. The honey is still sweet, warm, mixed with the salt of his skin. You hum, considering.
“Sweet,” you say, echoing his words from earlier. “Just like you promised.”
He stares at you, completely undone. His lips part, but no words come out.
“What?” you ask, innocent. “You didn’t think I’d let you have all the fun?”
He shakes his head, a breathless laugh escaping him. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Probably.” You lick the last of the mixed liquid from your thumb. “But what a way to go.”
He pulls you closer, burying his face in your neck again. You feel his smile against your skin.
+++
“You’re going to get my sheets wet if you don’t stand still.”
Your hair is still wet from the shower—a shared one the two of you took—that simmered warmth down your nerves in an instant. You didn’t think Isaac could look even more relaxed, but here he is—a soft smile tugging on his lips as he holds a hair-dryer in his hand.
“Your sheets?”
“Our sheets.”
“Getting the sheets wet is also a particular choice of words,” you smirk. “Actually, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were asking for round two. Can’t get enough of me, huh?”
He turns the dryer on before you can continue. You pout, but the feeling is short-lived. His hand trails to your nape. Hairs stand on end. Isaac guides you with his palm against your neck. The warm air is blowing past your ears, but it can’t drown out the gentle beat of your heart.
“You need rest, pickle.”
“Stay with me?”
The hair-dryer turns off. He places a chaste kiss on the top of your head. You chuckle as the sensation.
“Of course.”
thank you so much for reading! reblogs and input are appreciated. 💌
HONEY WHISKEY; ISAAC RHOADES. 3.5k wc && ao3 mirror.
SUMMARY: isaac works too hard. you want to give him something warm and sweet.
CWS: explicit sexual content, established relationship, dom/sub dynamics + undertones, handjob, fingering, nipple play, mild praise kink, aftercare, domestic fluff, kitchen sex, emotionally vulnerable sex, hurt/comfort, non-penetrative sex, gender neutral reader, mild breath play, cum eating, hand & finger kink.
A/N: this is my first time writing something explicit, so please be kind. i wanted to write something soft and intimate that felt true to Isaac’s character—someone who struggles to accept love but desperately deserves it.
First, line the loaf pan with parchment paper.
You tried to lightly brush the pan with oil to help the parchment stick to the pan. Lightly didn’t exactly click in your mind, because you’re sure you added a tad bit too much.
You click your tongue. Eyes darting around the kitchen, you swallow at the sight of the bread flour on the counter. You’ve set down a rectangular navy plate—from Isaac’s costlier tableware—on the table next to the counter. You figured it would be better to keep the dish away from the absolute mess you’ve made; flour on your fingers, still sticky from the honey.
Where did you place that whisk?
The honey is, unfortunately, too hot. Your lips thin, frowning. You could have sworn you kept it stored well to ensure the temperature. The scent of vanilla and honey does not distract you from the fact that you need to speed up if you want to get the Kasutera. (Upon research away from Isaac’s watchful eye, you found out that it carries the name Nagasaki cake).
It’s a delicate, honey-sweetened sponge cake that requires the utmost precision to get right; a notoriously difficult dessert to bake properly. You’re not sure what you were thinking when you picked this of all the Japanese desserts you could have chosen. Let’s just hope you can finish baking before he gets back. An empty house is perfect for preparing a gift for him; he works so hard. Though, you’re sure the house itself is not so satisfied by the mess you’ve made of the kitchen.
Isaac had raised a brow when you asked for a specific brand of honey—local or wildflower. Though you were able to distract him long enough to avoid explaining why. Not to mention the water syrup—Mizuame—is needed for the traditional recipe.
“You require…” Isaac tilts his head from the countless files sprawled across his desk, “Repeat that for me again?”
“Water syrup,” you affirm with a nod. “Oh, and honey. Not artificial, local.”
Isaac’s lips curl so slightly that someone who did not know how to read the subtle changes in his face would not notice the small smile. But you know. And you did notice it. Your lips follow in tandem despite the feeling of your shaky hands and sweaty palms.
