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I love your writing so much omgg💕 can you please write something about William Saliba where he got jealous and was super handsy in public to claim his territory basically and then it ends with them doing the nasty hahaha
snooze.
warnings : smut, nsfw, p in v, fingering
tysm this is is really cute of you 💕
William wasn't approving the attention you drew to yourself. In fact, he never did. He's not the jealous type, but with you, oh my God, he's so crazy.
He might see you talking to one of his teammates, and insert himself into the conversation.
He always has a hand around your waist in public, guiding you everywhere, as if to say "she's mine". A peculiarity from which he does not deny.
“Ain't nobody gon take her from you”
He usually heard this sentence, but he didn't care of what people could think because you belong to him only.
He's overly handsy, touchy and all. He always, always has a hand on your body. Waist, thighs, arms, whatever. His hands are never somewhere else. Dogs urinate in a specific spot to mark their territory, William always has his big hands on you, that's his way to mark his territory. You're his territory.
A random guy smiling to you on the street, in a restaurant, in a mall, etc makes him really serious and protective. Anything to make them know you're taken. No matter what it costs. You can't feel sorry for him over things like that. Because he cares about you. A treasure is kept and protected, it's the same with you. You're his treasure.
Location on continuously. He's always in control.
And at home, it's something else. You can't run away from him, but you never planned to. Wherever you are, so he is. You're in the kitchen? He's in the kitchen. You're in the bedroom? He's in the bedroom. You're in the living room? He's in the living room. Even in the bathroom. He follows you everywhere you go.He's clingy, and you love his clinginess.
You were drinking something in the kitchen, and he made several back and forths because you were here.
“Wilo, how many times you're doing this?”
“I just forgot something.”
“It's been five times”
“My bad, i just forget things”
Resting his head on your shoulder when you are both watching a movie, with a hand around your waist, obviously. Eating from your plate, or taking a sip of your drink it became usual.
One day, at the beach, you got up from the hot sand to enter the sea, he didn't want to at first, but once you did, he joined you.
“I fought you didn't want to go in the water?”
“I've changed my mind.” Yeah boy, you sure did.
Love doesn't cost a thing. But for Willam, it costs everything in the world. Even when he hates to do something, he does it with you if you like it.
One time, he came back from training, all drowsy, but, he needed you. Nobody else. You. You were doing your own, just chilling in the house, until he came back. He didn't care of how much exhausted he was, because he wanted you. And you wanted him.
“Give me some of your time, i need you.”
“But you look exhausted”
“I don't care about that. I need you.” He pulled up your shirt, reveling only your bra.
“You're hungry, aren't you?”
“I am. I sure am.” So, as he said that, he continued undressing you, and he did the same.
“All for me now. I like it. Nobody gon take you away from me. Please be yourself now. It's you, me and nobody else.” He slid two of his fingers inside you brushing your clit. A instant moan came out of your mouth, it got you gripping his hair.
“I know you like it. Just feel it. And release the pressure.”
“So yes i'm eager, i'm eager for you. All of you.” He kept putting his fingers in and out of you pussy, you fisted his hair.
One time.
Two times.
Three times, etc.
His deep voice filling the room, which was never silent at first.
“As i'm fucking you with my fingers, how are you feeling right now?”
“I-I feel, relieved.”
“You do? I'm honored to hear that from you.”
He was never silent or rough when he was fucking you. Always talking to you, asking about your feelings, confessing his love to you, etc. And he was always sweet and slow. Unless he had a bad training.
You took a look at his V-line, then, to his hard cock.
“Do you like what you see?” You nodded, all focused on his body.
“Good. Because it's all for you.” As he started pounding into you, you felt your legs being shaky and you instantly arched your back.
“Faster, Wilo, please..” You pleased him, out of breath
“Faster? I can go faster. No problem babe.” You were scratching his back, pleasing him. He loved how you looked beneath him.
“Oh God, Wilo i'm close, don't stop”
“Yeah, i feel you close. Don't hold back.” He stroked your throbbing clit with his thumb, making you come faster.
“Where do you feel me, tell me” You just moved his hand down your stomach
“Here? Well, i'm not very far i guess.” He made sure to go further inside you
“There's something i gotta be proud of, one finger was enough to make you come faster. Your orgasm was so sweet babe”
He kisses you, so you can moan in his mouth, it helps him finish faster.
“I love how you keep calling me Wilo, my teammates call me that too, but did it made you forget my name? What's my name?”
“William. Your name is William.”
“Good job. I thought you forgot honestly.”
“Fuck. I'm close, really close. Do you want me to come in you?”
“I'm not ready for children yet. Please come somewhere else”
“Alright. I'm hearing you.”
He came on your stomach, so he can see it properly.
summary: after two years as a faceless artist, a playful call-out during an interview turns your life around for best
a.n: hi lovelies, you guys have been at my neck for this virgil fic, I decided to switch up my layout a bit, I think I’m feeling it. this is my first long fic so excuse any typos :)
masterlist
The stage lights were warmer than you expected.
You’d performed in front of sold-out arenas, won three Grammys, and spent the last two years as music’s most mysterious figure — a faceless artist whose voice had taken over the world while your face stayed hidden behind carefully crafted visuals and clever marketing.
Tonight, that chapter officially ended.
Jimmy Fallon’s set was packed.
The audience wasn’t the usual crowd of tourists and superfans. Tonight it was celebrities: actors, musicians, athletes, influencers.
The front rows were littered with familiar faces — Drake, Zendaya, Kevin Hart, and an entire section of Premier League footballers who had flown in for a charity event that coincided with the taping.
You were seated on the famous couch in a sleek, backless black dress that shimmered under the lights.
Your heart was beating harder than it had during your actual performance earlier.
Jimmy, ever the professional, leaned forward with that signature playful grin.
“So,” he began, “for two years the entire internet has been trying to figure out who you are. And now here you are — Grammy winner, voice of the decade, and apparently very camera shy until tonight. How does it feel to finally be seen?”
You laughed softly, crossing your legs.
“Terrifying. Liberating. A little surreal. I got used to people falling in love with the music instead of me. Now they’re… looking at me.”
The audience chuckled. Jimmy nodded, clearly enjoying himself.
“Speaking of people falling in love with you — we have to talk about the internet losing its mind the past few weeks. You dropped the music video for ‘Velvet Cage’ and suddenly everyone’s obsessed. But the real question the internet wants answered…” He leaned in like he was sharing a secret. “Who is your celebrity crush?”
The crowd immediately started whooping and cheering.
You felt heat rush to your face. You giggled — actually giggled — and covered your mouth with your hand, shaking your head.
“Oh no. We’re not doing this.”
Jimmy laughed. “We are absolutely doing this. Come on! You’ve been faceless for two years. Give us something!”
You tried to dodge again, biting your lip and looking away from the camera. The audience only got louder. Jimmy wouldn’t let it go.
“Alright, alright,” you finally surrendered, laughing nervously. “Fine. My celebrity crush is… Virgil van Dijk.”
The entire studio seemed to erupt at once.
The camera immediately panned to the audience.
There, sitting in the third row beside Trent Alexander-Arnold and Andrew Robertson, was Virgil himself.
The tall Dutch defender was dressed in all black — tailored shirt unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up his forearms.
When the spotlight hit him, a slow, dangerous smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.
He raised one eyebrow, clearly amused, and gave a small, confident nod toward the stage.
Your stomach flipped.
Jimmy looked delighted.
“Virgil van Dijk! Okay, okay — why him? Walk us through it.”
You felt your face burning but decided to own it.
You leaned forward slightly, voice dropping into that smooth, sultry tone your fans knew so well.
“I mean… have you seen him? The man is stupidly hot. Like, unfairly hot. But it’s also his voice. That deep, calm, Dutch accent? It does something to me. I’ve listened to his interviews when I’m working on music just because it relaxes me. Or… distracts me. Depending on the day.”
The audience lost it.
Virgil’s smirk deepened. He leaned back in his seat, one arm draped casually over the back of the chair, looking every bit the calm, confident man you’d just confessed about on national television.
Jimmy was cracking up.
“Virgil, you want to say anything to your new number one fan?”
The camera swung back to him. Virgil’s voice came through the speakers — low, smooth, and exactly as devastating as you’d described.
He looked straight at you on the monitor.
