CO2

It’s rare that he takes his time with you.

Lohen’s love is a ruinous thing. Every object of his pervasive obsession ends up as mulch beneath his feet, marred beyond its original purpose. Maybe you too are just another fleeting fancy of his, the same as a Ruin Guard or Mitachurl – only interesting insofar as his capability to destroy you.

But instead of being warped and destined for discardment, you’re being made anew. With every languid lap at your syrupy core, every soft suck at your engorged clit: whatever you were meant for, it doesn’t matter. You can’t even remember it.

“Hah, look at this pretty hole…” he coos. “Oh, she just clenched now! Do you like that?” You sob as the pad of his thumb grinds into the spot you know he’ll ravage. Pure, simple conditioning – and if you haven’t learnt by now, he’s going to pound it into you.

You swear his smile just gets wider. If it’s possible at all.

“Leaking on my hand, too? Aren’t you abusing your power today, doll? Acting like a slut, because you know that batting your eyes at me will get you whatever you want…” His tone darkens, and his expression drops. You’re gonna get it now – the price of what you went asking for.

“You think my patience lasts forever?” he spits. His breath is so warm against your pulsing cunt, and so close that you can only whimper. “You think you get to—fuck, you think you can try me all day, just sitting there looking like a five-star meal? You were made to be mine. You hear?” You nod helplessly, gasping as his grip on your hips gets tighter. You’re going to end up bruised, fingerprints marking you out as his and lasting for weeks. You always do.

 It’s how he likes you best: brought to the basest version of yourself, all teeth marks, scratches and throbbing, aching need that can’t be satisfied without him.

He tilts his head to the side, watching your pathetic show of pleading for him. He’s not convinced at all, but that works out perfectly. He’ll discipline you, push you over the edge and watch you topple. Then, he’ll pull you back by the collar and do it again. Over, and over, and over, until his hunger is completely sated. “Time to teach this pretty pussy a lesson.”

He takes away his hand, and you screw your eyes shut, bracing before you know what he’s about to do. You hear the impact before you really feel it – a wet, squelching slap! that echoes off the walls, a true testament to how soaked he’s managed to get you.

A little while after that, the burn sets in, a stinging wildfire spreading across your folds. You cry out as he lands another well-timed spank in the same area.

You’re wailing now, writhing in agony as your pussy reddens so cutely. He snickers as he watches you lose control of yourself, a hand coming down to register his stiffening cock. All you can hear over the blood roaring in your ears is a sharp gasp of air as your feet kick out, feeling something rounded and bony – he jerks at the impact to his shoulder, and keeps a silent tally.

But he can’t be mad at you. Not really, when you’re bucking against his mouth in your own primal version of exaltation. Not when your pussy tastes so sweet that you have him dripping pre in his boxers.

When you finally come to, once your vision isn’t whited-out in bliss anymore, you feel his cheeks against your inner thighs. Your knees are locked behind his head, and he’s groaning into your cunt as he slurps at your slit. Blinking dazedly, you release him, and he giggles, even as his face is red and his breaths are short.

“You have some nerve, I’ll give you that. Felt like I was fighting against your thighs and losing.” He coughs, but still licks his fingers clean. Men would be caged for far milder than the look he gives you: between murder, and rabid, unadulterated lust.

“Guess I’m gonna have to repay the favour.”

How you’d gotten tangled up with him was a mystery to even yourself. An old tale of someone you once held close getting locked up in the warden’s quarters, and for every visit, you found yourself less excited to see them, and instead, Wriothesley was the face you anticipated seeing within those cold, metal walls.

He took quite the liking to you himself. Eventually, you only started showing up for him. And he’d keep you held beside, beneath, or on top of him until the sun came up. Until his name was one you could remember better than your own, and only then would he let up, hold your face in his calloused hand and plant firm kisses all over the surface of your spent body until he soothed you to a much-needed sleep.

The things that initially drew you to him, you saw in Varka, too. The selflessness. The subtle longing in his eyes, one that can only come from prolonged hope held tight even after a life filled with betrayal. A look you wanted to mend. A hope you wanted to fuel.

Then there was the shape of him, the sheer mass of his biceps, a physical strength sculpted beautifully from battle. Broad shoulders, sharp expression, rough hands with the shocking ability to be so gentle when they want to be. When you thought of him, sometimes it was hard to remember who it was on your mind.

Varka or Wriothesley.

You made the most of Varka’s visit. You spoke to him whenever you got the chance, and every so often, something would slip past his lips that sounded an awful lot like flirting, but he’d always cover it up with a cough, a lighthearted joke, or blame it on his habit of day-drinking. He was a gentleman, after all.

For weeks, you were caught between your exploratory conversations, vivid fantasies, and suggestive encounters with Varka during the day, and your deep talks, mind-shattering sex, and worshiping touches with Wriothesley at night.

Guilt caught up fast. Were you betraying your established-non-established relationship with Wriothesley by letting someone else infiltrate your thoughts in the most improper of ways? If Varka lost his self control, finally took your shorter skirts or sultry looks as an invitation to let up the gentleman act for one night, would you even be able to face Wriothesley again after?

Maybe he’d never have to find out. Varka surely had no clue that no matter how much he got you worked up during your interactions, you were getting more than adequately taken care of either way. If you got the chance to have your way with Varka during his visit, it could be your one moment of selfishness. He would have to return home eventually, anyway…

The idea seemed a lot more probable when you were sure they would never cross paths. Varka had no business in the prison, and Wriothesley rarely had reasons to come above the surface. You always went to him, besides the occasional date he’d take you on in The Court of Fontaine, none of which had overlapped with Varka’s vacation so far.

Until you were getting coffee with Varka early one morning, and you were both handed your own respective invitations to a grand party taking place the next night, the event planned by Miss Furina herself, with assistance from the Iudex.

Your heart dropped when you realized who else would 100% be getting an invite, even more when Varka invited you as his date, even more when you said yes, and as if it couldn’t get worse, Wriothesley wasn’t one to give you a break from his antics in public places.

“Shit.”

-----

“Might I say, you look beautiful tonight.” Varka compliments, offering you his arm when the two of you step onto the venue’s property. You scan the area before taking him up on his offer, hand wrapping around his bicep. “Not that you don’t always.”

You smile, letting him guide you up the stone walkway leading up to the stairs. Music blasts from inside, and every familiar face makes you swallow a gasp, though none have been who you’re worried about thus far.

Maybe Wriothesley wouldn’t care. It’s not as if you two had conversations about exclusivity. For all you know, he could have other partners. Plenty of them. He could be with one right now.

It, so selfishly, makes your heart drop to imagine that might be true.

“Maybe you’ve never been this sober looking at me before,” You joke, which makes Varka cough out a laugh that heats your skin with a warmth you’ve known about once before this moment.

“Well, booze makes you have more of an appetite. Perhaps we wouldn’t have spent so many lunches together otherwise.” He peers down at you as you two walk along, neater than usual blonde locks falling in front of his forehead. You urge to lift a hand, gently swiping it away, and then you imagine tenderly rubbing your thumb over the X-shaped scar on his cheek.

The same way you do to the scar under Wriothesley’s eye...

You clear your throat. “That would’ve been quite the shame.”

“I’d say so.”

Varka opens the door for you, mumbling something about knightly-duties, and you step into the venue.

The world stops spinning, and your throat goes dry.

You spot him. Well, his back. The Duke is talking to some people you barely recognize as guards who work at the Fortress, his hip against an unoccupied table and a glass of some alcohol you’re sure he doesn’t enjoy planted in his left hand.

“Hey, you okay?”

You turn your head so fast you almost get whiplash, forcing a smile when you see Varka’s concerned face, one of his hands pressed against your lower back. “Yeah, I’m fine. We should…”

You pause, stealing another glance in Wriothesley’s direction, and you grip Varka’s wrist hard the moment you see him start to turn around. “Go! Let’s go!”

You drag him to the left, ducking behind a large group of people to hopefully conceal yourself from the Duke’s view. Varka chuckles from behind you, planting a hand on your hip and helping you navigate the crowd in the direction of the bar. “Someone’s real excited to get me drunk.”

“I could give you every ounce of alcohol in here twice and you’d barely be tipsy, Mister Grand Master.”

He groans. “You and the formalities.” You reach the bar, and you swing your head back to try and spot where Wriothesley was while Varka takes a seat on a stool. “And you underestimate a knight’s tolerance. Three times, at least, if you want to see me tipsy.”

You spot him. You can see his side profile from this angle, in the same spot as before, talking to one of his guards with a half-smile planted across his handsome features. Varka being dressed the most formally you’d seen from him, that was no surprise. But the Duke—He cleans up nice for such a high-profile event.

Gods, you wanted to take that suit right off…

You turn back to Varka. You’re standing close enough to his seated body that he could easily take you by the hips and drag you between his knees.

“And if I want to see you drunk?” You answer finally, teasing.

He smirks, and like you have some kind of third eye, he takes your body between his hands and pulls you between his spread legs. “Ah, well, a man can get drunk off a lot of things.”

As if your heart wasn’t beating fast enough, it speeds up even more, and you flatten your palms against his chest. You peer down at him, and the lust in his eyes is contained very poorly, like he’s in a fight with himself still trying be a gentleman.

You hum. “And what’s your tolerance in that territory, Sir Varka?”

He takes a deep breath, his voice coming out deep and tortured. “For you, I might already be too far gone.”

You’re so close now that you can feel his breath on your lips, and your surroundings seem to fade into nothingness for a moment. Your palms are pressed against his shoulders now, but his heart is still pounding enough that you’re counting the beats in your head.

His mouth ghosts over yours, and right when you think he might finally snap, a booming voice snaps you right out of it.

“Hey, I had no idea you would be here!”

Your head flies up.

Wriothesley is about six feet away from you, squeezing through the crowd to get to the bar. However, his eyes aren’t on you. You’re not sure he even notices you—He’s walking right up to the bartender.

Oh shit.

“Ah, Your Grace!” The bartender greets, and Wriothesley takes a seat at one of the stools with a growing smile. “It’s nice to see you above the surface.”

“You too.” The Duke retorts politely. The bartender must have been an inmate at Meropide at some point. The conversations drags on, but you’ve ducked down enough so Varka’s seated form can conceal you from the only other man that has ever had the effect on you that has currently caused a noticeable dampness beneath your dress.

Varka’s breath hitches before falling into a low laugh. “Scandalous. However, I don’t think—”

“I’m not—” You quickly confirm, heat overtaking your cheeks. You are technically knelt in front of his lap right now. In public. With people everywhere. One of the closest being the last person who needs to find you in this incriminating position. You straighten up a bit. “I have to run to the bathroom.”

“Do you want me to come with—”

“No, no. That’s alright. I’ll be quick.” You swiftly shoot down, still needing him to be a human shield as you turn towards the bathroom sign found in the far left corner of the venue. You stay as low as you can without looking crazy, and you slip into the hallway and out of sight.

You raise a hand to clutch the chain of your necklace, leaning your back against the wall and using the empty space to catch your breath. Varka and Wriothesley are currently seated about five feet away from each other. How are you supposed to return and not get both of their attentions? You told Wriothesley you weren’t even going to this thing, because you knew he’d ask you to join him, and this predicament is complicated enough.

You hoped he wouldn’t go without you as a date, but date or no date, he showed.

Perfect.

You’re suddenly terrified of hurting him. For him to have to find out you not only lied about not coming, but you also came with another man…

You truly like him so much. Everything about him has enchanted you since the very first time his icy blue eyes met yours, the first time you heard his voice, the way he would laugh and mutter out half-hearted apologies when you scolded his common jokes about his own mortality or his past. A past he opened up to you about with a vulnerability you had only seen before in yourself, and that was when you were with him.

You never wanted to hurt him, but Varka… You like him too. So much, and every bone in your body wants to see where this thing with him goes. And it’s stupid that you got yourself in this situation, that you weren’t transparent with both of them ever since Varka arrived in Fontaine.

Now look where you are.

“Fuck,” You curse, putting your hands on your forehead. “Archons.”

You turn, using the wall for support and slipping into one of the single-person bathrooms. You turn the lock, taking quick steps over to the sink and putting your hands under the tap, letting the warmth soak into you and calm your nerves a bit. You dry your hands, fix your hair, and try to think of a way to get out of this.

You could sneak over and very quickly pull Varka back into the crowd, and bring him somewhere you can only hope Wriothesley has no business being. You could seduce him, convince him to get you out of here as soon as possible so…

So much for calming down. You pick at the fabric of your dress, feeling the way your panties have suctioned to your cunt from all the places your mind has gone tonight.

You unlock the bathroom door, slipping back into the hallway. Maybe you could find a familiar face and have them talk to Varka for you, have him join you somewhere else?

That could work. You slip out of the hallway, back into the main part of the venue, and you spot Varka at the bar. His head pops up, and he locks eyes with you.

Wriothesley isn’t behind him. You didn’t anticipate him moving spots.

Varka nods. Oh Gods, is he gesturing you over? You—

Something wraps around your wrists, and before you can react, you hear it.

Click.

You’re tugged back into the hallway as you gasp out, the front of your body being pressed flush against the cold wall, and something, someone, is pressing against your back, your cuffed hands pinned under them.

“Adultery might not be a crime, but it is very, very, frowned upon.” The warmth against the shell of your ear comes before the voice.

“Wriothesley,” You whisper, breathlessly. “I—Adultery?” Is he serious? “We’re—”

He shushes you. “However…” A beat passes, just long enough for one of his hands to slide to your hip and squeeze hard. “Lying to law enforcement, that is a crime.” His head drops, his breath now ghosting over your exposed shoulder. "You said you weren't coming."

Your stomach churns. “I—I didn’t… I’m sorry…”

“How well do you think sorry holds up in court, baby?”

Your eyes flutter closed, forehead pressed against the wall. “Not well.”

“Clever girl,” He praises, and your hips press back against his almost instinctively. All it would take is one person to round the corner, and he could be locked up in his own prison for public indecency.

That’s when you remember.

Varka. He was standing right there, he probably saw—

You’re swiftly tugged off the wall, forcing you out of your head. Wriothesley keeps his hands just above your elbows, your wrists still bound behind your back, and he leads you all the way to the end of the hallway toward a staircase you didn’t notice before.

“I could bring you to get checked in,” He speaks, his otherwise rushed movements more careful as he guides you up the stairs. “Keep you locked up in the Fortress with me. Wouldn’t that be fun, baby? Just me and you, all the time?”

Yes.

You reach the top of the stairs, and he’s not done speaking as he continues to pull you along. “I would never have to be done with you. But the Fortress, I think I like you too much to stick you there.”

Huh?

“But what kind of warden would I be if I didn’t punish those who have done wrong?”

Oh. 

“Have you done wrong, baby?”

“Yes,” You gasp out.

As Wriothesley drags you along, he sticks a hand out to check every door. Most are locked, but finally, he comes across one that isn’t.

You’re pushed through the doorway, and an arm wrapping around your waist catches you before you fall forward. Wriothesley pulls you to a couch off to the side of the room, which appears to be someone’s office, and sits you down on his lap. Your back to his front.

With your hands still pinned behind your back from the handcuffs, you manage to find and palm his bulge through his slacks. He groans, his feet snaking between yours before spreading, forcing your legs open wide. 

You gasp, and one of his hands grip your chin to force your mouth to his, swallowing the sound. You whimper, hips grinding against nothing as he leaves his free arm swung over the front of your body.

You moan his name, desperately, urging him to touch you as you’re left completely at his disposal.

He grins against your mouth, and just then, you jump at the sound of the door creaking open and slamming shut.

We’re caught, you think, snapping your head forward, expecting to see the panicked, mortified eyes of one of the other guests, likely whoever this office belongs to.

The blue hues staring back at you are far from what you expected.

Your throat goes dry. “Varka.”

He shrugs his suit jacket off, slowly stalking over to the couch. Wriothesley’s hand is still wrapped around your chin, and he forces your head back to press his mouth to your ear.

“What was the plan? You were going to hide from me all night?”

“And I was your shield of choice?” Varka continues, the smirk on his face and the tone of Wriothesley’s voice suggesting neither them are as upset as you feared they would be. No, this, what they’re actually feeling, didn’t even cross your mind.

They must’ve spoken when you ran off to the bathroom. Surely Wriothesley spotted you all cozied up between Varka’s knees, and used the bartender as an excuse to get close enough to confirm his suspicions. You storming off was the perfect opportunity for him to figure out what was going on.

Honestly, you couldn’t be happier.

You shudder, Wriothesley’s hand that isn’t gripping your face moving to your hip. He pulls your dress up, scrunching it around your waist, leaving your soaked panties on display. You whine, and his thumb circles your hipbone in a comforting, encouraging, gesture.

“I didn’t think you’d show,” You mumble, talking to Wriothesley.

He chuckles. “You bet a lot on that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, baby.” He shoots down, his lips finding your neck, and you moan when he bites down. “But you could’ve just told me.”

Your eyes find Varka as he drops his suit jacket on the armrest of the couch, and the lust he was working so hard to keep control of earlier, he seems to have fully let loose now. The look in his gaze is so maddeningly erotic that you try to snap your legs closed just to get some friction, but Wriothesley’s feet keep you spread.

Your eyes fall closed, head tipping back against Wriothesley's shoulder. “I didn’t want you to be upset.”

He laughs once. “I might’ve been a little upset.”

You lean up enough to be able to crane your neck to see him.

“But I’m not,” He finishes quickly. “Not now.”

You turn to Varka.

He smiles. “Neither am I.”

You slowly relax against Wriothesley’s chest again, rolling your bottom lip into your mouth and biting down. He hums approvingly, and your eyes trail Varka’s movements as he approaches you.

He drops to his knees between your legs.

You gasp, and Wriothesley is quick to steady you with one hand on your hip, the other resting gently around your throat.

You understand their plan now.

Varka’s hands find each of your exposed legs, rubbing up and down the warmed skin like he’s committing the feeling of you to memory. You wonder if he does this a lot. He has quite a few years on you, more than Wriothesley does, but the stories he loves to tell you always suggested a lack of time to get laid.

“You alright?” Varka mumbles, dropping his head to kiss up your inner thigh, approaching the apex that is in desperate need of either his or Wriothesley’s attention.

You nod. Part of you wants to stop him just to have him tell you exactly what conversation led to him and Wriothesley coming to this consensus, but, you know how to pick your battles, and staying silent feels like a notable win.

You moan when he presses feather-light kisses against you through the embarrassingly soaked fabric of your underwear, his tongue darting out to apply gentle pressure to your clit. You choke out his name, bucking your hips and dropping your head back. Every movement is curious as he learns the workings of your body in the presence of someone who probably knows how to get you off better than you do.

“So greedy,” Wriothesley murmurs, biting your earlobe. “Wanting both of us so badly. Was I not filling you up well enough, baby? Is that it?”

You rapidly shake your head, which makes him laugh lowly.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

Varka’s fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear, and Wriothesley frees one of your feet just so Varka can tug them off before holding you open again. Your hands start to work at his bulge again, even though the pressure of being pinned between two bodies is starting to be numbing. He groans, pressing his face against your neck, and before you can relish in the sound, Varka is pressing his face against your bare cunt.

You moan out, back arching as he quickly begins to lap up at the arousal the two of them have already contributed to. One hand rests on your thigh, and the other holds down the hip that Wriothesley isn’t already attending to. You’re completely vulnerable to both of their pleasurable antics, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Varka,” You nearly cry, and Wriothesley is quick to swallow the sound with his own mouth. You can barely reciprocate when Varka wraps his lips around your clit and sucks gently, but the Duke doesn’t seem to have any complaints, greedily drinking up every sound that emerges from your throat.

“Shh…” Wriothesley coaxes. “Don’t want anyone to hear you, do you, baby?”

“Mmm… No.”

“That’s right,” He praises, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth and biting gently. “That’s a good girl.”

You whine, forcing your mouth against his again to try and muffle your sounds as Varka hungrily eats you out. His tongue swipes over your fluttering hole before dipping inside, making you choke. Wriothesley’s calloused hand is now wrapped firmly around your throat, holding you in place. 

You’re so overwhelmed with the sensations, the shock, the reality of the situation. You went into tonight anxious that these two men would come within 20 feet of each other, and now they’re both eagerly pleasuring you with no signs of anger or sadness. If anything, the thought of working together to make you come apart seems to be spurring them on, Wriothesley’s cock hardening beneath you every time Varka elicits a high-pitched moan from deep in your chest, and Varka working more tirelessly at your pussy when he catches a glimpse of Wriothesley’s hand clutching your throat.

Whether its competitiveness or something else entirely, it’s working out in your favour.

Varka’s hand retreats from your thigh, and you gasp when his rough fingertips trail over your hole, clenching around nothing. He sucks and nips at your clit with less fervor as his eyes flit up to watch your face when he dips his middle finger inside of you.

“Oh,” You exhale, barely getting the word out as Wriothesley’s hand tightens around your throat. He cranes his neck to watch your face, studying your reactions.

Varka’s finger drags along the inside of your cunt, in and out, his tongue still lazily circling your nerves. You whine, hungry for more, and he picks up on that quickly, a second finger pressing into you.

Your back arches again, your position shifting as your bound wrists lift to rest somewhere higher, and you now have the option to shamelessly grind back against Wriothesley’s cock.

And you do.

The thrust of Varka’s digits are slow and experimental at first, his eyes still pinned on you, the heat of his gaze urging you to press back against Wriothesley’s crotch. The Duke’s hand that was on your hip travels to fully wrap around your waist, helping you along as he gasps and groans right in your ear. Varka chases the desperate movements of your hips with newfound vigor, curling his fingers against your spongy walls and flattening his tongue against your clit.

Wriothesley’s tongue dips out to drag along the shell of your ear. “Close, baby?”

You nod, chasing Varka’s mouth and arching your neck enough that the top of your head grazes the fabric of the couch Wriothesley sits on. A lewd mixture of both their names keeps emerging from your throat, like your mind can't register which one of them to thank for this feeling.

The pads of Varka’s fingers find the perfect spot inside of you, abusing the patch of nerves until you’re gushing around his fingers, hips retreating and grinding firmly against Wriothesley, who nearly chokes.

Varka keeps lapping at your clit through your orgasm, only pulling away when you whine and squirm at the overstimulation. He’s quick to resort to trailing kisses upwards, to the hem of your dress which is still bunched around your waist.

“Uncuff her.”

Wriothesley grunts. “Sit up for me.”

You do, panting, leaning forward enough that Wriothesley can access your cuffed wrists. Varka takes this as an opportunity to steal his very first kiss from you, and you hum at the taste of yourself on his lips.

His hand grips the back of your neck, still on his knees in front of you, and you feel like you’re being worshiped as his tongue desperately dances with yours. You hear the soft click from earlier again, and Wriothesley tosses the cuffs aside before gently massaging your wrists until the numbness subsides. He leans forward enough to gently bite your shoulder. 

“You okay?” He mumbles, one of his hands finding your clothed ribcage and resting it there comfortingly.

You nod, pulling back from Varka, a string of saliva connecting your lips. He groans loudly at the sight, reaching down to adjust the crotch of his slacks. You lick your lips.

“Good,” Wriothesley says, sliding his hands under your dress to tug it the rest of the way off. You put your hands up to assist him, and he throws the garment over the arm rest to join Varka’s coat. “Because you’re not done yet.”

Thank the gods.

Wriothesley tugs you to your feet, and you barely even have time to process the change of position before your chest is pressed flush against the cold wood of the desk. 

“Careful,” Varka scolds lightheartedly, coming up beside the desk to tenderly stroke your hair. You angle your head to look up at him, his knuckles grazing the soft skin on your cheek. He looks utterly enchanted by the fucked-out expression on your face. It’s the same way he looked at you when he came to get you at the start of the night and saw you all dolled up for him.

“I know what she likes,” Wriothesley remarks.

Competitiveness.

You can’t pretend you don’t find it really hot.

Varka barks out a laugh, flattening his palm over your head, sliding down your back and snapping open your bra clasp with skill. Guess that rules out your virgin theory, though you were already skeptical about that. Like, look at him. “And what does she like?”

Wriothesley grabs your waist, lifting you enough that Varka can pull off your bra. The second it’s off, each of them are palming one of your breasts with an equal amount of need. “She likes to be a real good girl,” He answers, taking your nipple between two of his fingers and exhaling shakily at the way you whine his name. “She likes to take everything I give her. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” You moan out.

He rests you down again, his palm pressing against the middle of your back to urge you to arch it. He kicks your ankles, opening your legs.

“Might as well demonstrate.”

The familiar sound of his belt unbuckling makes your knees weak, and Wriothesley continues to shrug his slacks off one-handed so he can steady your hips with the other. You're sure the desk beneath you is already majorly coated with your sweat, and you're so aroused that the evidence of such must be dripping.

Varka’s heavy footsteps circle the desk, and you turn your head to watch him as he drops down in the desk chair. You whine, grabbing the side of the desk closest to him, and he smirks before reaching out to engulf your hand in his large one, rubbing your pulse point with his thumb.

You hear Wriothesley’s slacks hit the ground, and then you feel the head of his cock nudging your cunt, and you already greedily try to suck him in by pressing your hips back.

“So needy,” Wriothesley scolds, but there’s no real distaste in his voice. You know he wants it just as bad as you.

“Yes,” You agree shamelessly. “Please.”

He bends over your back to trail kisses down your spine. “This is supposed to be a punishment, mind you.”

You desperately try to push your hips back again. “This feels plenty punishing, Your Grace.” 

Wriothesley laughs at that, leaning off of you, and you can feel him line his cock up with you again.

“I think she’s been very remorseful,” Varka adds, voice thick with his own arousal.

You nod in agreement.

