LOVE_119

“mhm. good job,” hiromi’s praise comes with a reward—a sudden increase in pace. his thrusts turn deliciously faster, driving you closer to the edge. the desk creaks while papers flutter to the floor. you moan and your nails dig into his shoulders through his crisp shirt.

he doesn’t let up, flipping to the next page with one hand while the other grips your plump thigh, spreading you wider for him. “and the precedent? which supreme court ruling supported the tort claim?”

your thoughts blur with pleasure, but you force the words out, “the 1965 ruling on... on negligent supervision. ah, wait, no—“

wrong.

hiromi’s rhythm halts abruptly which leaves you whimpering at the loss. your needy pussy flutters desperately around his dick. then comes the sting—a sharp slap to your plush ass, the sound echoing in the quiet room. “incorrect. it was the 1972 decision on vicarious liability. pay attention.”

“s-sorry,” you gasp, but he’s already resuming, much slower and teasing than before. his thumb circles your clit lazily as he scans the document with his eyes. “next: under the penal code, what article was cited for the fraud element? you have ten seconds.”

“article 246–oh my god—fraud by deception,” you whine out, legs shaking as he flicks the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“perfect,” hiromi rewards you instantly. his hips slam back and forth harder, the force jostling the desk lamp and sending shadows dancing across the walls. your cries grow louder and the coil in your belly tightens as he leans down.

his breath is hot against your ear. “see? you’re learning. now, the evidentiary standard from the code of civil procedure—article?”

“nnhg—article 179, preponderance of evidence.”

another slap, this time to your pussy, the wet smack making you yelp and arch up. “close, but no. article 180 for civil trials. hesitation costs you,” hiromi stops again. his cock throbs inside you, still unmoving, not until you squirm and beg him with your pleading eyes and desperate words.

“please, hiromi!”

he chuckles before resuming with a meaty thrust that has you seeing stars. “one more. get it right and i’ll let you come. the amendment to the act on punishment of organized crimes. year and key change?”

“2000, expansion to include money laundering under article 10.”

“there you go,” hiromi hums in satisfaction. his pace turns relentless now, hips slamming into yours as he drops the papers, both hands now pinning your wrists above your head.

the office fills with your shared gasps and moans. the build-up crashes over you in waves as he fucks you through your climax, murmuring approvals until he follows and spills deep inside you with a low groan.

as you both catch your breath, hiromi kisses your forehead whilst still buried in you, “excellent retention. we’ll review the full brief tomorrow—same method.”

LATER THAT NIGHT

Antitode by Travis Scott was booming throughout the club atmosphere with sweaty bodies moving reckless on the dance floor, some people were in the VIP rooms hooking up some we're doing all types of drugs like molly, co-caine, coke and more sinful drugs and the group of people who we're doing those things were none other than Nate Jacobs and his seahawks teammates.

Nate was faced down snorting coke off the table while his obnoxiously loud friend group cheered him on while doing so Nate got up and threw his head back taking in the antitode slowly.

"YO NATE YOU WILD AS FUCK BRO" a Seahawk teammate hollered over the loud rap music playing from the speakers of the DJ sipping out of a glass bottle of Ciroc running his fingers through his blonde hair.

"I know I am" Nate said with no emotion shown on his face "man I'm bored as fuck where the hoes at" nate said as he put the brown 1942 Don Julio bottle to his lips eyeing every girl in the club to be his next victim and one night stand.

McKay stood leant against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest smoking a Cuban link blunt while having a scowl on his face staring his teammate nate down

"C'mon nate please don't start no shit with these females tonight next weekend is the biggest day of our lives bro and you're going to jeopardize it by doing some dumb fuck shit"

"McKay I wish you would shut the fuck up sometimes wit yo pussy ass i ain't gone jeopardize shit in this bitch I can get any girl that I want" Nate says while having the most devilish smirk on his first while staring McKay down.

"Well all I know we gotta take this shit seriously because we're playing against The saviors next weekend and they quarterback star Cameron cade ain't noting to be fucked with that nigga's ice cold when it comes down to the field" McKay exclaimed taking three more pulls of his Cuban link blunt before dipping it in the ashtray.

Nate swore up and down everything stopped around him when McKay said that everything stopped especially after hearing his biggest enemy name Cameron Cade.

"What in the everlasting fuck did you just say to me McKay?" there was no emotion in Nate's voice nor in his facial expression he was actually pretty fucked up and numbed to the feeling but when he heard Cameron's name that what he wasn't so numb he was actually pretty bothered.

Nate ain't wasted no opportunity charging at McKay his face is so close to his face that McKay uncomfortably shifts underneath Nate's grip

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT I CAN TAKE EVERYTHING THAT CAMERON CADE HAS AWAY FROM HIM YOU MOTHERFUCKER?!"

Nate screams in McKay's face entirely his spit and saliva showcasing after every word he says his dark brunette hair slightly messy from all the drugs,weed and alcohol he's been doing all night.

"NATE IT AIN'T EVEN THAT SERIOUS NIGGA I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHY THE FUCK YOU HATE CAMERON SO MUCH HE'S A GOOD CHILL DUDE I MET HIM BEFORE AND BACK THE FUCK UP BEFORE I HURT YOU"

Nate hadn't responded to McKay's threats right away instead he calmy walked away from him going back to the coke table slightly bending down taking the small grey metal card up to his nostrils and inhaling the co-caine through his nose slowly taking in the drugs in his veins.

Nate's messy brunette hair had covered the side profile of his face while he started laughing historically while having the most delivlish grin on his face.

The way he was laughing you would've thought this nigga was the joker or something.

Mckay stood there slightly clenching his Jaw at Nate as he opens his mouth to speak "look man I'm just trying to help you out ight? Cameron cade ain't noting to be fucked with man I'm telling you"

"Yo Mckay why you all up on Cameron's dick you must be his bitch or something?" A seahawks teammate says while bickering and snorting technically high off Molly.

"Fuck No, I'm just trying to warn y'all and tell y'all Cameron ain't the type of nigga you would all wanna fuck with he's a menace" McKay's says rolling his eyes clearly tried of his teammates clowning him for warning them about the saviors quarterback star.

"Hey speaking of Cameron and bitches isn't his girlfriend here? I think I saw her earlier with her two homegirls and I can't even lie she's fine as fuck"

Nate says slowly walking over to the white curtains pulling them over to watch a gorgeous curvaceous brownskin girl swaying her hips to Jeremiah's "Planez" ft J-Cole.

Raven and her two best friends Kylie and Ari have been having a good time all night Free drinks, Free food, Good music they were all having a good time.

Until the fun they were having slowly dies down when none other than Nate Jacobs shows up.

Nate had slowly but quickly walked up to Raven and her homegirls slow grinding on the dance floor enjoying each other's company.

Nate's white button up shirt was unbuttoned revealing his solid hard rock abs, he wore an devilish evil smirk on his face but his eyes held no emotion whatsoever. All while his fingers gripping on the don Julio bottle tightly.

Kylie immediately stops dancing and notices Nate tall 6 foot frame walking towards them immediately her smile and happy energy slowly dying down becoming horrified by Nate's Jeepers creepers presence.

"Aw hell no man what the fuck Nate's doing I told this nigga- you know what I'm done i'mma just let him fuck around and find out for himself. on top of that he's literally the dumbest quarterback we have we gone lose the super bowl fa'sho"

Mckay quietly says to himself overly irritated at Nate's descion to mess with Cameron's Girl.

"R-Raven girl" Ari's shaky voice says out loud over the music while her body language changes from happy to creeped out. "I don't know if you notice but there's a tall creepy looking white boy getting ready to approach us getting ready to approach you"

"What are you two on about?" And as on cue raven turns around to face Nate already standing in front of her his 6 foot tall frame towering her 5'3 frame eyeing and staring her down greedily while checking her out and inhaling her Good Girl perfume scent"

"Cameron Cade got one bad ass bitch" Nate thought to himself biting his lips at the pretty girl before him.

"Can I help you?" Raven placed her hand on her hips slightly becoming annoyed and irritated that her girls night out with her two besties was getting ruined by Nate's Energy.

"Yes the fuck you can Pretty girl" I know who you are you're Raven Cameron Cade's Girl right" Nate says while pointing his fingers at Raven whilst holding the Don Julio bottle.

"Yes I am and if you don't get the fuck away from me and my friends you'll be dealt with you're creeping us all out" Raven said firmly bottle up her fists and clenching her jaw now more pissed off as ever.

She didn't want to pull her phone out of her chanel purse and call her boyfriend Cameron to come pick her up because she strictly told him that she was a big girl that can handle herself whenever he was not around to save her.

On the other end her two best friends Kylie and Ari wanted to get the everlasting fuck up outta there and call the police immediately but they trusted they're homegirl Raven for standing her ground around the tall brunette man that was preying on her.

"Woah woah wait a minute you a mean one aren't you" Nate eagerly cooed walking up more closer to Raven "I just wanted to come say hi to you Baby and then take you back to my penthouse to see if yo man Cameron really gets the Job done"

"Okay now I'm pissed the fuck off" Raven though to herself "excuse me?! But yes my man Cameron does get's the job done just like he gets the job done mopping you and the Seahawks off the field at those games"

Raven bitterly spat in Nate's face while having the most meanest mug on her face.

Nate's mood had changed from flirtatious to him going back to his signature emotionless angry self again.

He didn't waste no opportunity roughly grabbing Raven by her waist gripping her jaw with his free hand causing the girl to squeal underneath him.

Mckay immediately runs out to the scene to try to stop nate from hurting the girl. "NATE MAN WHAT THE FUCK LET HER GO YOU'RE GOING TO HURT HER"

Ari and Kylie had ran off to go ask for help leaving one of them to call the police to arrest nate.

"MCKAY SHUT THE FUCK UP THIS BITCH RIGHT HERE JUST HAD THE NERVE TO DISS US AND OUR TEAM FOR HER PUSS ASS NEPO QUATERBACK OF A BOYFRIEND "

Nate turn his head around to scream at mckay as he pushed Raven on the floor roughly causing her to fall hard to the ground with defeated tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

Her two best friends ran up to her quickly helping her and comforting her letting they're friend know that the police is on there way.

"AND ON TOP OF THAT CAMERON AIN'T GONE DO SHIT HE AIN'T ABOUT THAT LIFE SO STOP TELLING ME ABOUT THAT DUDE, HE AIN'T COMING TO SAVE HIS BITCH"

Mckay just stands there angry more than ever at Nate slowly mouthing the words "I'm so sorry for him" To Raven and her friends.

And as on cue the atmosphere of the club slowly comes to a hault everybody paying there undivided attention to the pure chaos surrounding the club.

But until a 6 foot 5 man walks up to Nate from behind his light blue eyes are dark with Anger and Possessiveness of a man ready to put a cocky motherfucker in his place.

"So you think I ain't gon' do shit huh" on cue Nate turns around to be face to face with his biggest rivalry none other than "Cameron Cade"

Nate's mood slowly changes again with fake amusement as he sarcastically claps his hands together with the fakest smile on his face.

"Well is it ain't the one and only Cameron fucking Cade" here I was talking all that shit about you not showing up for you're bitch but here you are" Nate let's out a throaty laugh while clapping his hands loudly.

"HEY EVERYBODY WE GOT CAMERON CADE IN THE MOTHERFUCKIN BUILDING MAKES SOME NOISE FOR THIS FRAUD"

Nate screams over the crowd to get everyone hyped up raising his half drunken Don Julio Bottle to the ceiling.

Cameron didn't say noting he just stood there with the most coldest emotionless death stare charging at Nate while everyone hoots and hollers for him.

Cameron's deep voice was husky and steel like cold metal his body language was firm and serious staring at his girlfriend and her friends on the floor with fear in their eyes.

"Raven take you and you're friends to my car the doors are unlocked and the engine is on go wait outside for me cause I don't want neither of you to see what I'm about to do to this nigga"

"B-but cam baby-" Raven stood up off the ground to protest but Cameron's loud Deep voice made her squeal and body jump.

"JUST GO! please baby" Cameron said and Raven and her friends did excalty just that having no problem to wait outside for Cameron after he was done with Nate Jacobs.

"I Swear on my father's life if you put you're hands on my girlfriend i'mma kill you nigga"

Cameron said as he walked up close to Nate. The sliver metal gun slightly glistening underneath his black button up shirt due to his gun case holding it.

"I did actually" nate replied that devilish smirk that he'd been wearing all night slowly making it's way back on his face. And speaking of you're deceased father he was one hell of a fraud. Too bad he died to see that his son was gonna become just like him.

"Oohs and oh shits" Decorated the club atmosphere as party go-byers took they're iphones out to record the heated intensity interaction between the two quarterback stars Nate Jacobs and Cameron Cade.

Cameron just stood there and said noting the same emotionless stare plastered across his insanely handsome face as his dark blue eyes began to water a little bit as his jaw clenched.

Nate obviously noticed and decided to take the opportunity to clown him. "Awwww are you about to cry Cameron?"

Nate says mastering the sweetest baby voice he could find.

"Is it because I keep on talking shit about you're deceased NFL father? Or is it the fact that I'm about to take you're girl and fuck her raw-"

Cameron immediately charges at Nate punching the brunette boy repeatedly over 39 times knocking his tall frame over.

Screams and choas started to erupted through the club as tables were being knocked down and glass bottles were breaking on the floor.

All you could here were Cameron's loud grunts and Nate whimpering in pain due to Cameron's violently devouring him.

Nate awfully punched Cameron won time in the face which cause his bottom lip to bleed. Cameron's head was also bleeding due to Nate pushing him on the floor.

But that didn't stop Cameron from turning Nate every which way lose. He dragged Nate's large body through the floor. All while gripping his brunette hair and slamming his head repeatedly on the club's marvel floor.

Until you could hear Nate's head skull visibly cracking.

Cameron turn Nate's almost lifeless body around and took out his big sliver gun and angeld at Nate's Jawline.

"GIVE ME ONE FUCKING GOOD REASON NOT TO TAKE YOU'RE LIFE RIGHT NOW NIGGA?" Cameron violently shouted at Nate's face drenched in deep red blood.

Nate couldn't open his mouth to speak due to his lips being busted and half of his teeth were practically gone from Cameron violently slamming his head on the hard floors.

"UH HUH NIGGA YOU WAS COUGHING ALL THAT SHIT TO ME AND MY GIRL NOW YO ASS WANNA GO MUTE" Cameron was damn near was about to pull the trigger to his sliver gun and blow Nate's brains out. But he decided not too.

Instead he slowly nods his head pulls nate closer to him and wack him hard with his cold metal gun until the brunette boy fell unconsciously on the floor between the tables.

Cameron stood up from his crotch position and fixed his posture up wiping the access co-caine powder from Nate's shirt.

He clenched his jaw staring down at nate's body drenched with blood and dark purple bruises as he spat his copper blood onto nate's body.

"Y'ALL NIGGAS GONE LEARN HOW TO STOP PLAYING WITH ME" Cameron shouted as he ran his bloody sliver gun on his neck like it was a knife. "DEAD BODY ALERT DEAD BODY ALERT AYE MCKAY COME PICK YO DEAD HOMIE UP"

And as on cue Cameron left up out of the club with the cockiest grin on his face a deep red cut decorating his lower bottom lip all while the side of his head was bleeding.

Drake's new song from his Iceman album "Janice STFU" played on the speakers.

A seahawks teammate was looking at Cameron in disgust like he was really that nigga not until Cameron bucked up at him causing the dreadhead male to fall down in fear.

Mckay walked over to nate with the straightest poker face he could master up while shaking his head.

"If fuck around and find out was a person I told you nate but you just can't seem to shut the fuck up all the time and now you had to deal with Cameron putting belt to ass for disrespecting his girl"

Mckay says as he starts to drag nate tall frame body to his car to take him to the hospital.

Cameron and Raven had made it safely back to the apartment complex. Ari and Kylie were safe and sound at there own homes too.

In the meantime Raven had put on her two peace Black lace camisole pajamas set all while still wearing her jewelry.

She was in her bathroom with her boyfriend pressing a alcohol pad to his bottom lip.