“I’m very flattered,” he said, that rich accent curling around every word. “I’m definitely going to need a copy of that playlist.”
The crowd roared again.
You buried your face in your hands for a second, laughing in pure embarrassment while Jimmy teased you both for the rest of the segment.
The rest of the interview flew by — more questions about your sudden reveal, your next album, and a hilarious game segment — but you could feel Virgil’s eyes on you the entire time.
Every time you glanced toward the audience, that smirk was still there.
**Three Days Later**
The Kardashian party was everything you expected and more.
The mansion in the Hollywood Hills had been transformed into a luxurious playground for the elite.
Crystal chandeliers, multiple bars, a DJ playing your music on rotation, and a guest list that read like a Who’s Who of culture and sport.
You’d shown up in a deep burgundy satin slip dress that hugged your body and made your skin glow.
Your hair was down, curls loose, and the confidence you felt on stage had returned.
Everywhere you turned, someone wanted to talk to you.
You spent twenty minutes talking to Kylie and Kendall about collaborating on a project, laughed with Bad Bunny by the pool, took a shot with Travis Kelce, and politely declined three different artists trying to slide into your DMs in person.
The energy was electric.
Champagne and expensive tequila flowed freely.
You were standing near the outdoor bar, laughing at something Serena Williams had just said, when you felt a presence behind you.
A tall shadow.
The subtle scent of expensive cologne and something distinctly masculine.
A deep, familiar voice spoke low beside your ear.
“So… am I still your celebrity crush? Or has Jimmy Fallon ruined that for me?”
You turned slowly.
Virgil stood inches away, looking down at you with that same smirk from the show, only this time it was softer.
More intimate.
He was wearing a black button-up with the top two buttons undone, sleeves rolled up to show those powerful forearms.
A glass of dark liquor was in his hand. His eyes — sharp, dark, and amused — scanned your face like he was reading every micro-expression.
You felt the champagne and the two tequila sodas you’d had hit you all at once. Not drunk, but warm.
Bold.
Flirtatious.
Your cheeks burned instantly.
“I…cannot believe you’re bringing that up right now,” you muttered, laughing as you covered one side of your face with your hand.
Virgil chuckled, low and rich.
The sound did exactly what you’d told millions of people it did — it curled straight through you.
He stepped a little closer, using his height to shield you slightly from the rest of the party.
One corner of his mouth stayed lifted.
“You told the entire world my voice does something to you,” he teased, voice dropping even lower. “Now I’m curious. What exactly does it do?”
You bit your lip, fighting a smile.
The tension between you was immediate and thick.
Both of you had been drinking just enough to lower inhibitions, but not enough to blur judgment. The flirtation felt dangerous in the best way.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you accused, looking up at him through your lashes.
“I am,” he admitted easily. His eyes flicked down to your lips for half a second before returning to yours. “Especially watching you blush after you were so confident on Fallon’s couch.”
He leaned one elbow on the bar beside you, bringing him even closer. The height difference was ridiculous.
“So tell me, Miss Grammy Winner…was it just talk? Or do you actually listen to my interviews while you’re in the studio?”
You took a slow sip of your drink, mostly to buy yourself time. When you lowered the glass, you met his gaze head-on, letting a flirtatious little smile play on your lips.
“Both,” you said sweetly. “Sometimes I’m producing. Sometimes I’m just…distracted.”
Virgil’s smirk turned into a full smile — slow, predatory, and devastating. He tilted his head slightly.
“Distracted,” he repeated, tasting the word. His voice had dropped another notch. “Interesting.”
He reached out and gently brushed a stray curl away from your cheek, his fingers barely grazing your skin. The touch was light, but it sent electricity down your spine.
“You know,” he continued, eyes locked on yours, “I’ve been thinking about you since that night. Wondering what the woman behind that voice actually looked like. Now that I’ve seen her…” He let his gaze drag slowly down your body and back up. “I’m even more interested.”
Your heart was hammering. The party continued around you, but it felt like the two of you existed in your own little bubble of heat and tension.
The conversation between you and Virgil flowed easier than you expected.
What started as teasing quickly evolved into something warmer, deeper.
He asked real questions — about the two years you spent as a faceless artist, about the pressure of suddenly being seen, about which songs meant the most to you.
You asked him about the season, about what it felt like to be one of the most respected defenders in the world, about how he handled fame so gracefully.
Every answer he gave was thoughtful, delivered in that rich, low voice that made your thighs press together more than once.
The longer you spoke, the closer you drifted.
At some point his hand had found the small of your back, thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles over the satin of your dress.
The casual touch felt electric.
As the party began to wind down around 2 a.m., Virgil leaned down slightly, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“I’m heading out soon,” he said quietly. “Can I take you home? I don’t like the idea of you getting into a car alone this late.”
You looked up at him.
His eyes were dark, warm, and focused entirely on you.
The champagne and the tension had left you pleasantly buzzed, brave enough to say what you wanted.
“I’d like that.”
The drive back to your modern hillside home was quiet but charged.
Virgil drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console, occasionally brushing against your thigh when he shifted gears.
Soft R&B played through the speakers — one of your own songs came on and he gave you a playful side-eye that made you laugh.
When he pulled into your driveway, neither of you moved for a moment.
You turned to him.
“Would you like to come in?”
Virgil’s smirk returned, slower this time.
“Yeah… I would.”
Inside, you kicked off your heels while he shrugged out of his black button-up, leaving him in a tight white tank that showed off his broad shoulders and the impressive muscle he carried so effortlessly.
You poured two glasses of red wine and led him to the massive sectional couch that overlooked the city lights through floor-to-ceiling windows.
You sat close.
Closer than necessary.
The sexual tension that had been simmering all night now felt thick enough to cut with a knife.
Virgil sat with his legs spread, one arm draped along the back of the couch behind you.
Every time he spoke, that deep, accented voice seemed to vibrate through your body.
He was leaning in slightly, eyes half-lidded as he listened to you talk about your upcoming album, but you could tell his focus was split — part of him was very aware of how your dress had ridden up your thighs.
“You keep looking at my mouth when I talk,” you said suddenly, voice softer than you intended.
Virgil didn’t even try to deny it. He took a slow sip of wine, then set the glass down.
“Because I’ve been thinking about kissing you since you said my voice does something to you on national television.”
You let out a shaky breath. The way he looked at you — calm, hungry, completely in control — was making you fold fast. Your pulse was racing.
Before you could respond, you stood up abruptly, needing air.
“I have an idea,” you said, trying to regain some composure. “The backyard has a heated infinity hot tub. Want to go in?”
Virgil’s eyes darkened with interest.
“Lead the way.”
You both walked out onto the sleek terrace.
The city sparkled below you.
Without discussion, Virgil began unbuttoning the rest of his shirt.
You turned slightly, slipping out of your burgundy satin dress and letting it pool at your feet.
You stepped out of it in just your black lace bra and matching panties.
When you turned back, Virgil was down to black boxer briefs that left almost nothing to the imagination.
His body was insane — tall, powerful, carved from years at the highest level.
He didn’t hide the way he stared.
You both slipped into the hot tub.
The water was perfectly hot, steam rising around you.
For a few minutes you sat across from each other, talking quietly about everything and nothing — music, football, favorite cities, guilty pleasures. The tension never faded. If anything, it grew.
Virgil’s gaze kept dropping to the way the water made your skin glisten, to the swell of your breasts just above the surface.
Eventually he let out a low hum of dissatisfaction.
“You’re too far away,” he complained, voice deeper than before. His Dutch accent wrapped around the words like velvet. “Come here.”
Your stomach flipped.
You stood slowly, water cascading down your body, and walked through the bubbling water toward him.
You expected him to make space beside him on the built-in bench.
He didn’t.
Instead, Virgil reached out with one large hand, gripped your waist with gentle but undeniable strength, and guided you onto his lap.
He settled you straddling him, your knees on either side of his powerful thighs.
The moment your cores pressed together through the thin fabric of your underwear, you both inhaled sharply.
His hands stayed on your waist, thumbs stroking the slick skin there.
Water droplets ran down his chest and shoulders.
Up close, he was even more overwhelming — sharp jaw, dark eyes, that calm dominant energy radiating off him.
“Better,” he murmured, voice so low it made you shiver despite the hot water.
One of his hands slid up your back, fingers splaying across your spine, pulling you closer until your chest brushed against his.
“Much better.”