Wriothesley sighs, one hand on your hip and the other sliding up to your shoulder. 

“Very well.”

He presses half his length into you in one firm thrust.

You sob, squeezing Varka’s hand and pressing your forehead to the desk. You’ve taken him so many times, plenty just like this, bent over his desk at Meropide, but he’s just so thick that you’re not sure your body will ever fully adjust to the sheer size of him.

Wriothesley shushes you, leaning down to kiss your shoulder as he slowly begins to slide further in, inch by inch. “There—Fuck.” His head falls forward. “Taking me so well. So good, baby.”

You clench around him at the praise, and he grunts before bottoming out in one more fell swoop.

His weight is relieved off your back, just for his hand that was previously on your shoulder to tangle up in your hair and tug your head back. You moan, ass grinding back.

“Greedy,” He notes again.

Hell yeah, you were.

He pulls nearly all the way out, until just the tip is left inside of you, and then he presses all the way back in to the hilt.

You nearly scream, biting down on your lip to muffle yourself. You’re suddenly aware of all the voices floating into the room from downstairs, the event still roaring with life, and how the shaking desk along with your desperate moans might quickly paint a very clear picture of what’s going on in here.

As if reading your mind, Varka unwraps his hand from yours and instead grips your chin, his thumb pressing against your lips. You take it in your mouth, closing your teeth around it and swirling your tongue. He grunts at the sight, and you catch a glimpse of him palming himself through his pants.

The effect you have on him makes your body greedily clench around Wriothesley’s cock, and the sensation urges him to begin thrusting inside of you. He sets a steady pace, every ridge of his cock dragging against you in the best of ways.

You cry out his name, muffled by Varka’s thumb shoved in your mouth. One of your palms press flat against the wood as you arch your back to accommodate the Duke’s deep thrusts, and the other wraps around Varka’s wrist.

Wriothesley uses his grips on your hip and hair to repeatedly pull you to meet his thrusts with force, and every nudge of his cock deep inside your cunt makes you see stars behind your eyelids. He chokes out small praises, telling you how beautiful you are, how good you are for him, his own way of reminding you how much it matters to him that you let him have you like this. Even with his rough treatment, he's always made sure you know that you're the only person who could ever get him worked up like this.

And you thought, for even a second, that he could’ve been fucking someone else. You would laugh if you hadn’t lost the ability to do anything except murmur pleas incoherently. 

You’re a complete mess, and the sight of you coming undone is something unlike anything either men have known before. The way Wriothesley fucks you has you convinced you’re going to fuse with the desk, and seeing how needy and pliant you have already grown for when Varka gets his turn with you… His cock is begging to be freed from his slacks, and if he weren’t brought up with the selfless and patient values of a knight, he would’ve shoved Wriothesley clean out of the way if it meant getting inside you sooner.

Wriothesley angles his thrusts to hit that spot inside of you he knows gets you, and the way you’re drooling and mumbling around Varka’s thumb has him even closer to tipping over the edge with you. His hand drops from your hair, circling your stomach, and his forehead drops to your shoulder as his thrusts stutter. His grunts are desperate, and the occasional needy whimper-like sound that you evoke from him makes your nerves feel like fucking fireworks.

“Good girl,” He gasps out, his hand around your body sliding down to circle your swollen clit with two fingers. You choke, tilting your head back, wanting the closeness, and he picks up on that when he smears kisses across your shoulder, your cheek, a lewd yet tender action as he spills inside of you at the same time you gush around his cock, screaming against Varka’s hand.

He fucks you through your orgasm, panting heavily against your skin.

Varka gently pulls his thumb from your mouth, letting you slacken against the desk.

“Wriothesley,” You murmur.

He leans off of you. “You did so well.” His palm rubs up and down your spine in a comforting gesture. “You’re such a good girl, baby.”

You manage a lazy smile as he slowly pulls his length from inside of you, cursing at the way his release immediately begins to spill out. You suppose you would’ve had to bring that up to Varka before the two of you had sex either way, that you and Wriothesley rarely bothered with protection.

You were sure he could tell now.

Wriothesley pulls you up, spinning you to face him and cupping your face. He kisses you tenderly, and you grip his arms and hum.

“Okay,” He says gently, pressing a few more kisses to your collarbone and chest. You watch as he redresses his boxers and slacks, and then he spins you towards an inviting face.

“Come here, sweetheart.”

You approach him on wobbly legs, and Varka brings you down to straddle his lap when you reach him. You clutch the neckline of his dress shirt, and he kisses you slow, eyes half lidded, like he’s analyzing you again.

“Tired?” He teases.

“Drunk?” You retort.

“You think I’ve had time for booze?”

You slide your hands down to rest on his sides. “The other drunk.”

“Oh—Fuck, sweetheart, I’m wasted.”

You grin, and then you reach down to start undoing his belt. He grunts, letting you unbuckle it and pull it out of the loops. Wriothesley leans against the wall next to the chair, and he just watches you.

The look on his face, you're sure he’ll be up for another go once Varka is done with you.

You're never getting out of this office.

You toss the belt aside as Varka hastily lifts his hips to tug his pants and briefs down. His cock stands at attention, precum dripping from the tip that you so desperately want to lap up. It’s definitely a little bigger than anything you’ve taken before, but you anticipated that. Wriothesley was the biggest man you’d ever seen in your life until you saw Varka.

“You sure?” He murmurs, leaning forward to kiss your neck. “If you’re tired, sweetheart…”

“Quit being such a knight,” You mumble.

“Yeah. You’re making me look bad.”

You glare at Wriothesley, and you can only guess that the smirk that appears on his face is because of how non-threatening you look right now. Fucked-out, tired, and still desperate for more. 

You push up on your knees, taking the base of Varka’s cock in your palm and pumping him slowly. His hands squeeze your hips, grunting and thrusting up into your hand. You bite your lip. 

You position yourself above his throbbing erection, and you gasp when his tip gets caught in your oversensitive cunt. You’re so overwhelmed already, not sure how much more you can take, but the Grand Master seems to be an impressively patient man.

He slowly helps you lower yourself down, every inch of him stretching you open with such a good ache. Your hands grip his shoulders, and you feel Wriothesley’s eyes on you… You might pass out.

Varka’s hands on your hips guide his cock deeper into you until you’re seated, taking all of him.

“Good girl.” He cups your face, forcing your gaze to meet his. His blue eyes are glossed over and so full of need, and you want to give him everything he seems so depraved of. “Just take it easy for me, sweetheart.”

You nod, lifting one of your hands and gently touching the scar on his face with the tips of your fingers. His eyes are locked on your face, your parted lips, your half-lidded eyes, the absolute fucking mess of your hair…

“Fuck.”

His fists close around your hips hard enough to bruise, and then he’s lifting you up just to force you back down on his cock. You sob, falling forward, and all you can do is cling to him as he starts to bounce you up and down. His groans and your moans blend together, and you thank the gods that his knightly patience finally snapped.

He ruts up into you, chasing a high he’s been craving ever since he first saw you. You try to keep your face buried in his neck, but you’re abruptly pulled back by a hand in your hair.

When your eyes fade back into focus, Wriothesley’s cock is in front of your face.

So, like a good girl, you drop your jaw.

He curses, using his grip on your hair to push your mouth halfway down on his cock, and he eagerly strokes the base with his free hand. You suck around him, moaning and drooling to create a view that might be doing more for him than anything else.

Varka steadies your hips, instead just thrusting up into you instead of bouncing you up and down. You try to focus on getting Wriothesley off, too, but when Varka’s thumb pokes out to rub your clit, you’re immediately a goner.

You go mindless, just a crying, moaning mess as you get fucked through your third orgasm. Soon enough, Varka’s head falls back against the chair with a heavy groan, releasing inside of you to join what was left of Wriothesley’s seed. Speaking of which, only a few more pumps have Wriothesley coming in your mouth, and with the last of your strength, you seal your lips around him and greedily drink it all down.

“Shit.” Wriothesley pulls from your mouth with a pop, and you fall against Varka’s chest with heavy breaths. Varka uses his hold on your hips to gently lift you off his cock, pulling just his boxers back on before settling you more comfortably against him.

Your cheek rests against his shoulder, face turned toward his chest, and he strokes your back.

Wriothesley gets redressed before coming up beside you and tucking your sweaty hair behind your ear. He nods to Varka.

“How close to here are you staying?”

Varka’s arms wrap around you, and he sits up a bit. “Let’s go. Grab her dress.”

---

The next time you feel even slightly awake, you’re lying down in the middle of a double-bed. The sheets beneath you smell like a newly familiar scent, and the large shirt thrown over your body smells like one you’ve known for months. 

You sit up, wiping your eyes and yawning.

“Hey, lay back down.” The mattress dips to your right, and you look down to see Wriothesley, settling next to you and pulling the covers over you both.

You obey without hassle, tiredness still pulling at your limbs, and a dull ache resting between your legs. You know you aren’t doing anything tomorrow. Or today?

“Varka cleaned you up, you’re all good, baby.”

You hum, curling into his chest contently. Just then, the mattress dips again on your left.

“She awake?”

“Not anymore, I don’t think.”

You’re too exhausted to share the state of your semi-consciousness, especially when another comforting warmth presses against your back, and you're now sandwiched between two soothing forms.

You nod too fast, cheeks heating as you tug the blanket higher, squishing your thighs together, praying the movement looks causal.

“Are you sure? You’ve been… I dunno… weird tonight.”

“Weird?” you squeak. “What do you mean?”

Caleb turns fully toward you, and you stubbornly keep your gaze locked on the screen. Something shifts in the air under his attention, the room warming and suddenly shrinking two sizes too small. 

“Hey,” his voice is gentle. “Look at me.”

You swallow hard, finding your will, and turn your head. 

Caleb’s eyes are wide, but not with concern alone. They drift over the blanket wrapped around your body, then back to your face, soft but intent. 

“You don’t have to lie,” he murmurs. “I can tell you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m not!” you defend quickly. “I could never be uncomfortable with you. I’m just… having one of those days…”

“Yeah?” His voice drops then, like he already knows. He shifts just an inch closer and it makes everything worse. “Y’know you don’t have to lie to me, pips.”

You close your eyes, exhaling. He’s not going to let it go.

“It’s just… that day during my cycle,” you mutter, fingers twisting in the blanket. “It… makes me all flustered and…” you trail off, never more embarrassed. 

“Can I help?”

Your eyes snap open. “W-What?”

“Can I help?” he repeats, already moving closer to crowd your space. Large arms brace on either side of your hips. His gaze goes hazy, hungry in a way you’ve never let yourself notice before. “Please?”

You choke on a gasp, the sound breaking into a needy whine. Your mind pulls in two opposite directions–your pussy throbbing helplessly at the offer while your heart twists at how much could change if you give in. 

The decision is made for you. Caleb sees the hesitation, but the desire in your eyes win. His lips crash onto yours.

You melt instantly. Of course you do. Your fingers tangle in his hair, dragging him close while you pant into his mouth like you’ve been craving this for far longer than just tonight. 

Your heart pounds in time with the pulse between your thighs, completely soaking you through the dainty fabric. 

No more words. Caleb's hands do the talking, rough and impatient as they yank your shorts down your legs. His gaze immediately darts to your panties and he groans low in his throat. 

“Oh my… fuck…” he breaths, already shoving his sweats down. “Why didn’t you let me help you earlier?” 

“I–I was embarrassed.” You admit, failing against the cushions. 

“You never have to be embarrassed, baby…” the pet name curls around you, warm and possessive. “Never for this.” 

He settles over you, sweats pushed low but boxers still on. His cock is painfully hard, straining against the fabric, but he doesn’t touch himself—just presses the thick length right against your soaked, cotton covered core. 

You gasp, the contact is electric, exactly what your pussy’s been begging for. Caleb dips down and captures your lips, the kiss turning messy almost instantly. You cling to each other, exhaling loud out of your noses to not separate. His hips drag, pulling sweet little whines from your throat.

Caleb’s lip part as a raw moan slips free, his lips still dragging wet kisses across yours. He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes half-lidded and completely fixated, like he can’t believe this is real. The hard line in his boxers grinds against the thin cotton covering your heat again. 

Best friends definitely weren’t supposed to be doing this. But the forbidden edge tastes so sweet, and the simple, devastating fact that it’s him, only makes it more addictive.

You lift your hips aggressively, chasing friction when the head of his cock brushes your swollen clit through the layers. Your panties are drenched now, letting him slide easily, every drag spending sparks up your spine. The wrongness of it, the rightness of him, is intoxicating.

Your sweet, protective best friend, reduced to nothing but a man desperate for any form of contact from you.

“Pips…” he groans, pressing harder. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

A wicked smirk curves your lips before you pull him back into a messy, open-mouthed kiss that's full of a hunger neither of you wishes to hide. Your teeth sink into his bottom lip, then your tongue soothes the sting. 

His large hands roam up from your hips to squeeze your breasts through the thin fabric of his t-shirt you’d stolen tonight. You–all bare legs, skimpy panties, and his shirt–has him twitching in his boxers. 

“Fuck…” he pants, pulling back from the kiss, but never stilling his shallow thrusts. Conflict suddenly flashes in his eyes. “We…we shouldn’t be—ah!—doing this.”

You manage a sweet, dangerously innocent voice, slowly rocking your hips—just once, over his throbbing need. “W-Why not, Caleb? You’re just helping me. We’re…mmph…not doing anything wrong.”

He groans at the obvious lie, bracing himself on his forearms to suspend his weight over you. His muscles are wound tight, straining against his restraint, which crumbles with his next sentence.

“I need to… see you,” he grunts. “See what I’m doing to you, pretty girl.”

Before you can think, his trembling hand hooks your panties aside. The choked sound he makes at the sight of your glistening, swollen pussy, goes straight to your core, then he’s slamming his still-clothed cock right over your directly exposed wetness.

His hips lose rhythm, jerking wildly in a desperate, uncoordinated rut. His cock throbs violently in his boxers, chasing a release he can’t hold back. The friction is filthy, intoxicating, your whimpers mixing with his wrecked moans. 

“So beautiful…” he murmurs, eyes fluttering shut.  “God, you’re so beautiful, honey.”

The most captivating sounds spill from Caleb’s lungs, a mix of whimpers and guttural moans as a sudden warmth blooms and soaks the material of his boxers, seeping out onto your puffy core. He collapses forward, breathing ragged against your ear.

“Did you just–”

“Mhmm…” he hums, voice shaky but completely unashamed. “All in my boxers. I couldn’t help it.”

You huff a gentle laugh, still trembling with want, thighs slick and aching. “Wanna do it inside me now?” 

✮⋆˙— sylus

Your bare feet pad into your shared bedroom, steam spilling out behind you and curling along the ceiling like a lingering sigh. Droplets cling to your skin, sliding down the curve of your throat and between your breasts before disappearing beneath the collar of your robe. You tug the fabric tighter, shifting your hips as the restless heat returns low in your belly.

The bath had meant to ease the tension that haunted you all day, yet all it’s done is make you more aware of it.

To your surprise, Sylus sits propped up against the headboard in nothing but a pair of black pajama pants, glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, a book open in his hand. He must have returned home while you were submerged. 

The second you step into the room, his gaze lifts slowly and pins you in place. The pupils in his eyes widen, something soft but hungry in his gaze. 

He knows exactly what today is. 

“Come here,” he says sweetly, patting the mattress beside him.

You oblige without hesitation, climbing onto the bed and crawling up the sheets before flopping onto your stomach with a muffled groan. The cool fabric against your flushed skin makes you shiver. 

“You didn’t enjoy your bath?” he hums, palm gliding over your robe-clad back in slow, soothing passes that only only makes the ache worse. 

“No, I did,” you mumble into the pillow. “I’m just…” your voice trails off, embarrassment tangling your tongue. The words feel too exposed, even to your husband. 

“I know.” His tone drops, husky and threaded with quiet amusement. “You’re so warm.”

The mattress dips as he shifts to settle behind you. Strong fingers slip to your front to find the tie of your robe and loosen it, peeling the damp silk from your shoulders. His lips follow the path of exposed skin, pressing hot, lingering kisses along your shoulder blades. 

“You even smell sweet today,” he murmurs against your skin.

Heat floods all over again, a slick gush seeping from your sweet hole and onto the mattress. A quiet whimper slips free as you lift your hips, brushing your ass back against the firmness straining beneath his pajama bottoms. 

“Sylus…” you breathe. 

“Yes, kitten?” his hands slide down to your hips, thumbs kneading the soft skin. “Use your words.” 

He rolls his hips forward in a slow grind, letting you feel the heavy weight of him exactly where you’re aching most.

“I need you…” you whimper, voice small. 

Sylus smirks, peppering kisses just beneath your ear. “And why do you need me?”

You're grateful your face is buried in the mattress because your cheeks burn instantly. His teasing is gentle, but relentless–he wants to hear it.  

“Because…” you swallow. “you know… ‘m ovulating.”

Sylus groans as he presses his cock deeper against you. Your robe is peeled down your arms, the silk whispering against your skin as it gives way before it’s tossed aside. Cool air kisses your heated skin, replaced quickly by the warmth of his body hovering over yours.

“Is that so, kitten?” his hands trails down your bare back, fingers tracing every dip of your spine. “Do you want me to take care of that for you?”

“Please.”

A kiss is pressed to your head before he lifts himself long enough to push his pajamas down. You feel him a second later, the gentle tap of his cock once against your ass, a bead of precum smearing onto your skin. The sensation makes you shudder, hips instinctively pressing back for more.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with admiration as his hands spread over your lower back, keeping you still. “You’re so wet for me.”

His cock drags slowly between your slick folds, the glide torturously slow. You can feel every vein, every pulse, your pussy clenching around nothing as he coats himself in your arousal. Praise falls from his lips in soft murmurs—good girl… so sweet… so ready for me—each word sending another wave of heat through you.

When he finally lines himself up and begins to push inside, it's agonizingly slow. Sylus wants you to feel every stretch until you’re gasping into the sheets, fingers curling into the favor. His hand rubs soothing circles into your hip while his forehead presses between your shoulder blades.

At first, it’s gentle. Deep, steady thrusts rock your body forward, the headboard tapping the wall in rhythm. But your soft, broken mewls and the way you push back against him, smearing your slick heat across his abdomen, wears down that compose.

Fingers dig into your hips, tightening until you’re certain the marks will linger. The pace quickens, each thrust landing harder than the last, the quiet room filling with the wet sounds of skin meeting skin and the desperate hitch of your cries. He has you exactly where he wants you. 

Well, almost. 

His arm snakes around your waist while his other hand splays possessively across the top of your spine. The weight of him forces your body into a deep, supplicating arch that maximizes the depth.

There.

He grunts a low, satisfied sound as your walls flutter around him in reply to the new angle. “You like that, sweetheart?”

A round of sharp, breathless inhales answers his question. “Y-yes–hicc–y-yes!”

His hips surge forward violently at the sweet sound, losing any remaining gentleness.

“I’m so deep like this, kitten,” he gasps, each word punctuated by the heavy slam of his cock driving into you again and again. “Could stuff you so full right now…”

A needy whine spills from you, drool dampening the pillow as pleasure muddles coherent thoughts. “C-Could you n-now?” The question tumbles out with a desperate sincerity between gasps.

Sylus leans forward, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. “I could. And you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

A shudder runs down your spine as he pulls you upright against him, your back flushed to his chest. Your head falls onto his shoulder, baring your throat. He takes immediate advantage, slowing his frantic rhythm to deep, punishing thrusts that make your toes curl while his lips work at the sensitive skin of your neck, sucking dark love bites onto the supple skin. 

“You’re already so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice thick with affection as he drags himself out to the tip before slamming back in, forcing a sob from your lips. “Imagine how beautiful you’d be swollen with me right—”

His hand slides from your waist to your stomach, palm spreading wide as his fingers splay possessively over the skin there.

“—here.”

Your eyes flutter shut as the image floods your mind—round and full of him. The thought alone makes your pussy clench, slickness leaking down his length in a fresh rush. 

“Oh, you’d let me, wouldn’t you, kitten?” His hand glides upward, fingers curling around your jaw, firm but tender as he tilts your face back towards his. He needs to see you, need to see the honesty in your eyes. “You’d let me fuck a baby into you?”

The words ignite something molten in your core, spewing a string of moans from your lips. Your gaze locks with his, and the seriousness in his expression steals what little breath you have left. 

His grip on your jaw tightens just enough to keep your focus as his thrusts pick up again. “Words. Use them.”

“Y-Yes,” you sputter.

“Yes what, sweetheart?”

“Yes I’d l-let you—hah!—fuck a b-baby into me, Sy!”

A strangled growl tears from his throat. Your answer unlocks something feral in him. His pace turns ruthless, ramming his cock into you with one intention.

“Gonna fuck you so full, sweetie,” he promises hoarsely. “I’ll make sure it—nngh—takes.”

He’s already throbbing inside you, completely captivated by the sheer thought of getting you pregnant. His lips crash against yours in a heated, desperate kiss, swallowing your moans as his movements grow sloppy with need. With a groan that rumbles through both of you, his tip slams against your soft cervix, releasing hot pulses of his seed. He doesn’t stop, rolling his hips in slow thrusts to ensure it took. 

When he finally stills, he rests his sweaty forehead against yours, a dazed smile tugging at his lips. 

“We have to ensure it takes, kitten,” in a smooth motion he flips you both, letting you sit atop him. “Show me how badly you want it.”  

✮⋆˙— zayne

You watch the clock tick past, the small hand resting on the hour, officially signaling that Zayne is off shift.

Unfortunately, he still won’t be home for at least another hour. Judging by his lack of reply to your texts, there’s probably mountains of paperwork, last-minute calls, and traffic standing between him and this house. You’ll be lucky if you see him before nightfall.

You groan, slumping against the edge of the bed, tilting your head back to stare at the ceiling. The one day you really need Zayne, and he’s nowhere in sight.

Your body aches with need, each pulse a reminder that ovulation has turned you feral. Heat blooms in your lower belly, soaking your panties, and you can't stop pressing your thighs together to try and relieve it. 

Your gaze flicks to the mirror. Your reflection stares back with flushed cheeks. You bite your lip and glance at the clock again. There is a solution. 

Zayne will probably be exhausted when he gets home. If you take care of yourself now, you can tend to him later. 

Fuck it. 

With zero ceremony, you kick off your shorts, the fabric of your soaked panties clinging to your pussy. Your cheeks burn an even deeper crimson as you push them down, peeling away the damp material and leaving your lower half exposed to the reflective glass. 

Desperation makes your movements sloppy. Your fingers dip inside your dripping cunt, index and middle finger instantly slick with your need. You twitch as they withdraw, then drag up to twirl them in gentle circles over your swollen clit, shivering at the surge of pleasure. 

A tiny moan escapes your lips, high and breathless. It's been a while since you’ve touched yourself solo—because you usually have Zayne. But tonight, he’s just an image in your head, and that thought alone is enough to make you squirm. 

You mimic his touch, spreading your folds and teasing your swollen bud just like he would. Stop. Start. Your hips lift instinctively, chasing the delicious burning building in your core. 

“Z-Zaynie…” you whimper to the air, eyes flicking to your reflection, watching your pussy flutter around what would be his cock if he were here. Your thighs threaten to slam together, but you force them apart. 

You lose yourself in the sensation of your fingers' newfound rhythm. Pressure builds, threatening to boil over the edge. Your breath catches, lips parting in moans that are muffled but urgent. 

And then—

Your eyes snap open and they aren’t just seeing you in the mirror. Zayne is in the doorway, tie loosened from work. His expression is unreadable, but dangerously hungry. His arms are crossed, like he’s trying to seem annoyed—but you know that look. He’s definitely turned on and fully amused by your shame. 

“Shit—mmgh—Zayne—!” you squeak, yanking your hand back and slamming your thighs together as if that could hide the evidence of your crime. 

He steps in slowly, never breaking eye contact as he sets his glasses on the nightstand. 

“It’s not—” you start, then stop, as you realize it is. “I’m sorry, I just… ugh.” You bury your face in your hands, cheeks burning hotter than ever. 

“There’s no need to be ashamed,” he says evenly, taking a single step in the room. “Continue.”

You glance at him, confused. “But Zayne—“

“Did I misspeak?” His voice is unnervingly calm. 

“N-No,” you stammer. “B-But I don’t understand. I only did it because you weren’t here, and now that you are—”

“That doesn’t change anything.” He interrupts, voice low and commanding. “You were doing it when I wasn’t here. You couldn’t wait. So go ahead. Finish without my help, just like you intended all along.”

A shiver runs through you. His words are cold, but utterly thrilling. You stare at him, searching for a crack in his expression that isn’t there. 

Swallowing your embarrassment, you part your thighs again and place your hand back between your legs. The time you look at him—not at the mirror—as your fingers slide inside yourself. Your slick folds glisten under the bedroom light, fully displayed for him, yet he doesn’t even look. Zayne moves around the room, loosening his cuffs, rolling his shoulders, and going about his normal post-shift like you’re not bare and dripping a few feet away. 

The normalcy of it makes your stomach twist. He’s doing it on purpose, and every second he doesn’t look is a silent command to keep going. 

So, you continue. The pressure builds, unbearable now, and you bite your cheek to hold back a moan. “Zayne…” you pant, eyes fluttering shut as you buck helplessly into your own hand.

Before you can register it, he’s crouched beside you. His presence is sudden, the faint scent of soap and hospital antiseptic clinging to his skin. When his voice comes, it’s soft, but firm. “Are you going to come?”

You nod, breath hitching, unable to answer. His hand darts out, cradling your jaw, thumb pressing into your cheek as he tilts your face towards the mirror.

“Watch.”