“Alright.” He shifts his chair away from the desk, now facing you. “Indulge me for a second. Why do you need water syrup exactly? Not to mention the honey. Should I be expecting something from you?”
Your breaths frantically shiver between your rib cage. The air somehow is hotter and heavier. If you didn’t have a clandestine mission to surprise him for once instead of him turning the tables on you, you might have decided to tell him the truth. But the tenseness in his shoulder, twitching in his fingers and dark eye bags remind you why you started all of this in the first place.
You step closer, thigh now between his parted legs. His eyes do not leave your frame for a single second. You could get drunk on his gaze; irises blurred over with your mirrored desire that rivals the taste and sight of the most intoxicating wine.
You push forward.
Your leg brushes against his inner thigh. Your mind reels when you feel his body slightly twitch against yours. You place a hand on the chair’s armrest. Isaac gives no sound or touch to signal you to stop, other than a breathy gasp. Taking that as a yes, you place your right hand above his abdomen.
The air felt even heavier, but there’s a force pulling you closer to Isaac. The bemused look on his face spurs you on.
“Sweetheart,” he breathes out; music to your ears—
“Pickle?”
Crap.
You freeze, whisk still in hand. Flour dusts your apron as if you were in a snowstorm. The kitchen is in absolute disarray—melted honey, butter, and sugar cooked together in a pot; amber-hued residue on the stove top, spoon, and saucepan rim. You’re in the middle of it, honeyed fingers still sticky. You turn around, trying to block the messy counter.
Isaac is standing in the doorway. His expression is always neutral, almost pensive and melancholic, but this time, there is something else in his gaze. A small glint of curiosity mixed with the amused raise of his lips.
“You’re home early.” You note, with your voice a little too high.
His head leans to the side. For a moment, he just watches you. You feel small under his gaze; pinned down like you’re playing a game of cat and mouse. Too bad for him, two can play at that game.
“Everything wrapped up better than I expected.” His voice is smooth, and words spill from his lips like a river.
He takes a step closer. You notice that he looks a tad bit more disheveled than usual—slightly tussled hair; blazer gone, only left with his pristine white button-up. Your eyes trail to the top, undone buttons; his skin peeks out. Sweat lightly coats his neck and temples. Probably from the heat.
“Really?” You mirror the way Isaac has tilted his head. “Here I thought you came back early because you missed me.”
Isaac closes the distance between you quicker than you expected. Your chest tightens, hands grip the counter tighter. You might slip, considering how the growing heat in the room is making your palms sweat.
“Couldn’t keep me out of your mind?”
You scoff. “It’ll take a lot more than that for you to get an answer out of me.”
“I don’t doubt that I could get anything—” he hums, “—out of you. Move to the side.”
Isaac’s voice sends shivers down your spine. As much as you’d like to push back, say something akin to a bite to see that controlled and amused smile wiped off his pretty face.
His hand lifts and snakes around your waist. The skin, even beneath the layer of clothes, burns at the touch as if his fingers were akin to a cold burn. You bite your lip as you let him lead you away from the counter.
“What happened here?” You swear you can hear the way his voice has that familiar tone of sing-song mirth.
You stand behind him. Lying your head on the back of his shoulder, you snort lightly. He slightly turns his head. His lips graze the top of your head. You wonder if he’ll reward you with a small kiss. You know he’s a giver, but not before making you work and beg for it.
You sigh, knowing you can’t exactly lie to him. He’ll know in an instant. You’ve already gotten used to the fact that he knows you like the back of your hand.
“I…” you try to find the proper words. “I wanted to surprise you.”
Isaac’s eyes widen. You could get lost in the way his pupils dilate when his gaze is on you.
“Surprise me?”
“Well, you work so hard—”
“So do you, pickle.”
“Let me finish.” Your hands wrap around him from behind.
Isaac breathes in deeply. He can feel the rapid beat of your heart against his back and he’s sure you can feel his too. Your honeyed hands trail up his shirt, taking home against his chest.