You were breathing harder now.
Being this close to him, feeling the hard muscle of his thighs beneath you and the unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressing against you, had you completely folded.
Your hands rested on his broad shoulders, fingertips digging in slightly.
Virgil tilted his head, studying your face with dark, hooded eyes.
His other hand came up to cup the side of your neck, thumb brushing slowly along your jaw.
“You’ve been blushing and biting your lip all night,” he said quietly, that voice doing unforgivable things to you. “Every time I speak…every time I look at you. I can feel your heart racing right now.”
Virgil’s hands never left your body.
While you sat straddling his lap in the hot tub, his large palms slid slowly up and down your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts before gliding back down to grip your waist.
The water made every touch slick and warm.
“Beautiful…” he murmured, eyes half-lidded as he watched his own hands explore you. “So fucking beautiful.”
His palms moved with deliberate slowness — over your ribs, down the curve of your hips, then back up again, stroking along your spine.
Every pass felt like he was learning the shape of you.
The steam rose around you both, curling in the cool night air.
You could feel him beneath you, already half-hard, the thick outline of his cock pressing against the lace of your panties with every subtle shift of your hips.
He suddenly gripped your waist a little firmer and pulled you forward on his lap, bringing your chest flush against his.
Your lips were now only inches apart.
His eyes darkened as they dropped to your mouth.
“May I?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
You nodded, breath shaky.
The moment you gave permission, Virgil cupped the back of your neck with one hand and kissed you.
It wasn’t rushed.
The first press of his lips was soft, almost testing, but the heat behind it was undeniable.
Then he tilted his head and deepened it, tongue sliding slowly against yours in long, sensual strokes.
The kiss was wet, deliberate, and intoxicating.
He tasted like red wine and sin. His other hand stayed on your hip, guiding you into a slow, lazy grind against him.
You moaned softly into his mouth as you felt him growing harder beneath you, his thick length pressing insistently against your core with every roll of your hips.
Virgil groaned in response, the sound vibrating through his chest.
One of his hands slid down to grip your ass, squeezing the soft flesh as he pulled you harder against his cock, encouraging the slow grinding.
The kiss turned filthier.
He sucked on your bottom lip, then licked into your mouth again, devouring you with a patience that made your head spin.
His hips rolled up to meet yours in perfect rhythm — slow, heavy drags that had the head of his cock rubbing right against your clit through the thin fabric separating you.
You could feel him getting fully hard now, thick and pulsing beneath you.
When you finally broke apart for air, both of you were breathing heavily, lips wet and swollen.
You rested your forehead against his, trying to steady yourself.
“We should go upstairs,” you whispered.
Virgil nodded, pressing one last slow kiss to your lips. “Lead the way.”
You climbed out of the hot tub first, water streaming down your body.
Virgil followed, towering behind you as you walked back into the house.
You led him up the stairs to your luxurious primary bathroom.
The space was sleek — marble, rainfall showerhead, soft lighting.
“I want to shower first,” you said, suddenly feeling a little shy despite everything that had just happened outside.
You reached for the glass door, about to close it behind you, then paused. You looked back at him over your shoulder.
“…Are you coming?” MM
Virgil’s smirk was slow and dangerous. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He stepped in behind you, still in his black boxer briefs.
You were still wearing your soaked lace bra and panties.
At first, it felt almost innocent.
You turned on the rainfall shower.
Warm water cascaded over both of you like a tropical downpour.
You picked up your expensive body wash, poured some into your hands, and stepped closer to him.
Starting at his shoulders, you began washing him.
Your hands moved slowly, sensually.
You felt every ridge of muscle in his arms, the hard planes of his chest, the deep cuts of his abs.
The soap made everything slippery. Virgil stood still, watching you with dark, hooded eyes as your palms glided over his skin.
You traced the V-lines disappearing into his briefs, then moved back up, massaging his shoulders and neck.
The steam thickened around you.
The only sounds were the water hitting marble and both of you breathing.
He cupped your face with both hands and kissed you again.
This kiss was deeper than the one in the hot tub.
Hungrier.
His tongue explored your mouth like he had all the time in the world, while his hands began peeling the lace bra from your body.
The soaked fabric hit the shower floor with a wet slap.
He groaned at the sight of your bare breasts and immediately palmed them, thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples.
He broke the kiss only to slowly drop to his knees in front of you.
His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties. He looked up at you through wet lashes, silently asking for permission one more time.
When you nodded, he dragged the lace down your legs, helping you step out of them. Now you were completely naked in front of him.
He rose back to his full height, towering over you and turned you around gently but firmly so your back was pressed against his chest.
One of his large hands wrapped around your throat — not squeezing, just holding — while the other slid down your stomach and between your legs.
His mouth found your neck.
He kissed you there sloppily — open-mouthed, sucking, licking, grazing his teeth along your pulse point as the hot water continued to rain down on both of you.
Two thick fingers rubbed slow, perfect circles on your swollen clit.
The pressure was firm but unhurried.
He took his time, savoring every gasp and whimper that left your lips.
“You’re so sensitive already,” he murmured against your neck, voice impossibly deep. “Been thinking about this since the moment you said my name on television.”
He kept rubbing tight, lazy circles until your knees started to shake.
Only then did he slide one long finger inside you, then a second, curling them perfectly against that spot that made you see stars.
His palm pressed against your clit while his fingers pumped in and out in slow, deep strokes.
Virgil’s mouth never left your neck — kissing, biting, sucking marks into your skin as he worked you closer and closer to the edge with nothing but his hand.
His fingers never faltered.
He kept that same devastatingly slow rhythm — two thick fingers curling deep inside you while the heel of his palm pressed firm, steady circles against your clit.
His mouth was still latched onto your neck, sucking and licking as the hot water poured over both of you.
The steam made everything feel even more intimate, almost dreamlike.
“That’s it,” he whispered against your wet skin, voice so deep it vibrated through you. “Don’t fight it, beautiful. Let me feel you.”
Your thighs began to tremble uncontrollably.
The pressure had been building for so long that when it finally broke, it shattered you.
Your orgasm crashed into you hard.
A broken moan tore from your throat as your walls clenched violently around his fingers.
Your back arched against his chest, head falling back onto his shoulder.
Virgil held you up with one arm wrapped around your waist, fingers still moving slowly inside you, drawing every last pulse and aftershock out of you.
He groaned deeply at the feeling of you coming undone for him, murmuring praise right against your ear.
“Good girl…just like that…fuck, you feel perfect. So tight around my fingers.”
He kept stroking you through it until your legs gave out completely.
Only then did he gently pull his fingers from you.
He brought them to his mouth, licking them clean with a low, satisfied hum while his eyes stayed locked on yours.
You were still panting, trying to catch your breath, when Virgil turned you around to face him.
His hands slid under your thighs and he lifted you effortlessly, pressing your back against the warm, wet marble wall of the shower.
The water continued to rain down on both of you as he held you up like you weighed nothing.
Your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist.
You could feel his cock — rock hard and heavy — pressing against your entrance through his soaked boxer briefs.
Virgil looked at you with dark, hooded eyes, water dripping from his curls and down his sharp jawline.
“I need to be inside you,” he said, voice rough with restraint. “Right now. Is that okay?”
You nodded frantically, nails digging into his shoulders.
“Yes… please.”
He reached between your bodies and shoved his boxer briefs down just enough to free himself.
His cock sprang up, thick, long, and flushed.
He dragged the head slowly through your folds, coating himself in your release and the warm water, teasing your still-sensitive clit until you whimpered.
Then, with one smooth, powerful thrust, he buried himself inside you to the hilt.
The stretch was intense.
You cried out, forehead falling against his as your walls fluttered around his considerable size.
Virgil groaned loudly, the sound echoing off the marble walls.
He stilled for a long moment, buried deep, letting you adjust while he held you securely against the wall.
“Fuck… you feel even better than I imagined,” he breathed, voice strained.
He began to move.
It was slow at first — deep, rolling strokes that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you.
Because he was holding you up, every thrust felt impossibly deep.
Your bodies were pressed flush together, chest to chest, forehead to forehead, sharing the same hot, steamy air.
The position was essentially standing missionary, and Virgil took full advantage of it.
One of his hands stayed under your thigh, holding you open for him.
The other braced against the wall beside your head.