You whimper, locking onto your reflection in the glass. Your fingers move of their own accord, gliding across your puffy clit as you push yourself over the edge. Your body trembles and tips sideways, instinctively leaning against him as the waves roll through you. 

But he isn’t done with you. 

You can’t even fully recover, because suddenly he’s pushing off his pants, his cock springing free before he’s settling in right behind you. One hand tugs greedily at your shirt, dragging the fabric up and off so your tits spring free, nipples tightening instantly in the cool air at the heat of his stare in the mirror. 

“C’mon,” he orders quietly, fingers digging into your hips as he guides you back. “Ride me.” 

You flush as you move to hover over him, still sensitive from your release. The reddened tip of his cock nudges against your entrance, smearing the sticky precum as you line him up with shaky hands. 

“You get so needy when you’re ovulating,” he murmurs, amusement threading through the lust as he fixates where you will be joined. His hips raise once to poke your entrance in impatience. 

“H-How do you–”

He chuckles under his breath, nipping your shoulder. One hand slides up your side to pinch your perked nipple, then swipe the bud of his thumb over it to soothe the sting. “You think I don't know my sweet girl?” 

You whine and shake your head before you sink slowly onto his length, a lewd moan spilling free as the stretch makes your thighs tremble all over again.

But the pace is too slow for Zayne. His fingers flex, then grip your hips and pull you down until you're seated flush against him, his swollen tip nudging your cervix.

“Is it better than your fingers, love?” he asks, lips brushing the curve of your spine as his hand smooths up your back, pressing lazy kisses against the overheated skin. 

“Mmm, y-yes. F-Fuck, yes,” you whimper, rolling your hips while your eyes stay glued to the mirror. Your breasts bounce with every motion, your juices slicking his pelvis. The obscene intimacy of watching yourself take him making your stomach flutter. 

A breathy, almost strained groan slips from him. Zayne’s grip tightens, just shy of rough, as his thumbs dig into the soft flesh of your lower back.

“That’s it… look at you,” he mutters, voice dipping darker, a little mocking. His cock twitches inside you as he leans in, lips grazing your ear. “I love how you feel like this. When your body’s begging for me.”

You clench at the words and ride him harder, chasing the friction. The mirror shows everything—your flushed face, his hungry eyes, the way he watches you fall apart for him.

“Next time,” he groans, lifting his hips to meet your thrusts, never once breaking eye contact with your reflection. “You’ll wait for me.” His hand slides up to your throat, not squeezing, just holding. “Or at least send me a picture. Understood?”

Your pussy throbs in time with your heart, moans punching out from each snap of your hips colliding. “Y-Yes! I understand—!” 

“Good. Now come for me again.” 

✮⋆˙— xavier

Your eyelids flutter to the barely-there presses of his lips. 

It starts on your cheek, then trails to your jaw. You keep your eyes closed as he buries his nose into your neck, inhaling your scent before peppering a few more kisses along the sensitive line beneath your ear. His breath is warm and uneven as he savors you before you fully wake. 

Your body reacts subconsciously, shifting closer to him and giving a tiny shiver at the affection so early in the morning. If you had to guess, the sun hasn’t even risen. The world feels dim and soft, wrapped in the stillness.

You’re aware you lie on your side. Of the weight of the comforter. Of the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your back. 

You’re also aware of his stiffness pressing against you—but it floats through your mind like a distant thought, something you register without fully grasping. 

“Good morning, angel.” Xavier’s voice is a hoarse rasp near your ear, signaling that he too just woke. His hips subtly shift, pressing him more firmly against you before he exhales. “You can go back to sleep, lovely.” 

You hum in reply, still drifting. His hand glides down the curve of your waist, slow and absentminded at first, like he’s memorizing the shape of your curves. The touch keeps you suspended in the blissful space between dreaming and reality—where every sensation feels warmer, heavier, and sweeter. 

You almost sink back under. Until his kisses don't stop. 

They linger longer now, and his fingers toy with the hem of your waistband as if testing whether you’ll stir. You inhale softly, something incoherent slipping from your lips when his warm hand slips beneath the fabric, his palm settling on your abdomen. His thumb traces patterns that send quiet sparks up your spine, each pass making your thighs tighten just a fraction more. 

You should wake. You should turn and face him, acknowledge the warmth that you are suddenly very aware is pooling in your panties—and fast. But you're so comfortable, so pliant against him, letting his touch wander while your thoughts drift like mist. 

“Do you know what today is?” Xavier murmurs, breaking through the haze.

Your blink your eyes open slowly, the dim room slowly taking shape in blurred outlines. You search your memory, but nothing important surfaces. Only the steady rhythm of his breathing and the way his hand stills, waiting. 

But your body seems to know before your mind does. There's a heightened sensitivity humming under your skin, every brush of his fingers sending a ripple through you that feels unfairly intense for how half-asleep you still are. 

Oh.

“It’s a good thing,” he continues softly, his words threaded with a gentle hunger. He finds the hem of your panties, gently rubbing the fabric between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re extra sweet today… softer. Smell so good…”

Heat creeps into your cheeks even in your drowsiness, and your legs part slightly without conscious thought. The small movement draws a low breath from him, a quiet surrender to how much he wants you. His forehead rests against your shoulder as his hand dips beneath your panties. 

He finds you wet and murmurs out grateful praises into your skin, kissing you again and again like he can't help himself. His fingers instantly begin a gentle dance against your clit, making you arch back into him with a soft, sleepy moan. 

“I saw the calendar… that cute little app,” he pinches your bud softly, soothing the action with slow passes of his fingertip. “So you’re super sensitive for me. Especially in the morning.” 

You whimper, clutching your pillow as you let breathless sounds slip free, your body melting into the pleasure despite how foggy your mind still feels. Even though his touch only abandons you for a second, a needy whine escapes your throat. He pushes your pants and panties down just enough, the material pooling at your ankles. 

“Just stay where you are, star,” he says softly as the warmth of his body leaves yours. 

Xavier trails a path of wet kiss along the back of your thighs, unhurried and worshipful. You shudder but stay curled like he asked, fingers tightening in the sheets. When he reaches your pussy, finding it dripping and open, he lets his warm breath ghost over you first, making your hips twitch.

He inhales deeply, his hips shifting mindlessly against the mattress at your sweet scent. He doesn’t wait another second before his mouth finds you.

You grasp a handful of blonde hair, whining as his tongue licks a stripe from your entrance upwards, then settles to circle your clit. He continues to lap at your heat, devouring how syrupy you are today, sucking you into his mouth and burying his face deep between your thighs like he never wants to come up for air. 

“Feels s-so good, Xavi…” you moan, trembling. 

Your orgasm is already hovering. He groans against you, one hand gripping your ass, kneading the skin encouragingly. Each swipe of his tongue is a silent plea.

Come for me. Let me taste you. Let me make you feel good. 

You break seconds after, squirming against the sheets as pleasure takes over you in warm waves. Pants leave your lips as he doesn't let up, his mouth relentlessly working you through the euphoric waves, and long after they pass. His face is sticky with your cum, dripping down his chin, making him look as if he’s the one who just finished. 

“B-Babe–” you cry out, trying weakly to push his head back. “Honey… ‘s too much…”

He presses one last lingering kiss to your puffy pussy before finally lifting his head. His cheeks are flushed, blue eyes dark and thoroughly satisfied. “Sorry,” he breathes, brushing his thumb along your thigh. “I couldn’t help myself.”

His hands are gentle as they turn you from your side onto your back. Your gaze drifts downward, catching the darkened patch of precum blooming against the front of his tented sweatpants. The sight sends a fresh pulse of heat through your still-sensitive body. 

He follows your gaze before palming himself through the fabric. 

“Think you can handle a bit more for me?”

✮⋆˙— rafayel

The car ride was silent. 

You knew you’d pushed Rafayel’s buttons a little too far at his gala tonight. But honestly… could he even blame you? 

He’d shown up dressed like sin in one of his sharpest suits, hair styled to perfection, eyes gleaming the entire duration of the exhibit. And all of it—all of it—on the exact day you were ovulating. 

Of course you were going to touch him.

Of course you were going to kiss him. 

Of course you were going to corner him beside a marble sculpture and slide your hand a little too low.

“Raaffff,” you drawl into the thick quiet of the car, leaning over the console with a pout that’s half apology, half provocation. “C’mon. Please don’t be mad. I said I’m sorry!”

Rafayel’s brows turn downwards, but there's a sparkle behind the annoyance. “Sorry for kissing my neck while I was speaking to that artist,” he replies coolly, “or sorry for grabbing my dick before I had to greet the commissioner?”

You smirk, entirely unrepentant. “Both. And you liked it! You were hard when I touched you.”

He scoffs, but the sound melts into a quiet laugh under his breath. He isn’t mad, he never really is, and when you poke his side to confirm, he squirms just enough to betray himself. The twitch at the corner of his lips is your victory flag.

You think you’ve won.

That is, until you get home. 

The moment the door clicks shut behind you, he moves. There's no warning. One second you’re toeing off your heels, the next his arms are around you, sweeping you up bridal-style. A startled laugh leaves you as he carries you down the hall, his hold possessive and unhurried. 

His lips find yours before you reach the bed, and they are soft but insistent, pulling quiet gasps from your chest. The heat that’s been simmering in your belly all day flares hotter, burning brighter. 

You land against the mattress with a muted thud, sheets cool beneath your back. “Undress,” he tells you, already slipping open the button of his shirt with graceful fingers. 

You obey immediately, giggling as you shimmy out of your dress, fabric clinging to your hips before you kick it away. Anticipation hums under your skin like static. 

Rafayel, meanwhile, is still mostly dressed. His shirt hangs open just enough to reveal his toned skin, a teasing glimpse of chest that makes your fingers itch for a touch. You reach for him instinctively, only for his hand to close around your wrist mid-air and guide it back to the mattress, pinning you there.  

“Raf–”

“Do you really think I’m going to let you have your way after tonight?” His voice is playful, smug, and dripping with amusement. The smirk he gives you is pure trouble. “You’re so cute.” 

You squirm, a fresh gush of warmth gathering between your thighs. “But… I said ‘m sorry.”

“Oh, I know you did, cutie,” he hums, leaning down to brush a single kiss against your cheek. Then your jaw. The column of your throat. Each one is soft and savoring.

“So then…” you mumble, tilting your neck to give him more space. “Why are you still dressed?”

His lips curve against your skin as he trails lower, the  gentle presses of his lips turning wetter, slower. Goosebumps rise across your body when his hands find your thighs, and ease them open for him. 

He pauses, eyes settling on the soaked material clinging to you. His thumb presses against it, just once. You squeak, and arch into his hand, sensitivity dialed painfully high today. He chuckles, rubbing your pussy through the panties in lazy strokes, up and down, just enough to make you ache. 

“I’m going to take care of you,” he coos, but his eyes are dark. “But you teased me all night… so I’m getting my revenge.”

You gasp when his thumb circles firm over your swollen clit through the fabric. The friction is electric and not enough all at once. 

“Raf… please, this isn’t fair,” you whine.

“Not fair?” he juts his lip in a mock pout. “I didn’t think it was very fair when you were handsy in public.”

Before you can argue, he hooks a finger under your panties and slides them aside, revealing your dripping cunt. He huffs in amusement, admiring the slick evidence of your arousal like its art he curated himself. (He did)

His finger drags through your folds, collecting the sticky mess. He spreads you open, glides over your clit, circles your entrance, but never lingers enough to satisfy. 

Your thighs twitch. Your hips lift. Your fingers clutch the comforter.

It’s torture. Sweet, earned, torture. 

And just as a complaint forms on your lips, his fingertip settles over your clit and begins slow, gentle circles. Pleasure sparks outward, instantly bowing your back and spewing moans from your lips. Every sensation feels amplified. 

“R-Raf… Raf, fuck—baby,” you cry, eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure builds, winding tighter and tighter. 

Rafayel laughs softly, continuing to play with your pussy, admiring how much more wetness gathers at his touch. “You close, cutie? Gonna come?” 

You nod in rapid succession. “Y-Yes…yeah ‘m gonna—“

His fingers stop. 

The sudden absence makes you gasp, blinking your eyes open “W-Why did you stop?”

He lifts his gaze to yours, expression all polished mischief and arrogance. His thumb is still resting maddeningly close to where you’re throbbing. “Did you really think I was going to let you come?” 

Your frustrated whine only makes his smile widen. He leans down, brushing his lips against yours in a slow, taunting kiss. 

“After the way you behaved tonight?” he murmurs against your mouth. “You’re going to beg for it.”

His fingers return before you can even form a reply, and they're faster this time. The slick sounds of how wet you are fills the room. What started as gentle coaxing turns into purposeful rubbing that makes you fist the sheets and sob out. When your legs try to close, he simply prises them back open. 

“You want it so bad, don’t you?” he whispers. “All worked up and needy… yet you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.” His thumb presses just right, drawing a broken sound from your throat. 

“I do… f-fuck I really do…” you whimper, hips chasing him without shame. The pressure builds once again, and just as the waves begin to crest, he stops. 

The absence is devastating. His words following are cruel. 

“Poor thing,” he murmurs, brushing his slick finger against your thigh. His cock strains against his pants, a visible twitch he pointedly ignores as he keeps his attention on you. “You’re soaking our sheets.” 

You lie there in the heat of it, trying to gather yourself. When your heartbeat finally slows enough to think, he starts over. Fingers dragging through your warmth, starting slow, then faster. Each time he brings you near the edge, letting desperate cries and whimpers that you’re close spill from your lips, he stops again.

By the fourth time, tears sting the corners of your eyes. Your thighs shake uncontrollably, pleas dissolving into half-formed syllables that barely resemble words.  

“R-Raf… p-plea–suh–ahh–” his fingers slide into your gummy walls. 

“Think you’ve been good enough?”

“Y-Yea–mmgh–yes–!” 

He exhales through his nose, finally satisfied. His fingers curl to your sweet spot, and this this they don’t pull away. 

“Fine,” he mumbles. “You can come.” 

᧔ෆ᧓ dilf!sylus will never forget how you skipped over to him in your cute checkered uniform, eyes tired but smile still bright just for him. you’d told him in awe how much his eyes reminded you of deep red salvias and how his hair was the prettiest shade of silver you’ve ever seen.

never did he think he’d live to experience such a fondness so gentle and featherlight, but the surge of sudden emotions you’d set alight in him wasn’t something he was willing to let slip away so easily when he wanted it.

everyday he made it a priority to come see you after he wrapped up whatever business endeavors that prevented him from arriving sooner. but he never left until you did, so despite his idea of what he considered inexcusable tardiness, sylus always ensured he still got a healthy dosage of the unexpected craving that became you.

᧔ෆ᧓ dilf!sylus loves to hear you talk. it’s addicting—much softer and far more pleasant than ricocheting bullets or any gritty gun powder he’s ever rubbed in between his fingertips. you ramble to him all about the things one your age would fawn over: hobbies, movies, books, and family. simply were you an open book, an advantage for someone who wanted to be the reason why the rest of your pages were properly filled.

with every conversation do you find new things to tell him and he never fails to keep them filed away in his mind for safe keeping.

᧔ෆ᧓ dilf!sylus is far from intimated by the age gap between you two and is pleased to see that it doesn’t seem to bother you either. because even with the age lines across his face, he can see how you still stare at him as if you were the one who had gotten lucky. while you do find the fine clothes and his impressively large stature to be a significant bonus, the value you see in his experiences and opinions was something that could change a man for good.

yes, you’re a young woman, much younger than he’s been in a short while, but it’s that kind of vulnerable innocence that he forgets can exist in something so pure. you’re captivation with the kind of life he’s lived screams at him to be the one who gives you better.

᧔ෆ᧓ dilf!sylus always tries his luck when it comes to trying to accompany you home. you kindly turn down his offer every time and he never pushes, understanding your stuttering hesitation and wanting you to settle into the palm of his hand with ease in the same way he’s already wrapped himself around your delicate fingers.

he doesn’t particularly prefer you out when the sun is down without him, let alone working such a job at all. it would give him a semblance of peace to know you made it home safely with him by your side.

does he still find a way to get what he wants by secretly following you while you wait at the bus stop and walk the lamp-lit streets in the meantime? of course.

sylus has always been a believer that patience was a virtue, after all.

᧔ෆ᧓ dilf!sylus didn’t expect for you to ask him if he’d take the bus home with you on the day you finally cave, but he appreciates how much you’ve found your own unique ways to keep him on his toes.

he humbly accepts and continues to be your ideal gentleman, holding your hand inside the wool pocket of his peacoat all the way to your stop and paying for your ticket. he even has you be the one to sit when only a single seat is available no matter how much you urge him to instead.

he can’t help but to stare down at your pretty face, reaching out a hand to cup your jaw and tenderly swiping his thumb along your cheekbone.

“what’re you doing that for, mr. qin?” you look up at him with a partially cocky smirk, a habit he’s unintentionally instilled in you. the heat in your body is still raging despite the loss of his touch when he unfortunately pulls away.

that makes him chuckle, low and smooth like luxurious silk. “because i want you and you let me. isn’t that enough of a reason, kitten?”

᧔ෆ᧓ dilf!sylus didn’t think he’d be teaching you how to give him a blowjob after your unexpected advances in the comfort of your living room, but he was confident that he could die in this moment and leave the planet with no regrets.

the sight of you on your knees, pupils dilated and lustful with needy determination knitting your brows, was an exquisite one. all the blood rushed to his dick as your gaze flickered between his belt buckle that you frenziedly undo and his hooded stare. you’re eager—impatient, but sylus doesn’t interrupt. it brings him joy to see you take.

and once you have him in front of you, cock thick and pulsing in your palm, it’s impossible to ignore the desire to please him that coils in your gut.

“nervous?” he asks softly, smiling at the immediate shy shake of your head that does little convincing. “determined little thing, aren’t you? there’s no need to lie to me, sweetie. you forget how well i know you.”

you tentatively start with tiny kisses down both sides of his length just like you’ve seen in many videos before, suckling on his bulbous tip and rubbing him against your pursed lips

that’s when he accepted your mouth to be capable of making him even more of a dangerous man.

᧔ෆ᧓ dilf!sylus likes to watch how much effort you put into learning his body. you slowly took him in as he patiently instructed, breathed through your nose like he urged, and whimpered when the vein on the underside of his heavy length slid onto your flattened tongue along with the rest of him.

“so eager… and such a good girl. you like being told what to do, don’t you?” he sharply inhales from how he nudges against the back of your tight throat, balls growing heavier the more you try your best to make every inch of him fit.

it didn’t matter how much you gagged. with hollowed cheeks and watery eyes, you absolutely refused to stop.

“obedience, submission…” sylus trails off, captivated by how almost dependent you’ve made him feel. “both are so beautiful on you.”

quickly had it grown filthy, excessive amounts of spit spilling out the corners of your mouth, and your heartbeat thumped harder when he began to guide your amateur yet intoxicating movements.

it made you fixate on the masculinity he effortlessly exudes and the musky smell of him as you found your pace up and down his twitching shaft. every part of him was the most alluring thing you’ve ever had the pleasure to get a taste of. even that saltiness of his precum claiming your tastebuds was something you could get hooked on.

᧔ෆ᧓ dilf!sylus has already decided that you belong to him. how could he live with himself if he didn’t own your warm mouth and greedy licks?

“my p-perfect doll,” he coos. his sincere admiration and hand still firmly wrapped up in your hair has you pathetically humming around his leaking cock. “i can’t wait to worship you. you and your pretty pussy. how much is she drooling, hm? promise me you’ll let me taste it.”

the rug beneath your knees stings as good as his grip in your scalp. with the urgency he puts into his hips, almost as if he’s trying to chase your mouth, sylus’ head lolls to the side and he lets that intense buildup heating his skin completely take over him.

you never falter, sucking him with the same level of appetency until he finally falls apart. his husky groans only encouraged you further.

seeing one as powerful as sylus become completely vulnerable and unguarded despite you being the one giving was a sense of power that electrified your senses.

sticky streams of his cum hit your tongue fast to make your cunt helplessly clench tighter and your panties embarrassingly wetter. at first, you wanted to pull off, to let his seed grace your skin instead, but the way he holds your jaw so soothingly with him still settled in your mouth was enough of an encouragement to not move until he finished.

“you can spit it out,” he offers sincerely, breathless and utterly spent but the most satisfied he’s been in such a long time. “it’s alright, kitten. i promise. don’t force yourself. or… open your mouth and i’ll take care of it.”

sylus hisses as you slowly remove yourself from him, thin strings of your saliva clinging to your flushed lips before falling to your chin. he leans forward when you comply, your jaw lowering to reveal the pool of his seed. you don’t have time to deny the way kisses you with such dizzying force. what you didn’t swallow, he takes both that and your mouth selfishly.

“you do know that i’m far from finished with you, right?” he kisses the corner of your lips.

“i was… hoping you wouldn’t be,” you meekly admit, throat raw and slightly sore in the most invigorating way.

he hums with amusement. “think you can handle it?”

“let me show you that i can.”

᧔ෆ᧓ dilf!sylus never believed he could fall in love. but the night he met you became his proof that anything was possible.

a/n: if you don’t like this… LITERALLY DON’T TELL ME!!!! 😩

creds to @/uzmacchiato for bow divider!!

As odd as it was, you had no complaints. Ever since you and Sylus had gone steady his hands had been on you every chance he got.

More precisely, your hair, shoulders and face.

For some reason the man had made it his lifes mission to pet you. And while you would like to protest in the name of your dignity, it just felt really nice.

Big, warm hands stroking your hair, kneading sore muscles in your shoulders...

Whenever you sat somewhere he couldn't walk past without stopping to paw at you.

Sometimes he was humming a godawful tune, other times he got so lost in the sauce that you had to reach back and poke at his ribs to stop him from completely wrinkling your face.

This could go from just a few moments to twenty or so minutes.

One time he leaned down to loudly sniff you while doing it. Like, from the crown of your head, over your face, neck, back up your face...

When you asked him what he was doing he had the audacity to get offended.

Like that wasn't a weird thing to do especially since it wasn't some odd genre of foreplay.

This whole ritual hadn't led to sex once. Not once.

It kinda hurt your pride.

So now you felt ridiculous, sitting on that damned couch in nothing but flimsy night shorts and a tank top, no bra, no panties.

Waiting.

He would come out of the shower any second now, and he wouldn't be able to walk to his bedroom without pawing at you.

And you were dead on. In his silly little luxury bathrobe, hair still wet, Sylus shuffled behind you. The scent of his shampoo filling the room. It was something flowery but not too sweet.

Without a word, long fingers threaded through strands, followed them to the ends only to move and bury themselves among them. Scratching your scalp with just enough pressure.

"...mmh a little to the left..."

Immediate compliance. God it felt so good.

"Yeeeeah that's perfect..."

Your eyes fluttered shut, original goal momentarily forgotten while his hands scratched itches you didn't know you had.

And he did use both hands. And his nose, now firmly buried in your hair.

Fingers moved lower, behind your ears, going towards your jaw...

A pleased hum escaped you, Sylus' lips now rubbing against your cheek.

No...you couldn't lose focus, you had a mission.

With all your strength you reached up and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. He offered no resistance when you forced his face lower. Onto your barely covered chest.

"...Sweetie?"

"Hm? What's the matter bossman?"

You did your best to sound oblivious. One of the things you'd learned about the man was that he was surprisingly careful. If you didn't make it clear you wanted it, he would refuse to take your more subtle hints. Once he got the green light however-

"This-"

A finger traced the edge of your sorry excuse for a top.

"-can I pull it down?"

Wow, straight to it then.

"Hm...I don't know. And then?"

While his fingers kept working on your scalp, his mouth dragged lazily, partially open, over exposed skin, moving back up to your jaw.

"This and that."

Tiny kisses peppered around the corner of your mouth.

"If you want..."

Now he shamelessly pressed his entire face into the crook of your neck and took a deep sniff.

"...you smell so nice. Let me pull it down."

Skin got caught between teeth, and you were sure he didn't miss you squeezing your thighs together.

"Please."

"Go on."

It didn't take a moment for his hands to push the fabric down and he inhaled sharply, like he hadn't seen you topless many times before.

"Beautiful."

Looking down you had to agree though, the tops straps still on your shoulders did frame your breasts nicely. So nicely apparently, that the bedroom mirror got dragged in by Sylus' evol and positioned right infront of the couch.

"Are you serious?"

"What?"

"You're not even looking at it!"

He was, in fact, gazing lovingly at your body from above, in between kisses and bites to your neck and shoulders.

"It's for you. Look."

Your jaw was seized and forcibly pointed at the mirror while Sylus' free hand grabbed at your soft flesh.

"Mmh I want to taste you. Let me. You know I do it well."

There was no denying the view. But still. This didn't sit right with you.

Bringing in the mirror was cheating. So you pushed him back, made him stand straight, the noise he made was a mixture of concern and indignation.

"You-"

Your pointer finger found the gap in his bathrobe, firm abs underneath.

"-have-"

Middle finger slightly higher up. You did your best to ignore the growing erection threatening to break free from those silky fabrics.

"-to-"

Ring finger right under his pecs.

He inhaled sharply.

"-earn-"

Pinky on his chest.

"-it."

Now your whole palm slid the same way down, stopping just before the belt barely keeping him decent.

The tiny little thrust he did, no doubt outside of his control, was not lost on you.

"How?"

The man was out of breath from just this much. Like he wouldn't fold you in half and go at you until morning if you let him. Like he hadn't done so before.

It was one of the many things you enjoyed so much about him. And one of the things that made this so fun.

"Don't look away from the mirror until i tell you to and I'm aaaaaall yours. Whateeever you want. If you fail I'm gonna go to bed with-out-you~"

"Anything? That's dangerous my dear."

"So?"

"Of course. I won't fail."