He sure is easy to catch off guard with the right… touches. You wonder what other sounds you could coax out of him.
“You’ve been spending even more nights in your office.”
“Are you upset that I leave you alone at night?”
“I visit, don’t I?” Your fingers trace shapes mindlessly on his shirt, nails catching on the buttons. “But that’s not it. I do miss you, but I wanted to make you something you could enjoy. Like a sweet dessert. Unfortunately, I was a tad too overconfident.”
“Tad?” Isaac smiles while wiping a finger on the flour dusted across the counter.
You roll your eyes. “You’re welcome, by the way. It’s a honey cake. Kasutera, I think. Should have chosen something easier.”
You free one hand, lifting it to the melted honey. The liquid is heavy and warm on your finger.
“Is that the honey you asked me to purchase for you?”
“Yes,” you chirp. “How nice of you to get me everything I ask for. How so—”
A chuckle vibrates in his body. The feeling reaches your chest. You take a step closer, taking note of how his leg instinctively gives you a piece of opening to slide a thigh between.
“—very obedient.”
“What do you want?” Isaac’s voice is heavier. Not need— want. Like you’re being a brat, pushing his buttons. Like he’s waiting for you to have your fun before he has his own.
He knows you so well.
You raise your honey-covered fingers just a breath away from his lips. “Want a taste?”
Isaac’s breath is caged in his throat. A crooked smile forms on his lips. His hands grip the counter, just where you were just a second ago. His mind is wrapped in a euphoric haze, bordering on erotic because of what you’ve just asked of him.
He’ll deliver, he always does. Not once has he ever disappointed your whims and fantasies. Though after entertaining you, he’ll want—no—need even more.
Isaac’s hand leaves the countertop. He snatches your wrist. He can feel your chest shift against his back in surprise. He’d drink in the sight of your eyes, locked onto how he takes your fingers in, tongue wrapping around you. Though he realizes you planned all of this to give yourself the upper hand, leaving him purely to his senses while you watch entranced.
“I’ll indulge you.” His lips graze the inside of your wrist, feeling the unsteady pulse under the hot skin. “For now.”
Isaac’s lips part. You almost gasp at the sight. He takes your honey-covered fingers into his mouth. His tongue curls around the tip, and you sense the warmth of his mouth, every deliberate graze of his lips along your fingers, the heated flicks of his tongue as he parts your fingers. Or maybe you parted them. Honestly, because of your hazy mind, you can’t really tell.
He abruptly stops, and you whine at the slight suction as he pulls away, at the loss of touch.
He hums, considering. “Sweet.”
“Just sweet?”
His hand catches your wrist, holding you there. He brings your finger to his lips again, kissing the tip this time. “Like you. Do you want to taste it?”
Isaac slowly turns away from the counter, now facing you. His gaze is heavy upon your form, but you don’t break or bend. Your straightened spine, ghost of a smile now replaced with your sweet lips slightly parted.
“You already know my answer.” You say with a hiss escaping your lips.
“I want to hear you say it.”
A small scoff leaves you. “Seriously?”
“Is that a no?”
Of course it’s not. He knows that.
“You’re messing with me on purpose.”
His hand reaches your cheek, cradling the skin with the softest touch you’ll ever know in your life. It’s cut short as his hand lowers to your jaw. You swallow. His lips curl at the sight.
“Maybe I am—” he doesn’t get to finish the sentence. Not before your hands grip his collar.
His lips feel so familiar. You’ve tasted the peppermint on his tongue so many times, but every time you do, the sensation lights your skin on fire.
A small gasp from Isaac is muffled by your lips. The knots in his shoulders seem to dissipate. His body melts into yours— one hand on your back, trailing up your spine, making you arch into him. Your chest grazes his own. He moves his hand from your jaw and presses it into the clothed flesh of your hip.
Your knees weaken just for a moment. Isaac catches the change in balance, using the moment to slip his leg between your parted thighs.
“You’re eager.” You tease, already feeling his arousal graze the inside of your thigh. “I could help with that.”