His hips rolled into you in long, powerful strokes — pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in to the base, grinding against your clit with every thrust.
The pace was sensual and deliberate. Not frantic.
Not rushed.
He fucked you like he wanted to savor every second.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly.
When your eyes met his, the intensity nearly undid you.
His face was inches from yours, jaw tight, water cascading over his shoulders and chest.
Every time he bottomed out, a quiet grunt escaped him.
“You’re taking me so well, beautiful,” he murmured between thrusts, voice hoarse. “So deep…just like that. Keep your eyes on me.”
He leaned in and kissed you again — messy, open-mouthed, and desperate.
His tongue moved in time with his cock, licking into your mouth as he fucked you against the wall.
The sound of wet skin slapping wet skin mixed with the steady rhythm of the rainfall shower filled the bathroom.
Virgil’s thrusts gradually grew harder, deeper.
He adjusted his grip, holding both of your thighs now, spreading you wider so he could drive into you with more force.
Every stroke dragged a moan from your lips.
He swallowed each one with another kiss, then moved his mouth to your neck again, sucking fresh marks into your skin while he pounded into you.
“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned against your throat. “So tight… so wet for me… I could stay buried inside you all night.”
He shifted the angle slightly, hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. Your second orgasm was already building fast, coiling tight in your belly.
Virgil could feel it — the way you clenched around him, the way your moans pitched higher.
He pressed his forehead harder against yours, breathing ragged.
The angle had him dragging against that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, and the way he held you — strong hands gripping your thighs, keeping you spread open for him — made you feel completely claimed.
“I’m so close,” you gasped against his mouth, nails digging into the back of his neck.
“I know, beautiful,” he murmured, voice rough and low. That accent thickened with lust. “I can feel you squeezing me. So fucking tight… like you were made for this.”
He kissed you again — slower this time, deeper, like he was pouring everything he felt into it.
His tongue moved lazily against yours while his hips maintained that devastating rhythm.
The steam, the heat, the constant stream of water, and the feeling of him so deep inside you was overwhelming.
Every sense was flooded with him.
Virgil shifted his grip, sliding one arm under your ass to hold you more securely while his other hand moved between your bodies.
His thumb found your clit and began rubbing slow, firm circles in time with his thrusts.
“Look at me,” he whispered.
Your eyes fluttered open and locked onto his.
The intensity in his dark gaze nearly undid you.
His curls were soaked, water dripping from his lashes, jaw clenched with restraint.
He looked devastatingly beautiful like this — raw, powerful, and completely focused on you.
“I want us to finish together,” he said, voice hoarse but gentle. “Can you do that for me?”
You nodded, barely able to speak.
His thrusts grew slightly faster, deeper, more purposeful.
The wet slap of skin on skin echoed beautifully in the shower.
His thumb never stopped its perfect rhythm on your clit.
The coil in your stomach wound tighter and tighter until you felt like you were going to snap.
“Virgil…” you whimpered, eyes starting to roll back.
“Stay with me, beautiful. Eyes on me when you cum.”
That was all it took.
Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave.
A sharp cry tore from your throat as your walls clenched violently around his thick cock.
Your entire body shook in his arms, thighs trembling, back arching hard against the wall.
The pleasure was so intense it bordered on overwhelming.
You kept your eyes on him the entire time, just like he asked, watching the way his own control finally shattered.
“Fuck— that’s it, baby…squeeze me just like that—”
Virgil groaned deeply, the sound guttural and raw.
His hips stuttered once, twice, then he buried himself to the hilt inside you.
You felt him throb powerfully as he came, spilling deep inside you in hot, thick pulses.
His face dropped to the crook of your neck as he rode it out, hips grinding slowly into you, drawing out every last drop of pleasure for both of you.
For a long moment, the only sounds were the water falling and both of you trying to catch your breath.
Virgil stayed buried inside you, holding you securely against the wall even as his legs shook slightly from the intensity.
He pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, your jaw, your cheek, until he finally found your lips again.
This kiss was slower, sweeter, almost tender.
“You’re incredible,” he whispered against your mouth. “So perfect.”
He stayed like that for another minute, just holding you, letting the water rinse over your joined bodies.
Only when he felt your breathing begin to even out did he carefully pull out of you.
A soft whimper left your lips at the loss. Virgil hushed you gently, kissing your temple.
He lowered you slowly until your feet touched the shower floor, but he didn’t let you go.
One arm stayed wrapped around your waist, supporting you as your legs felt like jelly.
The aftercare was immediate and effortless.
Virgil turned the shower temperature slightly cooler, then reached for your shampoo.
He washed your hair with careful, gentle fingers, massaging your scalp until you were practically purring. You returned the favor, running soapy hands over his chest and shoulders, tracing every line of muscle with quiet admiration.
He smiled down at you the entire time — soft, almost boyish — a stark contrast to the man who had just fucked you against the wall.
Once you were both clean, he wrapped you in a huge, fluffy towel and carried you bridal-style into your bedroom.
He dried you off slowly, pressing kisses to every inch of skin he touched — your shoulders, your wrists, the inside of your elbows, the tops of your breasts.
He was especially gentle when he noticed the faint marks he’d left on your neck.
After drying himself, he climbed into your bed and pulled you against his chest.
The sheets were cool against your overheated skin.
Virgil tucked you into his side, one arm wrapped securely around you while his other hand stroked slow, soothing patterns up and down your back.
“You okay?” he asked quietly, lips brushing your forehead.
You nodded, nuzzling deeper into his chest.
“More than okay.”
He was quiet for a moment, then let out a soft laugh.
“I meant what I said on Fallon’s show,” he murmured. “I’m going to need that playlist.”
You laughed, the sound muffled against his skin.
Virgil smiled and tilted your chin up so he could kiss you again — slow, sweet, and lingering.
“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” he said honestly, eyes searching yours. “I want to take you on a proper date. I want to hear you sing in person. I want to wake up next to you again… if you’ll let me.”
Your heart swelled. You reached up and traced his jaw with your fingertips.
“I’d really like that, Virgil.”
He kissed you one last time, then pulled the covers over both of you.
With you safely tucked against his chest, his fingers still drawing lazy circles on your back, he whispered against your hair:
“Sleep, beautiful. I’ve got you.”
As your eyes grew heavy, wrapped in his warmth and the faint scent of his skin, you couldn’t help but smile.
The faceless artist had finally been seen… and the man she’d admired from afar had turned out to be even better in real life.
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Summary : Cherry is a newbie in the adult industry. She is trying to make a name for herself in a controversial environment. What happens when one of the most popular actors Virgil contacts her to shoot a scene? WC : 9.2K
Warnings (+18) : This one is for the grown ladies. Porn industry, smut, nasty sex. If smut isn't your cup of tea, skip. Anyway morality police this one isn't for you.
A/N : Can't believe @kyoshithewriter convinced me to write that one shot. Everything started from a joke. Thanks for your help. You can get off my neck now 😂 Anyway, this story is a bit out of the box but I had fun writing it. I enjoy exploring with my writing. Another point : I’m not glamorizing this type of lifestyle or industry at all. As a writer I just feel like it’s important to explore different storylines. I hope you enjoy it anyway.
Writing takes a lot of time, if you enjoyed, please reblog, comment and interact. Don't be shy. That's why the anon button exists. English is not my first language.
Cherry stares at the multiple clothes in her closet. Low rise jeans, miniskirt, denim shorts, jumpsuit, dress? Every outfit mixes up her mind, scrambling it like eggs. In her very young career, she has never stressed so much about an outfit before. Usually, she opts for something that reveals without over sharing. Months in the industry taught her that pre-meeting or testing chemistry often resulted in men trying to take advantage of the situation. Actors, friends, producers or directors, the industry could turn very predatory. Many of them only see actresses as sexual objects or cash cows which often lead to coercion or abuse. For many, boundaries frequently were similar to background noise, ignored. New incomers often pay a higher price to make it in the industry.
The more she navigates the industry, the quicker she realized she needed to do something differently. Although she has worked with many respectful producers and actors, she could not stand the constant pressure of having to be cautious and on alert 90% of the time.
Adding alcohol, drugs, the lack of rigor with STDs and STIs testing, the lack of consideration for their boundaries and person made her realize that she had to find another way. That is when Amanda, her mentor in the industry, submitted the idea of starting an Onlyfans page. A safer option that could open bigger doors. It took a lot of work but her first months were very promising.
