Rhys

A – Aftercare

Meticulous. Steven Spurrier approaches aftercare the way he approaches wine service: with ritual, precision, and reverence. He untangles limbs slowly, pressing lingering kisses to flushed skin while murmuring low observations in that smooth British baritone of his. A warm bath is prepared if necessary. Water is poured before you even realize you’re thirsty. He wraps you in expensive linen sheets smelling faintly of oak barrels, tobacco, and Bordeaux cologne. He likes post-sex silence—comfortable silence—your head resting against his chest while his fingers lazily comb through your hair. He does not rush away afterward. He lingers like the finish of a great vintage.

B – Body Part (Favorite)

Yours? Your mouth. Not simply for kissing. Steven is fascinated by expression—the subtle parting of your lips around a laugh, the shape your mouth makes around his name, the way you bite your lip when trying not to react to him. He watches mouths the way sommeliers study wine legs against crystal.

His? His hands. Long-fingered, elegant, perpetually warm from holding glasses by the stem. They are careful hands, capable of swirling wine with delicate refinement one moment and gripping your hip hard enough to leave fingerprints the next. He knows exactly how persuasive his touch is.

C – Cum

Inside whenever possible. To Steven, sex is indulgence, and indulgence should not be interrupted. He adores the intimacy of finishing deep inside you, especially while holding eye contact. There’s something deeply possessive hidden beneath his polished exterior when he does it—a quiet hunger he rarely displays elsewhere.

Afterward, he always kisses you softly, forehead resting against yours, breathing still uneven.

“There,” he murmurs. “Perfectly decanted.”

D – Dirty Talk

Sharp. Cultured. Devastatingly understated.

Steven does not babble filth. He ruins you with calm observations delivered in that resonant baritone voice. He sounds most dangerous when he’s composed.

“You’re trembling already.”

“Careful, darling, you’ll spill.”

“Look at you. Completely intoxicated.”

“Such a greedy little palate.”

He teases constantly, especially if you become flustered. Dry wit melts into velvet praise once he’s genuinely affected.

“God, you feel extraordinary.”

E – Experience

Extensive. Steven Spurrier is worldly, sophisticated, and entirely too observant to be inexperienced. He understands seduction the same way he understands wine: patience, timing, atmosphere. He enjoys anticipation more than immediacy.

He knows how to undress someone slowly enough to make them ache.

He knows exactly where to kiss.

And he absolutely knows the effect his voice has on people.

F – Favorite Position

You seated in his lap while he drinks wine.

Not necessarily during sex itself—though he enjoys that immensely—but during the lead-up. He adores the intimacy of holding you against him in a velvet chair, one arm looped lazily around your waist while he talks softly into your ear about vineyards and tannins and French arrogance.

Eventually the conversation dissolves.

His glass gets abandoned somewhere nearby.

And then he guides your hips against his with maddening patience, watching your face the entire time like a man studying a rare vintage.

“Slowly,” he murmurs. “Savor it.”

G – Groaning

Low. Sparse. Shockingly intimate.

Steven is not loud, which somehow makes every sound he does make infinitely more devastating. His pleasure escapes in restrained baritone exhales against your neck, rough little hums when you kiss beneath his jaw, quiet curses muttered into your skin in clipped British frustration.

But when he finally loses composure?

That deep, helpless groan from his chest could ruin lives.

H – Hair

Dark silver beginning to thread through thick brown hair, always impeccably styled during the day and deliciously disheveled afterward. His mustache becomes a point of fascination very quickly; the scrape of it against your skin during kisses is maddeningly sensual.

Chest hair lightly dusts his torso, tapering downward in a narrow trail. Refined rather than rugged.

He enjoys when you touch his hair during intimate moments, though tugging it unexpectedly earns you a startled glare over the rim of his glasses.

“Honestly,” he mutters breathlessly. “Absolute barbarism.”

Pubic Hair? Neatly maintained. Steven Spurrier is far too refined—and far too particular about presentation—to ever appear unkempt. His pubic hair is thick, dark brown threaded faintly with silver, trimmed carefully rather than completely shaved. It matches the rest of him: elegant, mature, deliberate.

I – Intimacy

Surprisingly tender.

Steven begins relationships guarded and intellectual, but intimacy strips that armor away piece by piece. In private, he becomes deeply attentive—almost greedy for closeness. He likes sleeping tangled together after sex, your legs intertwined beneath expensive hotel sheets while rain taps softly against Parisian windows.

He kisses absentmindedly during ordinary moments.

The inside of your wrist.

Your shoulder while passing behind you.

Your forehead while reading.

His affection sneaks up on you quietly until one day you realize he’s built his entire routine around your presence.

J – Jacking Off

Rarely. He prefers the real thing too much.

However, during long trips or periods of stress, he absolutely does. Usually in hotel rooms after too much wine and too little sleep. He loosens his tie first, pours himself another glass, and thinks about you slowly unraveling beneath him.

He’s not quick about it either.

Even alone, Steven Spurrier is indulgent.

K – Kinks

- Praise kink. He loves telling you how beautiful you are when overwhelmed.

- Authority dynamics. Not harsh dominance—more cultivated control.

- Mirror sex. He enjoys watching reactions.

- Oral fixation. He’s deeply obsessed with mouths.

- Semi-public intimacy. Hidden corners of vineyards, locked offices, empty tasting rooms.

- Clothing. Suspenders, rolled sleeves, loosened ties, partially unbuttoned shirts.

