caramel latte

he emerged from the shadows between the forgotten lockers, all sharp smirk and lazy demeanor, his uniform deliberately disheveled — tie loose, top buttons undone, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows.

he leaned against the doorframe in front of you, blocking the only exit that would give way into the new, crowded building.

“rafayel.” you managed, voice between a gasp and a whisper, hating how high your pitch sounded. “i– i don’t have time for this now.”

“you never have time for me, princess.” he pushed off the frame and walked closer, each step powerful against the wooden boards; a predatory stance against your cowering form. an attitude that deeply contrasted with his meek words. “that hurts my feelings.”

but you knew better than to listen to his vitriolic words, to that charming tune in his voice. so you backed away, until your hips struck the edge of a long oak desk, placed in the hallway for some unknown reason.

“please. just leave me alone.”

“but i like you right here.” he stopped inches from you, head tilted down towards your own, close enough that you could smell his cologne — an expensive and dark aroma that perfectly worked for him.

his fingers, always twitching with the need to feel you, found a strand of your hair and twirled it. it was almost romantic, the position the two of you were in… if one didn’t know the reality, that is.

“all flushed. all alone. no one to save you.”

what he was saying was true — he made it to be true. you had no friends to text, no one who would notice you missing. he knew it with certainty. he’d made sure of it, spreading rumors, isolating you with his cruel, infectious charm, until everyone on campus avoided you like the plague.

“what do you want?” you whispered, abandoning any hopes of being let alone without satisfying rafayel. and to do that, you had to find what his evil mind desired from you this time.

his grin widened at your question, pleased that you’d inquire about his needs. “right now? to watch you squirm beneath me.”

he cornered you further against the desk, leaning into your body and caging you with his arms. one hand slid along the table to your waist, squeezing the roundness of your body once, before trailing lower towards your ass.

you flinched and shooed his hand away, displeased by the physicality of his actions. he only laughed, amused by your reaction, as if he wanted the discomfort on your face more than the actual touches of your body.

“stop.” you hissed, voice cracking, and you pushed your body into the desk more to widen the distance between you and him. “please, rafayel. i’ll– ’ll do anything just so you leave me alone for good.”

ah, you’ve finally offered him something interesting.

his eyes glittered. “anything?”

something more interesting than your visible discomfort.

you nodded, desperate, fingers almost snapping in half from the way you were gripping the edge of the desk.

he tilted his head, pretending to contemplate his answer, pretending he didn’t already have something in mind for your pathetic self. his expression turned wicked, his seductive grin stretching into a scary smirk.

“show me.”

“huh?”

“lift your skirt.” he said it like it was nothing, pointing at the long skirt the girls’ uniforms had. making a circle in the air around your entirely covered legs. “let me see what’s under there. that’s all. and i’ll never bother you again.”

your stomach dropped, almost cramping at hearing his wish. “that’s– no.”

“then i guess i’ll see you later. and tomorrow. and the day after.” he shrugged, already stepping back, arms moving away from the desk and folding behind his neck. “and the day after. i’ll make your life a living hell, princess.”

no. no, no, no, no–

“wait.” the word tore out of you before you could think your options through. “fine. fine. just– not here.” you whispered quietly, looking around the abandoned hallway with suspicion.

he puffed, slow and satisfied, then walked back towards you. “follow me.” guiding you through the delinquents’ hiding spot to a more secluded place.

“here.”

he led you to a small, windowless storage room at the end of an adjacent hall: piles of old exams, broken chairs, a single flickering fluorescent light that somehow still worked. he blocked the door behind him with one of the chairs and gestured you to a small, intact desk near the wall.

“hop up on your throne, princess.”

you obeyed, pulse hammering against your pristine university shirt as you assumed position, taking a seat at the edge of the desk. your hands shook as you grasped the margins and hitched your long pleated skirt, bunching the excess fabric at your hips as you kept the hem up.

“ah.” the air was cold against your bare thighs and you couldn’t help out the hiss that escaped your lips.

rafayel hummed at your position as he leaned against the opposite wall, yet his arms crossed in dissatisfaction. “wider, princess. spread your legs for me.”

your face burned at his raunchy command, legs smushing together even more. “you said just the skirt.”