“You will.”
You giggle as he pushes you against the table. There’s barely any space between you. The need to feel his bare skin under your hands becomes more and more unbearable with every passing teasing second. He’s enjoying this so much— collar left open, button up clutched in your hand, eyes dark with craving only you can satisfy.
His lips find your neck, and you tilt your head, giving him access. He hums into your skin in approval. His teeth graze your pulse point, making you lean your head back. The glide of his lips is taunting.
Your hands trail to his belt, fingers hooking through the loops. You coax him closer. The table’s surface is cold against your clothed skin; the temperature change makes you ache.
“How do you feel?” You can barely make out the sound of Isaac’s words.
You’re a mess of muffled giggles and whispers as he pulls away. His lips have turned red and flushed, and the sight is downright sinful to look at.
“I feel—” you move your fingers to his belt, asking for permission, “—like the dessert I made tasted good. But…”
He’s towering over you now. Letting out a soft laugh, his hand traces the same shapes you did on him just a few moments ago.
“Not enough for you?”
“Not nearly.”
He’s left breathless, and you want to push him even more. See him unravel under your fingertips.
“You can let go, you know.” You’re fine with begging, no matter how it makes your mind spiral.
“Greedy.” He tuts.
“What can I say?” The words tumble out of you as his hands lie on top of yours, guiding you while undoing his belt. “I like sweet things.”
“Take your fill then.”
He lets out a shaky gasp as you trail your fingers down his exposed abdomen. Your lips curl. The twitch of his own lips sends electricity through your nerves. You don’t break eye contact, too hungry to let go of the blurry way his eyes tear slightly at your teasing hands.
“You’re stalling,” he spits out through unsteady breaths.
“Greedy,” you repeat his words back at him. “Do you have any idea how it excites me that even though I am the one basically pinned to the table, you’re the one unraveling. Literally.”
His jaw tightens. You watch him fight for control— and lose. His lips part—a gasp, whine—you’re not sure. You don’t let him finish.
Your hand slips beneath his waistband, finding him warm and hard. He gasps—a sharp, broken sound—and his forehead drops to yours. You flick your wrist near the base of his cock, trailing slowly up till you reach his tip—wet, you note.
“There you go…” You whisper near his ear, teeth grazing his lobe.
Your fingers glide over the flushed tip, forming a gentle hold over his length. His head drops into the crook of your neck. You hear him barely forming the words—
“What about you?”
“What about me?” You are too busy tracing the vein along his cock right back down to the base. “Tonight isn’t about me. You coming undone in my hands is enough to sate me for the entire night.”
Isaac’s breathing speeds up. You can see how today’s stress melts off his shoulders. He curls into you, closer, and needier. You readjust, coaxing his voice higher. His hips twitch under your moving hand. The physical sensations are completely drowned out by the rush you’re instilling in him.
But, of course, he can’t let you have all the fun.
His shaking hand rises, tracing up your abdomen.
“Isaac—”
Your skin twitches as his fingers trace your collarbone, completely missing your chest. Your brows furrow.
“What are you planning?” Your wrist flicks again, holding just below his cock.
He doesn’t answer. His fingers find the sides of your neck first, cradling the column of your throat. His thumbs press against your pulse points, feeling the rapid, unsteady beat beneath your skin.
“I need to feel you,” he breathes. “Please. I need to feel you.”
You swallow. He feels it—the movement of your throat beneath his palms. His gaze is completely unguarded.
“You’re feeling me right now,” you say, your voice falling back into the same fit of soft giggles and gasps.
He shakes his head. “Not enough.”
His hands trail down slowly from your neck to your chest. His palms press flat against the fabric of your shirt, feeling the heat of your skin beneath. His thumbs find your nipples through the cotton, circling them in slow, measured strokes.
Your breath catches. Your hips press forward, and you sense him twitch against your wrist.
“Sensitive,” he murmurs. You can’t tell if it’s an observation or him teasing you.
“Isaac.”
“I want to make you feel good too.” His voice is rough and strained. “Let me. Please, sweetheart.”