Cameron was shirtless his layered chains stuck to his tan skin like glue he was wearing his black sweatpants with his Calvin Kieln's boxer sllighty showing.

He decided to break the awkward tension between him and his girlfriend due to all the chaos they had to deal with.

"I thought you were a big girl Rav? I thought you could handle yourself" Cameron said lowly his light blue eyes meeting his girl's hazel brown ones.

"I know baby I'm sorry I tried but Nate just had gotten the best of me" Raven frowned lightly padding a large cotton pad up against Cam's head were his stitches were placed.

"I can't let these niggas hurt you and let something happen to you Raven you know I care so much about you and you're safety thank God that you were alive when I had gotten there cause that psychopath coulda had did anything to you"

Cameron was serious gazing at his girl throughout the mirror his icy blue eyes slightly changing colors again.

"I know baby I know I'm really truly grateful for you, you've saved my life and I couldn't be more thankful I love you so much Cameron"

Raven said sweetly staring into her boyfriend's eyes and admiring how handsome and sexy he looked with a cut lip.

"I love you too Ma, just know i'mma have to roll wit'chu wherever you go now" Cameron chuckled as he pulled his girlfriend in by the waist and kiss her passionately.

Raven rested her hands on Cameron's chest as she kissed him back they're tongues colliding deepening the kiss.

Cameron slowly pulled away and ran his hands down from Raven's waist down to her hips and then to her ass to cuff her right butt cheek in her lace shorts.

"Tell me why I shouldn't fuck you in front of this mirror right now mmmh?" Cameron said grinning staring at his girl with intensity.

Raven scoffs and removes herself out of Cameron's grip "Baby as much as I would love to do that. I'm tried and sleepy as hell it's 3:25 AM in the morning and we all had a long rough chaotic night.

Cameron shakes his head and chuckles a little as his girl's antics the veins his arms and biceps showcasing as he moves up off the counter and walks over to Raven towering her frame.

"Yo pussy print in them lace pajama shorts telling me you ain't that tried for real" Cameron took the time to admire how beautiful his girlfriend was her. He was getting so turnt on at how pretty her titties was sitting perfectly in that camisole top and how them lace shorts was hugging her tick hips and thighs with the curve of her ass showcasing.

"You just gone wait for me to leave from out of you're apartment and then play with that soaking wet pussy finger fucking yourself into oblivion all while thinking about me and how I have you moaning and screaming my name"

Cameron says all of this while having the most sexiest smirk on his handsome face chuckling at his girlfriend's startled facial expression.

"You ain't gotta be shy or startled baby I know you like the back of my hand girl" Cameron says while pulling his girlfriend closer to kiss her intensely as they both fell on her queen sized bed"

Cameron hovering on top of his girlfriend while his gold necklaces dangling infront of her face as he placed soft intense kisses in the crook of her neck causing Raven to softly moan at the action.

"Mmmh Camm Daddy~" Raven softly says as her Stilleto nails softly gripping Cameron's back muscles carefully not to poke his skin with her sharp nails.

Raven knew that her man Cameron cade was the greatest of all time. She wouldn't want to trade his love in for anything else in this world. He was the motherfucking Goat at everything that he does. telling niggas off and putting bitches in they place when they tried to start some shit with his girl. He ain't played about his girl not one bit.

“Damn baby, why didn’t you tell me you had all this good pussy?”

Cameron mumbled against your bare leg that were currently hiked over his broad shoulder, his voice dripping with admiration a lot sweeter than the way he was fucking you.

The question was rhetorical but emphasised just how much he was enjoying being inside of you.

Goosebumps broke all over the surface of your flushed and damp skin, choking on a whiny moan as your cunt tightly squeezed and pulsated around him. The throbbing sent a shiver down the length of his spine and settled in his bones. A flurry of chopped sobs poured from your mouth as your climax began to climb. You were so close. And he could feel it all.

You would have tried to answer his question but in truth - you didn’t know how to.

The two of you met during freshman in college - sharing the same physiotherapy classes and the two of you instantly clicked. When he first approached you - you couldn’t believe that he’d even talk to you. When you first arrived on campus, his name was uttered in every corner. He was the person to know because of his projected career. You had wanted to keep away from him - you didn’t like attention being drawn to you at all but Cameron just had to be enrolled on your course.

Even worse, he came to sit next to you.

You stilled at just making eye contact with him. Low sitting blue eyes, dimples deep as he smiled, rosy lips begging for attention and from his seated position alone you could tell that he was tall. He made sure that you couldn’t ignore him and you hated that fell for his charm, hook, line and sinker.

The attraction was shared and the chemistry intensified with each interaction but nothing ever came off it.

Football. Girlfriends. Endorsements. A great rookie career - all of it got in the way.

So friendship is what you settled for and you were grateful just to be a part of his journey.

Unfortunately for you, he was relentless. The friendship status did not matter to him at all and Cameron steadily flirted with you like the devil of temptation resided in his flesh. Always hanging around, giving you his undivided attention when you were close. Treating you just on the edges of a girlfriend, yet always teasing the word ‘friend’ in front of you. You always let it wash over you because being close to him in any capacity was worth it.

That attraction however, could not be denied and could not be hidden. And he’d picked up on it and he played with it - he played with you. He enjoyed teasing you. Kissing you on the neck, hands on your lower waist as he moved past you, hugs that lingered. Girlfriends be damned - you were the apple of his eye even if you denied what you were to him.

So that was how you found yourself in his penthouse - on a supposed regular night in with your best friend on his days off. So how you ended up in your current predicament was unbeknownst to you.

A movie, typical gossip, a game of tease.

From there all it took was a kiss.

A soft brush of your lips when he leaned down above you, whispering teasingly against your lips, fingers underneath your chin before gripping your jaw so that you couldn’t shift your eye contact away from him. So that he could see all of that want dripping out of your eyes.

“Do it.” You dared him.

And it was no surprise that he listened.

You had been so determined not to fall into his orbit and now you were on your back, sweating out your hairstyle, tank top ripped and panties pulled to the side as he manhandled you in every way. Your pussy stretched out and creaming around the thickest dick you’ve ever had in your life as you moaned in bliss. Fuck, you loved every second of it.

Cameron’s thrusts were deliciously brutal, his hips snapped into yours as your legs hang over his shoulders. He fucked you like you were a bitch in heat and you sounded just like one. Your mouth dropped open as your cries and whines could not be contained, sounding real pretty for him.

He breathed heavily through his nose at the sight your cream coating the length of his dick. Cam wedged his hands underneath the arch at the base of your back and gripped tight. He used your body as leverage to fuck into you even deeper.

The heat of the bedroom was making you delirious as much as the way his fat mushroom tip was pushing against your softest spots. You were so loud and Cameron drank all of your sounds by shushing you with rough kisses.

The wet clapping emitting from where your bodies connected was getting so loud, Cameron had to look down. His loud moan barely registered through the fog clouding your senses.

“You’re sooo fucking wet baby. Gushing all that good shit all over me, fuuuccckkk.”

You were looking up at him, doe eyed, a soft crease pinching in-between your eyebrows with your teeth biting onto your bottom lip as you tried to control it. He was hitting all of your good spots and it was so intense, it sat like a weight on your chest.

Then, Cameron pushed your legs back so that your knees were touching your ears and he moved to hover directly above you. He used his upper body to contort you into the perfect position for him - ready for his taking and you were in awe with how it left you feeling. The weight of pleasure sinking into your bones, deeper and deeper.

“O-oooh!” You gasped as you pulled on the sheets underneath your fingertips.

His beautiful, blue eyes never left your face as he watched your pretty face surrender into the pleasure he was delivering. Your eyebrows drew together tighter, as if you were about to cry, your lips forming into an ‘o’ form as he slowed down his strokes, letting you enjoy the feel of him. Inch by inch.

Soft curves and hard muscles colliding into each other. Naked,skin on skin - still, felt like there was a barrier between the two of you. The thought slamming into you, nothing will ever be enough, you will always want more. Cameron groaned as he felt the pain of your nails breaking into the skin of his back as you unintentionally brought him closer.

You were begging for him without words and that caused him to smirk in satisfaction. Cameron couldn’t believe you had been keeping this type of connection away from him. The type of connection that quenched your thirst but left you famished for more.

He was brought out of his thoughts by the feel of your trembling fingers tracing his bottom lip, tugging it free from his teeth. He placed a tender kiss on the inside pad of your thumb before his eyes drew back to where your bodies connected. The sight of it caused all of his blood to soar down to his aching dick.

Slathered all over his base was milky white. It built up generously and it accumulated so much the flapping wetness caused his eyes to roll to the back of his head. He couldn’t believe you’d ever get this wet.

“Yeahhh mamas, I can’t believe she’s this wet for me …”

Cameron doesn’t take his eyes off your cunt as he slammed back in, the wetness drawing a delicious drag with drag. He threw his head back as a deep groan left him. The sound was so primal it sent nasty shivers down your spine and settled in your pelvis.

But you didn’t move your hand away from his pelvis as he was folding you even deeper. In fact, Cameron, lowered his upper body until he was completely folded over yours. His pelvis ground against your clit, his trimmed hair brushing your clit - hard.

Cameron was wild in his lust.

He sucked bruising kisses into your neck, his tongue trailed hotly up to your mouth to claim it in a deep kiss. It was all consuming, overwhelming. His long tongue flattened against yours in maddening swipes, sucking the muscle sloppily into his own mouth which made you lightheaded.

Blood rushed to your ears as he ground his hips up again, hammering away at that spot inside you but not enough to make you cross eyed and your hand pressed on his abdomen.

Cameron kept his eyes on as you gasped desperately. Your eyes closed as he nipped at your bottom lip which caused you to sigh softly. His tongue darted out and soothed the sting of your bite before whispering inside your mouth- eyes glazed, “Move that hand, baby.”

You didn’t move your hand but he did it for you. He grabbed your wrist and trapped it above your head as he drilled into you. Your mind was mush the more he thrusted into you so you didn’t even try to think straight. Cameron was so caught up in the moment - not just from the heat of your pussy but how tight and how creamy you were.

Letting out a string of swears, Cameron captured them by bringing your mouth into another overwhelming kiss. His cock aching whilst he swallowed your wails as you twitched and ached around him.

Until you couldn’t take it anymore. Cam gave another harsh yet hard roll of his hips into your swollen opening while he was battering at that tender spot inside of you and then … you were coming.

And fuck! You were coming, hard. Your nails clawed at Cam’s rigged muscles as a swarm of stars completely eclipsed your vision whilst your body went into shock with wave after wave of vicious pleasure.

Your wails were so loud, you struggled to recognise your voice. But Cameron had a clear view to the ecstasy flooding your face he pumped his hips forward, pushing himself deeper into your body. Filthy words of praise and encouragement directly in your ear, prolonging your orgasm.

“That’s it, babygirl … I love the way you’re cumming all over me…”

Tears spilled from your eyes and you were close to passing out when Cam dropped his head into your chest and took one of your swollen nipples into his mouth, his thrusts slowing down in tempo as he shot his cum deep inside of your heat with a muffled groan.

He filled you up to the brim and then popped out your nipple out of his mouth with a satisfied sigh.

The both of you were riddled with tiredness, thighs were killing you, and your body was trembling like a leaf but a grin had etched onto your lips regardless as Cameron placed calming kisses everywhere his lips could touch.

He slowly pulled out, warm yet concerned eyes checking over you for any sign of discomfort as you basked in the glow of the aftermath. Your eyes closed as you sank into the softness of the blankets beneath you. You left his kisses on your cheeks in the tender way that you’d grown accustomed to.

“You okay sweet girl? I didn’t hurt you did I?”

“No, baby. I’m good.” You shook your head as you hummed in satisfaction. You felt him shift away from the bed, leaving you in your peaceful lonesome until you felt him wipe you down gently with a wet towel. You heard a thud as he tossed to rag onto on the floor when he was done.

You felt the bed dip beside you before Cameron slipped up behind you. Your hands reached behind you and brought him closer with a soft hum. You had crossed that line in your friendship and you couldn’t process what it meant for the future for the both of you. But you’d bask in whatever this moment meant for you.

Cameron nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. “We’ll never just be friends after this.” He mumbled.

He was right about that. Nothing would ever be the same.

light bent seamlessly around the barrier; sound was swallowed into a vacuum. to the rest of the room, anyone glancing under the table would see nothing but shadows and stillness.

within that pocket he made of infinity, however, there were no rules.

his large hand then settled heavily onto your thigh, his thumb dragged slow, excruciating circles over the fabric of your clothes as if he’s mapping a territory with a predatory kind of patience.

you inhaled sharply, your spine going rigid - satoru simply tilted his head, resting his cheek on his knuckles. an infuriatingly arrogant smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

(he is out of his fucking mind, you realized, heart hammering against your ribs. you both are surrounded by elite sorcerers, powerful clan heads, and the entire conservative council.)

but that was exactly the point.

as his hand slid higher, the ambient cursed energy in the room began to spike. satoru was effortlessly maintaining the spatial illusion, but the sheer emotional and physical focus required for what he was doing beneath the table was causing his aura to bleed out into the room, everyone could feel it.

an elder midway down the table suddenly faltered, his sentence dying in his throat, sweat beaded on his wrinkled forehead in small rivulets as the oppressive, suffocating weight of the strongest sorcerer alive began to press down on the room.

"gojo-san," gakuganji rasped, his grip tightening on his cane as he felt the erratic, thrumming surge in the air. "is there... a point at issue? your cursed energy - it’s fluctuating wildly."

satoru didn't miss a beat - his hand did something wicked under the table, forcing you to bite your lip hard enough to taste blood just to keep your face blank.

"oh, my sincerest apologies," satoru purred, his voice dripping with honeyed innocence. "i'm just finding this discussion incredibly stimulating - my cursed energy tends to act up when i'm this invested. please, don't let me interrupt. you were saying?"

the sheer audacity of it hung in the air; the elders exchanged nervous, paranoid glances, acutely aware of the massive, erratic spikes radiating from him, yet entirely unable to pierce the spatial anomaly to figure out why - why he was lying.

the droning of principal gakuganji's voice hit a wall of dead air the moment satoru's fingers breached your waistband.

inside the localized pocket of infinity, sound ceased to exist; no rustle of paper, no creak of chair, no distant traffic filtering through the open window.

there was only the wet, obscene slide of his fingers through your folds, the ragged catch of your breath, the thundering of your own heartbeat in your ears - all of it contained, compressed, private in a bubble that might as well have been a soundproof coffin.

to the rest of the room, you were a statue. still-faced. eyes fixed on the presentation slide. hands folded neatly on the table. (you were screaming on the inside.)

satoru's fingers moved through your trousers as if the fabric didn't exist; the dense cotton of your slacks were pushed aside molecule by molecule, creating a vacuum channel for his hand to slide through without a single wrinkle disturbing your lap.

from the outside, your pants lay smooth and unremarkable. inside, his thumb had already found your clit.

"mmnngh-" the moan vibrated against your teeth, trapped, swallowed by the barrier. no cough, no excuse needed to cover it. nothing.

nanami, seated two chairs away, didn't even blink, satoru's other hand remained on the table, fingers drumming lazily against the surface.

under the table, his middle finger curled into your entrance with annoying precision, you bit the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted iron.

your hips twitched - a fraction of an inch, invisible to anyone watching - but the movement was enough to let his finger push deeper, he rewarded you by crooking it, pressing against that rough, swollen patch of nerves that made your vision white out for a second.

"satoru-" you breathed, a whisper that only he could hear.

his thumb pressed down on your clit in reply.

the pressure built with excruciating slowness; he added a second finger, scissoring them inside you, stretching you open while his thumb drew snug, frantic circles.

your inner walls clenched around him, greedy - greedy for more.

you could feel the wetness pooling, seeping through your underwear, his fingers slipping slick and hot through your arousal, your breathing came in shallow, controlled pants; each exhale carried a whimper that vanished inches from your lips.

on the surface, you were collected - underneath? you were unraveling.

satoru's cursed energy flared even more - not a massive pulse, but rather - a slow, simmering rise. it lapped against the edges of the barrier, contained, although definitely intense.

gakuganji paused mid-sentence, his brow furrowing as he glanced at the white-haired sorcerer across the table.