- Feeding/drinking. Wine shared between kisses becomes absurdly erotic very quickly.

L – Location

- Wine cellars. Cool air, candlelight, rows of aging bottles surrounding you both.

- Luxury hotel balconies in Paris.

- Vineyards at dusk.

- His office after tastings, papers shoved aside carelessly.

- Kitchens late at night while slightly drunk on expensive Bordeaux.

He particularly enjoys places where restraint should be maintained.

M – Marking

Subtle but intentional.

Steven leaves marks where clothing can hide them—inside thighs, collarbones, beneath shirt collars. He likes traces of himself lingering on you: his cologne on your scarf, lipstick-smudged wine glasses, fingerprints on your hips.

He especially enjoys feeding you wine directly from his own glass after kissing you senseless.

“Now you taste like me,” he murmurs with visible satisfaction.

N – Nudes

Artistic. Tasteful. Dangerous.

Steven would absolutely adore black-and-white polaroids tucked inside desk drawers or hidden between pages of books. He treats intimate photographs like rare collectibles—private treasures never meant for public eyes.

If someone else saw them?

His temper would become genuinely frightening.

O – Oral

Giving? Extremely attentive.

Steven approaches oral sex with focused concentration that borders on obsessive. He studies reactions carefully, adjusting pressure and rhythm with frightening precision until your hands are tangled in his hair and you can barely speak.

Receiving? He enjoys it immensely but becomes strangely affectionate afterward, brushing hair from your face while looking almost dazed.

“You are catastrophically talented,” he murmurs.

P – Pace

Controlled. Building.

Steven prefers slow escalation over frantic urgency. He likes tension stretched unbearably thin before finally snapping. Long kisses. Teasing touches beneath dinner tables. Fingers tracing your spine while pretending to discuss wine ratings.

When he finally loses patience, though?

The control fractures beautifully.

Suddenly you’re pinned against polished wood furniture while he kisses you like a starving man.

Q – Quickies

Uncommon but deeply exciting when they happen.

Steven enjoys sex too much to rush regularly, but moments of impulsive desperation absolutely occur—usually after arguments, jealousy, or too much wine.

They’re messy compared to his usual composure.

Fast breathing.

Loosened ties.

A muttered “fuck” against your throat.

You can always tell afterward because he looks faintly offended with himself.

R – Risk

Calculated.

Steven enjoys the thrill of almost being discovered far more than he admits. Hidden tension excites him enormously: someone knocking at the office door while your lipstick stains his collar, whispered instructions during formal dinners, fingers brushing dangerously high beneath tablecloths.

But true recklessness?

No.

He values privacy too much.

S – Stamina

Excellent.

He is patient rather than athletic, capable of dragging pleasure out for hours through sheer focus and endurance. He likes lingering. Pausing. Starting again. Watching you become progressively more disheveled beneath his attention.

The man treats orgasms like wine pairings: carefully timed for maximum effect.

T – Toys

Elegant ones only.

- Silk ties.

- Crystal ice buckets.

- Pearl necklaces dragged across sensitive skin.

- Expensive gloves.

- Fine leather restraints hidden in locked drawers.

Nothing crude.

Everything aesthetic.

U – Unfair

Absolutely.

Steven is infuriatingly skilled at reading you. He notices every tiny reaction and weaponizes it mercilessly. A shaky breath? He repeats whatever caused it. A sensitive spot on your neck? He’ll torment it until you can’t think straight.

And if you try hiding how affected you are?

That only encourages him.

“Oh no,” he murmurs with infuriating amusement. “You’re blushing. We’re far beyond dignity now.”

V – Volume

Low and intimate.

Most encounters with Steven feel wrapped in secrecy.

Quiet laughter against lips. Soft curses.

The rustle of sheets and clink of crystal glasses.

He likes making you try to stay quiet while he steadily destroys your composure.

And when you finally fail?

That pleased look in his hazel eyes is unbearable.

W – Wildest Fantasy

Complete escape.

Steven fantasizes about disappearing from expectation entirely—leaving Paris, the tastings, the critics, the endless performance of refinement. Somewhere quiet. A vineyard far from everyone else.

Just the two of you.

Long dinners.

Rain on windows.

Your bare feet against hardwood floors.

No schedules. No audiences. No judgments.

Only indulgence.

Only peace.

X – X-Ray

Elegant. Thick. Slight upward curve.

Well-groomed, heavy in your hand, flushed dark pink at the head when fully hard. He carries himself with such refinement that the sheer physicality of him becomes startling the first time you see it.

Like discovering velvet wrapped around steel.

And God help you once you hear the sound he makes when you touch him properly.

Y – Yearning

Constant.

Steven Spurrier longs quietly but intensely. He misses people while they’re still in the room with him. Even during intimacy, there’s a faint ache beneath his pleasure—as though he already dreads the eventual loss of the moment.

He looks at you across crowded rooms with an expression that feels almost melancholy. As if he cannot believe he was allowed to have you at all.

Z – ZZZ (Sleep)

Heavy sleeper once relaxed.

He sleeps sprawled slightly onto his side, one arm wrapped securely around your waist like unconscious possession. In sleep, all refinement vanishes. His hair falls untidily across his forehead, his mouth parts slightly, and his deep breathing vibrates warmly against your shoulder.

If you try getting out of bed too early, he instinctively pulls you back against him without even waking.

“Mm. No,” he mutters sleepily into your hair.