You only hummed at that before you undid his robe with one fluid motion.

The impressive size of his dick was always a sight.

Already rock hard, frankly he might've cum just from fondling you had you let him keep going.

But now you repositioned yourself, knees on the couch, elbows on the headrest. For good measure, you pulled the shorts nice and high, so Sylus definetly had a great view of your ass.

"Ah, and if you touch me before I'm done I'll also just go to bed."

"Hmh...adding more rules this late in the game Sweetie?"

One hand wrapped around the tip if his cock, thumb gently pressing on the slit. He made no attempt to stifle his gasp.

"Well the prize is worth it, don't you think?"

Now your other hand cupped his balls, earning you another pleased noise.

"Hah...I can't argue with that..."

When you began stroking him he had to grip the fabric of his robe to avoid touching you. Knuckles turning white as your mouth joined in.

Working him up to the point he was digging his nails into his thighs. Moaning loudly and without shame.

His skin was lovely and soft, and you took your sweet time dragging your toung and lips up and down the shaft before finally, finally taking the head into your mouth.

He was already leaking, and when you looked up, obediently looking at your ass in the mirror.

Even when you took more of him and began bobbing up and down, he stayed still.

As always, he was far too big for you to take him completely though, so you did the rest with your hand.

The way Sylus' abs began twitching the closer he got to his climax, accompanied by louder and deeper moans had you squeezing your thighs.

"...Ah...I'm about to...Sweetie...let me yo- ah! Hair!"

Just in time too, you allowed his hand to do the job for you, while your own stroked and fondled him through his release. His moans grew even louder, and despite his best efforts he did end up thrusting shallow into your mouth.

A salty taste filled it, and when you freed him, softened now, his other hand appeared open palmed under your chin.

Of course, his gaze was still fixed on the mirror.

A little spilled into his palm, you leaned in, nuzzling your cheek against his lower abdomen, just above his base. Sylus was still heaving.

"Alright, well done, you can have your prize now."

Immediately, his eyes met yours. He was flushed, hungry.

"Mh...I'll take my time appreciating it then, if that's alright with you?"

The large hand holding your hair back changed position, now gently smushing you against his belly.

Fingers grazing the back of your neck before sliding down your spine with just enough pressure to firmliy plant your ass down.

"It's your prize, take as muuuch time with it as you want."

Sylus answered with his lips on yours, toung quick to enter, tasting himself in your mouth and liking it.

You wanted to wrap your arms around his shoulders but he forced them back. Not even bothering to break contact with your skin while kisses and bites travelled down your neck he laughed. A deep rumble against your throat.

"Later, my dear. Now-"

And suddenly you were facing the mirror. Your hair was messy, eyes a bit red from tearing up and lips swollen. The top no doubt stretched beyond saving but still framing your tits in a lovely way.

And Sylus - well - he sauntered around the couch, stopped between your legs and settled in comfortably on his knees.

You knew he was comfortable because the plush carpet had been defiled before.

"Ah..."

He trailed off, taking the view in with a reverence usually reserved for the finest pieces of art or the greatest wonders of nature.

His hands hovered a bit over your body, your face, he was struggling to decide where to start.

And making no secret of it.

Eventually he opted for another kiss before moving down, both hands a bit faster than his mouth. It was impossible for him to not stop and bite, and when he reached your nipple? Your legs squeezed against him, powerless though against his massive body.

A hand found your thigh while the other alternated between groping the tit not in his mouth and desperately grabbing at your face, neck and shoulders. Fingers occasionally between your teeth.

He didn't have to push against the small of your back to make you arch into him, you did that all on your own.

"Sylus-"

Finally, he released your nipple, slick with spit and swollen after rolling it around with his toung.

"Impatient, aren't you?"

But his hands betrayed him, thumbs already firmly settled where your thighs met your hips.

"Hah...so am I."

He didn't break eye contact, dragging his nose and lips down, teeth catching on the fabric of your top. You could tell he was considering ripping it off.

That thought was discarded however when his chin reached your core.

The man made no attempt to stop the open mouthed moan that escaped his lips, vibrating against you, sending a shiver down your spine.

It didn't end with just the one noise though, he buried his face in your little shorts, mouthing at them before settling his cheek against your upper thigh and forcing your other leg up onto the couch.

Now his hand travelled from your ankle up to your knee, back down to the hem of your shorts, where his fingers began to slide under it.

"You're wet."

"Yeah...hah..no shit."

"Hmh..."

It was infuriating, the way they gently circled your folds, never quite making contact in a way that satisfied you.

"Fu..Sylus!"

"Yes? What's the matter?"

You could slap him.

He'd enjoy it though.

"Ugh...please."

"Please what?"

"Me!"

Not even bothering to take your shorts off he slid them to the side. Cool air didn't have time to hit your pussy before he latched onto it.

Sylus was loud in every way, gone was the elegant, composed man, in his place, a ravenous fiend who forced your legs even further apart so he could get every inch of you.

Meanwhile you lost balance and fell back against the couchs backrest, your hand darting down to make sure the shorts didn't get in his way.

Your other hand came up to grope your tits as you watched your expression twist in the mirror.

Open mouthed gasps and moans filled the room, growing louder with each stroke and thrust of his freakishly long toung.

Finally you hunched over, gripping onto his hair for support and grinding up against his nose. Never once feeling his lips lose yours.

Panting and sweaty you came down, now resting on his head you could feel damp kisses against your stomache. He pushed up your top just enough.

The man wouldn't move until you did, so you took some time to admire the view. The hulking body between your legs, your flushed face and the bite marks littering your skin.

Warm hands kneaded your sides.

"So? You're not already done with your prize, are you?"

Sylus laughed and wrapped his arms around your middle, rubbed his face on your stomache.

"Of course not, Sweetie. I'm going to take as muuuch time as I want. Isn't that right?"

"Ugh."

You playfully hit his back a few times before releasing him, leaning back and revealing his glistening, red face.

The half lidded grin he flashed you was enough to let you know he already had the next thing planned.

"Hmh...so..."

He climbed up, now caging you between his legs and arms. Your eyes dippes down without a seconds hesitation, the open robe framing his body beautifully.

His cock hard and twitching.

"Can we continue? Or do you..."

For an answer you pulled his face down. His lips tasted like yours, and you found your chest flush against his. Your feet dangling in the air.

He'd lifted you up and now stood, breaking the kiss and turning you around with ease so your back was against him. Your shorts fell to the floor, forgotten.

"In that case, allow me."

Sylus' dick slid in between your thighs, coating itself in your release before you both faced the mirror.

"Squeeze them together, please?"

Of course you complied. Held up with one arm you watched while his other hand pressed down on your mound when he fucked your thighs.

Obscene moans directly in your ear had you holding onto him for dear life. Every time his head dragged over your folds and hit your clit it sent shocks through your body. He made an effort not to bury his face in the crook of your neck, clearly trying to enjoy the view in the mirror but when he came (and he came quickly, after eating you out had almost brought him over the edge) he lost the battle.

Panting into your skin and painting your thighs.

It took Sylus a moment to stop shaking, but then he wrapped his other arm around you and just kinda rocked you from side to side, clearly amused by your freely dangling legs.

"Are you having fun?"

"Yes my dear, thanks for asking. Buf I'll enjoy whats next even more."

You couldn't even mock complain, being set down back on the couch, feet never touching the ground.

"On your knees please. Up, yes, thank you."

Ah, this pervert. He had you kneel over his face, his back resting against the couch with his ass firmly planted on the carpet, his own legs spread so you could see what you were doing to him.

Not that the stupid happy grin he had while spreading you with his thumbs wasn't enough.

"Don't make me wait, sit."

Broad hands guided you down and he wasted no time. His toung was just as hot as earlier but somehow even more eager. Dick already hard again and only growing harder the more you grinded against his toung.

"Ah fuck-"

You had to lean down, put your hands on his chest to stabilize yourself and oh, he liked that.

The mirror only made it worse, watching your tits bounce all on your own just felt wrong.

"Sy - Ah! -lus! Up! Come up!"

The man was fast usually, but frankly this was ridiculous, he moved so quickly that you almost fell.

One moment you were riding his face and now you were straddling his lap, his hands gently guiding you down onto his cock. He was massive, and even after all the loosening you up, you needed a moment to adjust to his size.

The face you saw in the mirror was a mess, glassy eyed, dishevelled and slick with you he still looked handsome. Even rutting up desperately and into you didn't change that. It really wasn't fair. Sylus tried to rub circles over your clit but all coordination left him, so instead he pressed down on your belly, feeling himself with every sloppy thrust. Wich only spurned him on.

You could feel every inch of you being filled to the point it knocked the air out of your lungs, and when he came you were glad he held onto you like HE was gonna fall otherwise.

His jaw was slack and sweat covered his skin. Still, Sylus could tell you were close but not quite there yet.

"Hah...ah, ah...moment."

Trembling, twitchy fingers tried once again to please your clit but to no avail. And quite frankly, he was still thrusting inside of you, slow and steady. So you showed mercy, using your own fingers to chase after your orgasm.

Wich in turn did a number on him. You could feel his gaze on you even though you'd thrown your head back onto his shoulder, eyes closed when you followed him over the edge. Squeezing him hard.

Then the room was filled with nothing but heavy breaths, both of you had to recover for a bit.

Sylus' lips dragged lazily over any bit of skin he could reach. He pushed your legs up with his own, still inside you.

Even now, softening, his size was substantial.

You couldn't tear your eyes from where you connected, he couldn't either.

"Sweetie..."

With a thud he let himself and you fall back against the headrest. Regrettably he slipped out during that.

"Hm?"

"Spread your legs a bit more."

Despite the scoff you let out you did, and his fingers immediately darted down to spread you. To watch his release drip out of you.

RAFAYEL ★ Pound first, think later. ~ 1.3k

Plap! plap! plap!

There's just a low hum of low, sultry music playing from a speaker in the corner, but even that is drowned out by the slick, obscene sounds of Rafayel's hips slamming into yours.

"Raf—con— nghhh! condom," your gaspy voice catches, half-mangled between the ruthless crush of his mouth on yours, barely getting your words out.

He swallows most of it with a kiss so deep it knocks your breath loose, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before his tongue slides back in, wet muscle eagely tangling with yours.

And no, he didn't reach for a condom. Didn't even spare a glance toward the bedside drawer.

He's not even thinking. Not with his head, anyway. Not when every inhale he takes is laced with your sweet addicting scent and every exhale of his a hungry growl against your lips.

He's too far gone. Too drunk on your taste, the slight stutter in your voice, your—

He slips out again— cock slick and twitching against your folds, grinding the fat, leaking crown against your clit with such blunt pressure that your spine jerks up off the mattress, a wrecked cry slipping from your throat.

"F-fuck, no, nonono—" he pants, eyes wide in panic and breathless as he grips your hips harder, dragging you back toward him, aligning himself right back at your clenching hole.

Oh, that nasty clench of your feisty pussy almost made him burst his load right into—

Wait. He can't.

"Shhhh, cutie," he slurs, pupils blown wide as he pushes the thick head back to your entrance, spreading your shaking legs even further apart, "don't gotta break that pretty little mind thinkin' about it. Just let me— fuckkkk, cutie—"

Poor, poor Rafayel.

He just wants to feel you a little longer, wants to scrape your cervix for just a minute longer, dwell in the feeling of your warm cunny before he pulls out.

"P-promise I'll pull out, just a little longer, then m' gonna get the—" Right then he halts his breath, hands griping a smacking handful of your thighs, firmly pushing them apart to gawk at your sobbing cunt, desperatly clenching just around his tip, threatening to suck him in deeper, "—condom."

Yeah, right.

The thick, bulking head of his cock pushes back past your folds, spreaaading them like the red sea, so slow and calculated, just enough to stretch you wide at the tip and make your breath seize in your lungs.

"Can't you feel it? P-pleaseee cutie," whispers, grinding his hips in circles to smear himself all over your entrance, teasing your greedy cunny as it twitches and grips around his mushroomy head. "Feels good, yeah? You feel it, right? Riiiight? C-c'mon... Gonna make you cum reallll good."

He doesn't let you answer, let alone let out a sound before his lips are back on yours, lewd sounds of tongues clashing and teeth smacking almost drowning out the loud smack smack smacking of his firm hips against your plush thighs.

Almost.

Shallow, greedy thrusts follow, punching your sweet spot with such precision it makes your eyes roll back and mouth fall agape, granting him further entrance into your mouth.

He's going to eat you alive at this point.

His hunger is almost unbearable at this point and you keen beneath him, back arching clear off the sheets, legs twitching, threatening to tremble as you suck your tummy in.

Actually, they already do.

"Just—just wanna feel you. Need it, baby." His voice is ragged, like he's barely holding himself together. "Can't wait. Can't—fuck, I need you."

And he's mere seconds away from snapping, sanity holding onto a tiny threat so thin, it might aswell already have snapped in two.

Doin' so good, sweetheart." he groans, thick girth diving into your depths, knocking at your g-spot like it's a headshot to a wanted target over and over again, your fluttering cunt screaming out obscene sound after sound. "Taking me so well—s-shiiiiit!— 'm not gonna last. You feel unreal. Fuckin' unreal, baby."

His rhythm stutters for just a second, his body betraying him, and that's when it starts to crack.

That's when he starts to crack.

You feel the shift, feel the snap in him. His thrusts falter, not from weakness but from overload, the pleasure starting to short-circuit his brain.

His breath comes in harsh, quick gasps, chest heaving as his muscles tremble with the strain of keeping himself steady. His cock pulses deep inside you, wide and twitching like he's right on the edge, trying to stave it off, trying to hold on, but he's already gone too far.

"Raf, baby. Don't forget the— nghhhh! C-condom!" you rush out followed by a moan from the depth of your throat, his head already in the crook of your neck, plastering it with kisses and maybe even an accidental bite to your nape.

Right, there was still something.

He lifts his head, eyes wide as realization hits him— but he knows he's not going to pull out any time soon.

Because he physically can't.

And fuck, his pitiful expression alone is enough to make your pussy clench like a vice around him, wrench, wrench, wrenching him like your life depends on it, so close to the edge yourself.

That coral gaze burns straight through you, so blazing and ravenous, dripping with heat and panic searching for something behind your glazed iris.

"T-tight fuckin' thing. So damn tight. Gonna cum, yeah?"

It's lust stripped down to its bare bones— his pupils blown, rimmed with color like sunset bleeding into dusk, and the way he looks at you, like you're his last meal.

He's close. And it's scaring him. Wrecking him.

Voice low and shredded now, soaked with pleasure and darker things, almost broken with how badly he wants to cum—wants to cum in you.

"You don't even know what your fuckin' cunny is doing ta' me, cutie," he rasps, fucking into you harder now, deeper, angling up to punch that sweet spot with every desperate thrust.

But you do. Oh, you do.

Hips snapping against you like he's chasing something he'll never reach, and he plants one hand against the headboard to keep himself upright, shaking all over, barely holding on. The other is locked tight on your thigh, hiking it up towards your shoulder, keeping you locked in place. Like if you so much as tried to move away, rob him from your snug tunnel, he'd lose it.

"Drivin' me fucking insane," he growls, voice cracked open and fucked-out.

Your brain stutters mid-thrust—just enough clarity to gasp out, voice high and shaky, "Wait—hnghhh! Raf', you gotta—"

"Hahhh? Gotta make my pretty baby cum?"

Now he's tasting his release at the tip of his tongue, completely lost and utterly mad from the sound of your clenching pussy alone, balls tightening up, tip ready to burst his load out. "Yeahhhhh, ya got it, baby."

"Mhmm! M' c-cummin', Raf'! Fuh-fuckkkk!"

A cry tears from your throat on cue as your body clamps down, your legs trembling, thighs shacking as a violent orgasm tears through you, every fiber of your being burning hot as your vision goes blank and you forget every scolding thought you had in your mind.

He pauses for half a second before he begins to pound you again, steadier now, dedicated even, both veiny hands firmly folding you into a meanacing mating-press.

"You got it, all of it. Yes, cream 'round me js' like that— Yesyeseyes— fuckkkk baby m' sorry m'—"

He's not.

His balls draw up tight, cock swelling deep inside you with that final, desperate pulse.

Then he bursts. Hot, thick ropes of cum spill straight into your cunt, gushing right up against your cervix.

It's too much—sticky and endless, flooding you full until it's leaking out around him in messy drips, your body milking every last drop like it needs it.

And then his eyes snap up to yours, wide, in a daze.

"Babyyyyy—I didn't— was going to, I meant to—"

But his hips twitch forward again. He can't help it.

He can't help but slip out out and watch the aftermath in awe, watch his cum overflowing your overstimulated cunt as you deserately try to keep it all in, droplets drip drip dripping down the curve of your ass.

"Y-you made a whole big mess, Raf'! I told you to—"

The words die on your tongue the second you catch his face—flushed, lips parted, eyes glowing that deep coral pink and brimming with guilt and hunger. Wrecked. Maybe even a tiny bit sorry.

"C-can I make it up to you by eating it outta ya?"

ZAYNE ⋆ ★ Can't Wait. ~1.2k

Zayne's a lightweight. Always has been.

It shows, too. In the flushed pink blooming across his cheeks, the tips of his ears going all red like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't.

Your sweet husband's never been good at hiding how much he wants you. But when there's just the tiniest bit of liquor in his system? A little heat in his blood, a little buzz under his skin?

Then he's shameless. Dangerous, even.

That black button-up from your night out is hanging off his shoulders, halfway undone, unbothered to fix it, wanting you to notice. His wedding band clinks against your waist as his hands roam your hips, fumbling for the strap on your shoulder to greedily expose your perky tits.

Eyes locked on you— the only thing his eyes are trained on.

"You looked so hot all night," he mumbles against your neck, voice syrupy, breath reeking of a faint liquor and sin, "All dolled up, just for your husband, hm?"

Once your back hits the front door from the inside as soon as he closed it, he kisses you with such a feverous hunger, so clumsily sloppy.

Teeth and tongue and all heat, hands pawing at your now exposed tits, then thighs as his mouth sinks to catch your stiff nipple.

"Zayne, what's gotten into y—"

"You."

His thigh shoves between yours, grinding up until you're letting out an embarrassed squeak, one of your legs hitching up around his hip as he urges you to swing the other around to, carrying you to the next best surface— the kitchen counter— in a hurry.

"It's alllll you, darling." His words are muffled against your skin, his hands eagerly riding up your breathtaking dress to snake his fingers into your soaked through panties. "My pretty little wife makes me lose my head, you know. Can barely recognize myself."

"Zayne, baby," you try, breathless, tugging at the back of his collar to catch his attention to your face. "Sure it's not just the alcohol? Maybe we should get to bed, the condoms are also there—"

"S-shhhh", he slurs, glasses nearly slipping down the bridge of his nose as he hovers over you, "Is it a crime to worship my wife for a little while?"

In this case, it should be. Because whatever this is, it's torture.

His fingers fumble with his belt, all cocky and tipsy as he palms himself through his boxers. The fabric's soaked where his cock's been leaking all night, a fat wet spot darkening the white cotton. He's been hard since the moment you stepped out for that restaurant you've been wanting to go for ages now, thick, angry red crown twitching on his hand.

You whine in protest until your panties are torn and tossed onto the floor, his cock already smearing it's pre across your slick folds. "Just a second, Mmm-hmmm, then we'll go to bed and— f-fuckkk."

Yeah, he messed up.

"G-go to bed and I'll get the c-condom. Juuuuust a second, darlin'."

He trails off when his hand yanks your panties to the side, then off entirely, a quick, lazy tear splitting the seam as he tosses the ruined scrap onto the floor behind him.

That second becomes two. Then five.

Then he's already carrying you toward the couch, tripping over a thing or two, lips never leaving yours. One knee hits the cushion, then the next, and you fall with him, laughing into his mouth until it turns into a gasp, because his rigid length is already poking at your clenching hole, bulky cockhead pushhhhing past it.

His lips trail down your throat, mouthing at your pulse, siver wedding ring cold where it squeezes your tit, making you hiss as it catches onto your nipple.

At this point, you don't think he'll be able to—

"Can't wait,"

Ah.

"I won't go all the way but please, I don't think you understand, darling," he's a panting mess, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, glasses askew. His hips stutter between your thighs, cock heavy and leaking as he rocks through your folds, sometimes pushing the tip into your quivering pussy, "I need to feel you around me right now."

"Oh-okay. But you gotta promise, Zayne."

"Yeah, yeah— Ohhh, what sweet, pretty pussy my darling wife has on her."

Oh, and your husband's also a terrible liar.

Because the second the words leave your mouth, he's already in, squelch squelch squelching sounds echoing as he plumbs your weak hole full of his hefty length.

His hips jerk, sloppy and desperate, punching his cock deeper with every thrust. That thick, angry swell at the base catches on your entrance, making you jolt, back arching off the couch as he bullies past your clenching walls.

He moans into your shoulder, cock twitching as your cunt clamps down like a vice. It's too much. Too tight. Too good and he's wondering if he's actually drunk.

Yeah, he's drunk on your pussy. Gone.

"You're—hahhh— toooo good to me," he whimpers, teeth grit, face buried in your neck, glasses hanging onto a thread. "Too good— sooo good, baby."

You keen, legs wrapping around his waist instinctively as thick veins draaaaag along your walls and paint them with every twitch of his slit, eyes rolling, mouth slack, hips grinding into yours, roughly against your clit like he's a goddamn mutt.

"Zayne? Your glasses, darling—hnghhh!—t-they're gonna break on the floor."

"Fuck that shit."

His language is filthy, not caring about his glasses falling off and onto the floor, not caring about anything but your crying pussy gushing around him each time he hits your cervix.

"I don't give a shit, sweetheart," voice coming out as a snarl, pace roughening, cock battering your g-spot with every brutal stroke of his. "Not when your pussy's this—hahhh—fuckin' heavenly."

Your nails scrape down his back as he pounds into you, rougher now, like he's trying to fuck every thought right out of your head.

And honestly? You're not far off.

Panting heavy, he's biting your shoulder, hips snapping into you with eagerness so reckless you can feel his hot slick crown damn near in your womb.

His eyes are glassy, mouth hanging open as he watches the way your greedy pussy takes him so well and with such shameless need, he swears he can hear her cry for more.

"Pussy's so fuckin' good— shiiiit!" he slurs, obviously drunk off more than just booze by now. "Can't think straight, c-can't—fuh-fuckkk!— M' gonna cum, darlin'—"

"Z-Zayne! The fuckin' c-con— nghhh! Don't stop, don't—"

Forceful orgasm cutting your words off as you become a squirting mess, clamping and clawing at his base as he continues his assault on your poor, overstimulated cunny, juices spraying everywhere.

"Justttt like that, darlin', mhmmm. G-gonna fill my pretty wife up, have you all round and glowing, yeah?" he spurts out, slamming into you one final time then freezes, cock buried to the hilt as he floods you with his whispy spurts of cum. Thick, hot ropes paint your insides white, dripping out the second he pulses again.

His whole body trembles, arms giving out as he collapses on top of you, still twitching deep inside.

He tries to pull out—he really does—but the second his eyes land on your stuffed tummy, his eyes roll to the back of his head, hips already rutting back against you again.

"Ohhh my darling wife", he hums, nose buried in the crook of your sweat-slicked neck, drowning in your scent. He inhales deep, moaning like he's high off it, and that's when you realize, truly realize, just how far gone he is.

How drunk. How pussy-drunk. You-drunk.

His cock grinds even deeper, rutting into the deepest, most tender part of you as he whispers filth into your skin.

"Think it's time to consider a baby, hm?"

XAVIER ★ Pull out game... nonexistent? ~1.1k

"D-don't forget to pull out, 'kay?"

Your voice is light, barely a breath as you throw a look over your shoulder, eyes glinting with a warning that's too soft to land.

Xavier's already doomed. You both know it.

And he's already regretting everything.

Not you. Just the lazy-ass promise he made two minutes ago, when his morning wood was grinding slow and warm against your ass, and he was too blissed out on his day off to reach for a condom.

'Just a quick feel', he muttered in his grumpy morning voice, 'Gonna pull out. I promise', he said.

Even he didn't believe himself when he said it.

Now buried in you to the hilt, and the second your cunt sucked him in, wet and hungry and tight as sin, he knew he wasn't going to make it.

And it's his own damn fault.

You clench around him greedily, milking him already, and his breath punches out in a curse. He knows he should pull out. He told you he would. But all he can think about is how good you feel, how wet you are, how your cunt keeps sucking him deeper like you want him to stay.

"S-shitttt," he groans, forehead pressed to the back of your shoulder, hips twitching helplessly. "I'm—shit— I dunno, angel."

"Then get a condom, Xav'. It's alright if you can't handle it." And you're so cruel, saying it as a purr, clenching hard around his cock right as he's trying to pull back, locking him in place with your feisty cunt, strangling not only his cock, but also his ego.

A frustrated grunt rumbles from his throat because you know damn well he won't.

Get out of this? Out of you? And physically stand up?

Yeah. Over his dead fucking body.

"N-noooo—" he whines, arms trembling beside your body as he sinks back in deeper, grinding slow like he needs it more than oxygen. "I can take it, I swear— promise, angel. J-just don't make me leave."

"Oh-okay, Xav'," you moan, draaaagging it out with a long and mean breath as his swollen head knock knock knocks against the entrance of your womb, "Just keep g-going—ohhh yesss! Right there—!"

Violent shiver running through his body, cock twitching deep. The slit's drooling now, spilling steady heat into your cunt in thick little pulses, leaking.

"Shit, angel, d-don't say it like that," he pants, rutting into you now with slow, needy thrusts, teeth gritted. "You're making it so fucking hard to be good— so fucking hard—"

His teeth grit, breath catching in his throat, a stifled groan dragging up from somewhere deep in his chest as he tries to keep the rhythm steady. But he's failing badly.