"your cursed energy is… agitated. is there a concern with the proposal?" the old man said, voice sharp with suspicion.

satoru's smile widened. his fingers inside you never stopped moving, buried to the knuckle now.

"concern?" he echoed, tone light and melodic. "not at all, just thinking about a particularly interesting variable in the data. you know how my mind wanders."

his thumb pressed harder against your clit - a single pulse of pressure, you felt your climax lurch forward; a wave cresting at the edge of breaking.

however, satoru's cursed energy surged in response, a spike so sudden and violent that gakuganji's cane clattered to the floor, the old man's face went pale, mei mei's phone slipped from her fingers and nanami's hand flew to his weapon.

"what the-" someone started.

satoru didn't move an inch, his fingers curled inside you and the barrier held perfectly as you crumbled; you came in total silence.

your mouth opened wide, a scream tearing from your throat, yet no sound escaped - swallowed, kept it caged in the dark pocket of space around your body.

your back arched, your thighs trembled, your hands clawed at the table's edge as waves of white - hot pleasure crashed through you, rippling outward from your core, making your muscles twitch and your breath catch in wet, broken sobs.

satoru watched you fall apart with a satisfied smile - he didn't move his fingers, he let you ride out every pulse, every tremor, every desperate clench of your cunt around his digits.

in the silence of your private bubble, you heard the wet sound of him licking his fingers clean.

satoru simply popped his knuckles smoothly. "relax, everyone. just a little excess energy. i'll dial it back."

by the time the meeting was mercifully adjourned, the atmosphere in the room was suffocating.

the elders hastily gathered their scrolls, desperate to escape the crushing, erratic aura that had plagued the room for the last hour; none of them could look satoru in the eye, and you couldn't - either.

satoru finally withdrew his hand, the distortion snapping flawlessly out of existence as if it had never been there, the heavy compression in the room disappeared in an instant, leaving the air feeling strangely thin.

he stood up, stretching his long arms above his head with a dramatic, exaggerated yawn.

he looked completely immaculate. you, on the contrary, felt completely unraveled, legs trembling as you forced yourself to stand up.

"well! that was productive," satoru announced brightly to the retreating backs of the council members.

then, he turned to you, dipping his head slightly so that only you could see the wicked, satisfied gleam in his eyes - partially visible beneath his blindfold.

"don't you think?" he whispered, his voice dark and thoroughly pleased.

So of course Caleb, being such a kind and thoughtful gege, has to prove you wrong, right?

He does. Over. And over. And over again. That is, until you’re crying in overstimulation, writhing away from his punishing thrusts, clawing against the sheets as you try to run from the pleasure-turned-pain.

Or, tried to.

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart. Where do you think you’re going?”

You’re running? No, no you can’t run away, not when he’s already spent his entire fucking life chasing you. 

Caleb’s voice is teasing, raspy and sweet, but there’s nothing playful about the way his Evol surges to life with a mere crook of his finger, dragging you back along the mattress and pinning you down as he takes his sweet time crawling back to you. 

Trapped, your breath hitches as you feel the weight of him settle over you, his intimidating frame caging you in, tracing featherlight kisses along your spine in such a stark contrast to how ruthlessly he was fucking you earlier. His hands roam, slow and deliberate, kneading your ass as he repositions himself behind you.

"If I let you go," he murmurs, "you promise not to run?"

Run? Why did you even want to run? You can’t remember now, not as you viciously nodding your head as much as is allowed under the control of his Evol, already arching your back into his touch as Caleb nips and marks your sticky inner thighs. 

“Good girl.” The pressure disappears. 

Immediately, Caleb replaces it, his entire body pressing you down before you can so much as take a proper breath. His arm snakes around your throat, flexing just enough to remind you who’s in control, the bulging, thick mass of his bicep choking you deliciously when you attempt to squirm or beg.

He’s got you in a headlock, the rest of his corded body pressing down atop you until your chest is squished to the mattress, ass pressed against Caleb’s pelvis, the combined pressure enough for you to be seeing stars. A drooling, overstimulated mess.

It doesn’t help that he’s practically panting like a dog in your ear, whining as he already begins thrusting himself back into your cunt, delirious moans of your name and filthy praises cooed right into your ear, words barely distinguishable with how hard he’s breathing. 

“Aww p-poor thing.” Caleb pants, voice wrecked, whiny with need as he grinds himself against you. His pace is already brutal, his thrusts sharp and unforgiving, every desperate snap of his hips forcing a cry from your throat as his grip tightens, choking you deliciously every time you so much as try to squirm.“Can you be good for me? Be my sweet little girl and cum for daddy.”

It shouldn’t be hot, Caleb, your gege, calling himself daddy, it shouldn’t have you sobbing out an unintelligible plea as another orgasm builds, seizing up your body in tight, aching waves. And yet here you are, loosing your fucking mind at it.

“Please,” you gasp, voice muffled as you sink your teeth into his bicep, embarrassed by the desperate sound of your own voice. “Please, daddy.”

For the first time in thirty minutes, you feel Caleb stop. 

He’s frozen entirely, dick hot and throbbing with need within you, each shaky breath hitting your ear as he pressed down closer, flattening, suffocating you into the mattress as you feel the growl come from his throat. You can hear the way his lips curl into a grin. 

“You wanna say that again, princess?”

Whining, you try and arch your back further, wiggling your hips up as you try and bait Caleb into continuing, into giving you that release that was only just out of reach. But he wasn’t having any of that bratty attitude tonight. 

“Behave.” Caleb’s arm tightens, and your vision swims. ”I asked you a question. You need daddy to—ah shit you tightened, dirty girl— fuck you nice and full, hmm? Fuck you stupid?” 

A fresh wave of humiliation burns down your spine, but it doesn't matter. You’ll say whatever he wants if it means he moves, if it means he chokes you more, if it means he finally gives you what you need one more time. 

“Yes, m’close, please daddy! Please—ah—let me cum one more time.” 

Caleb just snaps.

His grip tightens instinctively. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make you feel it, enough to make your breath stutter, your body jolt like the sweet little thing you are under his grasp. His entire frame tenses above you, muscles coiling so tightly it’s like he’s holding himself together with sheer willpower alone. But it’s already slipping.

"Fucking," His voice breaks, dissolving into a strangled groan as he buries his face against your neck, breathing you in like a man starved. "Fuck that shouldn’t be so hot, it really shouldn’t—"

Like you haven't already wrecked him beyond repair.

Caleb’s Evol comes back full force, pushing you prone against the mattress so you can’t feel anything but him, the arm around your throat dropping so his hand can press against your belly instead, pinning you down as he fucks into you so deep, so hard, you swear you can feel him in your lungs. His other hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back just enough for his lips to smash onto yours, sloppy, desperate, sucking at your bottom lip as the two of you jolt with each thrust. 

"You have no fucking idea," Caleb laughs against your lips, the words a feverish, choked-out confession, "how long I've wanted to do this to you."

It’s almost like he’s hammering that truth into you, each thrust hitting deeper, harder, the sound of skin on skin nearly drowned out by your own sobs of pleasure.

"Caleb—"

"Say it again," he demands, not even trying to keep his composure anymore. "Say it for me, princess. Say it like you mean it."

"Daddy—"

"Fuck."

Caleb really didn't need another kink, he really didn't need to imagine you calling him all these filthy things on top of every other sinful thing he's already imagined you doing. It must be divine punishment, because god was he into it.

Practically collapsing on top of you, Caleb's barely pulling out before grinding right back in as deep as he can get, like he can barely think to part from you even for a moment, like he needs to feel every twitch, every squeeze, every shudder of your overstimulated body. His hands roam wildly, equally greedy, kneading and groping every tender curve like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you, like he’s claiming you in ways he’s never let himself before. And fuck, you’re close. 

Caleb notices, of course he notices, nibbling the shell of your ear as the arm around your throat tightens, the other going right back to abusing your clit as you squirt all over him with a scream. 

“Aw that’s it, keep cumming sweet thing.” Caleb’s voice is the only thing grounding you, your entire body, your vision trembling as you begin to lose consciousness. The only thing you can think of is Caleb. Caleb, Caleb, Caleb!

You don’t even realize you’re screaming his name over and over again as you squirt down both of your thighs, making a mess against the already ruined sweat-slicked sheets beneath the two of you. You’re so damn messy. He loves it.

Convulsing, walls fluttering around him like you’re made for him, a sweet temptation Caleb is so laughably weak against as he follows, humping against you like a mad dog as his breath shatters into desperate, shaky moans of your name, spilling inside you with a force that has you sobbing with pleasure.

“Oh, princess,” he rasped, his tongue tracing over the tear-streaked path down your cheek before pressing a soft, almost mocking kiss to your jaw. “Shh, it’s alright, don’t cry. Your gege is here, your daddy will take good care of you, promise.”

Rafayel ♱⋅ ── the desperate

You’re going to have to call in sick for the week. 

Every year with the return of the tide, with the return of ebb-and-flow day, Rafayel becomes insatiable. You’ve barely been able to be able to escape Rafayel’s grasp for long enough to go to the bathroom, let alone escape enough from his insatiable fucking to walk well enough to fight. 

It’s never been this bad. And it’s all your fault. Being back in your arms after eight hundred years, finally remembering the way your voice sounds when it says his name and the way you fit oh so perfectly in his arms. It’s borderline painful to spend even a minute in your absence. His very body violently rejects the notion of it as spasms of violent heat and need drives him right back into your arms again and again and again. 

“Please, please let me fuck you. I can’t come like this, you know that.”

Rafayel’s voice is muffled against your thigh, breath hot as he presses a messy, open-mouthed kiss to your skin. His hands are clenched into the sheets beside him, trembling with the effort of keeping them off you, as you ordered. It’s the only rule you’ve given him tonight, and yet it’s breaking him.

"Rafayel," you warn, fingers buried between your thighs, working yourself open as his desperate, pleading gaze follows your every movement.

He whimpers, nodding frantically, his cock throbbing angrily where it rests against the mattress, one hand coming back to violently fist the swollen head as it leaks all over his palm and sheets.  "I know, I know," his voice cracks as he drags his hand around its base, rutting into his own palm like it’s not enough, like it hasn’t been enough for hours now. "But please I—fuck—I can’t."

“You can.” You spread your legs wider, letting him see, letting him watch your fingers disappear into your fluttering cunt with a slick, wet sound that has his jaw going slack, his own hips grind into the bed helplessly.  “I told you what would happen if you forgot to use a condom, again.”

Rafayel’s eyes plead up into yours, big fat tears slipping down his cheeks, his head shaking against your leg as he kisses the trembling flesh. "You don't understand," he sobs, nuzzling into the crook of your knee like he can smell the orgasm building inside you, like he can taste it on his tongue already. “I need- I need—”

"You need to learn control, Rafayel." 

Your voice is less strict than you’d like it to be, already embarrassingly close considering all the times you’ve come earlier today. And the way Rafayel’s looking up at you, begging, pleading, is really not helping. 

Tilting your hips slightly, you circle your clit in a way that makes your eyes roll back, making sure he sees the way your poor cunt flutters all empty, the way your body clenches, desperate for something more, something bigger.

Rafayel groans, his grip on himself tightening. Still, it’s useless, his Lemurian biology physically won’t let him cum unless it’s inside his pretty little mate, his cock swollen and weeping with how much he’s holding back, the pleasure that spikes through him now nothing but a cruel, agonizing echo of the real thing.

"My love," he chokes, head falling back against the mattress, his throat bobbing as he tries to breathe past the desperate hunger clawing at his insides. "My muse, my sweet darling, please. Taste you, touch you, anything, please!”

You hum, considering, rolling your hips against your own fingers as he moans, watching with wild, fevered eyes. "You wanna clean me up?"

"Yes."

The word is instant, sharp, like Rafayel’s been waiting for you to say it since the moment he first laid his hands on you tonight. Before you can even think of teasing or denying him any further, his grip snaps—both arms wrapping around your thighs, dragging you down the mattress in one swift, fluid motion.

"Rafayel—"

Too late.

His mouth is on you before you can protest, his tongue filthy as he sucks at your clit, licking up everything you’ve given yourself, drinking in the mess between your thighs like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. Slapping your own hands away, Rafayel pauses briefly to suck them clean before diving right back into the source, moaning into your cunt, making your body seize with another orgasm before you can even process the first.

"Fuck, fuck," Your hands fly to his hair, gripping hard, but it only makes him groan, rutting against the mattress, his own pleasure reigniting just from the taste of you. 

You try to pull away, squirming and kicking at Rafayel’s sides, his shoulders, but he doesn't even budge. His arms lock tight around your hips, keeping you there, keeping you spread for him as he eats you out like a man possessed. 

And then he's begging again, voice wrecked, slurred with delirious pleasure, licking at your clit between words as though he really can’t get enough.  “Please, please let me fuck you. I promise, mhm, promise I won’t cum inside you again.” 

Rafayel is still begging for permission even as he manhandles you beneath him, hesitantly parting with your cunt as he kisses up your stomach, sucking at one of your breasts as you feel the nudge of his cock against your entrance before you can even think. “Promise I’ll be good. I’ll be such a good boy.”

Fuck, you really are weak against him. 

Using the last of your strength, you flip the both of you around, grinding down against his cock as you feel it throb, violently jumping between your thighs, the sloppy, wet sound of each movement sending shivers down both your spines. Poor thing is already ruined, body extra sensitive due to his heat, cock swollen and leaking as it begs to be inside you. 

"You promise?" Your voice is a whisper, teasing, as you drag your soaked folds along the length of him, feeling him tremble beneath you.

Rafayel nods frantically, breath hitching, hands twitching at his sides like he wants to grab you, wants to force you down onto him, but he knows better. Knows he wouldn’t survive the punishment. His lips are red, glossy with your slick, parted around little choked-off whimpers as he fights against the desperate urge to rut up into you.

"I promise," he gasps,  "Please, I’ll be good, I swear, I’ll be so good for you.”

You hum, dragging your fingertips down his chest, nails scraping lightly over sweat-slicked skin, enjoying the way his breath shudders at the contact. The pain. "You say that, but you've already come inside me, what, three times now?" 

You rock your hips again, coating his cock in your arousal, watching the way his abs twitch with the effort of keeping still. Gods, he’s so pretty like this, neglected and crying underneath you, muscles strained and glistening with sweat and cum, watercolor eyes bleary as his tears collect on the mattress as dusky pink pearls. The same rosy shade of blush that burns across his cheeks, ears, and throbbing tip of his swollen cock. 

“That warrants punishment, don’t you think?”

Rafayel all but whines at that, head tilting back against the pillow, his throat bobbing as he tries to breathe, tries to hold on to the last fragile thread of control he has left. "I—I won't this time, I swear, I’ll be good, I just need you."

"You need me?" You lean down, pressing your lips just below his ear, letting your voice drop to a sinful whisper. "Or do you just need to fuck something, sweetheart?"

"You." Rafayel’s answer is immediate, desperate, his hands finally snapping up to grip your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh. "It’s always you. Only you, my mate."

The admission makes your stomach tighten, heat pooling low as you let yourself sink down, just enough for the swollen head of his cock to catch at your entrance. Rafayel jerks, eyes wide, mouth dropping open around a silent moan, his grip on you tightening like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

"Oh, fuck."

"You need me, you need your mate?" You tease, rolling your hips, letting him feel the wet heat of you without giving him what he really needs.

"Yes, please, please, please—"

And then, because you’re cruel, because you love seeing him like this, you lift yourself off him entirely.

Rafayel practically cries at that, and you let him plead, let him beg, until his whole body is shaking with the need to be inside you, until his voice is raw and wrecked from crying out your name. Then, finally, finally, you sink down, dropping the entirety of your weight onto him as you both moan at the sudden pressure as your ass smacks his pelvis with a lewd slap. 

Rafayel’s body aches up off the mattress, a wrecked, strangled moan tearing from his throat as his fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise. His head tilts back, chest heaving, eyes glassy and unfocused, dilated almost like a cat’s, as if the feeling of being inside you after so long is too much for his mind to comprehend.