Ever since she recorded that girl on girl scene with Amanda, the phone keeps ringing, the emails flow more frequently, the options are less limited. The brunette gave her a list of directors, and actors to avoid. The names that needed to be remembered for opportunities. The rest was in-between, inoffensive but not popular enough to boost her career.
From there, she felt more comfortable shooting scenes with a few selected male actors. The subscriptions kept coming in, growing her money in ways her old self could not have imagined. As a newbie, she was eager to succeed, to make it to the top. Her career had a pretty good start. The number of views on her page reflected a promising future in the controversial industry. Still, Cherry dreamed bigger. She wanted to compete with the big heads. The bigger names, the ones that even the occasional viewers know. One of the names that often popped-up on people feeds even on Instagram.
Ever since she started her page her life has drastically changed. Financially, she is doing better than she could have imagined. Onlyfans was a good start but still not enough for a greedy woman like her. When the first offer escorting offer came, she thought about refusing until she noticed the pay per hour. Just like that Cherry had a side business that brought more money in.
Amanda’s idea offered more control, freedom and a flexibly, Cherry could only dream off in the past. A few months ago, filming with certain actors and directors felt like a chore. Today she can confidently admits that she loves her job. Sex is something she enjoyed from the start and still does to this day. The only difference being getting paid to do what she was used to do behind closed doors.
The bell rings making her jump as she puts on some low rise jeans, offering a beautiful view of her flat stomach, navel piercing, waist chains and toned stomach. Image and physical appearance mattered more in her industry than anywhere else. The pink velvet cropped hoodie is slightly opened, revealing a portion of her plump natural breast.
Amanda shouts from the living room, ”Cherry. The chauffeur is waiting for you downstairs.”
”Yeah, give me 5 minutes.” She checks herself one more time in the mirror, adjusted her glossy lips before picking her mini designer leather bag and ornate her feet with a pair of black heels mules. Cherry calmly makes her way downstairs, her eyes falling on Amanda scrolling through social media in a green lace.
”Preparing your next post?”
”Yeah, something like that. Where are you going?”
”Pre-meeting. Some actor contacted me to shoot a scene next week so we’re meeting up to talk a bit about it, you know?”
”Which one?”
”Virgil something.” Cherry nonchalantly replies as if she had not been doing research on that man for months. Of course, she knows his name. Virgil van Dijk, the name has been sitting at the top of her list. The fantasy of many women in the industry. The name that many wish to see pop in their inboxes one day. Not only for his looks but his alleged exploits in bed. To this day, her body remembers how her heart jumped when she received that Instagram DM proposing she shoot a video with him. Cherry felt like she won the lottery. A big established name like his shooting with her could only help with her career.
Amanda stops scrolling to bluntly stare at her. The long haired brunette suddenly giggles nervously with a hand on her full breast. Cherry’s stomach turns. What if she missed information or warning signs? Cherry’s brown almond eyes widen in panic. She had done her research. How is that possible?
Cherry quietly remembers how she almost touched herself to one of his scenes. In her dark spacious bedroom, she had picked up her computer, shamelessly googling his name. The first page that popped up, she clicked. According to her fellow actresses, he is one of the best out there. Shooting a scene with an actor of that caliber guaranteed visibility and great sex. The tall lightskin man has something that makes her squirm. That je ne sais quoi, she could not explain to anyone. You have to feel it. From his content, she can tell he is image wary and detail orientated. The list of scenes are pretty long, perfectly organized and curated. His signature videos resembled homemade sextapes with a vintage camera. She randomly clicked on the most popular video.
Her clit pulsed under her sheets as she saw how the red-haired reacted to the power of his strokes. Too many times, people tend to forget that porn is a form of entertainment. Porn actresses are still actresses who are putting an act on. The shootings are way too long and very unglamorous to create anything realistic.
But in that particular scene, she couldn’t tell if Skylar was faking or not. Another scene, different actress, similar reactions. This time, her body speaks louder than whatever sounds coming out of her mouth. She recognizes Katlynn, a girl she worked with on several occasions. Girl on girl, threesomes, foursomes, their audience loved the duo. The picture is crystal clear, Katlynn is not faking it.
How can she tell? They both enjoyed each other's company in private. A few times alone, once or twice with a third party. She squirts, wetting the velvet couch underneath, her legs shaking under the spell of his tricks. Something that only happened when Katlynn shoots girl on girl scenes. The red-haired woman confessed months ago to her.
Cherry resists the urge to pick her phone and call Katlynn to inquire about the particular scene. After watching a few videos, Cherry decided to respond to his collaboration offer, eager to see what the man is about.
”Girl, relax. You’re safe. It’s just -” She pauses. ”Virgil was the best fuck of my life. We shot a scene together last year. I made a ton of money from it. It’s an amazing opportunity. Fucked him on the side for while too.”
Her shoulders fall back in relief until she bombards Amanda with questions, ”Why have I never seen your video with him? Why did you stop fucking him on the low? How is he?”
Amanda chuckles, amused by her reactions. ”Listen, he’s very chill. Respectful and professional. You have nothing to fear. Now, go before you’re late.”
”So you’re not going to share anything?”
”I don’t want to ruin the experience for you, trust me.” She winks before gently tapping her shoulders. Cherry rolls her eyes, her feet leading her to the black vehicle at her front door. At least, she will not have to stay alert. Her safety is not at risk. That is a start.
****
Cherry walks confidently to the front door of the luxurious yet minimalist villa. Usually, she leads with assurance, charm and positivity. However, today feels slightly different. What she manifested months ago is happening but somehow she finds herself overwhelmed and intimidated. Cherry quickly rearranges her posture before a brown skinned man in a white teeshirt and dark blue jeans opens the door. She barely has time to speak that he invites her inside.
”Welcome, Cherry! I’m Bryan, Virg’s best friend and assistant.”
Her tone is calmer, a bit more controlled than usual. ”Hello Bryan.” The click of her heels resounds on the tiles, forcing a few heads in the living room to turn. Three other men stopped their beer pong to stare at her. She innocently bats her lashes before greeting them. A silence follows quickly, cut by Bryan clearing his throat.
”Cherry. She’s here for professional purposes.” He insists on the last part of the sentence earning a few cold stares from the guys.
One of the guys responds, ”We know her, bro. She’s one of the hottest girls out there.”
Cherry cracks a smile revealing perfect white pearly teeth and a gem on her teeth. ”Thanks, guys.” Bryan urges her to follow him into another living room. Smaller and warmer than the first one. Cherry politely waits for an invitation to sit down. Bryan offers her plenty of drinks, alcoholic and non alcoholic beverages. Something rare in the industry. Plenty of times, alcohol comes first to turn the mind off or take advantage of situations.
”Virg insisted on buying you some cherry lemonade. Thought you’d like the gesture.”
That detail only confirms her analysis. The man is detailed orientated. ”That’s very thoughtful. Thanks.”
”Don’t mean you should take it tho. Drink what you really want to.”
”No, I’m cool, promise. I love cherry lemonade.”
Bryan opens the bottle and pours the reddish liquid in a glass. Cherry leans in, purposefully showing her cleavage. The man licks his lips, taking the time to admire her slim curvy figure.
”You’re very hot…but I have to tell you something. There’s no need to perform before the actual scene. We don’t do that here. We prefer to play games.”
”Oh nice! What type of games?”
”Uno, truth or dare, have you ever, beer pong…Whatever just to break the ice, you know?” She nods surprised with their methods. No sex, no heavy flirting, games. Cherry enjoys the sweet and tart taste on her tongue, slowly relaxing in the private room. Bryan caught her eyes. Tall, tattooed, clean, beard, full lips, charming smile, white teeth, clean haircut and diamond earrings. Her type.
”Are you playing too, Bryan?” She asks with a sultrier tone, leaning a bit forward. The brown skinned man looks away, his bottom trapped in his teeth. Cherry knows how to get what she wants. Virgil for professional purposes and Bryan for private.
”I’m still waiting, Bryan.”
He shakes his head. ”No, not tonight. It’s only for Virgil and the girl he’s shooting with. I’m just the assistant. If you’re really want me to play, we can do that after the shoot next week.” Cherry grins satisfied with that half promise of having some fun without any cameras. Routine for most people, rarer for her. Ever since she started in the industry, the two world collided pretty brutally. Now even the guys she wanted to be intimate with for her personal pleasure wanted to record or perform. Which infuriates her and consequently lowered her personal sex life.