Thrusts getting messier now, still slow, but shaky, cock twitching with every stroke because his body knows what's coming, building and building no matter how hard he fights it.

And to be honest, he's not even trying to fight the storm coming.

Not when you clamp down on him, a hicup fleeing past your lips as you feel every ridged vein adoring his pulsating dick.

"P-princessss, need to feel you cumming 'round me," he whines, long and runny tone causing your clit to pulsate, his fingers already finding comfort on the abandoned button, "Gonna be the death of me— gonna k-kill me with this pussy."

And yet his hips keep rocking into you, slam slam slam— sooo deep you can barely think straight. Deeper now. Harder.

Because if he's going down, he's taking you with him.

You're a gasping mess as you cum around him, sobbing on every thrust, thighs shaking, nails clawing back at his scalp as he fucks you through your orgasm, pussy spurting juices all over the base of his cock.

"Nnnngh!—you're so messy, Xav'," you croon, rocking back to take him even deeper, riding out your high, grinding your ass against his hips until his cock reaches that spot inside you, creating a buldge at your lower belly, "J-just give up—"

Right then, you hear it in his voice when he cracks.

"F-fuck no."

He fucking whimpers, cock throbbing violently as he stays buried inside you, his tip drooling more sticky pre that seeps out with every grind.

"Fuck—fuckfuckfuck—quit— squeezin' me like that— I can't—!"

But his words betray his body since his cock slams into your deepest spot with every stroke, the wet slap slap slapping of skin filling the clouded room, making your overstimulated cunt cry out.

"Then pull out," you bite, tilting your head back with the last strength you muster to look at him, eyes daringly sinful.

Wait. Waitwaitwait—

His eyes are glassy. Lips parted. Chest heaving.

"I—I can't, angel," he whines, voice all breath and heat, hips grinding in deeper even as he says it. "You're too mean—fuckkkk—milkin' me dryyyyy— h-hahhhh!—Can't even think—"

You feel the way his rhythm goes ragged, his whole body locking up behind you. He's fighting it, really fighting it, his muscles shaking, jaw clenched, hips jerking in shallow, stuttering thrusts.

"G-gonna take it, right? C'mon, princess, Just this— hnghhhh!— once."

But his cock's twitching like mad. And his balls are mere seconds close to burst out a fresh, sticky load.

With a strangled cry his hips slam forward, cock buried as deep as he can possibly get, grinding in hard as he spills inside you, thick and hot and so much.

You feel his cum flooding your pussy in long, pulsing spurts, painting your walls, dripping out around the base of his cock and onto the tangled sheets as he whines into your skin, thrusting through it.

"Fuhh-ckkkk!" he moans, drawn-out and helpless, hips jerking with every spurt, every twitch. "'M so sorry—fuck, I tried— swearrrr I tried to—"

But he doesn't even bother finishing, not with the way your eyes cut over your shoulder like a blade before your fingers tangle tight in his messy hay-blonde hair and yank him down into a wet, filthy kiss that makes him whimper right into you.

Back arched into him, tongue tangling with his as you both chase the last euphoric waves of pleasure by grinding like wild mutts against each other.

"Mmnn... I know," you shakily whisper, light giggle following suit against his pouty lips, "Tried s-soooo hard, didn't you?"

And he nods like a lost puppy, breath stuttering as his glossy lips tremble once you cage them between your lips.

Your grinding back against his hips in a rhythm that makes his thighs tremble and his cock jolt again, squishing out more of that thick mess he just dumped in you.

Now that he fucked up, might aswell make the most of it, no?

"Mhmmm", he hums in a daze, cock already twitching back to life inside you, eager rutts against your ass causing the sticky mess inside you to flood out between your pressed thighs,

"One more try, yeah? G-gonna pull out this time."

Famous last words.

SYLUS ★ Alllll in. ~1k

"I'm a lucky man."

His mouth brushes your ear, breath hot as he groans, the words vibrating right against your skin. One big hand caresses the side of your throat while the other spreads your thigh wider, pressing you open.

"Mmmm-hmmm," he growls, voice rough, cock sliding between your drenched folds at an almost eratic pace. The heavy head keeps nudging your clit, slick and angry, "Very lucky indeed."

Choking on a moan, your back arches when the thick, leaking crown of his cock drags through your folds again, smearing slick and pre along your thumbing clit.

"Had a rough night. Deal went to shit," he murmurs, though his voice betrays him—strained, desperate, twitching against your hole like his cock has a mind of its own, "But my sweet princess'll help me out, right? Give me a little pep-talk?"

"Yeah, right. Since when are you so- nghhh!- so tame?"

"Since now," he pants, nudging the angry tip right into your squeaking hole, your pussy already locking his tip in a headlock, "Enjoy it while it lasts and let me in, sweetie. I won't move. Promise."

Lie. Big fat lie.

Narrow eyes of yours stare him down just as his lips curl into a cheeky, smirk, slowwwwly forcing his massive size to push your poor walls apart.

You're not even trying to squeeze him, but your cunt is already fluttering around him, soaking wet from how pent-up he is. Gripping your waist with an iron-clad hold, trying so damn hard to stay still, but every twitch of your walls makes him flinch, throb.

It's impossible.

Now he's already bullying his way through your wails and shrieks, halfway in, dragging your pussy open inch by massive fucking inch, because he's trying so hard not to ruin you on the spot and pump you full of—

Wait. There's something... off. Something missing.

"Shoooo big, Sy'! Can't—hahhh!— I can't! M' so full!"

Maybe it's just in his head.

You shudder, overwhelmed by heat and stretch and the gush of pre smearing your walls.

Right then your orgasm hits hard, embarrassingly fast, dragging another cry from your lips as your pussy clenches around his cock again, pulling more grunts from his mouth.

You're already fucked-out, hips buck again greedily, stretch dizzying, walls clamping down with gluttonous need, and his breath catches with a hard shudder. Thighs locking tighter around his waist, holding him in, dragging him deeper.

Minutes tick by, or seconds, he can't tell, until his hips start to rock in tiny, traitorous movements.

Your cry cuts off into a gasp as his hips find a brutal rhythm, heavy balls slapping against your ass with each thrust. Every ridge, every vein drags inside you, scraping his memoir into your walls.

God, he could die like this.

Eyes rolling, cock buried balls-deep in the warm clutch of your cunt, so moist and snug and just a little too cramped, your selfish cunny milking him for everything he's worth. Drowning in your whimpers, in the slap of slick skin, in the way your hands claw up his back for more.

It's perfect. Too perfect. Too bare.

Wait.

Wait—oh fuck.

He goes still mid-thrust, chest heaving, eyes wide and glossy as it hits him that he never put on the damn condom.

"Shit."

"Hmmm? Something wrong, Sy'?"

He's the Sylus, goddamnit. The ruler of the underground. But not here. Not when you're wrapped around him like this. Not when you're so hot, so loud, so feisty, and dripping down his length every time he pulls back just to thrust in again.

"Fuck's sake," he grits out, face buried in your neck like he's ashamed of himself, voice nearly unrecognizable. "I should—mmmh—I need to pull out."

But he doesn't. Can't. Not when your cunt squeezes him like velvet vice, not when your arms wind tighter around his neck and your hips grind up like you want him to ruin you.

"Hmm? What's that? C-can't focus when youhhh— ohhh!— in sooo deep, baby."

"Mhmmm, couldn't even get a condom because you're such a bratty little thing," he groans, voice going hoarse as he thrusts his fat tip right against your cervix with one forceful rut, barely holding on, "She's pulling me in, sweetie."

The bed rocks under the force of his shots, every sharp roll of his hips knocking the air from your lungs. The obscene, filthy sounds of your bodies say everything needing to be said.

"Whose fault is that, darling?" he grits out through clenched teeth, dragging his hands up your ribs to cup your face.

Fake it till you make it, I guess.

"Mhm! My fault, s' my fault Sy'!," you stammer, eyes glassy, mind running a thousand miles as he knocks your breath out again and again and—

"Now that's right," he huffs, forehead pressed against yours, a whimper catching in his throat as he eyes the heavy buldge at the pit of your tummy, "That's my good girl. Gonna let me cum inside, hm? Fill you up?"

"Mhmmm! Wanna feel it, allll of it Sy! Make me a m-mommy!"

Now you've done it.

Sylus's eyes roll back, face flushed, sweat pearling at his temple. He's trembling, so fucking close.

He's cumming before his mind even catches up, hips stuttering, breath leaving from his lungs as his body clamps against yours. A broken groan rips from his throat as he spurts buckets of pearly white cum into your womb, rutting in deep to make sure you take all of it.

"S-shit, sweetie," he hisses, forehead dropping to yours, ruby eyes blown wide and dazed, "feels good, hmm?"

You can't answer. Clenching, twitching, overwhelmed tears brimming at the corners of your eyes from how deep he hits without even moving, some of his cum escaping down the curve of your ass.

Pressing a weak, sloppy open-mouthed-kiss to his temple, your heart's hammering as the slow pulse of his cum inside you makes you more excited by the second, unconciously humbing up into him.

"A-again. Want you to fill me up again, Sy'."

"Again, huh? Now you're being greedy, sweetheart." He punctuates it with a sharp thrust, one that makes your whole body jolt, makes you yelp, nails digging into his shoulders.

"Whatever my sweet girl wants", he ushers against your puckered lips, dick twitching inside your cramped cunny, "she'll get."

Well, once you have tasted blood, you'll always want more.

CALEB ★ Home sweet home. ~1.2k

"W-what?"

"Condom, Cay'."

"Y-yeah right, condom. Gotta get it. Gotta—"

You're cruel. So very cruel.

Tangled together on the bed, your bodies slick with sweat, breaths rapid. Caleb's fingers dig into your hips as you impatiently grind your slick, exposed cunny over his stiff length, dragging it up right against his tip.

"Mhhh, hurryyyy! Wanna feel you already!"

Right then a fat bead of pre spurts from his slit, kissing your clit with a shining glee and you damn near sob, biting down hard on your bottom lip to stop the filthy little sound clawing up your throat.

"One sec' pips'. Just one second, m' gonna get it— fuck!"

He tries. He tries to lift you off, shaky hands fumbling at your waist.

"Just pull out and stop. t-talking."

But it's you who slid down on his tip, thighs slapping against his as you take him in to the hilt in one greedy push, his hefty girth streeeetching your out instantly, a loud squeak! resounding as his crown thumbs against your cervix.

Or did he drag you down, fists clenched tight around your waist?

Actually, it doesn't even matter anymore.

"Jesus Christ, baby," he groans, voice so thick with lust it's barely human anymore. "L-lemme get it, m' gonna—"

His voice cracks, almost a panic as his hands tighten on your waist, trembling, begging you to just slow down with each twitch of his fingers, cock twitching inside you since he's already right on his fucking limit.

He tries again. Hands push at your hips, trembling, uncoordinated, unable to decide if he wants to get you off him or fuck up into you on repeat.

"Wait—just lemme grab it, baby, j-just for a seco—"

"O-ohhh! I don't care anymore!" Your high-pitched tantrum throws him off, your hips grinding doen hard onto him in a hurry, so needy and shameless that he can't help but buck his hips upwards, stealing a pleased sigh from you.

You drop your hips again, soaked pussy swallowing him whole, strangling his pumping length and that's it. That's fucking it.

"Fuckin' hell," suddenly his grip turns firm, fingers digging into your flesh, forcing you down with a loud slap! of skin to skin. "Really? Ya' don't care anymore? Really want me ta' beat this pussy up?"

SLAP!

His hands slam down onto your ass, big palms grabbing, spreading, slapping, the poor flesh turning red on impact. And you jolt in his hold, clit thumb thumb thumbing like it has it's own heartbeat.

"Shit! Yer' fuckin'—nghhh!— gonna make me lose it," he pants, snapping his hips up into you dwelling in the suffocating hold of your soothing walls. "Ya' like that? Like ridin' me raw? Knocking this greedy pussy up? "

Desperate nod saying more than words could, you bounce up and down, up and down, tight pussy fixed around him, screaming in protest every time you surge up with loud, protesting gush gush gushes.

"Dirty fuckin' girl."

He grabs your ass again, harder this time, fingers sinking in, dragging you down with each thrust, eyes fixated on the delicious buldge of his fat cockhead bump bump bumping in your gut.

"Couldn't even wait, huh? Had ta' sit on my cock like the needy girl ya' are. Didn't even let me grab the fuh-fuckin'— shiiiiit!—"

Smack!

Another harsh slap ripples the fat of your rear, sharp but yet so perfect, the sting making you moan out, embarrasingly so, only further making your walls constrict around his hefty girth.

"Ya' want me to lose it, hah? Wanna make me forget everything but this feisty lil' pussy?"

You nod, nails dragging down his back. "Yessss! Pleaseeeee! Wan' you to fuck me stupid! Wanna c-cum!"

Forehead pressed to yours, he's fucking up into you with vicious intend, "Yeahhhh, yer' gonna get it. Gonna make you cum so gooood, pips' Js' let go f' me, yeah?"

And just like that, you break apart, body feeling like it's been lit on fire as you twitch around him uncontrollably, gushing your squirting sap alllll over his pelvic area.

"A-attaaaaa girl", he's watching you come undone, gripping your hips tight enough to bruise as he fucks you through your high, staring down at the mess you made in awe.

You're both drenched in it.

"What a beautiful mess," he pants, still pistoning his cock right against your g-spot, dragging your orgasm out. "Look at that pretty pussy squirtin' allll over me."

He's a pussy-drunk mess by now, cock still hard and throbbing inside your overstimulated cunt as she eagerly milks his cock, desperate for him to fill you up with his hot cum.

"Fuckkkk, I missed this. Missed you, this sweet little cunt, squeezin' 'round me. It's been sooo long."

You're panting now, still in shock from your orgasm, hips rocking against his, "B-but, Cay' we just did it y-yesterday—"

"That's wayyyy to long f' me."

You're whining, squirming in his lap, but he just has a crazed look, hungry, bucking his hips up, teasing the entrance of your womb with smooches.

He leans back slightly one hand gripping your ass, the other spreading you open so he can observe your stuffed cunny struggling to hold him in.

"Look at ya'," he mutters, half in awe, half in madness, "Gonna stuff ya' full till yer' leaking 'round me, till all you can think about is me, me, me—"

So close to his own wit's end, he's doing his best to focus on the delicious squelch of your stuttering pussy, heavy, fast breaths barely calming his racing heart down.

"God, you feel so good," he rasps, breath hitching. "So warm, so wet, 'm gonna cum, baby. Gonna fill you up."

You're clawing at his shoulders now, legs buckling as you feel your second high approching slyly. Every thrust sounds wetter than the last, his balls slapping your ass with every rushed snap of his hips.

Your moans are getting higher. His pace is getting sloppy. He's right there.

"No condom, no nothin'," he murmurs, forehead pressing against yours as he slowly, slowly inches the fat head inside, your walls stretching around him like they were made to take him bare. "You’re just gonna fuck me raw like this, huh? Gonna stuff you full till you're leaking around me, till all you can think about is me, me, me—"

He inches the fat head back in again, and your walls stretch, trembling, sucking him in until—

"Yesyesyes— fuckkk!—"

Your cry breaks into a sob as your body locks up around him. Caleb barely gets a breath before he's falling with you, mouth hanging slack as his hips jerk once, twice, and then he spills his thick load of fresh whites into you.

"Ooouhhhh! Cay-caleb!"

You sob, cunt spasming, milking him through it as your second orgasm rips through you, so intense your thighs shake, whole body shuddering in his lap, falling onto his sweaty, heaving chest.

"You're so fuckin' hot."

He's dazed, cock still twitching, slit spurting out the last wispy ropes inside you while his cum leaks out around the base in sticky dribbles, his locked gaze snapping up to your flustered face, sleazy grin twitching up his lips.

"Think m' addicted now."

Pff. As if he wasn't already whipped the second you climbed into his lap.

Wriothesley glances to your fingertips brushing lightly along the edge of his desk as you approach, and he catches himself staring—as usual. Under normal circumstances, is Wriothesley good at control; discipline feels like second nature. But around you? Around you, his gaze has a will of its own.

Despite the futile battle, he wills his attention back to the papers, which are now lightly scrunched in his palms, even as you step into his space. His eyes lift briefly in response, momentarily flickering up to meet yours before staring down at the letters inked on paper.

But you saw it: You saw the way he had faltered, how, momentarily, his attention clung to the hem of your top for a second longer than necessary.

"Good evening," you speak casually, a quiet lilt to your tone that Wriothesley considers to be cute. Cute enough for a small smile to threaten his mask of calm.

"Evening," he replies with an, hopefully, even voice, though he clears his throat too quickly to maintain his act of nonchalance.

As you lean over to place an envelope, a folded report, something trivial, on the desk in front of him, you notice how Wriothesley's shoulders tense. The realisation leads you to trace the rings adorning his fingers, so soft, so barely there that it might be imagined.

"Still working?" Your question is laced with something between curiosity and mischief as you lean against the corner of his desk, glancing at his work with mock interest.

"Trying," Wriothesley murmurs, and fiercely refuses to look at you again.

He knows you are sitting on the edge of the desk, just in the peripheral vision of his eyes that are supposed to be focused on the report he is pretending to read.

Wriothesley tries to stay on the page, tries to ignore the swing of your legs as they dangle off his desk, but you see the flick of his eyes to your thighs, to your face, and then back to the desk.

"You seem tense, Duke," you can't help but tease. "Long day?"

He nods then, but his focus is elsewhere again—on the bare skin above your knee before he forces himself to stare back at the page, to the ink that has begun to blur.

"I'm fine."

It's cute whenever Wriothesley pretends to be unbothered. So much so, you want to tease him just a little more, you decide, as your knee bumps against his. You reach for a seemingly innocent paperweight resting on Wriothesley's desk, but nothing about your arm and leg pressing against his body seems innocent in return.

Steely eyes flit down to your legs, your waist, and then quickly back up as Wriothesley seems to stiffen from your touch. But you caught the glance and fail to hide the smug smile.

"Are you?" you murmur once your eyes meet. Your voice is lower now, your own version of a challenge.

Wriothesley opens his mouth, though the words feel too heavy on his tongue to slip past the muscle. Instead, you lead the conversation with a far too sweet tone. "You're distracted, Wrio."

The slow blink of his eyes is near comical. Wriothesley seems… surprised and a little caught. "What?" That's all he can reply before a huff of defeat is exhaled through his nose.

"You're distracted," you repeat as a smile curls the corners of your mouth. "Is something on your mind, Wriothesley?" you repeat, slower this time, while tilting your head.

For a moment, he seems lost in your eyes, your smell, his thoughts before finally "Just work," follows as an attempted explanation.

"Mhm… I see. Must be very complicated, then, if you keep looking at my legs instead of the report."

Colour rises to Wriothesley's cheeks, and for a solid second, he seems lost. And then… he laughs, sheepish, the sound rings low and warm in his chest. "Caught red-handed."

The mood is light, enticing, and leads you to feel emboldened. So, you reach out and lightly tap the corner of the page he still hasn't turned. "Maybe I should help you focus, then."

And before Wriothesley can answer, before his brain can catch up, you slide onto his lap. Your knees are now resting on either side of his thighs, with your arms draped loosely around Wriothesley's neck. He stiffens like he's been struck before his hand lifts from the arm of the chair to lightly settle on your waist.

"Is this alright?" you murmur close to his ear.

"…Yeah," Wriothesley assures, though it comes out in a breath. "Yeah. It's more than alright."

He feels warm beneath your hands; all solid strength under fine clothes, the muscles in his arms flexing slightly as you shift closer.

"You're so warm," you say softly as your fingers move along the line of his neck. "It feels good."

However, a response eludes Wriothesley; his attention seems fully occupied with the depth of your eye colour while he fully relishes the tingling sensation of your fingers brushing through his hair.

He feels putty in your hands, almost too sensitive and responsive for you to believe he is used to this sort of attention. So, the question slips out before you know any better: "Have you…" though, something makes you hesitate.

Perhaps it's the way Wriothesley's hand clenches slightly at your waist or the soft crease of his brows as his gaze drops to your lips.

"…Have you ever done this before?"

He doesn't answer at first. Instead, he appears to consider his words while his eyes explore the fine structure of your neck and shoulder, then the hollow of your collarbone.

"Not…" he starts, and his voice is a little quieter, reluctant perhaps. "Not like this. Not with someone I…" love, is what he would like to say, but it feels a little premature for that.

So the sentence ends unfinished, and you take it upon yourself to guide the conversation as you lean your forehead gently against his. "It's okay," you promise. "You don't have to say everything all at once."

"I'm not very good at this," he admits then, his laugh soft and dry, barely a sound. "You probably guessed that already."

"I guessed you might be a little shy," you respond while cupping his cheeks like Wriothesley was your most treasured prize. "That's not the same as not being good at it."

He leans into your touch as if he's been starved of it. In response, your thumb strokes along the line of his cheekbone, and you enjoy watching his eyes flutter slightly at the contact.

"I like that about you," you add in the scant space between your lips. "That you don't try to be someone else. That you feel shy, that you blush."

Wriothesley makes a small noise, half protest, half embarrassment, as a self-deprecating smirk tugs at his lips over his own helplessness.

"I mean it," you fight back while squishing his cheeks. "It makes me feel… like you let me see something no one else gets to."

That stills him. His hands, which have been resting so lightly, now grip your waist with more certainty as the papers lie forgotten on his desk. "You're not teasing?"

"No." You promise while leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. "I'm telling you the truth."

He exhales like he's been holding something heavy in his chest, as though relief has just flooded his lungs. "Then I'll try," Wriothesley agrees softly and already shivers from the sensation of your fingers curling into his strands.

"Let's start slow. Like this," you whisper a second before you kiss him—lightly, sweetly. As if there was all the time in the world for lovers.

And for once, there is. With Wrio holding you close, it appears like nothing else really matters. His arms are a firm circle around your waist, and you feel how tightly his composure winds beneath his skin. Every muscle is tense, every breath careful.

The moment your lips leave his, he looks at you as if you have stolen gravity itself. You feel the weight of that gaze, heavy and uncertain. However, Wriothesley's hands won't move, fingers lightly pressing into your hips with his thumbs occasionally moving whenever you shift.

"And here," as you let one hand trail down to his. The leather feels good against your skin, the warmth and solidity of his rings a stark contrast to the soft give of your flesh.

"You're allowed to touch me like this." You guide his palm to your thigh until its weight settles warm atop your skin.

"But you're so—" He stops his protests because he realises how his body reacts on its own. His fingers flex, squeezing your thigh until the smallest sound escapes you, a shaky exhale that sends a thrill of excitement through Wriothesley's frame.

Though the most satisfying part is how you behave. How you don't shy away but lean in until your nose brushes against his. "You feel how I react?"

So, you move his hand slowly, letting it glide along your leg until his palm cups the curve of your ass. The way his breath hitches is telling: Every little sigh, every shift of Wriothesley's eyes between where he touches you and your expression—it is like watching a man discover warmth for the first time.

"Your hands are big," you murmur without any shame, no, there's only curious desire swimming in your gaze. "Rough. They make me feel small." You slide his other hand to your waist, under the edge of your shirt, before you continue, "Use them."

Wriothesley draws his knuckles along the delicate skin there, hesitantly at first, then with more confidence once even he can feel the goosebumps his touch causes on your skin. It's unconscious how he leans in until his lips ghost near yours again, silently asking for another kiss.

And you? You let yourself settle more fully into his lap in response as the tip of your nose nudges against Wriothesley's, your breaths warm and skin-prickling as they meet and mix.

Every sensation, every reaction grounds and excites him; you both, to be exact. This moment isn't frantic; there is no tearing and tugging, no mindless hunger. It is quiet, smouldering, a slow thaw of walls built years ago and once deemed unclaimable.

But as your lips brush along his jaw, near the corner of his mouth, Wriothesley thinks that maybe it is time to surrender himself to someone who wants to cherish him the way you do.

"You're so responsive," your murmur tears him out of his simpering thoughts. He lets out a short, helpless laugh before humming a tone of agreement. "Just with you."

It is then that you finally reward him with another kiss. But this time, Wriothesley deepens without hesitation; his lips move against yours with a new confidence, firm yet measured. As if he realises that he is finally allowed to be greedy with someone.

Wriothesley's hands move from the outer curve of your hips to the dip of your waist, back again to your thighs, where he squeezes gently, experimentally, until you finally reward him with a soft moan in response.

"That… felt good, hm?" Wriothesley murmurs between your mouths, lips painting the words into yours. This way, he can even feel them stretch as you smile.

"Very good. Do it again."

He does. And this time, he adds a caress up your side, along your ribs, and savours the shaky inhale as your back arches into his touch.

"You're beautiful like this," he whispers, almost like he doesn't mean to say it out loud.

"Say more," you demand quickly, because he is not the only greedy person tonight.

His brows knit together then, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as a spark seems to flicker through his eyes. "More?"

You nod in response as you subconsciously mirror his amused expression. "I want to hear you tell me nice things."

Momentarily, he seems lost. Not because he is overwhelmed by the situation, but utterly absorbed with you. With the way you look at him, with the sounds you make because of him. And then, shy yet brave, he confesses, "I like the way you look at me..."

Your heart throbs at that; you feel the thump heavy in your chest as the emotions you have yet to confess seem to run amok. So, you try to rein them in, try to focus on the lust rather than the other scary word that begins with an L.