"Fucking finally."

You barely have a moment to adjust before Rafayel thrusts.

Whatever fragile restraint he had is gone, obliterated the second your walls squeeze around him. His hips jerk up in a desperate, instinctual rut, shoving himself deeper, harder, until the thick length of him is buried to the hilt inside you, and then pulled all the way out before ramming back in again. You choke on a gasp, nails digging into his chest, but he doesn’t even seem to register the pain.

"More." Some inhumane warble distorts Rafayel’s voice, nails turning clawed and sharp as he thrusts up into you with more strength than any human should possess. “Perfect, perfect mate.”

Your head spins, the force of each snap of his hips making your whole body jolt. His desperation is relentless, dragging you closer to the edge far too fast, too intense, gripping onto his shoulders just to keep you from falling over as your thighs begin trembling once again. 

"Rafayel—Raf, slow down!"

"No," he whimpers, shaking his head wildly, hands tightening on your waist as if letting go isn’t an option. "No, please, sorry, need this." Rafayel’s voice breaks into a sort of trill, something like whalesong, eyes fluttering shut as he drives himself up into you, starved for more, cock throbbing desperately inside you. "Don’t leave me again, please.”

Your heart clenches. "I’m here," you whisper, leaning down, pressing your forehead to his as your body moves with his, rolling your hips as you try to stay in time with his brutal pace. "I’m right here, Rafayel."

He moans, high and broken, clutching you so tightly against him, feeling every inch of you pressed into his skin. His pace turns frantic, sloppy, body shaking beneath you as pleasure racks through him in violent waves. He’s close, but he won’t let himself fall over the edge alone.

"Come with me," he begs, his lips brushing over yours as he pleads for it. "Please.”

And you do.

The orgasm slams through you like a tidal wave, stealing every breath from your lungs as your entire body clenches around him. Rafayel keens, hips jerking wildly as he follows, his cock pulsing inside you as he fucks his cum deep inside you yet again, stuffing you full until you’re both shaking with overstimulation.

But it still doesn’t stop.

Rafayel can’t stop.

Even as his body trembles beneath you, even as his whimpers turn into sobs, he keeps moving, his hips rolling into you in slow, messy grinds. His cock twitches inside your still-clenching walls, sending violent aftershocks through you both.

"Mhh sorry," he moans, lips dragging down your throat, sucking bruises into your skin as if marking you will somehow keep you tethered to him. "Did it again, can’t help it. Pussy feels so nice, wants me too, always so desperate for me. Made to worship me."

You let out a wrecked, exhausted laugh, trying to lift yourself off of him, but his arms snap tight around your waist, keeping you anchored to him.

"No," he pleads, voice cracking, nuzzling into your neck as he breathes in your scent. "No, please, just—just a little more. You owe it to me for being so mean before."

Your head falls into the crook of his neck as yet another orgasm crashes through you, ripping a moan from your throat. Rafayel shudders, gasping against your skin, completely gone, his hips jerking helplessly, overstimulated beyond the point of caring. His body is moving on instinct now, neither of you fully conscious as he keeps moving on his own, chasing another high even as it breaks him.

"Fuck, Raf...”

"One more," he’s licking into your mouth, sucking your bottom lip, too tired and uncoordinated to properly kiss you. "One more, one more."

You don’t even know how many times you’ve both come. The world is a haze of heat and pleasure, of wet, messy grinds and deep, instinctual thrusts, of Rafayel’s loud, unashamed moans directly in your ear between kisses, of the desperate way he clings to you, unable to bear even a second, an inch of separation.

You ride him through another, and another, until your body finally gives out, completely limp against his chest, your limbs trembling too hard to keep yourself upright any longer. Rafayel follows soon after, his movements slowing, stuttering, until he’s finally, finally still beneath you, panting raggedly, body wracked with aftershocks.

The room is finally silent except for your heavy breathing, the two of you floating between sleep and reality for what seems like an eternity. 

"I think I might die," Rafayel croaks, voice hoarse.

You huff a weak, breathless laugh as you grumble into his shoulder. "Good, you stupid horny fish."

Sylus ♱⋅ ── the sweetheart (liar)

You’re going insane. 

Sylus promised he would finally fuck you, promised he’d finally give you what you’ve practically been begging him for all week. “Just the tip,” you’d beg, whining into his neck or suckling gently against his fingers in attempts to bait him, “Please, Sy, just the tip and I’ll stop asking.”

Technically speaking, he’s held up his end of the deal. After all, you’ve already cum four times. Not that it’s ever stopped you from wanting more. 

“What’s this? Are you even listening to me, sweetie?” Something jerks your head up, and you’re snapped out of your thoughts at the same time as Sylus grinds forward, humming as he pulls you closer on his lap, your thighs spread wide atop of his. “Tch, first all that whining and now you’re not even paying attention to me. I’m hurt, kitten.”

You shake your head as best you can with his thumb and forefinger still squishing your cheeks, tears from the sheer overstimulation blurring your vision as you bury your face into Sylus’s chest, chasing the mere friction. 

The fat head of his cock slips right back out of your cunt, tapping once, twice, on your swollen clit before grinding back in with a lewd pop. One inch, two, just enough for you to feel the delicious stretch of the tip of his cock, before Sylus lifts you up higher on his lap, pulling out as the torture begins all over again. 

You swear you can take more. It doesn’t matter than everytime Sylus lines up his cock it hits your bellybutton from the outside, it doesn’t matter that your hands can barely wrap around his base, it doesn’t matter that even when you suck him off your jaw throbs and he can barely thrust it in halfway without you gagging. 

“Sylus, please, please just—” you whine, rutting your hips down to no avail as his firm hands render you immobile. Watching you squirm with thinly veiled amusement. “Just fuck me already!” 

Your breath comes out in short, stuttered gasps, frustration bubbling over into pitiful little sobs against Sylus’s skin. He shushes you, rubbing slow, teasing circles into your hips as if he’s offering you comfort. But you know better. The bastard lives for this, the way your body trembles, how your cunt clenches down hard every time he pulls out, desperate for more than what he’s giving.

“Please.” A broken cry rips from your throat as he nudges forward again, pushing the tip back inside like he hasn’t already driven you half-mad. “I can take it. Ah, I swear, I can take it.” 

And yet, he’s still so fucking mean.

“Hmm,” Sylus’s voice drips with amusement, low and tinged with laughter as his lips graze the shell of your ear as though lost in thought. “No.”

You whine, digging your nails into Sylus’s back with more force than necessary as you hiss out curses, “Cruel, stubborn, self-assured asshole. I told you I can take it Syl—ah!”

Sylus pushes himself upward, roughly fucking his swollen tip against you, ramming that delicious spot within you as your curses dissolve into mindless babbles of his name, another orgasm ripping through you as you try and match Sylus’s rhythm by grinding yourself on the rest of his cock. 

“That’s it,” He hums, dragging his tongue along your pulse, relishing the way it hammers beneath his mouth.  He can feel how fast it beats, erratic and needy, the way your breath catches in your throat. “You’re gonna be good and take what I give you. Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re already fucked stupid. And I’ve barely even given you anything, kitten.”

It’s humiliating how right he is.

Your thighs tremble violently on either side of his, the ache in your muscles a dull, distant thing compared to the unbearable need twisting in your core. Desperate, you try to grind down, to force him deeper, to make him give you what you need. But Sylus just clicks his tongue, unimpressed, fingers digging into your hips as he holds you still, keeping you right where he wants you.

Sylus shifts back on the couch, pulling you down, controlling your movements with an infuriating ease, guiding you along the few inches he’s deemed fit to give you. It’s barely anything, nowhere near enough, but even that—just that slow, teasing roll of his hips—and the unbearable pressure of the thick, insistent tip of his cock is enough to make your back arch violently against him. 

“There we go,” he murmurs, cooing as he watches you, helpless and pliant in his lap. “No more complaining.”

A desperate nod. Another broken whine. 

You can feel it building again, the pressure coiling deep inside you, sharp and unbearable. Sobbing, you drop your head into Sylus’s shoulder, biting into the curve of his neck to muffle your cries, nails digging into his shoulders, chest, clawing violent red marks as Sylus shudders, eyes rolling back at the pain. Your legs are shaking too hard to do much of anything anymore, giving out as Sylus is the only thing left guiding you, dragging you toward yet another orgasm. 

Or rather, he would have. 

But you feel Sylus chuckle, the sound deep and sinful as it rumbles down his chest and into yours, and fear prickles along your spine. Then, with excruciating patience, he pulls out, leaving you empty all over again before tapping his throbbing cock against your clit—slow, deliberate, taunting.

“You wanted just the tip, sweetheart.” He grins, voice a low, cruel purr as he kisses your forehead. “So don’t start crying now that it’s all you’re getting.”

Xavier ♱⋅ ── the munch

“Then sit on my face.”

You stare, dumbfounded, as Xavier already begins leaning back against the cushions of your bed, those big, blue eyes begging up at you in ways that make it hard to breathe. 

Xavier’s hands tighten around your waist, fingers flexing like he’s barely restraining himself from yanking you down then and there. The heat of his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, making your pulse stammer, making every inch of you ache with want.

“Xavier, I didn’t actually mean…”

“You want me to prove it, right? Then I’ll do what I can to serve you well.” He’s dead serious, you realize, still staring down at him in shock as Xavier frowns, sitting up just long enough to wrap his arms around your waist and haul you toward him, seating you on his chest as protests die in your throat. “Sit.”

Biting your lip, you still find yourself hesitating. What if you’re too heavy? Or if he doesn’t actually like it? You still have your underwear on, shouldn’t you take it off, or does he plan on eating you through it? What if—

"You're thinking too much again." His voice is firm, but gentle, cutting straight through your spiraling thoughts. Before you can get another word in, he lifts you up from the backs of your thighs, guiding you forward until your knees are bracketing his head and you're hovering just above his waiting mouth.

Xavier groans, this is already better than his dreams—just having you above him, so close, so warm—is enough to make him lose his damn mind. His hands are keeping you steady, and when he tilts his head back to look at you again, you almost drown in the sheer hunger in his gaze.

"Please," he murmurs, breathless, sucking and kissing into your thighs like he can't believe you're making him wait so long for something he so, so desperately needs. "I really don’t think I can wait much longer."

A shudder racks through you, thighs trembling as the heat between your legs grows unbearable. Xavier’s so serious, so patient, despite the raw hunger in his voice, despite the way his chest rises and falls in uneven pants beneath you. You’d have to be cruel to deny him. 

Slowly, you lower yourself the rest of the way, bracing your hands against the headboard as Xavier immediately pulls you the last few inches down, shoving his face up into you like he’s starving.

He might as well be because the first swipe of his tongue is so hot, so eager, that you nearly jerk away from the sudden pleasure. Not that Xavier would let you. His fingers dig into the marked-up plush of your thighs, keeping you right there as he groans into your pussy like you’re the best fucking thing he’s ever tasted.

“Wait—” Your voice is already breaking, a gasp caught in your throat as he licks into you again, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every second of it. He doesn’t even bother pulling your underwear aside, just mouths at the fabric, dampening it further, teasing you through the barrier until it sticks to your folds and you’re a whimpering mess, gripping the headboard so tightly your knuckles ache. 

Then he shifts, hooking a single finger under the waistband, dragging it aside just enough to give himself proper access.

The first real flick of Xavier’s tongue against your clit is devastating.

A high, broken moan rips from your throat as pleasure jolts up your spine, your thighs snapping shut around his head, suffocating him as Xavier feels like the happiest man in the world. Moaning into your cunt, Xavier pulls you down harder against his mouth like he wouldn’t mind drowning in your pleasure if it meant he got to taste you for just a few seconds longer.

You’re already cumming. Head falling backward, your lips part in a silent scream as Xavier’s tongue continues circling around your clit in that same, devastating rhythm, only letting go once you’ve come all over his face. But he doesn’t stop for long. 

His tongue flicks and curls and fucks into you with the kind of dedication that makes your vision blur, that makes your whole body burn as you become more and more sensitive. And when you grind down against his mouth, desperate and trembling, he just groans in approval, encouraging you to ride his face like you need this just as much as he does.

"That's it," Xavier mumbles between licks, inaudible between your wet, sinful noises. "Don't hold back. Use me."

It’s too much. It’s not enough.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling hard, but it only makes him grin against you, only makes him suck harder, making you gasp and sob as your thighs start to shake once more around his head. Still, he devours you, no teasing, no hesitation. Just raw, ravenous hunger. 

"Xavier—"

He hums in response, the vibrations sending another sharp wave of pleasure through you. Then he finally fucks his tongue deep into your cunt, curling against your walls as you clench around the hot muscle, Xavier’s nose grinding deliciously into your clit as his hands begin guiding you back and forth once your rhythm falls apart. 

You come hard, a choked cry ripping from your throat as your body locks up, pleasure searing through every nerve. Xavier doesn’t stop—doesn’t let you escape—licking and sucking you through your orgasm like he needs every drop, like he won’t be satisfied until you’re a writhing, overstimulated mess above him.

“Ah, Xavier, seriously,” you whine, every suck against your clit now tender and overstimulated as you try and squirm away to no avail. “Can’t, Xavier, can’t come again!”

Crying, you finally manage to wrestle his head out from underneath you—body still shaking, pleasure crackling under your skin like a live wire—realizing something that makes your stomach flip.

Xavier is panting, eyes half-lidded and hazy with bliss, hair fisted in your hands as the rest sticks to his forehead and pillow with sweat, letting you inch off of him as he finally breathes, heaving in deep breaths through swollen, wet lips. His whole body shudders beneath you, and when you shift, you feel it—the sticky warmth against his stomach, the evidence of his release.

He came. Just from eating you out.

And the worst part?

He’s still hard.

“One more time, please?”

Zayne ♱⋅ ── the addicted

Uh oh. 

This was bad. 

Zayne has always considered himself a beacon of self-control, having grown up under the concept of restraint and caution when it came to everything from his Evol to his life’s work as a surgeon. 

But even he could get addicted to having you spread out underneath him like this. 

It had started innocently. Zayne had forgotten his lunch today, probably due to his consecutive sleepless nights, thanks to being on call for not two or three but four surgeries this week. So when you delivered his lunch to his private office like any sweet girlfriend would do, it was only natural that you’d want to see if you could help him feel more relaxed and maybe help relieve the stress that was so clearly fogging up his mind. 

This, however, was not what you had in mind.

"Zayne, someone is going to hear us," you hiss, voice trembling, but make no move to stop him.

Zayne only hums, two fingers rubbing right up against your clit with expert precision even with your jeans still unzipped around your waist. His other hand shucks them just barely down your thigh, pressing his fingers right back in, curling against that spot that has your legs jerking against the polished wood of his desk before dragging his fingers out of you agonizingly slow. 

"You should’ve locked the door when you came in, then." He says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, leaning down, his breath hot against your ear. His free hand presses against your stomach, keeping you pinned as he fucks you open with his fingers, movements slow, deliberate. "You know I don’t like being interrupted."

Your head tilts back against the desk as your cries are muffles into your palm. "Zayne!"

"You were the one who wanted to help relieve my stress, weren’t you?" His voice is calm, collected, like he isn’t knuckle-deep inside you with his fingers glistening from how wet he’s made you already. "So be a good girl and take it."

Your breath stutters, thighs twitching as you clench around his fingers, already embarrassingly close with how well he knows your body, how pent up you’ve been after not having Zayne in over a week. Meanwhile, Zayne watches you come undone with sharp, almost clinical eyes, the hunger in them barely restrained, a predator biding his time.

"Mhm, close, I can’t—"

"Yes, you can," he cuts you off smoothly, pressing his fingers deeper, rubbing firm, steady circles over your clit. His expression doesn’t change, but his voice dips lower, smiling ever so slightly as he watches you. "Come for me."

You shudder violently, hands gripping the edges of the desk as another orgasm threatens to crash over you, your body far too weak to resist the relentless pleasure.

"Zayne," you cry out, hips jerking.