“but i can’t see anything.” he didn’t move, just watched you with hooded eyes, throwing spiteful comments at your weak self. “you want me gone forever? then do what i say. part your legs, let me see.”

humiliation curdled in your throat, but you, nonetheless, obeyed. slowly, trembling, you let your knees fall apart, meeting the edge of the desk with your bare skin.

at that, he finally pushed off the wall and stepped between them, close enough that you could smell that expensive perfume once more. he looked down at you, as he always does; but now there was something different about him — his eyes, darkened with mischief, stared at the thin cotton of your panties…

fixated on the damp spot that was already forming against the white material.

betraying you completely.

“my, my.” he murmured, dragging a finger up your inner thigh. enjoying the way your leg jolted at the touch. “you’re not as innocent as you pretend, are you?”

“i…” you whined from behind your skirt. “please– you said just looking–”

“and i’m looking.” he bent down, bringing his face at the level of your covered cunt. and you whimpered. “look at that. wet already. just from me telling you what to do. you like this, don’t you? being helpless?”

you shook your head, but your body disagreed, pushing out a glob of slick and making the wet patch grow right beneath rafayel’s eyes.

“fuuuck, you’re so fucking nasty, princess.”

you were too good for him now, acting like the needy, untouched woman he portrayed you as. he couldn’t help it anymore, so he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone.

deciding to immortalize the moment.

“smile for me.”

“n–no!” you mustered up and immediately tried to shove your skirt down, to hide your drenching panties and your obvious arousal from the camera.

but he caught one of your wrists, grip iron-tight, and forced you to keep the skirt up for him.

“ah–ah. you said you’d do anything. remember?” he repositioned your other hand as well, successfully clearing the view, then he raised the phone, angling it between your legs. “now hold still.”

the shutter clicked. once. twice. three times. each sound a knife through your chest.

each click a new drop of stickiness on your panties.

“p–please delete those.” you begged, eyes beading with tears from the convolution of emotions that were taking over your mind. “rafayel, please.”

fuck, that only made rafayel want to torture you more.

“and why would i do that?” he examined the photos, thumb swiping across the screen and stopping on the perfect picture – arousal shining beautifully between your legs as a few brave tears rolled across your cheeks.

“you look so pretty like this. all wet and desperate. just for me.” he tucked the phone away and leaned in, breath hot against your ear as he whispered. “you’ve been such a good girl for me, princess, so i won’t send them to anyone else.”

you slumped with relief, arms falling one level down from their original position.

thinking you’ve escaped rafayel for good.

but his hand returned to your thigh, then slid inwards, one finger unexpectedly pressing against the soaked material of your panties. you gasped, from shock and pleasure, hips jerking back into his hand, head falling onto his left shoulder.

he was rubbing slow circles over your swollen clit through the fabric, closely watching how your face contorted in pleasure against his shirt.

“so sensitive.” he said, almost laughing at your reactions. “is this your first time being touched, princess? by someone who isn’t yourself?”

you couldn’t answer.

with a harsher push, your head fell back, a broken moan escaping your lips from the pleasure. without asking for permission, rafayel snatched your panties aside with two fingers, exposing your slick, swollen cunt to the cold air.

to his hungry, lust-filled eyes.

“oh, that’s it... such a pretty pussy.” he whistled, praising the body part he always wanted to see. he’d pulled the phone out again, this time hitting the screen once — recording. “quality material for my private collection.”

“rafayel–”

he pressed two fingers flat against your bare cunt, sliding through the wetness, and your protests dissolved into whines and moanes. he rubbed your clit in tight, maddening circles, not enough pressure, not fast enough, just enough to have you gushing more creamy arousal onto the desk below.

“you want to cum, don’t you, princess?” he asked, voice syrupy sweet, contrasting with the brutality of his fingers against your pussy.

“yes.” you choked, voice vibrating on the recording. “please.”

“please what?”

“please let me cum.”

he laughed at that, soft and cruel, savoring the way a few touches turned you into such a needy mess. “beg prettier.”

so you begged. you pleaded.

you dug your fingers into the desk’s edge, skirt long forgotten, tears streaming, hips grinding against his hand. your whole being focused on that point of contact between your two bodies, on the wet sounds of his fingers playing with you, on the occasional beeping of his phone recording every humiliating second.

“ngh– please, rafayel, i need it, i need to cum, please, please–”

but, oh no, where’s the fun in that?

he stopped.

just stopped. pulled his hand away. casually wiped his fingers on your inner thigh and stood, backing up, sliding his phone into his pocket.

like nothing happened.

you stared at him, chest heaving, head hurting, cunt aching and empty and so so close it was physically painful to breath.