"Mh? Like I want you?" Though you leave Wriothesley no chance to reply, as you already chase his lips. You kiss him slowly, taste the way his confidence falters and returns. With each passing second, Wriothesley leans into you more surely. He touches your face with both hands, cupping your cheeks, thumbs brushing along your skin. His hands are so big—capable of violence, and yet they hold you like porcelain.

"I want to learn every way you want me," he murmurs, ridiculously effortless.

"You don't have to get it right all at once," you reassure, but guide one of his hands to your chest where your heart beats steadily beneath. "Just be here with me."

That convinces him to kiss you again, soft and slow, again and again until nothing but your desire for another leads this dance. Your hands curl around the back of his neck as his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in deep as the kisses turn hungry.

You feel him grow bolder with every passing moment. How his knuckles now graze along your collarbones, down your sides until he can effortlessly grip the undersides of your thighs. Every reaction you give, every breath, every sigh—it all seems to entice him to be even more shameless.

As if Wriothesley himself is surprised by the way he can make you feel.

His arms remain around you loosely, holding you in this position of power as you cage his frame in. And it seems you refuse to let him catch a break, not when you instead can explore how much harder his heart can drum against his chest. Your lips part from his, and your uneven breaths brush warm and uneven breath across heated cheeks.

"You make me ache, Wrio." The sultry praise whispered against the shell of his ear causes Wriothesley to groan quietly. "I do?" He responds in a similarly hushed tone while his lips move along your offered neck to leave faint kisses of adoration on your exposed skin.

You can't hide the soft chuckle tumbling past your kiss-swollen lips as you lean back to cradle his face once more. Though this time, your eyes roam over his features with nothing but fondness. "Yes, you do." The reassurance flows effortlessly as you see the vulnerability in his gaze.

Wriothesley isn't used to being this exposed, and you can see the instinct to retreat flickering behind his eyes, even as his hands remain firm on your waist. So, you lean back a little further as you let your fingers comb through his hair to distract him, to lure him down deeper into this exciting rabbit hole.

"Come with me," you coax with a certain confidence. Your fingers lace with his as you slide off his lap and guide him slowly to stand as well.

He follows you towards his bed, which suddenly feels rather large, a little daunting now that you are about to take this final step. You take a step back and tug gently on Wriothesley's hand until he stands in front of you, nervous yet grounded through your touch.

You try to be mindful of his body, his strength, and his restraint. But the way his arms lock around you, pressing you flush against him as if letting you go might dissolve this moment, makes it clear that Wriothesley can and will handle you.

His hand trails along your spine, pausing momentarily before his palm presses firmly against your back to bring your body flush against his own. He towers over you, cocoons you in his embrace as strong fingers curl into the fabric of your top, to hold you tighter and tighter in his arms.

His body radiates heat beneath yours, trembling slightly from nervousness, before a long breath fans over his neck as Wriothesley nuzzles into you.

"Are you okay?" you murmur while letting your hands move along the width of his shoulders and through the short hairs at his nape. He doesn't answer immediately, but his eyes meet yours to tangle in a dance of emotions that seem impossible to convey with words.

Then he nods slowly and confesses: "I just… I want you."

The sheer honesty, the look of longing, and the fact that Wriothesley finally lets go of the restraint he seems so accustomed to, fill your heart with pride and lead you to stand on your toes to kiss the corner of his mouth.

"Then have me," you reply just as honestly. "Let me take care of you tonight."

With this, you reach for the hem of his vest and begin to undress him slowly. Button for button of his dress shirt is followed by another kiss on his chest until your fingertips can glide along skin and scars, but not yet push the garments off Wriothesley's shoulders.

Instead, your touch leads down his arms until you can unwrap the leather straps around his wrists, peeling away layer by layer. Your thumbs circle the ridges of his knuckles before bringing one hand to your mouth to pause for a kiss or two. As if to praise the weight of responsibility these same hands carry day after day.

Only then do you move on to finally push the garments off his body and expose his upper body to your, rather curious, eyes—Wriothesley notes with a smirk tugging at his lips. Though that smug look doesn't last long, since your unfiltered touch over his muscular frame causes a shiver to wrack his body and a breathless chuckle of realisation to escape his lungs.

He basks in the sensations of your lips trailing from his collarbone down across his chest, slow and languid as you kiss each and every scar you find, each dip in his skin.

A gentle pressure against his hips guides Wriothesley to sit at the edge of his bed, where his eyes widen once you kneel between his legs. "Sweetheart," he starts, though his voice is uncharacteristically frail as you run your hands up his thighs, then to the waistband of his pants.

And you? Well, that innocent look you shoot up while seeking permissions makes it impossible for him to do anything but nod all too willingly.

One by one, you undo the fastenings of his boots until they are off. The click of his belt being unbuckled follows suit, and soon Wriothesley shifts as you tug down the fabric of his pants.

With his body nearly exposed, you take your time. Worshipping every part of him; touching, kissing, tasting from his hipbones up to trace the defined lines of abs with your lips.

He can't do much more than drown in the pleasure. His chest heaves lightly from the deeper breaths Wriothesley started to inhale as his fingers grip the sheets for moral support. Yes, yes, he has been with women before. But none of the women allowed him to be vulnerable, to receive attention, to feel … in love.

So this moment is humbling in a way he had expected ever since he started fantasising about being this close to you. And yet, here he was, a panting mess with pink ears and dilated pupils because of your hands ghosting along his thighs. His hips twitch slightly when you press a lingering kiss to the space just above his waistband.

"Lay back," you encourage while glancing up to his face.

He obeys and watches as you crawl onto the bed, stabilising yourself with his outstretched hand until you straddle him once again. The weight of your body over his seems to ground him, until you cup his face and kiss him again, deep and tender, with your tongue flicking gently against his. That's when he finally moans into your mouth.

You let your hands roam, exploring the contours of him, fingers drawing idle patterns on his skin. Wriothesley exhales your name as curiosity finally leads his hands to find purchase on your waist and hold you firmer against him.

"Can I touch you?" Nothing but a rasp of his usually strong voice.

You nod as you offer him a reassuring smile and begin to guide his hands however you wish. "I want you to."

That's when his fingers slide up, tentative at first, as they travel under the fabric of your clothes to lift them until you can take them off.

His eyes devour every bit of skin like it was his first time seeing a body as divine as yours. It's almost too flattering, the way his eyes roll back once you reach behind to unclasp your bra. It's automatic how his hands come up again, more confident, and far hungrier this time, to cup your breasts.

His thumbs brush over your skin, tentatively flicking over your nipples and ultimately leading him to sit up until his face is pressed into you, lips moving hot and wet over the swell of your breasts as he tastes you. Wriothesley sighed into your skin, as if he didn’t even realise how much he needed this, you, until it was given.

Your soft and breathy moans are music to his ears, coaxing him to gently nip on your skin and fondle your breasts firmly until your noises grow louder.

"You sound so pretty," he praises without a moment of hesitation while his kisses trail along the line of your neck. His touch roams along the side of your breasts to your back, your waist and your hips. Each destination is greeted with a squeeze that conveys his desire.

"Can I touch you more?" Wriothesley asks with a roughened voice while already pulling you down until his head rests in his pillows and you're squished against his chest.

After having the air knocked from your lungs, your laughter is light and your eyes seem to shine in amusement as you try to shift atop his lap. Which is, by the way, near impossible due to how firmly Wriothesley holds you pinned against him.

"Anywhere you want. However you want," you breathe, and immediately his touch and gestures fog your mind.

Wriothesley's hands trail along your spine before his right palm settles at your lower back, pulling you closer and pressing your chest to his, teasingly squeezing your breasts against himself along the way.

The movement draws your body even nearer, and your hips naturally meet—eliciting a soft moan from your parted lips. His nose grazes up from your neckline to your jaw, where he presses a soft kiss to your cheek before effortlessly cupping the backs of your thighs and flipping you over until you meet the mattress.

"Tell me if it is too much," he murmurs as his lips brush against your own. The kisses he scatters across your skin are slow yet passionate; some barely graze your senses, while others are paired with gentle suckling that leaves your head spinning.

His exploration is slow, yet so, so self-indulgent as his eyes roam your figure with wide-eyed curiosity of a man who hasn't allowed himself the indulgence of softness in a long time. You let him take his time, moaning softly when his fingers graze over your hips, your thighs, the curve of your ass.

Until his hips settle between your thighs and part them fully. Nestled between, Wriothesley grinds against your soaked panties, low groans escaping him despite his effort to hold them back. To hide how badly he needs you. But he silences himself with your lips again, like he’s drowning in your taste.

"You feel so good," you confess as your nails track the flexed muscles of Wriothesley's back, moaning softly upon the promise he indulges you with.

"You’re driving me insane," he admits breathlessly, perhaps as a silent plea, since it leads your touch to reach for his briefs and slip underneath. He is panting, hands fisting the sheets as you kiss a line down his neck and chest.

You stroke him slowly, applying just enough pressure to make him seek out more as his hips buck into your hand. His body is so responsive, so desperate. Every sigh, every moan coming from Wriothesley makes your core throb with want.

"That sound…" You cut him out of his reverie, and for a moment, he can only blink and stare at you before he deems himself able to do more than just moan into your skin.

"What?" Wriothesley inquires in, what seems to be, confusion while studying you.

"I love that sound. Your moans. Don't hide them from me," you then confess with a rather flustered expression of your own.

Wriothesley shifts, holding himself up with one arm, the other free to roam. "I won't hide them then," he concedes while his fingertips trace the shape of your arm, following the dip of your collarbone, over your chest and stomach.

You guide his hands, his mouth, teaching him where you like to be kissed, how you like to be touched. He kisses down your body, trailing his lips across your breasts, your stomach, your thighs, until your back arches and your moans fill the room.

"Tell me what you need," he whispers, before biting softly into your lower lip, to bring you back to him and respond. "Just you," you mumble, with a newfound shyness now that Wriothesley looms over you.

Wriothesley smirks against your neck, kissing down its side as he finds a spot that drives you wild and lingers there—his tongue tracing and teasing the sensitive skin.

You try to swallow your needy sounds, but the pressure in your chore won't fade. In an attempt to regain just a shred of control, you slide your foot along his calf and let your lips brush over the shell of his ear with a soft whimper.

"Don't stop…" You whisper, as your nerves and want tangle together. In response, Wriothesley shifts lower, fingers gliding over your stomach and sliding your panties. His fingertips draw closer to where you need him most while his lips leave kisses on your belly, occasionally biting or sucking as your fingers card through his hair.

"Pretty thing…" he murmurs under his breath, eyes trailing slowly over every inch of you. Then, he kisses you again, and again while squeezing one of your thighs, then spreading your legs before slipping between them once again.

You feel his cock straining against you, and you can't help the whimper of his name that escapes as your hips grind against him, fingers digging into his sides—shamelessly urging him to give you more.

His touch ghosts across your body until he reaches your hands. Here, Wriothesley ends up playing with your fingers for a moment before he brings them up to his briefs for you to take them off.

You feel the soft press of lips to your forehead while rough fingertips find their way between your thighs to tease your clit and spread your arousal until… Until the stretch of two thick fingers makes your toes curl and your moans fall free. Wriothesley pumps them gently, slowly working you open while your foreheads are pressed against another and your moans fan his lips with their sweet lust.

"I'll go slow, okay?" He mumbles—to which you hum as Wriothesley already guides one of your legs around his waist, then the other, and lets the head of his cock drag through your folds, coating himself with your need.

When he pushes inside, it feels as though everything stops for a moment. Your walls stretch to accommodate him, and your voice rises with moaned pleas while the delicious sting of your nails digging into his skin causes goosebumps to spread over Wriothesley's back.

This might be even better than the fantasy of you he indulged in.

"God… you feel incredible," he groans low into your neck as he bottoms out.

He moves, slow at first, with his lips resting lightly on your temple. The stretch and burn soon dissipate into pure bliss, allowing you to move your hips and meet his thrusts. One of your hands rests on the back of his neck to pull Wriothesley even closer, craving skin-to-skin contact as you breathe out praise for him.

"You're doing so well." Your moans, whispered against his neck, make him tremble. You leave a trail of soft love bites there, and when your walls clench around him, he shudders.

He moans your name as his head dips to rest on your shoulder, allowing your scent to cloud his mind while he loses himself in the moment—the feeling of him inside you, your whines and pleas, and the way your body feels so entirely perfect against his own.

That is, until you tighten and pulse in a way Wriothesley hasn't yet anticipated, enticing him to give in if he were a weaker-willed man. Instead, he pants a breathless chuckle and litters your neck in kisses, mumbling a roughened "Relax for me," as his hands move over your hips and squeeze your ass.

Then he unwraps your legs from his waist and pushes them to part a little wider, allowing him more room to thrust into you harder. His moans grow louder while his fingers find comfort in the soft flesh of your thighs, grounding him from the pleasure your body provides.

Your eyes roll back in response to Wriothesley hitting your sweet spot with each deep thrust as you try to withstand the nearly overwhelming pressure his body packs. A cry tears from your throat, and your back arches instinctively now that your orgasm is approaching dangerously fast. "Wrio—Wriothesley!" you gasp with a reeling mind as you realise just how easily he had taken control over this situation.

The promise of wanting to take care of him is long forgotten. Instead, your barely present focus is stuck on the view you're spoiled with: Wriothesley looks devastatingly beautiful like this, slightly flushed from the tips of his ears down to his chest, while his brows are drawn together from the effort of holding back. Salt-and-pepper strands frame and cling to his features while he is insistent on giving you pleasure.

"You close?" he breathes out then, with his own release drawing near. And as you nod, as you whine and writhe, he really can't resist but use the rough pad of his thumb against your clit. "Then let go, mh?" He practically purrs in a voice unlike any you have heard before, velvety smooth and smug as he coaxes you to give in.

The wave of pleasure washes over you before you have a chance to respond. Drowning you from head to toes in tingly excitement, and as you fall apart. Your voice rises to high, near-breathless moans as you climax and leave Wriothesley no choice but to follow.

He nestles himself fully inside as your walls pulse without remorse, milking him for all he is worth until no clear thought remains inside his brain.

A comforting stillness settles over the room, save for the sound of your shared breathing that turns from ragged to slowly steadying. Wriothesley rests his forehead against yours once again as his arms wrap around you with an almost desperate gentleness, as though he could tuck you into his chest and keep you there forever.

You're still trembling faintly, breath catching now and then as your body recovers, and he holds you like you're his most fragile. His hand sweeps along your side, slow and grounding, and then stills when he realises how fast his heart is racing.

It's thunderous; loud enough, he swears, that you might hear it if you leaned in just a little closer. And then, right then, it hits him. Now that Wriothesley lets his eyes flutter shut and the weight of the moment sinks in: He's so deeply, hopelessly in love with you.

He shifts then, until he is settled against the mattress with you resting beside him, your cheek pressed against his shoulder while his free hand brushes your hair from your face. His other arm tightens around your waist, and he exhales like he's been holding it in for far too long.

"I—" He starts, but falters as the words appear stuck in his throat.

You shift slightly, just enough to tilt your head and meet his gaze with a softness that tells him you already know what he is about to confess.

Which is why he allows himself to fall.

"I love you."

It's not a whispered secret, but a proudly spoken truth. Though, before you can speak, he leans in again and kisses you—not urgently, not hungrily, but with the aching tenderness of someone who has finally given in to what he has known all along.

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead to yours once more and smiles faintly. "I think I have for a while now," he adds quietly, "but I didn't want to scare you off."

His heartbeat hasn't slowed, and he doesn't think it will—not when you're looking at him like that. Not when you're still here, arms looped loosely around his neck, like you were never planning on letting go either.

Glancing over your shoulder at him in just your underwear, you felt a nervous smile flutter to your lips. Oh you wanted this. You wanted to be under his explicit control and you want him to fuck you silly. You wanted-

“I know. I’m the one that asked for this, remember?”

You walk to him then, slinging your arms over his shoulders where he has to bend down slightly for it to even be possible. You press a kiss to his neck, jaw, and finally the corner of his lips. A hand rests on your hip and the warm bite of rope teases your skin into fresh goosebumps.

“If you don’t want to, Sylus, you can just say so too.”

You get a hum from your lover as he captures your lips in a slow, steady kiss.

“And miss the chance of tying you up like a present just for me? Never.” He purred, guiding you back towards the bed with measured steps.

“We’re not jumping into the deep end though, even if you think you can handle it. Just your arms tonight. How does that sound, sweetie?”

You’re made to sit down on the bed with the slightest push of his hand and the controlled strength there does crazy things to the growing heat between your legs. Fuck, you asked if he’d stay dressed too, blushing madly when you requested such a thing that had made him quietly laugh before praising you for being so open with what you wanted from him. It was just as perfect as you thought it be as he grabbed your jaw with that giant hand of his, thumb brushing your bottom lip. He hasn’t even done anything and already you felt so breathless.

“You’re not getting anything more until you use your words, kitten.”

Your face was made to look up at him. You couldn’t turn away even if you wanted to with how firm his grip was on your jaw.

“Good.” You sighed out, hands resting obediently in your lap as your eyes flickered to the red in the corner of your peripherals. The rope he had lazily dangling in his hand a silent promise.

“That sounds good.” You reiterate. “I trust you- put myself in your hands. I know you’ll take care of me.” You’re so earnest, you nearly start reaching for him already. Instead you stop yourself.

“Can… can I have a kiss?”

Everything you say and the way you look while saying it is deliciously ruinous for Sylus. Already his pants are so tight because of you and the deep blush on your face. The clear passage of control placed in his very hands as you prove such a fact by asking so sweetly for his kiss. This wasn’t what he was expecting when he’d hear for the first time of your implicit trust, but he wasn’t a man to complain about such a beautiful sight before him.

He leaned down, still holding your jaw, and kissed you. It was more like devouring though as he overwhelmed your senses with his lips and tongue, stealing every gasp and whimper from you with a greed that knew nothing of satiation. By time he pulled back, you were already panting and trying to keep from squirming too badly, but there was no mistaking the way your pretty thighs squeezed together.

“What a good girl you are, kitten. I don’t even have anything on you and your hands have stayed right in your lap. Seems like this feral kitty might just be a stray in disguise.”

“Sylus…” his thumb rubs into your wet, kiss bitten, bottom lip as he softly clicks his tongue.

“Is that all I am right now?” He purrs, teasing your lips until your tongue tried to slip out to catch his thumb.

His hand drew back to guide you onto your stomach. Deft fingers trailed down the length of your spine, flattening out on the small of your back.

“Don’t move.” His voice whispered in your ear as his weight settled next to you.

For constantly working with guns and boxing, Sylus had surprisingly soft hands. His warm touch made you sigh into the silk covers of his bed as they ran down the length of your arms. The motion is slow, tender, and relaxing when he started sprinkling in kisses to your shoulders.

“Thats right- just relax for me. I got you; you can let go.”

His hands settled on your wrists. He would only need one to completely engulf both of yours, but he doesn’t. His thumb brushes along the pulse throbbing in your wrist as he gets a single loop of red rope around your wrists. The loop tightens until your wrists can only slightly shift.

“This is around the tightness we’ll be working with. Make sure you use your words if you want to keep going.”

Your heart felt so full as Sylus continuously made sure this is what you wanted. You had half a mind to ask him to lay back so you could ride him silly. Another part of you- a much more fragile part of you- wanted to break into tears from the level of care he gave and will always give.

“I want to.” You mumble. “Not too tight or painful. Sy-“

You were corrected with a warning spank to your ass that made you jump with a squeak.

“I let it go the first time, kitten, but surely you can find something more proper to call me, hm?”

Heat pooled heavily in your gut as his hands kept working to steadily bind your arms in this rope that acted as a claim in of itself.

“I’m sorry, Mister Qin.” You mewl after sucking in a breath.

All those times he’s added miss before your last name flashes in your mind. Especially when you would tease him with a patronizing tone when at the claw machine or when he questioned your raised fingers initially meant to poke his sides. You knew he was effected by your choice with the fraction of a second his motions paused and the audible breath he took.

“Are you really sorry?” He chides, pausing his knot-work to hold it in one hand.

A single finger slips to hook your underwear, then it’s pulling up cruelly. The gusset of your panties is bunched up and teasing your clit, but more than anything was the glistening slick in the lowlight that you knew was impossible to hide.

“Look at this mess, kitten.” He sighs like it’s a travesty, tugging at your panties at different angles to tease you.

You can’t bite back the moan that escapes you or halt your twitching hips while your clit aches for more stimulation.

“Sorry! I’m- hhaaa~! Im sorry, Mister Qin! I can’t make it stooopp.” You’re not sorry at all, and he knows you’re not.

“No? Do you need me to clean up your mess then?”

Oh you know that voice. That hunger. His words had dropped to a low growl and his finger wrapped up in your panties drifted lower to drag the knuckles of his finger up against your dripping heat. The tease was almost too much as you whine, trying to turn your head to look back at him. You can just see him in the corner of your eye and the faint movement of him bringing that finger to his lips to lap up your desire with an eager tongue.

“Please…” You beg, watching him curl over you again to finish tying up your arms in his expert rope tying. “Please help me, Mister Qin.”

The foreign plea was so strange in how right it felt to beg for. It brought unimaginable pleasure for Sylus though if the way he couldn’t hold back a faint moan said anything.

“Again.” He rasped, tying another knot above your elbows.

His cock was pulsing against your outer thigh from its clothed confinement. You ached to rub yourself up against him like some kind of animal in heat. Your fingers flexed to gauge how mobile you still were and Sylus was nothing if not masterful in everything he does. It wasn’t too tight that you worried about cut off circulation, but certainly tight enough you couldn’t just decide to do something and do it. You were at his mercy, on your vulnerably tummy, and he was the one losing himself over your pleas. The final ties had him tugging off your bra and rope teasing the underside of your breasts and over your shoulders to become a bound masterpiece.

“Help me- please, Mister Qin…” you whine while squeezing your thighs together. He tugged at the rope knotted at your biceps, satisfied with his work and the slight squirming he could see your limbs doing.

“Fuck, kitten, look at you.” He breathed, palming at his straining cock, but not quite allowing himself the pleasure of freedom yet. “Want a picture to see how pretty you are?”

The red rope was reminiscent of his mist in color and it was perfect against your skin. The black panties ruined by your arousal were left pulled taught between your ass cheeks and squeezing thighs. You’d even crossed your ankles to unknowingly complete this perfect image of yourself: the greatest present for Sylus.

“Yes.” You tried to stay still as you felt his evol fill the room, probably grabbing his phone so he could get this immortalized just for him- and you of course.

“I have half a mind to make you into a pretty model for me tonight.”

Between the two of you, Sylus was much more the spitting image of a smug cat as he squeezed an asscheek while the shutter audibly clicked on his phone. Something you know he turned on just for you to hear. One more picture was taken without his hand on you before his weight nearly settled on you as he pressed a kiss to your head while sliding his phone for you to see yourself, carefully poised and bound in his work.

“One more.” You found yourself saying over your rapid heartbeat, feeling such a profound affection swelling inside for this man unable to help himself from peppering kisses to the crown of your head.

“Yeah? What do you want, kitten?”

“Flip the camera. I want one of both of us. Like this.” You felt so shy whenever you told him what you wanted, but his grin you could feel against your hair

“Yeah? How’s this…”

The hand not holding huis phone slide up around your neck, gentle in its hold, and turns your head up until he can kiss you slow and tender. You lose focus on the whole point of why he’s kissing you at the moment until the shutter on his phone clicks, but you start to whine when he pulls back slightly. You feel his smile when he indulges you a bit longer, more than happy to kiss you in this slow exchange of tongues and nibbling teeth. When he pulls back this time, a string of saliva tries to withstand your parting before snapping and when your eyes open you find him already staring at you.

“So beautiful…” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth one more time. “Now I have a mess to clean up, don’t I?”

Your stomach twists as he leaves his phone behind, the picture of you kissing a little off center, but no less perfect at capturing the utter passion exchanged between you both.

Sylus watches your arms squirm in their confinement, easing back on his knees to brush his knuckles on the back of your thighs.

“N…no more teasing!” You bark back at him, sounding more needy than demanding to his ears. He couldn’t blame you. The front of his pants were ruined by the copious amounts of precum, but he still tortured himself by ignoring the deep ache in his pants.

“No more teasing…?” He just couldn’t help himself, biting back a grin that would certainly have you fuming with a pout if you could see.

“N…no more teasing, Mister Qin… you said you would help…” There you were. You could drive him mad talking like that, and the jump in his cock said as much.

“You’re right, kitten, I did say that.” Sylus purred, spreading your thighs and easing himself down until he was level with your weeping cunt. “You’ve been very patient. Such a good girl.”

A kiss to your inner thigh and you were already so whiny, lifting your hips to give him an easier time indulging in your wet panties. He’d tease you a while longer, licking up a broad swipe of his tongue over your soaked underwear before sucking on the fabric over your clit. He could see your arms strain from his peripherals, your gasps sharp and eager.

The sent of you flooded his senses, drawing his hand to his clothed cock like a spell he couldn’t resist. He only stopped with your panties once the heavenly taste of you faded from them. Then they were pulled aside with a grunt and an impatient thumb to expose the whole of your pussy to the air where he could see it flutter around nothing. Poor thing.

You felt the hot breaths of Sylus against you as your only warning for his lips slotting against you and the prodding of his tongue at your hole. He’d only gone as far as to finally give his aching cock freedom before both hands were back on you and spreading your cheeks so he could bury his tongue as deep as possible.

Your praise came out as choked moans and restrained writhing from your arms. It was ridiculous how deep his tongue reached inside you, lapping at your soft walls until your hips pressed back into his eager mouth, clit throbbing every moment it went untouched. It felt so mind-numbingly good you nearly forgot to keep up the little play of addressing him “properly”.

“Yesss-! Sy… hha… M-Mister Qin- so good! Feels… so good!”