He clicks his tongue, allowing you to ride out your orgasm, but not before ripping his tie off, deft, scarred hands looping through the expensive silk before balling it up and pushing it into your open mouth. 

“What did I say about staying quiet?”

Your response is stifled around his tie, and Zayne feels his traitorous cock throb at the sound of your fucked out, inaudible voice, the very picture of debauchery with the slight drool smearing your lipstick, your eyes hazy with post-orgasm glow, your office button-down skewed across your breasts just enough so be can squeeze your breast right under your lacy bra. 

He wants to ruin you even more. 

Zayne has barely even zipped down his pants, holding up his own shirt as he bites it to keep his leaking cock from smearing pre-cum all over the cotton, before he’s desperately fucking his own fist with one hand, the other still circling your clit. 

When the sound of voices echo from right outside his office door. 

Your body jerks under him at the sudden noise, but Zayne doesn’t stop. If anything, he doubles down, pressing his slick fingers harder against your clit, wrenching another broken sob from your throat, muffled by the tie still shoved between your lips.

“Don’t you dare,” he whispers, voice low, dangerous. His free hand tightens around his cock, stroking faster, more desperate, more sloppy than you’ve ever seen him. The sight alone has your walls clenching down around nothing, a fresh wave of arousal making a mess of his desk and the scattered papers on top. 

The voices outside the door grow louder, and Zayne’s entire body tenses. Not with fear. Not with hesitation. But something that he thinks might ruin him forever. 

“I should stop,” he murmurs, though his fingers never leave you, still rubbing circles into your overstimulated clit, dragging you higher, forcing you to ride that unbearable edge of pleasure. His teeth clench, brows furrowed as his pace on his own cock stutters, his restraint cracking with every second that passes. “I really should stop.”

You whimper, body trembling beneath him, a plea barely audible around the silk in your mouth.

“But you love this, don’t you?” His voice drops, rasping, guttural. “You love making me a mess, love knowing that the only thing keeping us from getting caught is how good you are for me.”

Zayne never talks like this, but god, now you wish he’d never stop. His mere voice is enough to send you over the edge once again. Your moan is strangled, raw, hips lifting weakly into his touch despite the overstimulation.

The door handle rattles.

Zayne snaps, one arm shooting out as ice surrounds the handle, spears of it crawling over the wooden frame of the door, across the tiled floor as he loses control. 

He barely spares it a glance. Pulling the tie from your mouth, Zayne immediately replaces it with his lips, swallowing your gasp as he shoves two fingers back inside you, curling them deep, his strokes ruthless, relentless. His other hand leaves his cock only long enough to drag you forward, forcing your legs around his waist, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance as he moans into your mouth.

"Zayne, your Evol—"

"Don’t worry about me," he hums, kissing you one more time before his gaze drops, watching where the two of you meet. “You’ve done more than enough for me. You’ve always been enough for me.” And he pushes in inch by inch, stretching you open around his thick length, your body still pulsing and greedy from your last orgasm.

Zayne exhales sharply, his forehead pressing against yours as he stills, buried inside you. His fingers flex against your waist, grounding himself, keeping himself from completely unraveling.

 “That’s it, breathe,” he murmurs, voice back to the soft, low tone you know so well, the urgency melting into something reverent. He presses a kiss to your cheek, then another to your jaw, as if to soothe you through the stretch. “You’re perfect.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging gently as you grind upward, coaxing him into going faster, into actually fucking you. 

Zayne groans, his control fraying as he clutches you tighter, nose brushing against yours. “You're going to be the death of me,” he whispers, lips ghosting yours in a kiss, the intimacy making your heart clench.

It starts simple. Just the two of you, killing time on a hot-ass day.

Mark's stretched out on his bed in a plain white tee and sweatpants, bare feet dangling off the edge, a comic held above his face. You're lying on your stomach beside him, scrolling through your phone with one hand and popping grapes into your mouth from the bowl on the nightstand with the other. The fan hums overhead, blades lazily spinning, sending a soft breeze that flutters the edge of your shirt.

It's been one of those quiet days--easy, comfortable, familiar. The kind of day that slips by without effort. You've been friends forever. Close enough to joke about everything, to touch without flinching, to share a bed or a bite of food without thinking twice.

But lately?

Something's been simmering beneath the surface. Something unspoken. Lingering glances. That low, fluttery buzz in your stomach when your shoulders brush. When his thigh bumps yours. When he looks over at you with sleep-wrecked hair and that heavy-lidded stare.

You should be used to it by now. This closeness. This... everything. But it's getting harder to ignore how good his arms look when he stretches, or how your stomach does that dumb little flip every time he laughs in that sleepy, raspy voice.

And today?

Today, he looks too good for his own damn safety.

You glance up from your phone--not really meaning to--and find yourself looking at his mouth. He's chewing the corner of his lip, eyes flicking across the comic like he's actually reading, but his fingers haven't turned the page in a while. His shirt's riding up just a bit, teasing a strip of his stomach.

And God help you, you notice.

You stare. Look back at your phone. Pop a grape in your mouth like that'll fix anything.

It doesn't.

When you glance up again, he's smiling. Not at you--at something in the comic--but the way the corner of his mouth lifts first? The way it makes that damn dimple show?

That should be illegal. Like, arrest-worthy--because of that dimple? Way too hot.

(As if he wasn't already criminally attractive.)

His arm is resting near yours, casual and close, and for some reason... it's his hand that catches your attention this time. The veins. The tendons. The long, twitchy fingers. You watch them turn a page, and something flutters in your chest--sharp and sudden.

"...Hey," you murmur, nudging his arm. "Lemme see your hand."

Mark glances over, confused but obliging. "Uh... okay?"

He lowers the comic, and you immediately take his hand in yours--palm to palm.

And holy shit.

"I knew it," you mutter. "You've got big hands."

Mark furrows his brow. "I mean... you've got tiny hands. That's not really a surprise."

"No, no. This is different." You scoot closer, studying the way your fingertips don't even reach the last knuckle of his. "They're longer. Like, spider-leg long."

He snorts. "Gee, thanks."

But his voice cracks slightly, trying to be casual. He thinks he's being casual. But inside? His brain is already short-circuiting.

Why are you looking at his hand like that?

Why are you holding it like that?

You glide your fingers slowly to his, tracing the length with teasing precision. "I mean it as a compliment. Kinda."

"'Kinda,'" he echoes, already scrambling, because your voice just dropped half an octave and his heart's pounding.

You shoot him a look. "Don't get cocky just 'cause your mutant fingers are hot."

He chokes. "My what?!"

But you're not letting it go. Not now. Not after your brain catches up to the possibilities.

Those fingers... long, nimble, warm. Strong when they grip things. And you've seen the way they wrap around water bottles, seen how they flex when he's clenching a fist or holding a pencil or absentmindedly drumming on his thigh while thinking.

God, what could those fingers do to you?

You stare down at your hands against his, thoughts spiraling rapidly from innocent observation to filthy, spiraling fantasy.

His long fingers wrapped around your throat. Curling inside you just right, hitting that perfect spot that makes you see stars. Holding your hips down while you squirm beneath him, breathless, begging him to stop because it's too much, it's too good--and you don't know if you can take it.

You feel a rush of heat crawl up to your neck, something throbbing deep and low, causing you to press your thighs together without thinking--tight, needy, like your body's already begging for his hands.

And Mark feels it too. Feels the shift. Sees the look in your eyes and he's panicking.

"Okay, weird inspection's over--" he tries to pull away.

But you catch his wrist and give him that look.

The one that says: you're not leaving this moment unscathed.

His stomach flips.

Then your lips curl into a devilish grin, slow and deliberate, causing Mark's breath to hitch. He watches your lips part, feeling his mouth go dry until--

"...You ever put those fingers to good use, Grayson?"

Your voice is silk and heat. And Mark?

Mark's brain lags like a bad Wi-Fi connection.

"I--wha--what does that even mean?" he stammers, eyes wide, cheeks already tinting red as your grip on his wrist tightens just slightly. His fingers twitch against yours, and you swear you feel a spark shoot up your arm.

You lean in closer, like you're about to share a secret.

"It means," you purr, tracing one of his long fingers with your nail, from base to tip in a deliberate, slow drag. "you've got tools, Mark. Real potential. And now I'm wondering what they'd feel like... y'know..."

You let your voice drop, eyes lidded. "Inside someone."

Mark makes a choked sound in his throat, like his soul just left his body. "You're messing with me," he says, voice shaky, trying hard to sound firm. "You--this is just another one of your dumb jokes."

You tilt your head, that same grin playing at the corner of your mouth as your fingers slide down his palm, lightly tickling the veins there. "Am I joking?" you ask inocently. "Or are you just scared?"

"Scared?!" he repeats, voice cracking.

"Oh yeah," you hum. "You're redder than a tomato right now. What, is it too much? Can't handle a little finger talk?"

"I can handle--" Mark's voice pitches, indignant and flustered all at once. "It's not like I haven't--done stuff before!"

"Yeah?" you lean forward, so close now that your lips are barely a few inches from his, eyes locked. "Then prove it."

Mark's breath hitches. "W-What?"

You keep going, teasing, relentless, your voice practically wrapping around him. "Show me how good they are. Those hands of yours. Or was all that talk just for show?"

And then--click.

His jaw clenches, eyes flicking down to your mouth, then back up, shoulders stiffen like he's bracing himself.

And you see it.

The moment Mark Grayson breaks.

"You're playing with fire," he says, voice low and dangerous.

Your smirk deepens. "Good. I like the burn."

And suddenly, his hand that had been under yours moves. Firm and sure, sliding up, fingers brushing your wrist, your forearm, until he's gripping just below your elbow.

"You want me to use my fingers?" he asks, voice husky now, a dark undercurrent that wasn't there before. "On you?"

You pause for a breath, caught by the tension snapping in the air.

"...I mean," you whisper, "unless you're too scared."

His smile curves--crooked and dangerous. "I already told you. I can handle it."

Then his hand slides up to your jaw, tilting your chin--slow, deliberate, commanding. Your breath catches as you watch the way his eyes darken, eyes lidded as he stares you down.

"And I will," he adds. "But if I do, you better be ready to take all of it. No running away when it gets too much. No teasing halfway."

Your heart pounds. His fingers--god, those fingers--are cradling your jaw now, brushing over your lips, your cheek, slow and maddening.

"I don't run," you whisper.

He leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs, "Then lie back."

And you do.

You don't break eye contact when you shift, body thrumming with heat as you lie back on his bed, sinking into his sheets. There's a moment--just one--where you feel almost too exposed, nerves prickling under your skin. You hadn't expected him to rise to the challenge. Not like this. Not with that look in his eye.

Mark settles beside you, bracing one hand next to your head, the other skimming down your side.

"You sure?" he murmurs, voice a low rasp, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. "You're not gonna tap out if I go too far?"

You grin, but your voice wavers with need. "Try me."

And that's all it take for Mark to snap.

His mouth crashes into yours--hot, messy, hungry. It's not your first kiss, but it feels like the first time he's really kissing you, like he's been waiting to unleash it. His tongue tangles with yours as his hand slides down to your waistband, pushing your shirt up just enough to expose your stomach.

"You looked so smug earlier," he growls, teeth catching your bottom lip. "Talking shit about my fingers like you weren't desperate for me to use them on you."

You gasp into the kiss. "I wasn't--!"

"You were," he says, cutting you off as his fingers trail beneath your waistband, over your panties. "And now I get to hear how cocky you sound when you're soaked."

He drags two fingers between your legs, slow, and you jerk beneath him with a soft moan.

"God, you're already wet?"

"Shut up," you pant, trying to squirm, but he presses his hand down--just enough to hold you still.

"Oh, now you wanna be shy?" His smirk is wicked. "Nah. I want all that attitude. I want you to look me in the eye when I make you fall apart."

He hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties and drags them down your thighs. You kick them off, already impatient, legs shifting restlessly.

Then his hand is back.

Two fingers sliding through your folds, dragging through slick heat. He watches every reaction--how your breath catches, how your hips jerk, how your thighs twitch open wider for him.

"Fuck," he murmurs. "You feel good."

Then--pressure.

His middle finger sinks in first, slow but firm, filling you with a stretch that makes your toes curl.

You gasp. "Shit--Mark!"

"Too much already?" he teases, even as he pumps it in and out, curling slightly on each thrust. "That's just one, babe."

You throw your arm over your eyes, breath coming faster. "Don't you fucking dare--"

"Oh, I'm gonna."

And without warning--

He adds a second finger.

The stretch is intense--but it's not painful. It's deep. Long. And his fingers--god, they reach so much further than yours ever could. He starts working them with slow, deep thrusts, curling them just right.

"Fuck--right there," you gasp, hips stuttering against the bed.

Mark freezes, grinning. "There?"

You glare at him through hazy lashes. "If you stop now I swear to god--"

But he doesn't stop.

He grinds the heel of his palm against your clit and starts really fucking you with his fingers--deep, fast, curling perfectly with every thrust. The squelch of slick heat fills the room, obscene and loud. Your thighs are shaking, hips bucking helplessly against him.

"Listen to you," he groans, pupils blown wide. "Dripping all over my hand. You like these long fingers, huh? You were practically begging for it without even saying it."

You can't even argue--not with your head thrown back, jaw slack, moaning with every snap of his wrist. The way his long fingers curl perfectly to hit that spot over and over again that makes you scream, pumping slowly just to tease you.

"Mark--oh fuck! Don't stop--!"

"That's it, baby," he growls. "You gonna cum for me? Just from my fingers?"

You nod frantically, too far gone to speak. And he knows it--he fucks you faster now. Deeper. Grinning when you babble his name between whimpers and gasps.

And when you cum?

It's messy--loud, full-body shudders, thighs clamping around his wrist as you cry out and clamp down around his fingers, your back arching clean off the bed.

"Fuck," Mark mutters, watching you like he's starving. "God, that was--"

You don't even hear him.

Your brain feels like it's turned to liquid. Your body's still shaking and clenching weakly around his fingers.

He pulls them out slowly, dragging them through your folds one more time before lifting them to his mouth. His lips part, and he sucks them clean, eyes fixed on yours the entire time.

"Guess my fingers aren't so freakish after all, huh?" he murmurs, voice husky.

You blink at him, dazed.

"...They're worse," you whisper. "They're a fucking problem."

He smirks.

"Good. I hope you suffer."

You huff, rolling your eyes playfully as you try to catch your breath--still panting, legs slack, thighs twitching with the aftershocks. Your body feels like it's been melted into the sheets, your skin hot and humming.

But despite the high, despite your racing heart... something heavier, hotter, and needier is pulsing between your legs now:

Greed.

He had the audacity to smirk at you while tasting you from his fingers. The gall to look you in the eye, lips glistening, and say he hopes you suffer.

Like, what the actual fuck?

He thinks he's in control no--acting all smug and high just by making you cum with those long fingers of his.

But the truth is--he's not.

You stare up at him, eyes hooded, lips parted. Mark's still leaning over you, licking his fingers clean with that cocky-ass smirk that makes your stomach clench all over again.

And that's when you see it.

The shape of him. His sweatpants are tented with zero shame--his hard-on straining against the thin fabric, leaking just from touching you. He's rock hard, flushed all the way to his ears, but he hasn't even touched himself yet.

You grin, breathless.

"Oh my god," you whisper. "You're fucking dripping."

Mark freezes. "I--shut up."

You sit up slowly, your strength returning in wicked waves. "All that from just fingering me?"

His mouth opens, then closes. His confidence falters. "I mean, you--you were hot--"

You crawl toward him on your hands and knees--half-naked, eyes locked on his. "You came in cocky, Mark," you murmur. "But you didn't think about what happens after, did you?"

He sits back a little, swallowing hard. "After...?"

You reach for the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging it down a bit to reveal more of that delicious faint trail of hair that disappears under his boxers.

You glance up at him, mock-innocent as a wicked smile spreads across your face.

"My turn."

Mark hisses through his teeth when you yank them down. His cock springs free--thick, flushed, the tip wet with precum, twitching like it's been dying for attention. And you just smile at the sight of it, all flushed and twitching against his stomach.