“what– why–”

“because i just wanted a look.” he smiled, that same lazy, condescending smile, proudly reminding you of his wish. like you previously did. “you don’t get to cum, princess. not from me, at least.”

“h–huh?”

“you’ll think about this tonight, won’t you? lying alone in your stupid little bed, touching yourself, wishing it was my hand.”

he unlocked the door and stepped through, pausing for a brief second in the doorway.

“thanks for the fun, princess. and don’t worry– i’ll leave you alone now.”

“wait, wait!”

the door clicked shut. his footsteps faded.

you sat there, skirt bunched around your waist, panties ruined, thighs trembling, the ghost of his fingers still burning between your legs.

rafayel finally left you alone, but now... now you’re no longer sure you want that.

©pearlescenthoney 2026. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

It should irritate you, how calm he always is—should, but doesn’t. Because the steadiness in him is what makes your pulse trip over itself, what coils hot in your stomach as you grind the tiniest bit against the thick bulge pressed under you.

“Mm.” his voice is barely a breath, not even at you—just a low hum of concentration as his fingers move over the controller, sure and efficient. He doesn’t tense or falter. His arms only tighten infinitesimally around your waist, like he’s keeping you there without even thinking about it.

The friction makes you exhale shakily, tilting forward, then back, slow and needy. You know he notices it. Still, his gaze doesn’t break from the screen. That calm, unhurried energy of his only winds you tighter.

“You’re restless.” the words slip out of him so evenly you almost think you imagined them, his tone as steady as if he were announcing a game stat. His breath grazes your ear when he says it, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

You shift again, deliberately this time, pressing yourself harder against him. “Maybe you make me that way.”

Finally, his eyes flick down to you, just for a second, sharp blue catching yours. One corner of his mouth curves, a smirk so faint you might miss it if you weren’t this close. His voice stays maddeningly calm, like he’s still talking about the game and not about the way you’re moving on him. “Then keep going. Don’t stop on my account.”

The way he says it—steady, almost bored, but with that undertone you can feel more than hear—makes your thighs tighten around him, makes you lean into his chest because if he doesn’t react, you might come undone all on your own. And maybe that’s what drives you wild about him. Not the heat of his touch, not even the strength of his arms, but the fact that he can unravel you completely without breaking a sweat.

You grind down a little harder, biting back a sound when you feel him pulse against you. He exhales through his nose, unbothered, still perfectly focused, but his lips curve into the faintest smirk.

“You’re not even trying to hide it,” he murmurs, voice smooth and maddeningly steady. A calm command wrapped in soft amusement. “Go on. I can play and take care of you at the same time.”

You don’t even realize how much you’ve been squirming until he shifts beneath you. Not a twitch, not a flinch—just the slow, deliberate press of his thighs spreading wider, carrying yours with them until you’re open over him.

He still hasn’t looked away from the screen. The blue of his eyes stays locked on the game, his hair falling carelessly across his forehead, silver strands bright in the glow of the monitor. His fingers move steadily over the controller, precise, calm—and then his voice cuts through you like silk.

“Be good.” It’s soft, level, not a hint of strain, like he’s telling you something as ordinary as the time of day. But there’s no mistaking the command woven through it, firm and absolute. His chest rises against your back with an unhurried breath before he adds, “Touch yourself for me.”

Your thighs twitch, your whole body tightening from the inside out. Heat pools so fast you can’t breathe, can’t think, because it isn’t just the words, it’s the way he says them. Gentle. Steady. Calm, like this is nothing unusual, like you obeying him is the most natural thing in the world.

The shifting colors of the screen flicker against your skin as you sink further into him, unable to resist the way his voice lingers in your head, warm and calm even when it makes your pulse race. Your thighs tremble as your hand slips lower, fingers sliding beneath the thin fabric of your panties.

You don’t hesitate. Not when the ache has already built too far, not when his lap is solid beneath you, his bulge pressed against your core every time you shift. Your breath catches as your fingertips find that swollen bundle of nerves, circling gently at first, then quicker, your body arching just slightly into your own touch.

His reaction is maddeningly simple. A quiet hum. Approval, calm and soft, as if he already knew you’d do exactly as he told you.

Your own desperation fills the quiet between you, broken only by the steady click of his controller. There’s no shame left in the way your hand moves, slipping under the soft stretch of your panties, fingers sliding slick across your clit until your hips jerk helplessly in his lap.