Cherry feels his presence in her back. For the first time in her career, she feels her palms getting moist. The girls were not lying, aura is his second name. The man enters the room with an ease that would make any insecure man uncomfortable. The pictures and cameras did not even do justice.
His wooden and fresh scent makes her mouth water. His simple outfit : white wife beater, denim shorts and white socks perfectly matched his slick man bun. The man looks like a Rnb singer from the 00’s and she’s here for it. Bryan goes to the back of her mind a second. Both are fine but Virgil stands in his own category. Although the lack of facial hair accentuates his strong cheekbones, chin and jaw, her body still reacts to his presence. Months ago, she dreamed about this moment. Now is no time to let her anxiety ruin such an opportunity.
She keeps her cool, rising from her chair to greet him as her lashes bat innocently. ”Cherry. Nice to meet you,Virgil. Thanks for having me.” He extends his big and warm palm to her, shaking it firmly.
The thick dutch accent does not surprises her. After watching more than twenty videos of him, her ears grew used to it. ”Hey, Cherry. Welcome!” He nods to Bryan, signaling him to leave the room. The beautiful assistant walks away staring at her one more time.
Virgil smiles, sitting down on the chair in front of her. ”Seems to like you.”
”They all do.” She says confidently, earning a grin from him.
”I have no doubts, sexy. You’re stunning. Beautiful face, gorgeous body. Asked my team to reach out the second I’ve seen your scene with Amanda.”
Cherry lightly chuckles remembering Amanda comments. ”Yeah, she told me about you.”
“Hopefully only positive stuff.”
She jokes, ”Anything to worry about, Virgil?”
He shakes his head. ”Nope, Amanda is great. I had a great time with her on and off set.”
”Hum. Yeah, don’t worry. She only had praises for you.” Cherry reassures him before redirecting the discussion back to work. After all, she came to talk about their future scene. ”How do you proceed before a scene in general?”
”I prefer to meet the girls before to establish boundaries. I don’t want them to do stuff they don’t feel comfortable doing. Also try to build some chemistry before shooting. Very important.”
”How do you build - ”
Virgil interrupts her, ”No need to sleep with me or my boys before the shoot. This isn’t how it works around here.”
Cherry silently sighs, letting relief silence her worries. Still, her experiences taught her to not rely on words only. Discernment and observation are key. ”So it never happened?”
”No. I want them to get the first experience on camera. I want a raw reaction. Not some theatrical stuff. They’re free to sleep with the boys if they want to. Not because they feel obligated to. Never. We’re just playing games, get to know each other and they can leave. No need to give access to their bodies.“ Something about his calm tone yet cocky grin makes her squirm. Raw reaction. First experience. Her curiosity piques. Either way, she is delighted to see a man of his position and stature not using his fame and influence to harm women of the industry was rare.
”Are you familiar with my work?”
Cherry plays professional. There is no need for him to know that she spent hours watching his videos, studying the scenes or even fantasizing about participating one day. ”Seen a couple of videos, yeah.”
”I use a vintage camera, no cuts. I offer more of a sextape experience than what you usually see online. I have my own production company so my videos, my rules.”
”What are your rules?”
”I’m not spending an entire day shooting. As I explained it’s an experience. There’s no script or crazy expectations. Limited crew in the room. Bryan and Allan only. We have plenty of cameras in the room to get different angles. Bryan checks the angles and cameras. Nathan the lighting. We have a makeup artist if you need one. Nobody can access your room before the shoot. It’s your space. I’ve checked your tests, they’re all good. I sent you mine. I think we’re good, yeah? Oh and no condoms.”
Cherry takes all the information already feeling at ease with him. She loves how he cares about her safety and protection without over bragging about it, hoping for a quick fuck after. It made sense to him.
”Also. No pauses, no cuts. The concept is really to offer an authentic experience. Not some overdone acting skills. We edit later. No breaks, nothing. Can you handle it?”
The woman cracks a smile. ”Newbie doesn’t mean debutant.”
The intensity of his stare gets under her skin and burns her from the inside. All the images of him leaving those women begging, sobbing and trembling under his touch warms her body. ”It’s pretty intense. Can get overwhelming for some. I’d rather inform you.”
”I’m good, don’t worry about me, baby.”
”Good. Are you on birth control?” She nods. ”So cream pie is okay for you?” Another nod as she sips on her sweet beverage. ”What are off limits?”
”Poop, piss, punches, no extreme roughness. Just don’t treat me like an inflatable doll.”
Virgil smirks, though unamused by the comment. ”Now you’re making me feel like a debutant.“
He silently grabs her chin, forcing their eyes to meet. ”Listen to me, sexy. There is a reason why 45% of my audience are women. They’re watching because I’m offering something real. I’m not shooting videos where women are treated like vulgar vessels for men. That’s not my thing. I’m here to make actresses and viewers feel good. Do you understand? Amanda never told you? How good I made her feel, hm? How she kept cheating on her useless boyfriend with me? Ask Bryan how many times per week she’d come here to fuck me. If I was handling women like dolls, none of them would come back. Ask my fellow actors. They’re not having sex outside of work, I am.”
Cherry crosses her legs when he released her chin, stopping her pussy from getting wetter. That aura, face card mixed with that self confidence is a recipe for trouble. Virgil keeps his eyes on her while Cherry prefers to look away. Too scared to lose control of her usual composure.
”I wasn’t doubting your skills. I’m just protecting myself.”
”I’m not mad at you, Cherry. Just explaining how I function. Another point, I’m giving the lingerie. The only thing you have to do is bring your beautiful self on set. It’s your first time with me, so we’re going to make it special, yeah?”
His eyes predict nothing that would stop her clit from pulsating in her jeans. The man knows exactly what he is doing. Unfortunately, it is working. She is crumbling like she never has before. Nervousness is not familiar, not even in front of ugly and predatory men.
”Hm. Let’s see what you’re about, yeah.” He grins, taking her response as a clear challenge. He eyes her like the last slice of cake on the plate he craves but holds back.
”Why did you choose me? I know how picky you are with actresses and models. Why me? I’m a newbie with a promising career but nothing crazy.”
”I want to fuck the shit out of you if I’m being honest. Videos don’t usually do much for me, but that one with Amanda…I got hard. I want to see those faces you make when you’re coming. Your beautiful tits bounce. Your ass ripple and hear how you scream and moan my name. Want to know what you taste like and…feel like around my dick.” Under any other circumstance she would never have played these games. She came to discuss a scene, not to leave here with a wet panties. Cherry is a player, she cannot fold that way. Despite the wetness between her legs, she rises from her chair to boldly sit on his lap. Purposefully placing her pussy on his crotch. Her hands seductively rubbing the back of his neck.
”Let’s test that chemistry right now, baby. Take me, fuck me right here on that couch. Why even bother to shoot a scene?” Virgil firmly yet gently grabs her hips, intentionally rubbing his discreet bump between her legs. They both moan at the friction. Virgil leans in, his lips brushing against hers.
He whispers, ”I’m not going to break my rules. Not even for your sexy ass. I know what I’m doing, sexy. I know a future star girl when I see one. I know an ambitious woman, when I see one.” Her erected nipples poke out, rubbing against her velvet hoodie.
”Be good to me and go back to your chair, okay, sexy?” His tone is calm yet firm. Cherry understands the subtle message. This opportunity mattered a lot to her. More than it did hours ago before she arrived. Now, she needs to live the promised experience. Cherry follows his suggestion and goes back to her seat.
”You’re quite impressive. Many would have given in.”
”I’m not many. I’m Virgil, sexy.”
A part of her wanted to wipe that borderline arrogant smirk off his face. Hopefully she can do so next week during the scene. ”Wait…Virgil is your real name? Why are you using your full name?”
”I love hearing them scream my name. Not some made-up name, just mine. I enjoy them praising me everywhere. Expressing how good it feels.” She sips on the remaining lemonade. The man really enjoys the attention and praise that comes with the job.
”Hm. Yeah, you love an ego boost.”
He laughs, louder than usual. ”Ego boost? That’s my reality, sexy. You’ll understand next week why I don’t need an ego boost.” Of course, he would be this cocky if girls keep coming back to him for his bedroom skills, physical appearance and a well endowed member.