You wrap your hand around the base, deliberately slow, and his entire body goes rigid.

"Oh, baby," you coo, grinning like you didn't just almost trip on the sheets. "You were so good for me just now. You deserve a little treat, right?"

"I--fuck--fuck," Mark pants as your fist glides up the length, thumb swiping over the head, smearing the slickness there. "Jesus--your hands feel--"

"Not freakish?" you tease, lips brushing his throat as you pump him in slow, tight strokes. "Mine might be smaller, but I know exactly how to use them."

His head drops back, neck straining.

Your thumb presses under the head, circling the ridge, and his hips thrust into your grip with a gasp.

"Shit--you're gonna make me cum--!"

"Already?" You pout. "But I was just getting started..."

And you are. You bend down, lips parting over the tip, and when your tongue flicks across that sensitive slit, Mark whimpers.

Loudly.

You flatten your tongue against the underside and drag it slowly to the head, then suck him into your mouth until your cheeks hollow around him.

You moan around him, causing Mark to cry out loud from the sudden vibration shooting throughout his body.

"Fuckfuckfuck--" His hands claw at the sheets. "That's not fair--you can't--Jesus--"

But you're not stopping.

You keep going.

Your hand stays tight around the base while your mouth takes the rest--sucking, swirling, teasing until his thighs are shaking and he's leaking even more, gasping your name like it's the only word he remembers.

He lifts his head to watch you, wide-eyed and wrecked, eyes glassy.

"You're--you're evil," he chokes. "You're so--fucking perfect--I'm not gonna last--"

You need a breath. A break. But the way he's looking at you, like he'd worship the ground you walk on just for sucking him dry? You're not done yet. You pull off him with a pop, strings of spit connecting from your lips to his tip as you grin up at him, spit-slick lips shining.

"That's the point."

Then your fist tightens, your mouth drops back down, and you suck him deep this time--fast, wet, filthy, until his thighs are shaking and he's panting and begging under his breath:

"Please, baby--please let me cum--fuck, I need it--I need it so bad--"

You hum low around him.

And that's all it takes.

He explodes with a groan so guttural it doesn't sound real--his body locking up, his hand gripping your hair, his cock twitching hard as he spills into your mouth in thick, hot spurts.

You swallow everything.

Everything.

Not a single drop was wasted. Even after he cums, you keep going. Sucking slow, dragging it out. His hips twitch helplessly, his breath ragged and choked.

"Too much," he whines, trying to push your head back. "I-I can't--"

You finally pull off, eyes gleaming, lips shiny.

"You lasted longer than I thought," you murmur sweetly. "Guess those long fingers aren't the only impressive thing on you."

He collapses backward onto the bed, totally fucked out, arm thrown over his eyes. "Holt shit," he rasps. "I'm gonna die."

You crawl up beside him, curling against his chest. "You're not dying," you whisper against his neck. "You're just getting started."

Mark groans. "You're gonna kill me."

"And you're gonna thank me for it," you tease.

He chuckles breathlessly, still trying to catch his breath as you tangle your legs with his--one hand lazily tracing the lines on his stomach, your breath warm against his skin.

You hear it before you feel it: the hitch in his breath, the subtle twitch of his hips, the way his fingers shift to grip your waist just a little tighter.

You grin.

"...Mark," you murmur, chin resting on his chest. "Are you getting hard again?"

He groans and throws an arm over his face. "Don't judge me--"

You shift up and straddle his hips, grinding down slightly--and there it is. Hard. Thick. Already twitching.

"Oh my god." You laugh, breathless. "You're actually insane."

Mark peeks out from under his arm, flushed and panting. "You sucked the soul out of me. What do you expect?"

You lean in, dragging your nails slightly across his chest. "You really wanna go again?"

He locks eyes with you.

Then--his voice drops.

"Not just go again," he murmurs. "I wanna taste you now."

Your breath catches. "What--"

"I've been thinking about it since you got on top of me." His hands slide to your ass, squeezing hard. "Since I watched your pretty lips wrapped around my cock, swallowing every drop I had. You made me cum so much... and now I think it's my turn to return the favor back."

You gasp as he sits up, flipping you easily until you're underneath him, and then back again until you're straddling his face.

"Mark--" your voice cracks. "This is--this is so unfair."

"You teased me, sucked me dry, smirked through it like you won," he growls, kissing the inside of your thigh. "So now? I'm eating you until you cry."

Then--his mouth.

Oh, god--his mouth.

He grabs your thighs and pulls you down onto his face, tongue instantly diving between your folds, lapping at you like he's starving.

Your scream tears out of you before you can stop it--leaving no time to be embarrassed.

His lips seal around your clit and suck hard, sending a shockwave through your core that makes your legs buckle. His tongue flicks, circles, teases--then plunges deep inside you, fucking you with his mouth like he's trying to wring another orgasm out of you right now.

"Mark--fuck, I--" You can't even breathe.

He groans under you, gripping your thighs tighter, pulling you in closer, not letting you up. Every movement is greedy, possessive--he eats you like it's his, like this is the only thing that matters in the word right now.

You grab the headboard for balance, hips rocking against his face uncontrollably.

His nose nudges your clit just right. His tongue? Fucking ruthless. And those long fingers?

Oh--they're back, baby.

One slips inside again, already soaked, curling just right--then another, his mouth and fingers working together in tandem.

You cry out, thighs trembling violently. "Mark--I'm--I'm gonna cum again--I can't--"

But he doesn't stop.

His voice is muffled against your cunt, but you hear it:

"Cum on my face."

You shatter.

You scream his name, hips grinding down as your orgasm slams into you--so much harder than the first. Your vision goes white, your body convulsing as you ride his mouth, dripping all over him.

He moans through it. Drinks through it.

Even as your thighs tremble, even as you whimper and twitch, he doesn't let up. He licks you through it, into it--until your entire body goes limp, slumping forward against the wall behind his bed, breathing like you ran a marathon.

He finally pulls back, chin soaked, eyes blown out and obsessed as he stares up at you.

"You good?" he pants, voice hoarse.

You shake your head, dazed and breathless. "No. I'm dead. You ruined me."

He grins, flipping you back underneath him again, kissing down your throat. "Good," he growls. "Because I'm not done yet until I make you scream my name again."

You whine, your body trembling--eyes dazed, thighs slick, lips parted as you try to catch your breath. Your body's spent, slick between your legs, twitching with every brush of air. Mark's leaning over you, breath warm on your neck, and the look in his eyes is feral.

"You said I ruined you," he rasps, his hand slipping between your thighs, spreading you wide again, and he groans when he feels how soaked you still are. "Then let me finish the job."

You barely manage a nod--your body is too needy, too raw and desperate to even protest. And when he grabs his cock--hard again, thick and flushed--you nearly whimper at the sight of it.

He runs the head through your folds, gathering every bit of slick he pulled out of you, then lines himself up.

"You still want this?" he growls, voice low, teeth gritted as he teases your entrance. "Still want me to fuck you, even like this?"

You nod frantically, fingers curling into the sheets. "Please, Mark--I need it, I need you--inside me--"

He snaps.

In one deep, smooth thrust, he sinks all the way in--bottoming out with a groan so guttural it makes your toes curl.

"F-Fuck--" he gasps, forehead dropping to yours. "You're so tight, fuck--you feel so--shit."

You cry out, body jolting as you stretch around him. It's too much--he's thick and hot and deep, and your cunt is still aching from earlier.

But god, it's perfect.

"You're dripping," he grits, thrusting in slowly, deliberately deep. "Still fucking leaking from my fingers and my mouth--and now this pussy's clenching like it never wants me to leave."

You whimper. "I don't. Don't pull out."

He growls like an animal, grabbing your thighs and pinning them up toward your chest, folding you beneath him as he fucks deeper.

"Yeah?" he snarls. "You want me to fill you up? Get you so full of me you're leaking for days?"

You moan, nails digging into this back. "Wanna feel you everywhere--"

"You will," he promises, voice harsh and breathless. "I'm gonna fuck you so deep, you'll still feel me when you walk tomorrow."

His hips start snapping forward faster--harder. His cock slams into your sweet spot, dragging wet, obscene sounds out of you with every thrust. You can barely breathe--his pace is brutal now, deep and punishing, hips slamming into yours.

"Mark--fuckfuck, you're so deep--!" you sob, legs wrapped around his waist.

He snarls into your neck, biting down gently. "You take it so fucking good. Look at you. Fucked out. Crying for me."

Your eyes are rolling. You're drooling. His cock hits that spit so perfectly, your vision's going white again.

"Cum again," he demands. "Now."

You wail--your orgasm crashes over you with no warning, your body seizing as you scream his name. You tighten around him so hard it nearly rips a groan out of him.

"Fuck--! Shit, baby," Mark shudders, barely hanging on. "You're--fuck, you're milking me--I can't--"

His rhythm falters, slamming in once--twice--then freezes.

And then he cums.

Hard.

Hot.

Deep.

You feel it--pulse after pulse of him spilling inside, thick and warm, coating your insides until it's leaking back out around his cock. His whole body shakes above you, every muscle straining as he rides out his orgasm with a ragged, animalistic moan.

"Shit--oh my god--" he pants, hips still twitching.

You're both shaking, your bodies stuck together by sweat and heat and slick, breaths ragged and broken.

"...Holy shit," you whisper, voice cracking.

Mark lets out a breathless laugh into your neck.

"So... round five?"

You smack his chest.

"Let me live first, you goddamn Viltrumite freak."

He just grins against your skin. "You love it."

You do.

God help you--you do.

You breathe out a shaky laugh, not sure if you're recovering... or relapsing.

You love it when he holds you like this after. When all the teasing and tension fades into something quieter. When he doesn't let go. When his forehead rests against yours like he might be just as afraid of what this means. When the jokes stop and it's just breath and heartbeat and skin--and it feels like that neither of you really knows how to walk away anymore.

Your heart's still pounding. Every nerve in your body still sings from where he touched you, where he held you down, where he pulled you apart with maddening precision. His fingers--those fingers--are still ghosting idle circles into your thigh, like they don't know they've already ruined you.

Mark's body is half-draped over yours, his weight is grounding, his breath brushing your collarbone in slow, satisfied exhales. There's a smear of your lip gloss near his jaw. A bite mark on his shoulder. Your nails carved down his back like proof.

Neither of you speaks.

The air is thick with sweat, heat, and sex. The fan buzzes lazily overhead. Your lungs are still catching up. Your thighs are still twitching.

But the thing is--Mark is still inside you, yes.

But he's also brushing sweaty strands of hair from your face like you're something precious. Like the way he held your jaw earlier was just the start of something dangerous and tender.

You feel him twitch once, lazily, and you both groan at the oversensitive drag of it.

"...You didn't pull out," you mumble, voice cracked and hoarse.

He lets out a dazed, cocky little laugh into the crook of your neck. "Yeah," he exhales, "No shit."

You can't help the soft, worn-out giggle that escapes you. There's a lot of him still leaking out of you. You can feel it. And the worst part?

You love it.

You love the way he claimed you. The mess. The stretch. The soreness. The heat still blooming in your stomach like something dangerous took root there.

His arm slides under your shoulders, cradling you against him, and you feel the press of his lips at your temple.

"You okay?" he whispers. "Did I go too hard?"

You turn your head slightly and stare at him. Your voice is flat. "You ate me like i was your final meal and then ruined my soul."

Mark snorts.

You swat his side. "That's a yes, in case you were wondering"

He groans dramatically and buries his face in your neck. "I blacked out somewhere around round three. I'm not even sure what happened."

"You talked dirty. Like, filthy filthy."

"Did I?" he says, voice muffled against your skin. "That doesn't sound like me."

You shift under him and immediately regret it.

A sharp gasp escapes you.

"Oh my god," you whimper. "I'm gonna feel you for a week."

"...Still inside you, by the way," Mark adds, so helpfully. "Which means if I twitch just a little--"

"Don't you dare."

He grins against your collarbone. "You'd let me."

You don't answer.

Because he's right.

Instead, you run your fingers through his sweaty hair and rest your cheek against his head. The silence settles again--quiet and warm, his heart beating against yours. His fingers draw slow, lazy circles on your side.

After a moment, he murmurs, "Hey."

You hum in response.

"...I really like you, y'know."

That makes your eyes open.

You turn your head again and find him staring at you--soft-eyed, messy-haired, completely wrecked and somehow still beautiful. There's no teasing in his voice this time. Just bare, honest reaction.

And just like that--

You're ruined all over again.

You smile.

"Yeah," you whisper. "I really like you too, Grayson."

Then, he kisses you slow. No pressure. No rush. Just lips pressed to lips, fingers curled around your waist, two bodies tangled under the weight of everything you just shared.

Eventually, when your legs stop trembling and your brain returns to your body, he finally pulls out with a hiss and a curse--and you both watch the mess drip out of you with tired fascination.

"...That's disgusting," you mumble.

Mark beams. "That's mine."

You groan and bury your face in the pillow.

"Round five in the morning?" he adds sweetly.

You lift one hand and flip him off.

Mark just laughs, too proud of himself to care. He ducks down to press a kiss to your shoulder--mocking, smug, sweet.

"I'll take that as a yes."

You groan again, rolling to the side and dragging the sheet up with you, your legs still too shaky to trust. Your body's wrecked. Mark's still watching you like he hasn't had enough--like he's already plotting round five.

"It's a fuck you, actually."

"That's what I said."

You shoot him a look over your shoulder--flat, unimpressed, exhausted. "Mark."

He blinks. "Yeah?"

You sigh, voice softer this time. "Let's just sleep."

That quiets him.

For a second, he studies you--really looks. The sweat still drying on your skin. The twitch of your thighs. The way your brows pinch just barely, even now, like you're so close to your limit. Not just physically, but emotionally too.

And he nods.

"Yeah. Okay," he says, voice low and sincere.

He shifts behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist as you tuck into the pillow. No teasing. No pushing. Just his hand smoothing down your side in slow, grounding strokes. His breath brushes the nape of your neck.

"I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs.

You hum, already half-asleep. "Didn't ask you to."

But still--you relax a little more.

And just before sleep claims you, with his breath warm against your skin, you wonder if maybe you never really stood a chance.

Not against this. Not against him.

-----

You don't remember falling asleep.

Just the weight of him behind you, his hand warm over your stomach, his breath steady at the nape of your neck.

And now--

Now the sun is leaking through the blinds, gold and heavy. The fan hums above in slow, lazy spins. You blink, throat dry, body screaming at you with every little twitch.

But your body doesn't hurt in a bad way. No, this is the type of pain you wake up smiling through--sore thighs, a faint ache between your legs, the ghost of deep pressure low in your stomach. You're covered in dried sweat, bite marks, and hickeys that are definitely going to show. And the worst part?

You'd do it all over again.

You will do it all over again--if the way Mark's arm is slung across your waist, his hand curled possessively against your stomach, is any indication. He's still behind you, breathing slow and even, clinging to you even in his sleep like he's afraid you'll vanish if he lets go, like you're his.

You blink at the ceiling. Still in Mark's bed. Naked. Under a single thin sheet.

Then you try to move.

Instant regret.

"Ow," you whisper sharply, gripping your thigh.

Behind you, Mark groans and shifts. "Told you I'd ruin you," he murmurs, still half-asleep and smug.

You elbow him in the ribs.

"I hate you," you mumble into his pillow.

He kisses your shoulder. "No you don't."

You grumble something incoherent and try to sit up again. Your legs wobble. You glare at him over your shoulder.

"I swear to god, Mark Grayson--if I can't walk straight today--"

He grins, looking away too pleased with himself.

"Then my job here is done."

You lunge for a pillow and whack him across the face with it, which only makes him laugh harder, arms wrapping around your waist to drag you back down.

"C'mon," he murmurs, voice gravelly. "Five more minutes. You're warm."

"I'm sticky," you shoot back, squirming.

"Still warm."

He shifts behind you again and you feel the unmistakable twitch of something hard pressing against your ass.

"Mark."

"...Ignore it."

"MARK."

He laughs, breath puffing against your skin. "It's not my fault you were making those sounds last night," he grins, shameless. "My body remembers."