A broken whimper escapes before you can bite it back. Xavier doesn’t flinch. His grip on the controller doesn’t falter, his expression calm, collected, like you writhing in his lap is just as natural as breathing. That soft, steady composure only drives you wilder, heat surging through you until your hand is working faster, your panties sticking against your folds.

“Xavi…” half of his name slips out in a shaky moan, desperate and needy. You want him—his mouth, his hands, his cock filling you deep the way only he can. Your slender fingers curl inside yourself, not nearly enough, the flutter of your walls clenching around emptiness making you whine softly against his shoulder.

Your whimpers spill out unbidden, breathy and needy, but he stays maddeningly composed. The calm rhythm of his play doesn’t waver, his gaze locked on the screen, jaw relaxed. If not for the steady pressure of his arm around you—if not for the heavy, hard weight of him beneath you—you could almost believe he wasn’t aware of what you’re doing.

When his name tumbles from your lips again, whispered like a plea, you expect him to shift. To finally look at you, to give you something, anything. Instead, he doesn’t so much as flick an eye in your direction.

And god, that wrecks you. Your pussy clenches tight around your fingers, the pace of your circles turning frantic because you need it. You need his hands, his mouth, his cock, the way he fills you until you’re sobbing his name, but all you have is the thin edge of your own touch. Not enough. Never enough.

Your moan cracks with need, his name spilling from you again, softer, rawer this time. The sound barely earns a shift in his breathing. He tilts his head slightly, hair falling across his temple, blue eyes still bright on the screen.

“Good girl.” the words are so calm, so unshaken, that your whole body arches for them. He doesn’t need to look at you, doesn’t need to touch you—just the weight of his voice alone has your thighs trembling, your fingers moving faster, chasing the high that only ever feels complete when it’s him driving you there.

And the worst part—the best part—is that you know he’ll let you fall apart like this, needy and desperate in his lap, until you’re begging properly. Until you can’t take another second without him.

The slick sounds of your fingers working yourself open fill the quiet between his calm breaths, between the rapid-fire clicks of his controller. You can’t bring yourself to care how shameless it is, grinding into him while chasing the coil of pleasure building fast inside you.

Your thighs quake around his, muscles tight and trembling as the coil inside you threatens to snap. You’re caught between the desperate rhythm of your fingers and the unrelenting stillness of him, the steady sounds of his game filling the room in sharp contrast to your broken whimpers.

Then his head dips, slow, unhurried, as if he’s finally granting you a sliver of his attention. The brush of his lips against your neck is so soft it almost undoes you on its own. When your body trembles with the first pulse of release, Xavier finally moves. His lips brush your neck in the faintest kiss, and his voice is a whisper so soft it makes you shiver. “Come, bunny.”

The simple words unravel you, and your orgasm crashes through, waves of heat and pulsing need rolling over you until you’re clenching down hard around your fingers, moaning against his chest.

His eyes never leave the screen, not even as your body jerks above him, not even as your breath falls apart in gasps and cries. His tone stays calm, but there’s steel beneath it, a quiet promise that makes your body tighten all over again.

“And after this game,” he murmurs, another gentle kiss pressed to your throat, warm, his voice lowering to a promise that makes your pussy clench hard around your fingers, “make no mistake that I’ll give you exactly what you’ve been begging for.”

Your body is still trembling faintly, aftershocks running through your thighs, but the ache inside you hasn’t dulled, not even close. You need him, more than the shiver of your own fingers, more than the teasing press of his arm around you while he plays. The game, the calm—his focus—it only fuels that ache deeper, until waiting feels unbearable.

You know Xavier well enough to recognize what this will get you: his approval, his disapproval, maybe both at once. But you also know he won’t truly be angry. He never is with you, not when you’re this soft, this needy.

So you slip from his lap with care, sliding down onto the floor between his legs. The coolness of the room contrasts with the heat of your skin, and you turn toward him, resting against his thighs, your cheek brushing the edge of his shorts. His legs spread instinctively, a little wider, accommodating you.

You press a kiss against his bare skin, then another, trailing along the muscle of his thigh. His eyes remain on the screen, hands steady on the controller, as though you aren’t unraveling against him.

“Xavier…” your voice is hushed, sweet, but bold at the same time—an innocence threaded through with hunger. You know it will twist something in him, the way you sound when you beg like this. “Please… look at me. I need you, baby.”