You were drooling right onto the silk covers, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care when you seemed to have gotten Sylus enough to make him break away from your cunt to bite the meat of your ass. Something he only did when he was trying to restrain himself from cumming before he wanted to, and that thought alone did horrid things to you.

Sylus panted against the skin he bit, licking apologies into the harsh imprint of his teeth that would leave you bruised for sure. Letting his cock free of his pants and underwear was a mistake. It let him rut his hips into the bed and nearly had him spilling all over the place before he even had a chance to fuck you properly. You were a fiend, crying for him like that.

Once he was certain he wasn’t going to bust his load prematurely, he placed a sucking kiss on your clit and listened to the reaction it got with a pleased smirk. Two fingers dragged through your messy pussy lips before burying into your tight heat without resistance before he sealed his lips over your clit again to gently suckle. His fingers pump inside you with a steady rhythm while you had no choice but to let every moan and cry reach his ears. No pillows to bite on nor arms to hide in, you every pleasure was his to witness when his tongue swirled around your swollen bundle of nerves in drawn out movements with minimal pressure. Mixing that with the sucking sensation his mouth offered and the massage of his fingers on your inner walls you had a climax that was rapidly building.

“Oh- oh god- close… so close. Wanna cum. Please let me cum…” you beg through heaves of air, struggling to ever get enough into your lungs when it was immediately lost in a groan.

The wet noise of Sylus pulling off of your clit like a messy kiss was obscene as his fingers continued unrelenting.

“My good girl asking to cum? Since you’ve been so patient for me I’ll let you. Let go kitten. Let me catch you.”

Knowing you were so close now, his mouth was sinfully wonderful in how the tip of his tongue toyed with the hood of your clit before rubbing the flat of it into the engorged bundle of nerves. Your walls pulsed around his fingers while every noise was an octave higher than the rest. Your poor thighs were shaking up a storm with your cunt gushing around his hand working your tight hole. Before you could really comprehend it, your vision went momentarily white as the sensations reached their apex. You came all over his face and hand, unable to keep from wailing his name as you took everything he gave you until it bordered on pain. Tears burned your eyes as it took several moments for Sylus to ease off your swollen pussy dripping in your own essence.

The growl you got from him made your toes curl as a possessive hand, the one he wasn’t eagerly lapping at with a greedy tongue, settled on the swell of your hip and squeezed the soft fat there.

“Talk to me, pretty girl. How are you feeling?”

His voice still made a fresh zing of want jump straight to your cunt as he sounded like he was barely holding onto his sanity, if the wet throbbing on your thigh meant anything.

You took several calming breaths before grunting and rolling onto your back with your legs spread wide.

“I feel like I need Mister Qin to breed this pussy…” you muttered with utter confident filth.

You branded his shocked expression into your memory as you grabbed his hips with your legs and dragged him closer until his fat cock head was poking through the fat of your thighs. You rocked your hips up to make his fat cock move along your pussy and watched as Sylus dropped his head back, groaning and rocking his own hips in kind.

“Fuck, sweetie… still need me that bad, huh?” His red eyes zeroed in on your sex-blissed face and how flushed your skin was with your tits squeezed beautifully by the red ropes.

Sylus settled his hands on the joints of your hips, rubbing into your flesh like he couldn’t help himself while his cock was weeping precum on your lower belly.

“Do you want a different position, kitten? I doubt that’s exactly… comfortable for you.”

Sylus tried to not get lost in the absolute hunger you were staring at him with. How that look in your eyes would be branded into his memory for every second he has to go without you by his side. Anytime he’d shamefully tug at his cock when having to spend the night without you because both of you were separated by entire seas.

“‘M okay.” You mumble, but he knew just what to do with his stubborn little kitty to make sure your arms didn’t fall asleep.

“Yeah…?” He cooed, dragging you to the very edge of the bed. “Well I don’t think so, but that’s okay because I got you.”

You bit your lip, eyes watching as he took his cock in hand and rubbed his tip against your clit. He let out a pleased exhale, squeezing the base of his dick firmly for several moments.

“I’ll breed your pretty pussy just like you want and your arms won’t be numb after because a silly kitty wanted to be stubborn and stay on her back.” Sylus teased, watching that denial form on your lips before pressing into you before the first word could drop.

Instead of your bratty retorts, your eyes rolled back as his fat cock spread you open without mercy. The noise that came from you felt deep from your core as Sylus was slow in filling you with every inch of him. You only felt satisfied feeling his tip kiss your cervix and the flush press of his hips to yours. Every vein teased your walls as he steadily drew his hips back halfway before snapping them forward again, forcing a cry from your lungs. Sylus sounded so fucking amazing when he graced your ears with every grunt, growl, and moan.

Just when you thought he’d really settle into a rhythm, he was sliding a hand up one of your thighs, using a firm grip to turn you partially on your side while he was still pleasantly sheathed in your pussy. Then he was testing your flexibility by drawing that leg he held up and up until one arm was hugging around your thigh and the other grasping just under your knee. This spread you way open to him and his slow rocks as he let you ease into this shift in position. All those stretches you’ve done together is the only reason the pull in your body is so delicious instead of uncomfortable.

You were helpless in his hands, but there was no panic. If anything. You burned hotter than ever as he kissed your calf and snapped his hips forward to fuck you proper. You would never admit that he was ri-

“You like this position, kitten?” His eyes were so smug you glared at him even as his dick bullied continuous mewls and moans from your lips.

When you could feel him building up to another tease, you squeezed your cunt tightly around his cock, watching his whole body curl forward slightly while he bit on your leg, lighter than last time, unable to stop himself from rolling his hips forward while you were flush together.

“Fuck…” you heard him whine your name and you knew he was lost.

All playful pretenses dropped when he was getting close because his love was too intense for him to be anything but his loving self towards you. You adored him for that.

Your eyes settled on the space between you when his hand dropped to rub into your clit, but what rocketed you towards a shared orgasm with your lover was watching his heavy thrusts bulge out your tummy, outlining his cock where it made itself home inside you. It always did. Something about it just drove you wild.

He could feel the way you drew close, tightening around him with every movement and those eyes growing glossy with tears, which was a good thing because he couldn’t hold on much longer. He could feel the way his balls drew up, that explosive release just right there-

“S-Sylus…” you whined, leg trembling in his hold as you teetered on the knife’s edge. “I love you.”

His voice cracked when he whimpered your name, burying himself to the hilt inside you before finally letting go, drowning your insides with his hot seed. His noises were higher than you’ve ever heard him as you milked him dry. This orgasm was gentler for you, a steady, fully body pleasure that left you warm and satisfied.

You nearly called out to Sylus again when you felt his evol vibrate against your skin and suddenly your arms were free again and he was laying you back down on the bed. Your arms eased forward, slow in their movements, but fast enough to embrace your loverboy when he draped his massive frame on top of you. You couldn’t help your soft laughter, so in love with this man it stunned you even when he was growing soft inside you and his cum stuffed you to the brim. Dragging a hand up his neck and into his hair, your nails scratched lightly at his scalp and made him hug you tighter.

“Love you too…” you eventually heard him mumble back, sealing the words with kisses to the red marks in your chest left behind from the ropes. “So much.”

“Gonna sleep on me, big guy?” You purred, happy to hold him like this.

“Don’t tempt me.” He groaned lowly, nuzzling and nibbling on your neck. “Need to clean you up… stretch your arms. You’re okay?”

You kissed the top of his head, your little scratches trailing down his neck and over his shoulders until he was purring.

“Yes… very good. Thank you for taking care of me, Sylus.” You murmur into his hair. You hadn’t really meant to drop your first time using the “L” word on him while he was balls deep in you, but it just slipped out like it belonged there. The warmth in your heart promised it wasn’t a measly mistake. The lingering fear in your heart didn’t even taint it.

“I think… I think whatever trust I have left in me is yours now… that’s a scary thought.” You mumble, hugging him tightly like he might float away. Like this all might be a dream.

Sylus makes you look at him though with a gentle hand cupping your cheek. His eyes are so soft it makes your insides squeeze and your bottom lip tremble.

“I’ll make sure that thought becomes a comforting one eventually.” He swears and you actually believe him for once. “I promise your trust is safe with me, but you know that already or you wouldn’t have told me you loved me would you?”

You didn’t respond. Just looked up at him slowly, and tilted your head.

He blinked. “...Are you okay?”

You stood without a word and walked over. He smelled like antiseptic and his cologne, sharp and warm. You slid your hands up beneath his shirt, fingers brushing the taut lines of his stomach. He stilled.

“Missed you,” you said simply.

His brow knit. “I know. I’m sorry. Things ran longer than expected—”

You cut him off with a kiss. Not a sweet one. A slow, intentional press of mouth to mouth, your hands slipping down to his waistband. He groaned quietly against your lips, but when you started sinking to your knees, he caught your arm.

“Wait—what are you…?”

“Shhh,” you whispered, and smiled up at him. “Let me.”

He hesitated. You rarely did this, not like this, not without him orchestrating every move. He always took care of you first — insistent, focused — to the point where he’d deflect the moment your hands even flirted with his belt. But tonight, something in your gaze must’ve made him yield. His hand dropped away.

“All right,” he said quietly. “But only because you look like you're about to combust.”

You laughed softly and undid his fly.

He hissed in a breath when you freed him, already half-hard from your kiss alone. You curled your fingers around him, slow and warm, and gave the first teasing stroke. He braced one hand against the wall behind him, chest rising subtly beneath his shirt.

“Darling…” he murmured, breath catching.

You took your time, drawing pleasure from his every reaction. He didn’t moan — not Zayne. But he made these low, delicious sounds in his throat, and occasionally muttered soft curses under his breath. You watched him carefully, timing each stroke to build him up slowly, too slowly, backing off every time he started to roll his hips or tip his head back.

His eyes opened, sharp and narrowed.

“…You’re teasing me,” he said flatly.

You smiled innocently, thumb dragging over the leaking tip. “Maybe.”

He exhaled through his nose. “You’ve never done this before.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” he said, without hesitation. “I Just… didn’t expect to be punished right after my shift.”

“I missed you.” You pressed a kiss just above his hip. “This is what you get for being gone so long.”

His knuckles flexed against the wall. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

You kept going. Slower this time, gentler, even more patient — your mouth brushing the head of his cock, but not taking him in, not yet. He hissed through his teeth, shoulders tense, control starting to fray around the edges.

“Darling,” he rasped. “You don’t have to—fuck—”

“Say it,” you teased. “Say you missed me.”

“I did.” His voice cracked with a note of real heat. “I missed you every minute. I’ll prove it—after.”

“Promise?”

He nodded, eyes blown wide, chest heaving. “I’ll return the favor. Thoroughly.”

You finally took him into your mouth.

The curse he let out was nearly a growl — deep and wrecked — his fingers tightening at his sides. You kept the same rhythm with your hand while your mouth worked the rest of him, letting him fall apart slowly, savoring every twitch and shudder. He didn’t beg, didn’t whimper. But he shook slightly by the end, jaw clenched, voice frayed.

He came with a low, wrecked sound, spilling over your hand and your lips, breath stuttering like he hadn’t meant to lose it that hard.

You looked up through your lashes, licking your thumb clean.

Zayne looked down at you with something like reverence and hunger all wrapped into one.

“…Get on the couch,” he said calmly, even as his voice shook. “I’m not letting you sleep until you forget your own name.”

xavier. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

You don’t even know why it bothered you.

It wasn’t him.

Xavier was polite. Distant. Soft-spoken. He barely even looked at her.

But the girl wouldn’t stop touching his sleeve, leaning into his space, laughing like she’d earned something. And he — sweet, oblivious Xavier — just nodded along, clearly not catching a thing.

So now, here you are.

Straddling him. Riding him. Slow.

Xavier is spread out beneath you, flushed pink all the way down his chest, arms tense where he’s gripping the sheets instead of you, because you told him not to touch. Not yet.

He’d let you do anything, and it shows — the way his hips jerk every time you roll down just enough to tighten around him. His breath stutters. His lips part, eyes fluttering half-shut, then snapping open to find yours again.

“Starlight,” he pants, “you’re going slow on purpose.”

You tilt your head. “Is that a problem?”

His throat bobs. “No,” he whispers. “Just… didn’t know I did something wrong.”

You lean in, mouth brushing against the shell of his ear. “You didn’t.”

“Then—?”

“You let her touch you,” you say, soft. Controlled. “She thought she had a chance.”

There’s a flicker of realization in his face. Then regret. Then—

“Oh.” His voice is barely there. “I didn’t notice. I swear, I didn’t—”

“I know,” you murmur, kissing the corner of his mouth. “You never do.”

He exhales like he’s relieved — only to inhale sharp when you grind down again, slow and deep, his cock twitching inside you. His whole body tenses.

“Fuck—”

His hands are trembling again. He wants to hold you. Needs to. But he doesn’t. He’s being so good. Letting you use him. Letting you have him.

You rock your hips again, same pace, same angle. Deliberate. Controlled.

“I’m not mad,” you whisper, voice like honey. “Just making sure you remember who you belong to.”

“I do,” he says quickly, breathless. “I do. I never forgot—my star, please, let me—”

You clench around him. His whole body shudders.

“Not yet.”

His eyes squeeze shut. A whimper leaves him — high and desperate, muffled by the back of his hand where he’s biting down to keep quiet. His thighs are shaking.

“I—” He gasps, blinking up at you again. “I love you. You know that, right? I don’t look at anyone else. I only want you. I only ever—”

You kiss him — slow, deep, possessive — and when you pull away, your hand wraps around the back of his neck, holding him there.

“Show me.”

And finally, you give him what he wants.

You move faster. He moans loud, needy, broken — his hands fly to your hips and you let him grab you now, let him hold you as he cums hard, trembling under you, eyes glassy with it.

When it’s over, he pulls you into his chest without hesitation, still panting.

“I really didn’t notice her,” he whispers.

You laugh softly into his throat. “I know.”

sylus. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

He hesitates. Still.

Even with his shirt undone, skin flushed beneath your mouth, even with your hands at his belt, undoing the buckle slowly — he hesitates.

“Sweetie,” he murmurs, voice low, deep, almost chiding. “You don’t need to do that.”

Your lips brush his stomach, just above the waistband of his pants. He shudders.

“I want to,” you whisper, tugging his pants lower. “You always take care of me. Let me return the favor.”

He swallows hard, like he’s chewing down whatever protest is still trying to rise in him. You watch the muscles in his abdomen twitch as you drag your fingers along the edge of his waistband, teasing. Slow. Like he does to you.

His cock is already hard — has been since you first straddled his lap and whispered what you wanted between lazy kisses and lingering touches. The tip is flushed, leaking already. He’s beautiful like this. Open.

You look up at him. “Let me, Sylus. Please,”

And finally — finally — he nods. Voice hoarse.

“…Okay. You can have me.”

You ease him onto the bed, nudging his thighs apart as you kneel between them. You kiss the inside of his knee, then his thigh. You take your time. He smells like heat and something you could get drunk on.

“Don’t tease, kitten,” he says with a faint smile, though his voice is already shaking. “I might start thinking you’re trying to turn the tables.”

You grin against his skin. “Who, me?”

When your tongue finally traces along the underside of his cock, he gasps. Sharp. Real. His hips jump. One hand fists in the sheets.

You don’t take him into your mouth yet. Not fully.

You kiss him there. Lick. Trace.

And when you look up, his head is tipped back, one hand hovering near your hair, the other clenched in the blanket like he’s already close.

You start sucking him slowly, lips stretched around him, hands gripping his hips to hold him still. He moans — a quiet, choked-off sound like he’s trying not to scare you.

“Oh, kitten,” he groans. “Fuck—your mouth…”

You work him deeper. Just a little. Let him feel the heat, the wet, the rhythm. Then you pull back. Lick the tip. Blow a breath across the head.

His hips jerk.

“Sweetie.” It’s a warning. Or maybe a plea.

“You okay?” you ask sweetly, resting your cheek against his thigh.

He huffs a breathless laugh. “What are you doing to me?”

“Taking my time.” You wrap your hand around him, start stroking again, your lips brushing just the head with every pass. “You’ve made me beg so many times, Sylus. Let’s see how pretty you sound.”

His head lifts. His eyes find yours. They’re burning now — heat and challenge and the faintest shimmer of want.

“Oh?” he breathes. “That’s what this is?”

You give him one long, slow lick up the underside. He twitches. His breath catches. You take him into your mouth again, just to the halfway point, and swirl your tongue around the tip before pulling off again.

His thighs flex. He groans through gritted teeth.

“You little tease,” he pants. “I thought you wanted to make me feel good.”

“I do,” you murmur, kissing his stomach. “I want to ruin you for anyone else.”

That gets him.

He moans again — head falling back against the pillows, arm flung over his face, breath wrecked. His hips are twitching now, trying not to buck, and he’s begging without realizing it.

“Please,” he whispers, voice cracking. “Please, kitten—just a little more, I’m so close, please—”

You stroke him faster now, mouth working the head again, eyes locked on his face as it breaks. He’s panting, trembling, his muscles twitching under your hands.

“I can’t—” he gasps. “I’m gonna—fuck, I can’t hold it—”

You pull off. Again. Just before he tips.

He cries out, a sound so raw and desperate it punches through your chest.

“Sylus,” you whisper, climbing up his body to kiss the edge of his jaw. “You gonna cum for me?”

His voice is shattered. “Yes. Please. Let me—please, sweetie, let me—”

You stroke him fast now, hand slick from your mouth, and it doesn’t take long — maybe five seconds — before his whole body snaps, hips arching up as he cums in thick, hot pulses across his own stomach, a moan ripping from his throat like you tore it from his soul.

You watch every second of it. Watch his face, the way it twists in pleasure, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open like he’s afraid to breathe.

And when it’s done — when he’s twitching, panting, flushed and trembling — you lean down and lick it off him.

Slowly. Lazily.

“Fuck,” he groans, still dazed. “You’re going to kill me.”

You rest your cheek on his chest, sighing. “Mmm...not yet,”

caleb. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

You had found the med reports by accident.

Tucked beneath calibration files on his tablet — meant to be hidden, meant to be forgotten — evidence of just how close he’d come to losing a lung, of how many bones had splintered clean through muscle. He hadn’t told you. Hadn’t said anything when he came back, bruises half-faded, smile intact, voice soft like nothing had happened.

So you decided not to say anything either.

You wait until the lights are low and the quiet of your shared bedroom is safe and soft, your body folded over his in bed — kissing him slow, letting your weight sink onto his lap while your fingers dip beneath the hem of his sweats. Caleb, already pliant from your attention, sighs into your mouth when you wrap your hand around him.

“Pips,” he murmurs, voice hazy, already thick with want. “Missed you. You—mmn—been thinkin’ about you all day.”

Your lips brush the shell of his ear. “All day, huh?”

“‘Course,” he breathes. “You're all I think about.”

But you don’t stroke him, not yet. You just hold him there — hard, heavy in your grip — and let the moment stretch. His hips shift subtly under you, seeking friction.

“Somethin’ wrong?” he asks, brows drawing together. “Did I…?”

You tighten your hand slightly, just enough to feel him twitch. “You gonna tell me about the four broken ribs, Caleb?”

His breath catches.

“I saw your file,” you say, quieter this time. “Saw what you didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” he says quickly, guilt flooding his voice. “Pips, I—I swear I’m okay. I just thought—if I made it back to you, that’s all that mattered.”

You finally stroke him, once — a slow, upward drag of your palm — and he lets out a helpless noise.

“That why you kept it from me?” you ask, voice saccharine. “Thought I’d be too fragile to handle it?”

“No, baby, no—never. I just… it was stupid, I know it was stupid, I just didn’t want you scared.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“I know, I know—shit—” His hands clench at the sheets. “You’re right. I fucked up. I should’ve told you.”

You start moving your hand then — long, languid strokes, alternating with tighter squeezes that make him groan under his breath. His hips jerk up, but you lift slightly, denying him any real friction. He looks up at you with that frayed, remorseful gaze that makes your chest ache.

“You’re punishing me,” he says, almost like he likes it. “I deserve it. Keep going. Do whatever you want to me.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

You kiss along his throat, down to his collarbone, while your hand works him slowly, relentlessly. Every time he gets close, you stop. You tease the head of him with your thumb. You let him whine.

“Please,” he whispers. “Please, pips, I’m sorry. I’ll tell you everything next time, anything you wanna know. Just—baby, please, let me cum—”

You hush him gently, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re not even close yet. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

He lets out a broken breath, biting his lip. His abs tighten when you give him a firmer stroke, and he chokes on a moan.

“You like this, don’t you?” you murmur, lips brushing his cheek. “Being made to wait. Having to beg.”

“I—” He swallows hard. “I like when you touch me. I’ll take it however you want. Just wanna be good for you. Let me be good, pips. Please.”

“Then be still.”

He shudders, his knuckles white where they grip the bedsheets, trying not to buck. You tease him again, just the tip now, swirling your thumb in slow circles as his eyes flutter shut.

“Say it again,” you whisper, lips at his ear.

“That I’ll be good?” he breathes.

“Yes.”

“I’ll be good for you, baby. I swear it. I’ll make it up to you. Anything. Just… please—don’t stop.”

You smile softly against his jaw. “You’ll get what you want. Eventually.”

And you keep going. Keep him pinned and wrecked and whispering your name like a prayer, until his voice is raw and his body trembling, aching for release — and even then, you make him ask for it one more time.

rafayel. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

It was supposed to be a date.

Or at least, that’s how he framed it when he invited you over: “Come by the studio, cutie. I’ll clear my schedule. Just you, me, wine, maybe a little jazz in the background… I'll even cook.”

You’d said yes, excited. You’d dressed nice. You’d brought his favorite dessert. You even refrained from teasing him when you noticed the paint under his nails that he definitely said he’d washed off earlier.

But five hours later, he still hadn’t left the canvas.

He tried. Really. He kissed you hello with paint still wet on his fingers, poured you a glass of wine with that crooked grin, and gestured dramatically at the little charcuterie spread he’d made. “Feast, beloved. Nourish thyself while I immortalize the human form,” he’d said, gesturing vaguely toward a canvas already full of half-finished strokes.

You humored him.

For a while.

You sipped your wine and curled up on the couch. You watched the brush in his hand move with graceful certainty. You even complimented the piece — some half-formed tempest of shadow and skin that probably meant something very deep, knowing him.

But the minutes turned to hours, and the affection he’d promised turned into distracted hums and muttered curses and words like “just a little longer” and “hold that thought, cutie” and “fuck, where did I put the viridian—”

So you got up. Slowly. Deliberately. You stood behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your cheek between his shoulder blades.

“Rafayel.”

A distracted, “Mm?”

“You promised.”

He paused. Just briefly. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he wanted to give in. But then he sighed — a little too apologetic, a little too sincere — and said, “I know, cutie. I just… I’m right there. Give me ten more minutes?”

You didn’t answer.

You just smiled against his back — a smile he couldn’t see — and then let your hands drift lower, toying with the hem of his shirt.

Ten minutes later, he was flat on his back.

His head tips back against the pillows, dusky hair fanned out like a spilled halo, cheeks flushed a soft crimson. The curve of his mouth is caught somewhere between a smirk and a whimper — the look of a man trying very hard not to completely lose his mind.

You're straddling him, bare, slow, and in control. He’s deep inside, twitching against the vice of your heat, and you're not moving. Not really. Just enough to make him feel everything. Just enough to keep him desperate.

“Cutie…” he groans, voice strained and silky. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

You hum, dragging your nails down his chest. “Obviously.”

“Sadistic,” he pants. “Criminal. I should paint you like this, riding me with that look on your face—God, I think I’d go blind from the brilliance.”

You roll your hips once, slow and shallow. His breath catches. He bucks—instinctively, helplessly—but you press your hands to his chest and push him down.

“Don’t you dare.”

He shudders. “Okay. Okay, okay—fuck—just—cutie, you can’t just leave me like this. My body is going to catch fire. I’m Lemurian, you know what that means, my internal temperature—”

You cut him off with another slow grind. He gasps — broken, needy, sharp. His hands clutch at the sheets beside him because you haven’t let him touch you. Not once.

“Please.” The word slips out before he can stop it.

You look down at him — flushed, panting, wet lashes fluttering against sweat-slick skin. Every muscle under you is tight. Straining. The prideful, witty painter is gone — reduced to a trembling wreck.

“Please, what?” you murmur, leaning forward until your mouth brushes the shell of his ear. “Say it. Nicely.”

He lets out a shaky, desperate laugh — but it breaks in the middle. “Please let me come, please, cutie, I’ll be good, I promise. Just—just let me—” He grits his teeth, his hips jerk again, and you don’t let up this time.

You ride him slow. Torturously slow. Watching him unravel.

“You want to finish?” you whisper, breath warm against his throat.

He nods wildly. “Yes—yes, please—”

“Then wait.”

The sound he makes isn’t human. His head drops back, throat exposed, lips parted around a moan that turns to something like a sob. You can feel how close he is — every muscle in his abdomen twitching, his cock straining inside you, hips trembling under your hands.

“Please,” he tries again, “I’ll paint you a thousand times, I’ll give you all my attention from now on, just—”

You finally slam your hips down. Hard. And again.

His cry is filthy. Unhinged. His back arches off the bed and he’s losing it, mouth moving around broken pleas, until—

“Now,” you say. “Cum for me.”

And he does — with a moan so loud it echoes, hands scrambling to hold you as he finally, finally falls apart. His whole body shakes beneath you, long after the climax hits, as if every nerve in him is still catching up.

When he opens his eyes again, dazed and glowing with sweat, he just looks at you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered.

“…I think I saw God,” he whispers hoarsely. “She looks a lot like you.”