You groan and cover your face with both hands. "We were so loud."

"I told you not to scream my name."

"You told me to look you in the eye and cum on your cock!"

"Oh yeah." He grins, eyes dreamy. "That was a good moment--"

Knock knock.

You both freeze.

Your soul leaves your body.

"Mark?"

It's Debbie's voice.

"You up? I brought breakfast--"

"NO--NO, I'M GOOD--WE'RE GOOD!" he yells suddenly, leaping halfway out of bed while fumbling for a shirt to cover your both. One leg gets caught in the sheets, and he slams straight into the nightstand. "Shit--!"

The lamp crashes to the floor, and you cackle behind your hand, trying to stay silent.

"YOU DON'T HAVE TO COME IN--!"

Too late.

The door opens.

And behold--

Debbie stands in the doorway holding a tray of toast, eggs, and orange juice.

And guess what she sees?

You. Naked. In Mark's bed.

Mark. Shirtless, sweaty, the room reeked of sex.

The sheet is halfway off your body. Hickeys. Hair a mess. Her son's very obvious boner.

You want to die.

You want the ground to swallow you whole.

Debbie blinks once--twice--and looks at Mark. Then at you. And then at the tray. "...Well," she says calmly. "I guess breakfast can wait."

A pause.

"Next time, lock the door. And maybe crack a window."

She turns around, leaves, and gently closes the door behind her. You lie there, face hot, hands gripping the sheets and Mark just flops face-first onto the bed and screams into the pillow.

"You're never getting laid in this house again," you mutter.

"She's gonna tell my dad," Mark groans.

"Oh, she's definitely gonna tell your dad."

You both dissolve into mortified, hysterical laughter.

It's the kind of laughter that feels like crying. Like maybe if you don't laugh, your brain will melt into a puddle of shame and your soul will astral project off the planet.

You collapse back into the sheets, hiding your face.

Mark is still screaming into the pillow.

"She saw everything," you whisper, like saying it out loud will exorcise the horror. "Everything. Your dick. My hickeys. My ass--oh my god--"

"She's gonna bleach the house," he groans, muffled.

"She's gonna sage the room."

"She's gonna send us a Google doc titled 'Safe Sex and Boundaries.'"

You wheeze.

There's a long beat of silence.

"...I have to go out there," you whisper, frozen with dread.

Mark lifts his head just enough to squint at you. "You don't have to."

"I can't just stay in your room like a cryptid and hide."

"You could. Cryptids are cool."

You give him a look.

He flops back onto the bed with a groan. "Fine. Let me find you some clothes."

He rolls off the mattress with all the grace of someone who got rail-gunned by orgasmic bliss, limping dramatically toward his dresser, still stark naked, still half-hard.

You blink. "You're seriously walking around like that?"

He waves you off. "She already saw the worst. The damage is done."

He opens the drawer and tosses an oversized hoodie and boxers onto the bed beside you. "There. Cover that pretty ass before I get ideas."

You raise a brow. "You already had ideas. Several times."

Mark shoots you a crooked grin, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well. Can you blame me?"

You roll your eyes--but your smile gives you away.

Then you sit up, groaning again, gripping your sore thigh. "I can't go out there like this. I feel disgusting. My thighs are stuck together, Mark."

"You're welcome," he says, proud.

You grab a pillow and throw it at his head.

He dodges easily, laughing. "Okay, okay--how about a shower?"

Your eyes narrow. "A solo shower."

Mark places a hand on his chest, mock-offended. "What do you take me for?"

"A menace."

"A helpful menace. I'll even wash your hair."

You stare at him.

He smirks. "I'll behave."

"...You said that last night."

"Yeah, and look how that turned out."

You groan. "Fine. But no funny business."

Mark salutes. "Scout's honor."

You slide out of bed, wincing a little as your feet touch the floor. Everything between your thighs aches in that used, sore, completely-fucked-out way. You grab the shirt he tossed and slip it over your head--it drowns you instantly, falling halfway to your knees.

Mark makes a sound behind you.

You turn. "What?"

He's watching you like he wants to sin all over again. His lip tugs into a grin. "Nothing. Just--you look good in my clothes."

You roll your eyes, padding toward the bathroom. "Shut up and turn on the water."

He follows, grabbing a towel on the way, and by the time you step into the shower, steam is already starting to curl around the curtain rod. The room's small, a little too warm, and Mark is definitely not giving you space.

"You said you'd behave," you remind him, raising a brow as he steps in behind you.

He shrugs, lips twitching. "This is me behaving."

The water runs hot over your skin, rinsing away dried sweat and whatever dignity you had left. You sigh, letting it wash over your face, your neck, your chest.

Behind you, Mark is quiet.

Too quiet.

Then his hands gently find your waist.

You tense--but he doesn't move. Doesn't grab/ Doesn't grope. He just holds you there, thumbs brushing slow circles over your skin.

"I meant it, by the way," he murmurs into your ear, voice low, soft. "Last night."

You blink.

"The part where I said I really like you."

You exhale, leaning your back against his chest, water running over both of you. "Yeah," you whisper. "I meant it too."

His arms wrap around you fully this time, pulling you closer under the spray. "I know we joke a lot," he says, "but I'm not just in this for the sex. Even if the sex is--like--holy shit."

You snort. "Wow. So romantic."

He kisses your temple. "You know what I mean."

You nod, letting yourself lean into him for a moment longer--just the water, the heat, and the steady thrum of his heart pressed to your spine.

Eventually, Mark reaches for the shampoo and works it into your hair with surprising gentleness, fingers massaging your scalp while you hum in contentment.

"This is dangerously domestic," you murmur.

He grins. "Too late to run now."

You close your eyes.

Let him rinse you clean.

Let the moment stretch--quiet and warm and real.

His fingers are gentle now. No teasing. No games. Just slow movements over your skin, like he's memorizing every inch of you in silence.

The water slips down your shoulders in lazy streams. His palm drags across your back, your hips, smoothing soap into the curve of your spine like you'll break if he pushes too hard. He presses a kiss between your shoulder blades.

You exhale, soft. Melting under the steady rhythm of him.

"I meant what I said," Mark murmurs.

You open your eyes halfway. "Which part?"

He doesn't answer right away. Just reaches for your hand under the spray and laces your fingers together. His thumb brushes the side of yours.

"All of it," he says finally. "I don't regret any of this."

The silence that follows is heavier than it should be. It hangs between your bodies, slick with more than water. You want to believe it. You do. But it scares you how much you want to stay like this--how much you want this to mean something.

You turn around slowly, water cascading down your skin, and meet his eyes.

He looks serious. Like he's searching for something in your expression. Like he's bracing himself for you to run.

But you don't.

You lean in, pressing your forehead to his, your noses brushing. His breath hitches.

"I don't regret it either," you whisper.

Mark lets out a breath like he's been holding it since last night. His grip tightens on your hand. You stay like that for a moment--close, bare, hearts thudding in sync under the hot spray--until he finally lets out a quiet lopsided laugh.

"You're still not walking straight, are you?"

You smack his chest without looking up. "Shut up."

He laughs harder and pulls you close, arms wrapping around your waist under the water. "You love me."

"You're lucky I'm too sore to punch you."

"Still counts."

You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away.

And just like that--beneath the running water, tangled in each other, soaked and tired and vulnerable--you realize this isn't just a fling. This is real. Something's shifted. And neither of you wants to go back.

Not anymore.

He holds you there, chest to chest, the steam curling around your shoulders and the sound of the water muffling the outside world.

Your fingers curl into the back of his neck, slow, deliberate. You tilt your head just enough to brush your mouth against his--barely there, a ghost of a kiss.

But he chases it.

Soft.

Patient.

His lips press into yours with none of the urgency from last night. This isn't about heat. This isn't about need. This is something else.

He kisses you like he means it. Like he's choosing to mean it. Like he's never going to let himself forget what this feels like--your mouth wet and warm against his, your hand slipping up to cup his jaw, your thumb tracing the damp corner of his mouth.

He sighs into the kiss, like the weight he's been carrying finally loosens.

"You taste like my chapstick," you murmur against his lips.

"You taste like trouble," he murmurs back.

Your brows lift. "Seriously?"

"I'm trying to be romantic. Shut up."

You smile. It's soft and real and completely wrecks him.

And then he kisses you again--deeper, slower, until the water beating down your shoulders feels far away, until your fingers are tangled in his damp hair, until your breath catches like it's the first time all over again.

When you finally break apart, forehead still touching, his voice is barely a whisper. "You're it for me, you know."

You don't speak right away. You just nod once, because the words would come out too fast, too raw, if you tried.

Instead, you press one more kiss to the corner of his mouth, rest your head against his chest, and let him hold you there.

Let the water rinse away everything else.

Just you and him.

Warm. Real. Yours.

Eventually, the water starts to cool. Goosebumps rise on your skin, and you shiver against him.

Mark notices immediately.

"Alright," he murmurs, reluctantly reaching behind you to turn off the tap. "Come on. Before you freeze."

You nod, stepping carefully out of the tub with his hands steadying your waist the whole way. He grabs a towel and warps it around your shoulders, then reaches for another to dry your hair, ruffling it gently.

You glare. "If I walk out looking like a wet sheepdog, I'm blaming you."

He grins, unapologetic. "You'll still be the hottest sheepdog I've ever seen."

You deadpan. "Do you often see sexy sheepdogs?"

"I try not to judge beauty by species."

You smack his bare chest with the towel. He just laughs and leans in, pressing a quick, warm kiss to your forehead--almost like muscle memory now.

"Okay, smartass," you mutter. "Where's that hoodie you promised?"

Mark grabs it off the counter where he folded it earlier, then holds it open for you to slip into. It's huge on you. The sleeves fall past your hands, and the hem hits your thighs like a dress. Still warm from the dryer.

You breathe it in.

It smells like him.

You almost don't want to give it back.

Mark pulls on a fresh t-shirt and sweats, towel-drying his hair as you both glance at your reflection in the fogged mirror. You grimace. Your hair's wild. There's a faint red mark on your neck that's definitely not a bug bite. And your eyes?

Soft. Tired. But happy.

You catch Mark watching you in the mirror and raise an eyebrow.

"What?"

He just shakes his head a little. "Nothing. You just look really..." he trails off.

"Wrecked?"

"I was gonna say beautiful," he says softly. "But, yeah. That too."

You roll your eyes, cheeks flushing. "Shut up."

"Never."

You shove his shoulder on your way out the door, but you're smiling. Quietly. Like you forgot how to stop.

-----

Now you're sitting at the kitchen table in one of Mark's old oversized hoodies--because you didn't bring clothes, because you weren't supposed to sleep over, and because your real outfit is still somewhere on the floor of his bedroom, probably stuck to a wall.

The hoodie hangs halfway down your thighs. Your legs are bare. Two faint hickeys peek out just beneath the collar. And despite Mark's best attempt to brush your hair into something vaguely socially acceptable, you still look like you got steamrolled by the entire Guardians of the Globe.

Mark sits beside you, hunched over, t-shirt pulled halfway up to cover his face. His hand had been in yours in the shower not long ago, rinsing suds from your shoulders like you meant more than a one-time mistake. Now he won't even look up from under his shirt, as if meeting your eyes might make this moment real. You're honestly not sure if he's still alive.

And across the kitchen table...

Debbie Grayson sits.

Calm. Composed.

Drinking her coffee like she didn't just walk in on you mid-sex hangover.

And you want to know someone worse is here?

Nolan Grayson.

Viltrumite. Husband. Father of the man who turned you into jello just hours ago.

He's drinking coffee.

Coffee.

Sitting next to his lovely wife, staring you down with his piercing blue eyes like he's trying to solve the mystery of what exactly his Viltrumite ears heard last night.

Like he didn't hear every moan, whimper, and "Harder, Mark--oh my god don't stop--" echo through the house with his enhanced alien hearing.

You stab your eggs like they personally betrayed you, trying your best to keep your racing heart calm.

Do Viltrumites believe in mercy? Please let it be mercy, you thought, watching Nolan sip his coffee like he wasn't planning your execution with every blink.

The air is thick with shame, tension, and Debbie's fluffy pancakes.

Nolan clears his throat.

"So," he says casually. "Did you both... sleep well?"

Mark lets out a sound somewhere between a squeak and a death rattle.

You try to disappear into your mug of orange juice.

"Oh, they slept great," Debbie chimes, cheerful as hell. "Eventually."

Mark chokes.

You drop your fork.

Nolan's eye twitches.

"You know," Debbie adds, stirring her coffee, "I had no idea the bed frame could withstand that kind of--"

"MOM."

Nolan raises an eyebrow. "Is that what I heard shaking the house at 3 AM?"

You wish for death.

You wish for death immediately.

"W-We were--uh--playing--" Mark gulps. "Scrabble."

You blink at him.

Nolan stares.

"Scrabble," he repeats, slowly.

Mark nods vigorously. "Yeah. It got... competitive."

"Oh yes," Debbie says smoothly. "Lots of screaming. Very vocal game, apparently."

Nolan sets down his mug. "Son... was that you yelling 'I'm gonna fuck you so deep you'll be feeling me for days?'"

Your soul leaves your body.

Mark turns bone white.

"That was taken widely out of context," he whispers.

"Was it before or after she begged you not to stop?"

You audibly wheeze.

Nolan pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a long, pained sigh.

"This is... so much worse than I imagined."

Debbie sips her coffee. "At least he's not a virgin anymore."

"MOM--"

You want to implode, but you just reach for your toast, hands shaking, trying to find comfort in carbs.

Then Debbie slides a bottle of orange juice in front of you.

"Oh, sweetie? Drink up. Gotta stay hydrated after a long night."

You blink. She winks.

Nolan groans.

And Mark, pale and dead inside, lays his forehead on the table with a soft, broken:

"Please just kill me."

You stare at him for a second, fork hovering mid-air.

"Would you prefer slow and painful," you say dryly, "or fast and dramatic?"

He groans. "Whatever ends this faster."

You pat his head dramatically. "You know she's gonna tell your dad everything."

"She already did," he mumbles into the wood grain. "We're probably gonna get a family group chat notification about it later."

You snort. "With diagrams."

"And bullet points," Mark whispers, eyes wide. "With bolded text."

You both stare at your plates in silence, haunted by the same shared vision of his mom's Google Docs and his dad's silent judgement.

"...I'm not hungry anymore," you say faintly.

"Same."

Mark lifts his head just enough to look at you.

You meet his gaze.

Then both of you slowly, silently, reach for the orange juice.

Not because you want it.

But because Debbie told you to.

And somehow... that's worse.

Debbie hums as she flips a pancake behind you, calm as ever. "You know," she says casually, "I once told your father I wanted grandkids before menopause. Thought it was a joke. Now? Not so sure."

You choke on your orange juice.

Mark makes a sound like a dying animal. "Mom--please."

Nolan rises silently from his chair, grabs his coffee, and mutters under his breath, "I'm going to space," before walking out of the kitchen like he's heading to war.

Silence.

Then Debbie pipes up again, chipper, "Want more eggs, sweetheart?"

You and Mark speak in unison. "NO."

You sit there in the aftermath, toast cold, dignity dead, but... somehow still breathing. Mark nudges your hand under the table--quietly, like he needs to know you're real and still here. You glance at him, and his eyes meet yours.

Still wide. Still traumatized in those big, beautiful brown eyes of his. But there's something softer underneath the mortification. Something honest. Warm. Like even if the earth cracked open and swallowed you whole, he'd reach for you first.

You smile, just a little.

And Mark leans closer, muttering out of the corner of his mouth. "We need to leave this house."

"Like, today," you whisper. "Fake our deaths. Move to Idaho."

"Start over. New names. New lives. No parents."

You both stifle a laugh.

Debbie hums behind you.

Mark leans in even closer. "Or... we sneak back upstairs, lock the door, and finish what we started."

You arch a brow. "You mean Scrabble?"

He smirks, that damn dimple popping out. "Exactly."

And despite everything, despite the trauma, the humiliation, and the pancakes--you want to kiss him again.

You don't.

But you think about it.

And the next time his hand brushes yours?