”What brought you here? How did you end up in this fucked up industry?” The question almost comes out of nowhere.
”I enjoy sex.”
”That’s all, really?”
”Are you a therapist or a porn actor?”
”I’m full of resources sexy, you know?”
She chuckles, sending vibrations her body probably did not need. ”Sex and money. No dark stories behind. I mean unless absent fathers count.”
”Doesn’t count.”
”Yeah I just love sex. It all started in college. I was sleeping around a lot and one day I thought about making it a profession too. I’m good at this too so why not? What about you?”
”My ex suggested the idea. She said the whole world should see how I fuck her. So we recorded ourselves, uploaded on a porn site and boom. People asked for more so I delivered. We broke up because of the attention tho. She hated seeing girls throw themselves at me…Not mad at her because now I can do whatever the fuck I want and run my business however I feel like.” Cherry simply grins and nods at his explanation. The man cannot fuck that good. What was going on?
”Let’s play. You pick! Never have I ever or UNO?”
”UNO. I need to wipe that cocky smile off your face, baby.”
”Say less.”
They spent hours speaking and playing cards until Virgil had to leave for professional reasons. Bryan stays pretty vague. The scene is planned for Friday, in five days. Short yet long timing for something so exciting. A sensation that could not be carried until Friday. Cherry goes to Bryan. To help her tame that fire. The sex was pretty good, not the best of her life but pleasurable enough to calm her burning desire. Cherry makes sure to scream at the top of her lungs, letting Virgil hear it all when he comes back home.
”Bryan! Fuck yes! Like that! Ugh!”
****
Cherry checks herself in the bathroom mirror one last time. The moment she has been impatiently waiting for days has finally arrived. The lingerie perfectly emphasizes her natural curves. A deep pink set that perfectly contrasted with her deep dark skin. The balconnette bra teasing her full breast, the thong displayed her plump ass and garter and garter belt snatching her waist and thighs. She sprays her favorite perfume, a vanilla and fruity scent that often brings some comfort to her senses. The makeup artist knocks at her door.
”It’s time, Cherry. They’re waiting for you in the downstairs.”
She should not be that stressed, it is her job. She has done it before. However, there is something about Virgil’s eyes days ago that makes her core tingle more than usual. Cherry uses her cherry scent roll on and spreads it on her inner thighs. Cherry takes her deep breath before making her way downstairs. She greets the three men on set.
”I thought we’d start directly in the bedroom.”
”No, I had a new idea so we’re starting on the couch. Camera testing first here and in the bedroom then we can get to it.” Virgil mutters orders in Dutch before Cherry sits on the couch, growing impatient as she understands that they would not start before an hour.
Camera testing, lightening checking and a few photos for the website only adds up to the existing tension. The photoshoot was the worst part. Virgil stands behind her, shirtless, chain on and a basketball shorts. The pictures had to tease without giving out too much. A perfect balance that Virgil mastered to perfection. Teasing to catch the eye but not sexual enough to be censored on Instagram.
The way their eyes keep meeting, openly showing the spark between them had Bryan and Nathan satisfied with the material. The firm yet subtle touches from both ends reveals their impatience and excitement for the scene. Virgil purposefully lets his hand longer than usual on her body. One time firmly grabbing her hips, the other gently caressing her skin smoothly.
”Last one.” Allan shouts while capturing cliché of them. Virgil leans closer, almost forcing their lips to touch.
”Already wet, sexy? We’ve barely started.” She ignores his comment and focuses on the click of the camera. ”Oh…and Bryan got nothing on me. I wasn’t impressed by your little circus. I run the show, sexy.”
This time, Cherry leans quickly pecking his lips. ”Who told you it was a circus? Not everything is about you, Virgil.”
”You’ll say that again in a few hours.”
****
After discussing additional details and rearranging the set, they are ready. Bryan reminds her, ”No cuts, no pause. Now, if it’s too much for you. Use the safe word strawberry.” The woman nods, mentally preparing herself to deliver like she always does. Virgil gently massages her shoulders.
”Ready for the best sex of your life? Don’t be nervous, we’re going to have a great time!”
Cherry playfully rolls her eyes. ”You’re really putting a lot of pressure on your shoulders.” To that he simply chuckles.
”Remember, it’s an experience
”3…2…1. Action!”
Spontaneity means no script simply going with the flow. Virgil turns to the front camera. ”Model of the day, Cherry. Let’s show her a good time, shall we?” He barely finishes his sentence before his hands are roaming all over her body. The left hand finds her chin, gently forcing his eyes into his.
”You’re so beautiful, baby. You know that?” He wastes no time and crashes his lips against hers. The kiss reflects the desire they both tried to tame for days. Cherry's skin burns like it never did before. Each parcel feels like an ember ready to inflame the rest of her body. The kiss had nothing cute or romantic. Pure filth, full tongue. Virgil places one of his hands around her neck. The touch is mastered, firm enough without strangling her. He takes one step back, interrupting the kiss before licking the top of her mouth.
The first moan slips out as his hand presses her neck a bit firmer. Still not enough to hurt her. "Open your mouth for me, sexy. Tongue out.”
Cherry gladly follows his orders like a subject under the spell of her magician. He sucks on her tongue before letting his dribble run inside of her mouth. Cherry swallows with a grin on her face. With his hand still on her neck, he delicately guides her on the couch, laying her down. Angling her body to face the camera on the right.
Virgil places himself between her legs, his basketball shorts dangerously falling on his hips. Cherry wraps her legs around him, confidently securing him on top of her. He leans in, allowing his chain to dangle in her face until his forehead rests against hers. Her chest rose up and down, quicker than usual. Eye to eye, he boldly grabs her boobs, massaging them and licking the nipples over the lace. Her back arches as she moans.
Cherry’s hand rests on his head as he pulls down her bra, revealing a beautiful pair of brown nipples, hard and erected for him. Begging to be sucked on. Virgil wastes no time and puts her nipples in his warm mouth as the other massaged the free boob. Cherry squirms under the assault of his mouth.
The precision of his tongue, the pressure, the speed – never in her life has she experienced such oral skills. An expert mouth that knows what to do. Cherry bucks her hips in the air, desperate to calm the wetness between her legs. He goes harder, stopping at the perfect moment to give her an expert massage, groping and revealing new erogenous zones. Cherry gets lost in the stimulation, throwing her head back, fully offering her body to him.
”Such a beautiful breast.” He comments before getting back to sucking and licking her nipples. Alternating between left and right with a small plot twist: light biting.
”Oh fuck!”
Cherry arches her back, overwhelmed by the pleasure. Her nipples become so hard it is almost painful, yet something new accompanies that small pain. Warm, good pulses in her chest. The moans keep filling the room. The lace between her legs sticks, rubbing against her swollen clit. Cherry barely has time to process anything. She feels those pleasing shockwaves taking over her. First orgasm of the day, done. Just by playing with her nipples. Her face contorts, making him smile in the process.
”This is what sucking tits does to you, uh?” Cherry collects her thoughts before putting her mind right back to work. He firmly grabs one boob, putting subtle pressure onto it while his other hand pulls on her nipple. ”Answer to me, baby. Always.” He whispers, leaning in for another tongue exchange.
”Yes, Virgil. You make me feel so good.”
”And we’re not done yet.”
Just like that, Cherry uses her feet to remove his basketball shorts and boxers. Her lips trapped between her teeth as she observes his hard dick slapping his stomach. The sight makes her mouth water. The sleeve tattoo, his hair, the chain, the scent, and his pretty dick are a lot to take in.
”I want to suck your dick, baby.” She expresses, plugging her fake innocent eyes into his before pushing him back on the couch. He lays back down as Cherry settles between his legs. Before she starts, he softly guides her head to his mouth, capturing her lips then letting his drool melt in her mouth.
”Yeah, make me feel good, sexy.” Cherry spits all over him, watching her saliva cover his member. She then spits in her own palm, wetting it to stroke him a couple of times. Cherry puts her tongue out, slapping his tip against her tongue, savouring the salty precum. Her free hand lands on his thigh as she flicks her tongue around his tip.
”Fuck, sexy. Stop teasing.”
Cherry puts an end to his agony by enveloping his shaft with her warm mouth. The smile on her face distorts each time his dick goes further in her mouth. The small gags only turn her on more. He is big and she loves it. Her pussy clenches around nothing as Cherry imagines him wrecking her.