You’re already tugging lightly at the hem of his shorts, pressing a kiss against the hard outline beneath them. His cock strains against the fabric, heat radiating through, and your breath catches. Boldness pushes your fingers lower, slipping beneath the band of his shorts and boxers, tugging them down. The sight makes your mouth water. He’s flushed, already leaking, thick and perfect for your lips.

Still, he doesn’t look down. That calm, unshaken focus makes you ache more. So you lean in, pressing a soft kiss to the swollen head before wrapping your lips around him, sliding him into your mouth with desperate eagerness. His cock hits the back of your throat, and you swallow around him, whimpering softly at the weight, the taste.

Normally, he’d pet your hair, guide you, praise you as you take him. But his hands remain firmly on the controller. That calm composure drives you to suck harder, to hollow your cheeks and bob your head with more need, as if you can force him to break.

The game’s sounds continue in the background, but you hear it—that subtle change in pace. A click, the faint hum of completion. And then the controller is set down. A heartbeat later, his hand slides into your hair, firm and warm, finally grounding you to him. Your eyes flutter shut as he pushes you down slowly, steadily, until you take him all, his cock filling your throat.

You gag softly, tears pricking your lashes, but his calm voice soothes through it, low and certain. “That’s it. Good.”

He holds you there just long enough, then lets you pull back, only to guide you down again, and again, until your throat is raw and your lips swollen. His blue eyes finally drop to you, sharp and unwavering, watching the way you fall apart on him.

It doesn’t take long before he groans, low and restrained, hips jerking subtly. His cock twitches against your tongue, and then he spills down your throat, hot and thick. The praise follows, just as soft and calm as everything else he does, but it makes your body clench like you’re about to break all over again. “Good girl. That’s exactly what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

Your lips are still tingling, throat raw with the taste of him, when you dare to lift your gaze up at him—expecting, hoping, imagining what he’ll do to you now that his calm blue eyes have finally settled on you.

But instead of pulling you back into his lap, instead of kissing you like you crave, he reaches forward and calmly picks the controller back up. The sound of the game fills the air again, and you blink, breathless, trembling, caught between disbelief and a strange, needy ache that only deepens at his composure.

“You should have waited for me to finish the game.” his voice is level, soft as ever, the same tone he uses for everything, yet the weight behind it makes your chest tighten. “This is what you get for not listening.”

You know he isn’t truly angry. This is foreplay. He’s teasing you, stretching the ache inside you into something unbearable. But still, your lips push into a pout as the glow from the screen steals his attention back.

“Xavier…” your whisper is almost a whine, petulant and desperate, but he doesn’t look away.

“Climb up.” the words are calm, even indifferent, as though he’s telling you to pass him something off the table. “Take what you want yourself. I’m not going to help.”

The heat in your belly flares at the command, even as frustration twists in your chest. You shift back onto his lap, your panties sticking uncomfortably against your slick skin, and push the fabric aside with trembling fingers. His cock is still flushed, hard, glistening from your mouth.

You line yourself up and sink down onto him, biting back a moan as your walls stretch around him. The sensation is dizzying, almost too much after the way you came before, but the lack of his hands on you—the absence of his mouth, his touch—makes it worse.

You move, bouncing in his lap with ragged breaths, your hands clutching at his shoulders for balance. His arms remain steady around the controller, his gaze fixed on the game. It’s almost unbearable, how unbothered he is while you come apart on him.

“I’m sorry…” you whisper against his ear, your voice breaking with every thrust of your hips. “Please… help me.”

But his attention doesn’t shift. His calm voice brushes over you, soft as silk, cool as glass. “Keep going.”

You whine, your thighs already trembling, sweat beading at your temples. Each bounce gets weaker, sloppier, your body desperate for him to move, to hold, to thrust—anything. But he doesn’t. And every time the orgasm teases at the edge, it slips away, lost with your fading strength. Frustration builds behind your moans, your lips brushing his neck as you beg softer, needier, “Please, Xavier, I can’t—”

“Keep going,” he repeats, coaxing, indifferent. His composure is infuriating, intoxicating. Because you know he’ll only let you break when he decides you’ve begged enough.

Your thighs ache, every bounce weaker than the last, tears brimming in your eyes from the frustration of wanting more, wanting him. You bury your face in his neck, whimpering into his skin, the desperation in you starting to blur into something raw.