You don't pull away.

Instead, you lace your fingers with his under the table--quiet, hidden, just for the two of you.

Mark squeezes your hand once before he stands, clearing his throat. "We're, uh--gonna go... lie down."

Debbie doesn't even glance up from her newspaper. "Just don't break anything this time."

Mark grabs your wrist. You don't resist as he pulls you along like a man on a mission--away from the kitchen, up the stairs, and back into the safety of his room, where the door shuts with a merciful click.

Silence.

You both just stand there, staring at each other.

"...That was the worst morning of my life," he mumbles.

You nod slowly. "Easily top three for me. And I've seen a man explode."

Mark lets out a low groan and falls face-first onto the bed. "She winked at you."

"She offered me more eggs."

"She brought orange juice."

You flop down beside him, face-to-face on the mattress, hair still slightly damp from your earlier shower, your legs brushing his under the sheets. "We're gonna have to burn the kitchen down."

"And the bed."

You hum. "I like the bed."

Mark glances at you, mouth twitching into a smirk. "Me too."

Silence settles again, warm and safe this time. No parents. No judgement. Just the two of you, tucked away like the world doesn't exist.

Mark shifts onto his side to face you more directly, eyes tracing your features--your lashes, your lips, the fading flush in your cheeks.

"You still good?" he asks softly, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

You nod. "Yeah. Just... recovering."

His smirk softens. "From the sex or the trauma?"

You pause. "Yes."

Mark laughs, low and quiet. Then his hand moves--slowly, deliberately--to rest against your waist. You feel the pressure of his fingers through the hoodie. Warm. Solid.

Then he murmurs, quiet now:

"Remember what I said in the shower?"

You blink slowly, your heart skipping at the weight in his voice.

"Still true," he says, eyes meeting yours. "All of it."

You don't say anything at first. Just let the words settle between you.

Then you shift closer, tucking your forehead against his chest. "Yeah," you whisper. "Me too."

Mark holds you like that, arms curling around your back, thumb stroking slow, lazy circles over your spine.

"Do you think," you murmur, "your mom would notice if we never came back out?"

"She'd probably bring us snacks."

"...That's the worst idea."

You both laugh again, soft and breathless, the tension finally starting to lift. His breath fans your temple. You feel the slow beat of his heart under your cheek.

And for the first time all morning--maybe longer--you feel okay. Not mortified. Not exposed. Just... okay.

Maybe even a little happy.

Marks kisses your forehead. "We'll survive this."

You lift your head, nose brushing his. "Promise?"

He smiles, really smiles, and dips down to kiss you--soft, slow, a quiet yes pressed against your mouth.

But suddenly, the kiss starts to deepen.

From lips brushing lips, breaths mingling... to eating each others face off. His hands slide up your sides, dragging the hoodie with them, while yours fist in his hair like you're trying to keep him exactly where you want him. The air between you turns hot, greedy--every soft kiss turning sharper, hungrier, until you're both a mess of teeth, tongue, and muffled sounds that have no business being this desperate... not after surviving that awkward breakfast with his parents.

"You're seriously gonna kill me," he murmurs against your mouth, voice low, rough with sleep and leftover embarrassment. "We just survived breakfast."

You grin. "Survived is a strong word."

He chuckles... but it stutters when you shift, thigh nudging between his legs. Your hand slides under his shirt, skimming the ridges of his abs, feeling them tighten under your touch. Higher, higher--you drag the fabric up with you until he lets you peel it off entirely, baring him to the cool air.

Mark shudders.

"I thought we were recovering," he whispers, breathless now, lashes fluttering as you press your mouth to his jaw.

"We are recovering," you say sweetly, biting down on his earlobe before whispering: "This is my fifth form of therapy."

He groans. "I think I just got hard again."

"Think?"

Your hand finds proof in the way his sweatpants tent against your thigh. You palm him slowly through the fabric, watching his jaw go slack.

"Okay," he gasps. "Not think. Definitely hard. Very hard. Dangerously hard. We should do something about that."

"Should we?"

You climb onto his lap.

Mark stares up at you like you're religious experience--bare legs, wild hair, his oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder. His hands find your thighs instantly, squeezing hard, like he doesn't trust himself not to black out.

"Fuck," he whispers. "You're not real."

You roll your hips once--just enough to drag a groan from him--and lean forward, lips brushing his.

"Feel real to you?"

He doesn't answer.

He just yanks you down and kisses you like he needs to.

You moan into it, rocking against the growing bulge beneath you. The friction is slow, addictive, maddening. He pulls the hoodie up to your ribs, palms gliding along your waist before sliding around to grab your ass, hard.

"You're gonna fuckin' kill me," he gasps again, voice already wrecked.

You grind down harder. "I told you I wasn't done with you."

Mark flips you over before you can get another word in.

One second you're on top, smug and teasing--smirk curling on your lips. The next, you're flat on your back, legs spread, breath knocked out of you as the mattress dips under his weight. His hands are already at your hips, yanking your boxer--his--down with a low, muttered curse.

"You're insane," he mutters, voice rasping like he's already drunk on you. "You're so fucking lucky I love this."

"You do love this," you breathe, squirming under him as he pushes your thighs apart. "Admit it."

"I'm obsessed with it."

And then his mouth is on you--tongue licking into you with no warning, no hesitation, no mercy. You gasp, fists curling in the sheets as he pins your hips down and devours you like a man on a mission. Like he needs this round to prove something. Maybe that he's still in control. Maybe that you're his. Maybe that this--you--is worth every embarrassing second of breakfast.

You cry out his name, louder than you mean to, and he growls into you like that was exactly what he wanted.

"You're so loud," he says, voice muffled against your cunt. "My dad's gonna hear you again."

Your hips jolt, breath catching on a broken moan. "Fuck your dad."

He lifts his head just enough to smirk, lips slick and shiny. "That's what you were doing last night."

You slap his shoulder, breathless.

Then he sinks two long fingers in without warning--and you arch off the bed with a cry.

"Round five," Mark murmurs, dark and reverent as he curls his fingers just right, just deep enough to make your vision blur. "Let's make it count."

Your mouth falls open in a silent moan as his fingers curl again--perfect, practiced, hitting that spot that makes your thighs tremble.

"Mark--" you gasp, chest arching into the air. "We just showered--"

"Mm." His lips kiss the inside of your thigh, hot breath skimming your skin before his teeth graze lightly. Eyes half-lidded, dark with want, he murmurs, "Guess we're gonna need another one."

You try to push at his shoulder, but he doesn't budge. Just presses his tongue flat against your clit and sucks.

Your entire body jerks.

"Oh my--f-fuck--!"

He groans into you, like the sound of your voice gets him off. His fingers keep moving--slow, deliberate pumps that stretch you open, wet and hot and obscene.

You're already clenching around him, body tightening with dangerous speed. "M-Mark, baby--I can't--"

"Yes, you can." His voice is low, husky. "You're taking it. Like you always do."

And you do.

You cum hard.

Your back arches off the mattress, thighs clamping around his head, hands fisting the sheets as you cry out. The world blurs into white heat. He doesn't stop. Doesn't slow. He tongue keeps fucking you, greedy and relentless, until your voice breaks, your nails scrape helplessly at his shoulders, and your legs finally give out.

When he finally pulls back, his lips are glossy and smug.

"Still warm," he teases, licking his lips. "Still sweet."

You collapse flat against the bed, trying to catch your breath. "I hate you."

"No, you don't."

He slides up your body, one hand stroking your side as he kisses his way up to your neck.

"I should hate you," you mumble.

He grins against your jaw. "But you don't."

And Mark's right.

You don't.

You're soaked, twitching, still gasping--and when he grinds his hips down--when you feel the heavy press of his cock against your thigh--

You whimper.

Mark growls softly. "That's what I thought."

He pushes his sweats down enough to free himself, one hand gripping the base of his cock to line himself up, the other resting on your hip.

He pushes in slow--too slow--like he's teasing you on purpose.

You both groan.

He stretches you open inch by inch, the burn delicious, your pussy already swollen and sore from everything he's done yesterday and today. But you still want it. Still need it.

"Shit," Mark breathes. "You're still so tight. How are you this tight after four rounds?"

Your nails drag down the slope of his spine, lips parting on a needy gasp. "Move, Mark--please--"

He slams in the rest of the way, bottoming out in one sharp, brutal thrust..

You scream.

He doesn't move at first. Just stays there, fully sheathed, buried to the hilt, making you feel every thick, aching inch of him.

His breath shudders against your neck. "Fuck," he pants. "You feel that?"

You nod shakily, too breathless to speak.

"That's where I belong. Right there."

His hand slides to your lower stomach, forcing you to feel exactly where he's buried inside you. The blunt pressure makes you gasp, a sharp moan tearing out as your walls flutter around him. His breath stutters--like he can feel every single pulse.

"Yeah...," he murmurs, voice low and wrecked, "you see how deep I am? How far I'm filling you in?"

Your eyes flicker down, catching the faint bulge under his palm, and your breath stutters violently. Heat floods your body in a dizzy rush, and before you can think, you grind down on him, desperate for more. He groans low, the sound vibrating against your skin.

"That's it," he rasps, eyes dark and locked on yours. "Feel me there. Every inch. Right where you need it."

His hips rolls once--slow, deliberate, mercilessly deep--and the pressure under his hand shifts, punching a broken cry out of you.

"Fuck, Mark--!"

He pulls out halfway--slow enough to make you feel every dragging inch--then slams back, sharp and deep.

You sob. "Oh my god--"

"That's it," he pants, setting a brutal rhythm. His grin is sharp, hungry, a wild look burning in his eyes. "That's my pretty girl. Can't get enough, can you?"

You shake your head, babbling something that isn't even words anymore. He shifts his weight, pressing harder into your lower stomach while his hips snap forward, relentless, every thrust grinding into that exact spot that makes your toes curl. The sound that leaves you is closer to a cry than a moan.

"Louder," he demands, grabbing your leg and throwing it over his shoulder. "I want my parents to hear it this time."

You wail, spine bowing off the bed as the new angle makes him hit--perfect, sharp, devastating--again and again. He groans at the way you tighten around him, watching your body quake under him like he's addicted to it.

"Yeah? Right there?" His voice drops, rough and smug. "Is that your spot? Can't take me without shaking, huh?"

Your nails rake down his back, trying to anchor yourself against the overwhelming rhythm. Every thrust knocks the air out of your lungs, making your vision go white. He's so deep you can feel him in places you didn't know existed--just heat, stretch, and the ruthless tempo of him owning every part of you over and over that makes your brain turn into mush.

"I--Mark, I can't--!"

"Yes you can," His tone is all command, no mercy. "You're gonna take it. You're gonna cum with my cock this deep and you're gonna feel it for days."

"Mark--Mark, it's too much--!"

"It's not too much. You wanted this. You begged for this. Said it was therapy, right?"

You scream again.

"You wanted round five," he growls, slamming in even harder. "Now fucking take it."

You're crying. Literally crying.

Tears in your eyes, voice broken, nails digging into his back that would leave ugly, red marks. You can feel the pressure inside of you building up--fast. Unbearable. You try to tell him you're already close but the words dissolve into helpless moans.

"Don't you dare hold back," he snarls. "Cum for me. Right on it. Right there."

And then he gives you one, two, three deep, punishing thrusts, holding you in place so you can't run from it, his palm still pressing down like he's making sure you know exactly where he is inside you.

The orgasm rips through you so hard your body locks up, every muscle trembling. Your scream echoes between you, raw and broken, and he fucks you through it, jaw clenched, eyes locked on yours like he's watching you fall apart just for him.

"That's it," he rasps, slowing just enough to draw it out, milking every last aftershock. "That's mine."

Your body collapses back onto the mattress, limp, shaking, every nerve still sparking from the force of it. You can barely breathe, can barely think--and he's still there, still buried deep, still pulsing inside you.

Mark's right behind you--balls tightening, abs clenching, groaning as his forehead drops to yours. "Fuck--gonna cum--where do you want it, baby--?"

Mustering up enough strength, you grab his face, voice a wreck: "Inside."

His pupils blow wide. "Fuck, fuck--!"

His thrusts gets frantic. Sloppy. Desperate. Rhythm faltering as he chases his high.

You feel him twitch, feel his cock swell--then he slams in one last time and spills inside you with a deep, wrecked moan that sounds like your name was the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth.

His cum fills your insides, warmth spilling deep in hot, thick ropes.

It must be a lot, because the heat just keeps coming, spilling past the tight seal of your body until you feel it dripping down your ass to the sheets.

Mark groans low in his throat, hips grinding like he's trying to push it even deeper, making sure not a drop escapes. "God... look at you," he pants, eyes flicking down between your bodies. "You're full. So full of me."

He groans again, holding you so tight it hurts. His cock is still thick inside you,twitching with the aftershocks, and you can feel the slow, obscene drip of him leaking out around the seal of his length. His breath is ragged against your neck, hot and uneven, like he's not ready to let you go--not ready to let you close up without him there.

"Holy shit," he breathes into your neck.

You can't talk.

You're not even sure if you can talk from how much he made you scream his name out despite the thin walls of his house--loud enough for his mom and dad to hear every filthy word, the headboard slamming against the wall, and the mattress creaking again.

God bless his parents' souls (and their ears).

The hoodie Mark lets you borrow is covered with sweat, so much sweat that it makes your body feel even hotter and disgusting.

With a tired groan, you weakly strip the hoodie off, dropping it on the floor.

Mark doesn't move for a while.

Just lies there on top of you, panting, one arm curled tight around your waist while the other braces himself on the bed. His forehead rests against yours, sticky and damp with sweat, and his breath comes out in warm, ragged exhales across your lips.

You can still feel him pulsing inside you.

Still feel his cum slowly dripping, spreading warmth and ache through your lower belly.

You blink at the ceiling, eyes unfocused. "I think I just met God."

Mark lets out a soft, breathless laugh. "Pretty sure you screamed my name instead."

You snort, weakly smacking his back. "Same difference."

He smiles and kisses you--soft this time. No urgency. No teasing. Just the press of lips, slow and tired, like he's saying I'm still here. We're okay.

He then pulls out with a low groan--the loss making you shiver, and you can feel him leak out immediately, hot and slick against your thigh. Mark just watches it for a moment--almost proud--before he flops onto his back beside you, arms dragging you against his chest.

Your arms come up to wrap around his shoulders, fingers trailing gently through his hair, damped with sweat. He's still catching his breath, but the heat between you has finally eased into something warmer. Softer.

Real.

He kisses your cheek. Then your temple. Then the side of your neck where a fading bite mark throbs beneath his lips.

"You okay?" he murmurs, voice so hoarse it almost sounds like a rasp.

You nod, barely, because your brain is still somewhere back at the moment he pressed down on your stomach and made you see stars.

Your body feels like it's been wrecked. But not in a bad way. There's a faint sting when you shift, a slow throb between your legs, and your thighs still twitch when his fingers graze too close. But you feel... good. Calm. Full.

He brushes your hair back, looking at you with sleepy eyes and a small, crooked smile.

"I meant it, you know," he says quietly. "When I said I'm not done. Not just with this. With you."

You stare up at him, throat tightening.

"...You're getting sappy on me," you murmur.

"Yeah," he says, unbothered. "Deal with it."

You do.

You reach up, press a kiss to his lips slow. Grateful.

And for a long moment, neither of you says anything. You just breathe. Wrapped around each other in sweat and warmth and something dangerously close to love.

Then, from somewhere outside the door--

Knock knock.

"Kids?" Debbie's voice.

Mark freezes. Your soul leaves your body.

"...We're alive," Mark calls weakly.

"Barely," you mumble.

Debbie hums. "Good. Don't forget to hydrate. I left water bottles by the door. Also--please open a window. This hallway smells like sex and regret."

You groan into your pillow, embarrassment already gnawing at your spine.

Mark throws a sheet over both your heads and mutters, "We're moving out."

You laugh. "For sure."

Under the blanket, you feel him grin against your temple, his arm tightening around you. And even with your face burning and your dignity in shambles, you realize you wouldn't trade this morning--or this mess of a boy pressed up against you--for anything.