His hands press a little harder against your chest, pinching and rolling your nipples through the fabric. “I want to make you feel as good as you’re making me feel. I want to touch you, taste you, hear you. I want—” He swallows. “I want to do something for you. For once.”
You shake your head, knowing the one thing he cannot stand to even think of is not being enough to please, protect, and satisfy you.
“Isaac,” you call his name again, and this time his hand slowly leaves your chest. “I already told you that tonight is about you. This is what I want. Is it what you want as well?”
There’s a storm in his eyes. Though it does not last for long before he’s bucking his hips back into your wrapped fist. A yes, barely above a whisper, is all you need.
Your hand slips lower, pressing into the sensitive skin just behind his balls. He jerks against you, a shudder running through his whole body.
“There,” he breathes, his voice catching. “Please—"
You press harder, circling the spot with your thumb. His hips buck into your hand, desperate and uncoordinated.
“That’s it,” you murmur against his ear. “Let go, Isaac. I’ve got you.”
Your thumb finds the sensitive ridge beneath the head of his cock, and you circle it slowly. He makes a sound—not quite a moan, not quite a whimper—and his face hides deeper into the crook of your neck.
His whole body tenses against yours. You feel the way his breath hitches, the way his hands grip your waist.
“I’m—” His voice breaks.
“I know.” You press harder against that sensitive ridge, and he cries out—a broken, desperate sound that makes your chest ache. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
He does. His body arches against yours. You feel the warmth of him, the way he shakes, the sound he makes—raw and vulnerable and completely, utterly yours.
You hold him through it. Your hand slows, stroking him gently through the aftershocks. Your other hand finds the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair.
“I’ve got you,” you repeat. “I’m right here.”
His hands tremble against your waist, along with breathing hitching, uneven, and broken.
“I’m here,” you say again.
He lifts his head. His eyes are red-rimmed, his cheeks flushed. His lips are parted, still catching his breath. He looks wrecked—and beautiful.
“Shh.” You press a kiss to his forehead. “Don’t say anything.”
Slowly, deliberately, you bring your honey and cum slicked fingers to your lips. His eyes widen, tracking the movement—watching you taste him, taste the honey, taste the heated moment that passed between you two.
You let your tongue curl around your fingers. The honey is still sweet, warm, mixed with the salt of his skin. You hum, considering.
“Sweet,” you say, echoing his words from earlier. “Just like you promised.”
He stares at you, completely undone. His lips part, but no words come out.
“What?” you ask, innocent. “You didn’t think I’d let you have all the fun?”
He shakes his head, a breathless laugh escaping him. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Probably.” You lick the last of the mixed liquid from your thumb. “But what a way to go.”
He pulls you closer, burying his face in your neck again. You feel his smile against your skin.
+++
“You’re going to get my sheets wet if you don’t stand still.”
Your hair is still wet from the shower—a shared one the two of you took—that simmered warmth down your nerves in an instant. You didn’t think Isaac could look even more relaxed, but here he is—a soft smile tugging on his lips as he holds a hair-dryer in his hand.
“Your sheets?”
“Our sheets.”
“Getting the sheets wet is also a particular choice of words,” you smirk. “Actually, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were asking for round two. Can’t get enough of me, huh?”
He turns the dryer on before you can continue. You pout, but the feeling is short-lived. His hand trails to your nape. Hairs stand on end. Isaac guides you with his palm against your neck. The warm air is blowing past your ears, but it can’t drown out the gentle beat of your heart.
“You need rest, pickle.”
“Stay with me?”
The hair-dryer turns off. He places a chaste kiss on the top of your head. You chuckle as the sensation.
“Of course.”
thank you so much for reading! reblogs and input are appreciated. 💌
yes, and? (2024) | hate that i made you love me (2026)
"I think we should be gentler and less comfortable commenting on people's bodies. No matter what... even if you're coming from a nice and caring place, that person is probably working on it or has a support system that they are working on it with. You never know, so be gentle with each other."
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