But Xavier doesn’t falter. His voice is the same calm, coaxing cadence, smooth and unshaken. “Not yet. You need to cum first, bunny. Learn your lesson.”

Your whole body trembles. His words land like silk-wrapped iron—gentle but immovable. You grip onto him tighter, whining, forcing your body to move harder, chasing the high that keeps slipping away.

“Xavi—please…” your voice cracks, soft and shaky against his throat, but you don’t stop. Your hips stutter, bouncing with uneven, desperate motions until finally, the coil snaps.

The orgasm hits, but it’s fragile, broken by exhaustion. Your moan comes out quiet, barely a sound, and it doesn’t leave you satisfied, just shaking, panting, tears clinging to your lashes.

At last, his eyes flicker down to you. Blue, steady, seeing everything. And though you’re not truly upset, not really, he reads the fine line you’ve walked under his indifference. The controller slips from his hands without ceremony, and his arms are around you in an instant, coddling you close against his chest.

You kiss him desperately, relief flooding through you, clinging to the warmth of his mouth like air after drowning. Your pout is still there, trembling, even as his body shifts, pressing you back into the couch, his weight hovering over you.

“Xavier…” you whisper against his lips, your fingers already tugging at him, needy for his touch.

He answers with action, his hand sliding down between your thighs, fingers finding your clit in slow, teasing circles that make you jolt. Then he slips two fingers inside you, curling perfectly, and the broken moan that rips out of you is louder, rawer than before.

“That’s better,” he murmurs, calm as ever, though you can hear the pleased note under it, the quiet satisfaction at how much needier you are now.

“Not fair,” you pout, stroking his flushed cock with shaky fingers, your voice caught between a whine and a plea. “You were paying more attention to the game than me…”

He hums, the corner of his lips curving as his cock throbs in your grip. He leans closer, his voice steady, low, unshaken. “Now…” his smirk deepens, “…you have all my attention.”

And it’s true. His focus is entirely on you as he pulls his hand away, replacing it with the heat of his cock pressing against your soaked entrance. His grip settles firm on your hips, anchoring you as he thrusts in deep, stretching you perfectly.

Your cry fills the room as he finds every soft spot inside you, his rhythm steady, purposeful—each thrust pushing deeper, knowing exactly how to unravel you. His eyes stay on you now, unwavering, the calm blue gaze drinking in every desperate moan, every arch of your back, every trembling pout of your lips.

Your body arches helplessly into every thrust, his cock dragging so deep you swear he’s marking you from the inside. His hands are firm at your hips, guiding you just enough to keep you steady while he sets the rhythm—slow at first, deliberate, each snap of his hips pressing into the spots that make your walls flutter around him.

You whimper, fingers clutching at his shoulders, desperate for more. “Xavier—please, faster…”

His blue eyes pin you, calm as ever even while his cock is buried inside you. That steady voice curls around your ears, soft and certain. “I’ll give you what you want, bunny. You just have to take it.”

He rolls his hips harder, deeper, the angle perfect, and your moan cracks apart. The wet slap of your bodies fills the room now, every thrust shoving you closer, every drag of his cock against your swollen walls tugging another broken sound from your throat.

Your nails dig into him, clinging, and he only smirks faintly, pleased with how wrecked you’re getting. “Needier tonight,” he teases softly, his lips brushing your cheek as he speaks, unbothered, calm even as you fall apart beneath him.

“You ignored me,” you pout, breathless, your voice breaking into another moan when his pace quickens, hips slamming harder. “Wanted you too much—”

“Shh.” his hand slides between you, thumb circling your clit with perfect pressure, the rhythm syncing with his thrusts until your whole body trembles. “You’ve got me now.”

Your orgasm crashes in fast, shattering through you with a cry, your walls clenching tight around him as your hips buck helplessly against his grip. He fucks you through it, pace relentless, holding you right on that edge where pleasure and overstimulation blur.

And when you start to whine, too sensitive, his voice steadies you, coaxing, calm even as his thrusts grow rougher. “One more, bunny. Cum for me again.”

You can’t think, can’t breathe—you can only obey. Another orgasm tears through you, soaking him, and that’s when his composure finally cracks. His jaw tightens, a groan slipping free as his hips slam into yours, burying himself deep before spilling hot inside you.

His hand steadies your shaking body, pulling you close against his chest, his lips brushing your temple as your aftershocks pulse around him.

“That’s it,” he breathes, softer now, calm again but tinged with warmth. “Good girl. Knew you could take it.”