You noticed the shift in him later — not in words, of course, but in how his hand came to rest at the small of your back. How he guided you through the crowd with a little more pressure than usual. How he didn't quite smile when the man shook your hand in farewell.

Zayne said nothing until much later, until the house had gone quiet and the fire in the living room had burned low. You stood in the middle of his room in the glow of moonlight, slipping off your gown when he finally spoke from behind you, voice even but unmistakably edged.

“He seemed very taken with you,” he murmured, fingers brushing yours as he helped you slip on a robe— his touch too gentle to be casual. “Charming. In a practiced sort of way.”

You turned to face him, finding that composed expression — calm, always — but his eyes were darker tonight. Sharper. As if weighing something unspoken.

“Were you jealous?” you asked, half a tease.

“No,” he said softly, stepping in close. “Just... reminded.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Of what?”

“That others may admire you.” His hand settled at your waist, warm and grounding. “But none of them know how to touch you.”

His lips brushed your cheek, then lower, to your jaw. His voice was velvet when it returned.

“None of them know how you tremble when you’re about to fall apart. How you like to be kissed here—” a soft graze behind your ear, “—or how your breath catches when I hold you like this.”

He drew you closer, lifting your chin with two fingers, his tone still gentle. Almost reverent.

And then, the unmistakable warmth of his palm on your hip. The way he leaned in close and said, with deceptive calm, “How beautiful you sound when you scream my name,”

You smiled faintly, not answering, letting your hand drift over the buttons of his shirt. “You’re so jealous.”

“Am not,” he murmured, drawing you into his lap.

You settled there, straddling his thighs, the fabric of your robe slipping open just enough for him to slide his hands along your bare skin. He held you like something precious—like you might vanish if he didn’t. His thumbs stroked absent circles into your waist, his gaze fixed on you with quiet purpose.

The kiss was inevitable. Slow at first—almost tentative. But then deeper, drawn out, his lips moving over yours with the careful deliberation of a man who knows exactly what he wants and isn’t afraid to take his time claiming it.

Your hands buried in his hair as he pulled you closer, tongue sliding past your lips with measured ease. His grip firmed on your hips as he guided your weight into him, coaxing the smallest gasp from your throat.

He caught the sound—of course he did—and his mouth curled faintly against yours. “That’s it,” he whispered. “Let me hear you.”

Your head tipped back slightly as he kissed along your jaw, his breath warming the curve of your throat. “You always know exactly what to do to me,” you breathed.

Zayne hummed low in his chest, mouth dragging against your pulse. “I study you,” he said softly. “Every sigh, every shiver. I could draw you from memory.”

There was a note in his voice then—something more than reverence. It sounded almost like a question he wasn’t quite asking.

You shifted against him, body arching subtly as his hands skimmed beneath your robe and slipped it off your shoulders. “No one else knows me like you do,” you said quietly.

He stilled, just for a moment, his hands pausing as he took you in.

Then, “Good,” he said. Not smug, not possessive in the traditional sense—just certain. A simple truth, spoken like a vow.

You kissed again, deeper this time, your bare skin pressed flush against the crisp cotton of his shirt. He eased you forward, holding you steady with one arm while the other slipped between your thighs. His fingers stroked you slowly, parting you with a patient, practiced touch. He worked you open in silence, save for the hitch of your breath, the soft wet sounds of his fingers circling your entrance.

“You’re trembling,” he said softly, brushing his knuckles along your inner thigh. “Already?”

“You’re too good at this.”

A quiet laugh escaped him. “Only for you.”

You let your head rest against his shoulder as he slid two fingers inside, slow and careful. He knew exactly where to angle them, how to curl them just so, until your hips were rolling in time with his movements and your breath came out in stuttered gasps.

“You feel that?” he murmured. “No one else could ever make you feel this way.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement—and a challenge.

You whispered his name against his neck, voice breaking as he twisted his fingers just right. He exhaled through his nose, satisfied, and withdrew only to guide you onto him with practiced ease, the head of his cock catching against your entrance.

His hands held your waist, steadying you as he slid in, inch by aching inch. You buried your face in his collar, clutching at his shirt as the stretch overwhelmed you—so slow, so deep it nearly bordered on pain.

Zayne groaned softly, low and tight in his throat. “You’re always so warm for me.”

You whimpered, sinking fully down into his lap, the feeling of him rooted inside you sending shivers up your spine.

He didn’t move at first—just let you feel it. The way he filled you so completely. The way your body fluttered around him as if trying to draw him deeper still.

Then his hands moved again. One slid up your back, fingers tracing your spine. The other cupped your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek as he leaned in to kiss you—slow, reverent, utterly consuming.

And then he began to move.

Measured thrusts, hips rolling beneath you with perfect control. He kissed your temple, your cheek, your lips—again and again—like he couldn’t get enough of your taste. Each press of his hips had your breath hitching, your body tightening, your hands clutching his shoulders as the slow build wound tighter inside you.

“Who else could possibly understand you like I do?” he asked quietly, lips brushing your ear. “Who else would know how to love you like this?”

“No one,” you gasped.

He picked up pace slightly, hips grinding up into yours with exquisite precision, dragging your pleasure out, teasing you with the edge of release until your thighs trembled around him.

“I don’t need to be told I’m the only one,” he whispered, “but it’s nice to hear it.”

You cried out when he hit that perfect spot again and again, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

“Say it,” he breathed.

“You’re the only one, Zayne,” you whispered, falling apart for him.

He followed soon after, clutching you to him as he spilled inside, burying his face in your neck with a soft, unsteady exhale.

And then he stilled, holding you there as the aftershocks trembled between you.

A long silence. Just the sound of your heartbeats, your breath slowing.

Then, as you traced a hand over the back of his neck, he murmured against your shoulder:

“I want to spend my whole life learning you.”

His voice was soft, measured—almost like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

You didn’t answer right away. Just tilted his chin up, pressed a kiss to his lips, and smiled.

“I hope you do.”

xavier. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ . ݁

You hadn’t even noticed Xavier at first.

You were in the hallway, still holding your mail, chatting with the neighbor from two doors down—the one who always seemed to be around when you got back from a mission. He’d asked about your latest patrol, complimented your boots in passing, made some offhand comment about how quiet your apartment had been lately.

It was all friendly. Harmless.

But Xavier stood just out of view, leaned in the doorway of his own apartment, watching.

His arms were crossed. His expression unreadable.

By the time you stepped back inside, the conversation already forgotten, you felt it—the tension. The presence. He was there, leaning in your doorway now, one shoulder propped against the frame.

“How long were you going to stand out there?” he asked, voice low.

You blinked. “What? I was only out there a minute.”

A pause. Then, calmly: “He’s interested in you.”

You laughed, but he didn’t. “He’s just a neighbor.”

“I’m not blind.” He stepped forward, slow and fluid, until the air between you tensed like a wire. “He smiles at you like he thinks you might invite him in one day.”

“He was just being polite, Xavi” you said, voice softening. But Xavier’s gaze didn’t waver.

“No,” he murmured. “I’m polite. He was imagining what your skin might taste like.”

You swallowed. Hard.

And Xavier’s smile—the one he wore only when he was angry in that particular, possessive way—made an appearance. It was faint. Crooked. Dangerous.

“You like being seen, don’t you?” he asked, stepping in closer. “All gentle eyes and soft smiles. So good. So kind. Makes men forget themselves.”

“Xavier—”

“Do you forget?” he asked quietly, hands finding your waist. “Who you belong to?”

You gasped as he pushed you back gently until your spine met the nearest wall. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like a caress. He leaned in, voice velvet-dark.

“Let me remind you.”

You were still catching your breath when he kissed you—deep, slow, unrelenting. Not angry. Not rushed. Just intentional. His mouth slanted over yours again and again until your knees weakened and your arms curled around his shoulders.

He carried you to the bedroom without a word. Lit only by the pale blue spill of Linkon moonlight, the room felt colder than usual. Or maybe that was just his restraint. He laid you down gently. Methodically. As though he was still trying to decide how best to ruin you.

He undressed you in near silence, his hands lingering longer than necessary. Touching places he already knew by heart, rediscovering them with maddening slowness. “He doesn’t know what you sound like when you beg,” he murmured, brushing his fingers over your ribs, “or how your voice breaks when I go deeper.”

You reached for him—too impatient—but he caught your wrists and pinned them gently to the mattress above your head.

“No rushing,” he said, his voice almost sweet. “You had time to smile at him. You’ll make time for this.”

His mouth followed his hands—kisses dragged across your collarbone, tongue teasing the underside of your breast, lips sealing around your nipple as his fingers drifted lower.

And lower.

Until they found you, already slick and twitching for him.

“Of course,” he whispered against your skin. “Always so wet for me, even when you pretend to be innocent.”

Two fingers slid in, slow and curling, hitting a spot that had you bucking beneath him—but he held you down, pinning you with nothing more than a look.

“Do you think he could make you feel like this?” he asked. “Does he even know where to touch you?”

You whimpered, arching into him. “Xavier, please—”

“Oh,” he murmured, mouth brushing your ear, “I love when you beg, little star.”

He worked you open with patient cruelty, bringing you to the edge with agonizing precision—only to stop.

Again and again.

By the third time, you were trembling, nails scraping at the sheets, voice hoarse from whimpering his name.

“Just say it,” he whispered. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, without hesitation.

He rewarded you with his mouth then—hot, wet, relentless between your thighs. Your back arched off the mattress at the first flick of his tongue. He took his time, lapping and sucking with languid control until your vision blurred and your thighs threatened to close around him.

But he held you open. Watched you come undone.

Only once you were gasping his name like a prayer did he finally undress, movements slow, deliberate, eyes never leaving yours.

When he sank into you, it wasn’t fast. It was deep. He held your gaze the entire time, watching your mouth fall open as he filled you, inch by slow inch, until you couldn’t breathe around it.

“There,” he whispered. “No one else gets this. Just me.”

He dragged it out, every roll of his hips designed to torture. His hands never stopped moving—stroking your waist, brushing your hair back, pinning your wrists when you reached to speed him up.

“You’ll take it like this,” he murmured, “until you forget every other name but mine.”

You did.

When you came again, it was with your legs wrapped around him, voice broken and high, clinging to him like you’d fall apart without his body tethering yours.

Only then—only then—did he let go, fucking you through your climax with enough force to shake the bed. He spilled inside you with a groan, head buried against your neck, breathing ragged and voice thick when he spoke again.

“No one gets to see this part of you,” he said softly, his hand stroking your stomach. “Just me. Only me.”

He looked at you then, hair mussed, eyes dark and hungry even after everything. “I don’t mind others seeing you smile,” he murmured, “but don’t let them forget who owns the rest.”

You pulled him in again, lips brushing his, breath still shaky.

“They couldn’t forget if they tried.”

sylus. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

You didn’t mean to steal the spotlight.

The auction had simply unfolded that way — the room full of powerful people in fine suits and darker intentions, all turning to look when you walked in. Their gazes followed you like tides pulled by gravity, lingering too long. Some approached under the pretense of polite interest: asking for your thoughts on the collection, inquiring who you were with. You’d smiled, demure and polite, but it didn’t stop the way their eyes slid over you — speculative, appreciative, hungry.

You caught Sylus watching once from across the room — a glass of dark wine suspended in his hand, half-raised, half-forgotten. He didn’t look angry. Not even annoyed. Just still. Perfectly still. His crimson eyes held you like a blade pressed flat to your throat — silent and unmoving, but keen.

On the way home, he hadn’t said much. His hand rested on your thigh in the car. A murmur about the art. Something vague about the way the auctioneer’s accent curled. Polite, as always. But you felt it: the tension beneath his calm, like a storm pressed behind glass.

It’s only once the door closes behind you — the quiet of his penthouse folding around you, city lights flickering low — that he shows it.

He doesn’t let you get far.

His arm wraps around your waist and draws you back into his chest. You feel the heat of him before you hear the low hum of his voice near your ear.

“Still carrying all that attention with you, sweetie?”

You blink, about to ask what he means — but he’s already sliding your coat from your shoulders. Gentle. Reverent. His fingers ghost down the line of your back as he slips the fabric away, letting it fall to the floor.

You turn in his arms.

His gaze drinks you in — the line of your gown, the soft flush of your skin from the wine, the delicate rise and fall of your breath beneath silk.

“You looked…” His eyes drop lower. “…dangerous tonight.”

You raise a brow, lips tilting. “Dangerous?”

“Mmh.” His mouth brushes your jaw. Just a ghost of contact. “Pretty little thing like you — standing there with a thousand eyes on you, smiling like that.” His voice thickens, slow as honey. “Of course they wanted you.”

You laugh, soft and teasing — but he doesn’t. His hands slide lower, curve over your hips with more pressure. One lifts the back of your thigh, coaxing your leg around his waist. You let him. He carries you with no effort, steps sure and silent as he takes you to the bedroom.

“You’re being awfully sweet,” you murmur, hands brushing his chest.

He smiles. Slow. Knowing.

“Aren’t I always, kitten?”

He lays you down like you’re the most delicate thing in the world — not because you are, but because tonight he wants you to feel that way. Kept. Claimed. Cherished.

His jacket slips off. His shirt, undone with aching precision. As each button comes loose, you watch the careful reveal of his chest, the sharp cut of his abdomen, the faint line of a scar you’ve traced before. He watches you, too. Watches your hunger, quiet and reverent, like he needs to see it written across your face.

He kisses you with the same slow worship.

Not frantic. Not forceful. Just… knowing. Like he’s trying to wipe away every gaze that touched you, every word that wasn’t his, every breath you gave someone else.

His mouth trails from your lips to your neck, then down — lower, tasting the soft skin at your collarbone, the hollow between your breasts. When his fingers slide the gown off your shoulders, he moves like he’s unwrapping something sacred. Each inch of skin he reveals is met with his mouth, warm and lingering.

He doesn’t speak, but you feel the tension under his touch. The possessiveness coiled tight beneath the surface. It shows in how slowly he parts your thighs. How long he lingers at your knees. How his eyes lift and lock to yours before he kisses the inside of your thigh like a confession.

“I want to take care of you tonight,” he says, voice so low you barely catch it. “Will you let me?”

You nod, breath already caught in your throat.

His mouth lowers — and when he finally touches you with his tongue, it’s like silk drawn over a flame.

He takes his time.

Every flick, every slow circle of his tongue feels intentional. He doesn’t chase your pleasure — he builds it, patient and precise. His fingers curl against your thigh, anchoring you as his mouth works you open, lavishing you with long, unhurried strokes. When your hips twitch, he murmurs quiet praise against your skin.

“That’s it, sweetie… Just like that.”

He knows your body too well. Every tremble. Every soft sound. He listens for them like cues, adjusts with barely a shift, lips sealing over your clit just right, just long enough to make you sob out his name.

When the orgasm hits, it’s slow and shattering. Not sudden — inevitable. He pulls it from you like a string being drawn taut, then snapped, and when your body arches and your thighs quake, he doesn’t let go. He keeps you grounded with his mouth, one hand firm on your waist, the other stroking soft down your thigh.

When he finally rises, his lips are slick, his eyes molten.

He kisses up your stomach, your ribs, your sternum. Every inch of you loved, mapped, and claimed.

And when he finally pushes inside — slow, deep, deliberate — it feels like coming home.

“You feel that?” he whispers, voice frayed. “How perfect you fit me?”

You gasp his name, legs wrapping tighter around him. His hips roll slow, careful, each thrust brushing deep and smooth. He keeps you close — chest to chest, skin to skin — every movement drawing you tighter, closer.

“You’re mine…” he breathes against your jaw. Then quieter, almost too soft to hear — “Aren’t you?”

You freeze — just for a second. Not in fear. In knowing.

“…Sylus?” you whisper.

He lifts his head. Something flickers there. A softness cracking. A need barely hidden beneath all his polish.

You smile, kiss the corner of his mouth. “Are you jealous?”

His eyes narrow. Not angry. Just… caught.

“Tch. Don’t be absurd.”

But then he thrusts deeper. Slower. Possessive without force — just depth. Just heat. Your body responds instantly, moaning into his neck.

He leans down, voice low.

“Let me remind you.”

He doesn’t stop until you’re breathless. Until your fingers cramp from clinging to him, until your throat is hoarse from moaning his name like a prayer. His control never slips — but his need is written into every touch. Every inch of him buried deep in you, every whispered word brushed against your skin like a claim carved from silk.

And even when you’re both spent, your bodies tangled in the sheets, his hand never stops moving. Thumb brushing your hip. Knuckles tracing the curve of your waist.

He doesn’t say the word.

But in the way he presses a kiss to your temple. In how his eyes stay on you even after sleep begins to pull you under—

You know.

He needed this.

He needed you.

caleb. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ . ݁

You noticed it the moment his eyes cut across the room.

A too-familiar glance from a Fleet lieutenant. A compliment disguised as professional praise. A hand that lingered just a beat too long at the small of your back.

You brushed it off — but Caleb didn’t.

He didn’t say a word on the way back. No cold expression, no clipped tone — just silence, taut and simmering. And that was worse. That meant he was thinking. Feeling. Holding it in.

When the front door clicked shut behind you, the silence broke — not with words, but weight.

The air pressed down. Subtle, at first. Then heavier. Your breath caught.

“Caleb—”

“Stay there.”

His voice was calm. Too calm. He didn’t even look at you yet, just shrugged off his uniform jacket and let it hit the floor. “You always let them get close like that, honey?”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Wasn’t it?” He turned finally, eyes darker than usual — not glowing, not angry. Just hurt. Like he’d seen a glimpse of something he wasn’t supposed to witness. “Pips… he touched you.”

“Caleb—”

“He touched you, and you smiled.” A step closer. “You let him.”

“I smiled because I was being polite. That’s all.”

His Evol pressed in tighter around your wrists, then your hips — firm, invisible hands holding you still. His voice didn’t rise. It dipped, lower, like it ached to stay steady.

“I’m not mad,” he murmured. “I just need—” Another step. Closer now. “I need you to remember whose you are.”

Then he kissed you — hard and deep, desperate, like he was trying to drown the memory of someone else’s touch with his own. He tasted like tension and guilt and need, his hands finally real where the gravity had only suggested — one cradling your jaw, the other gripping your waist tight enough to bruise.

He backed you to his bed without breaking the kiss, and you fell into the sheets with him following. His body covered yours like he couldn’t risk even the air touching you before he could reclaim it.

“Look at you,” he breathed, voice rough. “You’re always so sweet when you want something. But tonight…” His teeth grazed your neck. “I think you want to be reminded.”

You whimpered as he pushed your legs apart and settled between them, dragging your underwear down like it offended him. He slid his fingers through your slick folds with a sharp inhale, his restraint fraying at the edges.

“Fuck. Already this wet?” His voice cracked. “God, baby, tell me it’s not for him.”

“It’s not,” you gasped. “It’s you—only you.”

He exhaled hard, like he didn’t quite believe it, even if he wanted to. Even as he lined himself up and pressed in deep — one long, thick stretch that made your toes curl — his expression didn’t fully settle.

His rhythm started rough. Fast. Desperate. His hands held your thighs open, and every thrust hit deeper, firmer, like he was trying to bury himself so far inside you nothing could ever take you from him.

But even as he claimed you, his voice cracked again. This time not with anger — with fear.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

You looked up, startled — but he didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. His hips kept rolling, skin slapping yours, sweat beading along his temple.

“Pips,” he breathed, and this time it sounded like a confession, a prayer. “I try so hard— I try to be everything—” His forehead pressed to yours, lips brushing. “But I’m not like I used to be. I know that. I’m not good enough for you.”

“Caleb—”

His thrusts stuttered just a little — not in weakness, but like the words hurt more than anything.

“But I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so fucking much it hurts. And I can’t— I won’t watch you slip away. I need you to want me like this.”

You whimpered as his grip on your hips tightened, dragging you into each thrust, his eyes fluttering shut like the sensation grounded him.

“Say it,” he begged. Not ordered. Begged. “Tell me I’m enough. Please, baby—just say it.”

“You’re enough. You’re more than enough—Caleb, please—”

You came hard, the wave crashing over you with a sob of his name. But he didn’t stop.

He leaned over you, still thrusting through the aftershocks, his voice unraveling completely now — soft, whiny, broken. Almost angry at himself.

“I don’t care if it hurts, just let me stay like this—let me feel you, baby, please—”

You kissed him, trembling, and he kissed you back like he needed your mouth to breathe. His pace grew erratic, choked sounds escaping him as his hips lost rhythm.

“I’m yours,” he groaned, spilling deep inside you. “Yours, Pips. No one else. Just—just yours.”

He stayed inside you, still moving gently, too raw to stop.

And then he collapsed into you, arms pulling you close like if he let go for even a second, you might disappear. Voice barely audible, breath hot against your skin:

“I don’t know what I’d be if I lost you.” A pause. “Whatever you want me to be— I’ll be that. Just please stay.”

rafayel. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ . ݁

The gallery was full — too full — but Rafayel didn’t complain. Not out loud.

He watched from across the room, champagne glass untouched, as you laughed at something some man in a velvet blazer whispered near your ear. The man gestured vaguely at one of Rafayel’s paintings — a piece in pink and carmine tones, intimate, unmistakably you — and smiled like he thought he had a chance.

Rafayel’s jaw flexed. He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t make a scene.

But oh, he watched.

And when the evening ended and the man dared to kiss your knuckles, Rafayel’s fingers were already curling around your wrist before the door even shut behind him.

He didn’t say a word as he tugged you into the elevator of his apartment building. Just smiled — a little too wide, a little too perfect — and pressed the button for the top floor with a single flick of his gloved hand.

“You’re quiet,” you said.

“Mhm,” he hummed. “Just thinking. About how pretty you looked tonight. Especially when you were giggling at his jokes. I didn’t know I had competition.”

Your heart fluttered. “You don’t.”

He smiled wider, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh, cutie. I know that. Now.”

The moment the studio door shut behind you, his mask cracked.

Rafayel was on you in an instant — hands in your hair, lips at your neck, hot and breathless. “Do you like making me suffer?” he murmured, tongue sliding along your pulse. “Because I was suffering. All evening.”

You barely had time to speak before he swept you up — literally — into his arms and carried you straight through the studio. Paintings lined the walls, moonlight casting shadows across the hardwood, and he sat you down on the edge of a velvet chaise like you were a centerpiece.

“I was good tonight,” he said, dragging off his jacket with a sharp flick. “So good. I didn’t even interrupt. I let him talk to you. Let him look at you like he had any right. And you—” He knelt between your legs, gripping your thighs possessively. “You just smiled so sweetly, like you didn’t know how insane that was driving me.”

You opened your mouth, but his fingers were already slipping under your dress, dragging your underwear down with a wickedly slow pull.

“Don’t you dare apologize, cutie,” he whispered, mouth brushing your inner thigh. “I don’t want ‘sorry.’ I want to hear how much you missed me.”

“Rafayel—” your breath hitched as his lips pressed hot and slow where you were already aching.

“Say it,” he murmured, eyes flicking up — those vibrant blues with their soft pink glowing in the dark. “Say you missed me.”

“I missed you— I always do—”

“Good,” he cooed, grinning. “Then stay still for me.”

And then his mouth was on you — lush and relentless, tongue flicking, curling, sucking until you were gasping. He held your thighs open with an iron grip, moaning against your heat like he was starved for it.

He didn’t let up when you bucked. Didn’t stop when you cried out his name. He just kept going — murmuring sweet, devastating things between licks.

“This is mine, cutie. All mine. You can let them look—but they don’t get this, do they?”

“No—nngh—only you—”

“That’s right,” he purred, slipping his fingers inside you without warning, curling them just right. “Only me. Because I’d burn the world if anyone else touched you like this.”

Your orgasm came fast, nearly shocking — and still he didn’t stop.

You tried to pull away, thighs trembling, but he only made a soft sound and pulled you back in.

“Raf— I can’t—”

“You can,” he said sweetly. “You will. That was just for the exhibition. Now this one’s for the way he looked at you. And the next? That’s for smiling at him like he was interesting.”

“Rafayel—!”

He grinned against your overstimulated clit. “Aw. Are you gonna cry for me, cutie? Look so pretty when you do.”

Your vision blurred. The pleasure, the heat, the shameful delight in how needy he sounded — it all tangled into something delirious.

He finally pulled away, face wet, lips red and glistening. He kissed your thigh with a little sigh, like he was soothing the wound he caused.

Then he stripped — gloves first, then shirt, then pants — until he was bare and golden in the moonlight, muscles tense and hungry with restraint.

“Lie back,” he said. “Let me inside. I need to feel you. Need to ruin you a little, so you don’t forget who you come home to.”

You reached for him — dazed, aching — and he slid into you with a sound that was halfway to a whimper.

“Oh, fuck— you’re perfect,” he moaned, dropping his head against your shoulder. “Tighter than I remember. Were you teasing me on purpose, cutie? You wanted to see me like this, didn’t you?”

You couldn’t speak. Could only cling as he rolled his hips in deep, smooth thrusts — dragging out every sound from your throat, chasing every tremble in your body.

“Say it,” he gasped, breath hot against your collarbone. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours— always—”

“And you love me?”

“I love you.”

He groaned — long and low, thrusting deeper. “Again.”

“I love you—!”

He came with a choked breath, hips grinding as he spilled inside you, his body trembling against yours like the tension had finally snapped. But he didn’t stop holding you. Didn’t even pull out. He just wrapped his arms around you, still buried deep, and nuzzled into your neck with a pout.

“…I hate being jealous,” he whispered. “Makes me dramatic.”

You huffed a laugh, boneless and warm. “You’re always dramatic.”

He smiled, kissing your temple. “Yeah, but this time I was right, wasn’t I? You’re mine, cutie. And I’m never letting go.”