His hands rest on her braids, encouraging her. "Fuck, that mouth is so good." She moans, sending vibration to his member. Cherry sucks steadily and faster each time. ”That’s it, sexy. Just like that.” The small groans he lets out motivating her. By now, she is convinced the camera caught her juices leaking from her lace thong. Cherry hollows her cheeks, taking him deeper. One hand massaging his balls, the other caressing his abs. The groans get louder, just like his heavy breathing, wetting her panties to the point of no return.
She breathes out, ”I love how that dick feels in my mouth.”
He barely responds. Instead, their eyes met intensely. That fake innocent stare has more effect on him than he will ever admit. Her pussy aches, desperate for some friction or any attention. Instead, she refocuses on him.
"Open wide, sexy."
He gently grabs her goddess braids, pushing his hips further. Her throat swells as he pushes further, drool falling on the couch, chest, chin and floor as she keeps taking him. A vein appears on her forehead as he pushes her to the very limit. Her eyes wet with tears.
”Yeah, sexy. That’s it. Down that throat like that.” Her hands pump what could not fit inside her mouth. Something to actually make her forget about the tingles between her legs. He releases her head with a grunt, but Cherry is not done. She spits on him, taking her lead back by slurping again. Fast and steady.
”Damn, you want that nut, uh?” Her small hands caress the base, moaning as she goes further. The man grins at the sight of her wet eyes and swollen lips. Both of them forgetting about the cameras for a minute. He finally pushes her head back. Unimpressed by the drool on her chin, he slides his tongue inside of her mouth. Cherry moans as her body reminds her of its needs.
It is now her turn to finally experience what the girls have been bragging about. She should not be that excited. After all, she is working. Yet that intense ache suggests otherwise. If desire could burn, she would be entirely consumed. Turned into ashes due to the never-ending wait.
”Sit down for me, legs wide open.”
Cherry follows his orders without thinking. Whatever was coming next, her body was ready. Eager to live the experience he had been bragging about days ago. Virgil gets on his knees, kneeling right in front of her lace-covered panties. He eyes her face before pressing a kiss against her clothed clit, then inner thighs. Cherry places her hand right behind, already gripping the couch. No one has ever made her that wet before even properly touching her.
Before she can anticipate anything, he pushes her panties to the side. Slowly, she feels his fingers gliding through her slick walls. She sees him bite his lip while angling his fingers in a way she only experienced while touching herself.
The movement is slow yet so intense, it takes her breath away. Cherry moans louder than expected as he keeps working her open. The sound of her wet pussy echoing in the room. She throws her head back, grabbing his wrist as he speeds up the motion of his fingers.
”Let them hear how wet and ready you are for me, sexy. It’s even coating my wrist.”
Cherry unconsciously pushes her hips on his hand, allowing his fingers to go a bit deeper. Moans or screams – she can barely tell what is actually coming out of her mouth. Not when that man keeps rubbing against the spot that drove her crazy. He notices the way she arches her back and keeps pressing on that spot, gently yet firmly enough to get a reaction.
”Is it there, sexy? Right there, uh?”
”Yes, baby! Get that pussy ready for your big dick.“
As she expects him to stop or get her over the edge, her pussy reacts to the sudden loss. Cherry wants to cry, but her despair does not last long. He parts her lips to reveal the swollen bud throbbing in anticipation.
The first lick of her slit makes her whine. It is slow, deliberately teasing. ”Such a sweet pussy!”
Cherry should have known that the first lick was only an appetiser. With her eyes closed difficult to think about cameras. What matters the most is how her pussy is being feasted on. He sucks, nibbles, licks, flicks his tongue on her pulsing clit and slit.
”Right there! Fuck, Virgil!" She screams, way too gone to think about something else than his wet tongue working her up. With half-open eyes, she recognises that same cocky grin. The one that oozes confidence. He knows what he is doing. The wave threatens to violently wash her away. Cherry sings his name as her entire body convulses. Her back slightly moved back to escape his expert mouth. Failure, he keeps licking her. Cleaning all the juices. Her clit pulsing in ways it never did before.
”Give me one more, sexy. I’m greedy." He murmurs against her entrance before sliding his fingers back inside. Cherry now understands what Amanda and other girls experienced. Three orgasms before he even gets to actually fuck her is impressive. Tears form at the corners of her eyes. There must be a trick somewhere. It could feel this good. There must be a price tag somewhere. Cherry lets out another scream as her juices coat his fingers.
“Fuck me. I need your cock now.”
”Come get it, sexy. Show me how bad you want it.”
The light sensitiveness between her legs is not stopping her. In one swift movement, she places her legs on each side. Their eyes anticipating what they both have been craving. The sight of his shaved chin adding fuel to her fire. Cherry pumps his hardness a few times. That first contact leaving them both gasping.
”Shit, sexy. That pussy feels amazing.”
The stretch leaves her panting. Her walls resist a bit, tightly trapping him. He leans in to capture her lips again while pushing his hips upwards. Cherry grabs the back of the couch for stability, hissing in the process. Her mouth opens agape as she accommodates his size. The wetness between her legs makes it easier as she opens up for him.
”You feel so fucking good, baby. You’re stretching me out.”
She sees his jaw clench, his eyes trying their best to stay open. ”Stay with me, baby. We’re just getting started.”
With her eyes locked onto his, she sets her tempo, moving slowly, up and down, hips rolling on some occasion. He grunts at the smoothness of her waist and movements. Cherry smiles when his hands land on her hips following the rhythm. His mouth opens agape as she picks up the pace. Her round and plump breasts bouncing with her.
”That pussy is too good, fuck!”
”Yes, baby. Tell them how good it feels. Let them know.” She whispers, hungrily riding until her juices start glistening on his sack. It should not feel that good. His veins tease spots she mostly could only find herself. Cherry almost cries out when his mouth envelops her hard nipple. Just when she thought he was deep enough, he took the lead back. That same grin appears on his face.
Sternly, he grabs her hips before moving his own upward. Cherry screams as that new angle rubs against her spot. Sweat could not stop them. The fire in her abdomen tortures her as he keeps bucking his hips upward, mercilessly fucking her. If only she could tell the world how good it feels. Impossible. The only thing she can do is scream in his name in the room.
”I won’t, sexy. I can feel that pussy clenching.” His mouth goes back to her nipples. This is too much for her. No need to overact or stimulate. Everything made sense now. Cherry wants to fuck him back, but her legs are already shaking. She dissolves into pleasure, throwing her head back, eyes closed as he keeps thrusting.
”Yes, that’s it, sexy. Cum for me. Enjoy yourself.” Cherry screams louder than intended, her entire body riding the aftershocks of her peak. She must admit, she is impressed. Looking at the videos and experiencing his stamina is completely different. He rapidly pulls out before entering her sensitive walls. She has been warned. It is intense. Virgil likes to push the girls to the limit, and she had no intention of backing out. She wants the entire experience. Everything until her body betrays her or he fills her up with cum.
He calmly rises from the couch, his arms securing her waist as he leads them upstairs. Cherry gasps at his strength. Allan and Bryan follow, but she is too whipped to pay attention. She leans in, invading his mouth with her tongue. Just when she thought he would give her a moment, he started bucking his hips. Cherry whimpers, slightly leaning backwards for him to go deeper.
”You’re greedy, sexy.” He jokes before teasingly slapping her ass. The thrusts stop right before they climb the stairs, only to continue when they enter the bedroom. Cherry could not tell what that bedroom looked like even if she tried to. Not when his veiny dick teases the right spots. Both of them are now panting.
She is soon delicately laid down. A gesture that made her laugh. The complete opposite of how he fucked her on that couch a moment ago. He grabs one of her legs, resting it on his shoulder. This position is a first for Cherry, but she is excited. All those hours at the gym or doing Pilates always helped. He spits on her pussy, using his fingers to spread the saliva. Cherry opens her mouth, silently asking for some for her mouth.
”Such a nasty girl.”
He smiles as she swallows with a satisfied smile before rubbing his tip on her swollen bud. Cherry mewls, overstimulated yet scared of her body giving up too early. She wanted more.
”Such a pretty pussy… Don’t be mad if I wreck her, though."
Inch by inch he fills her again. One hand on her leg, the other on her lower stomach. From there, Cherry's vision blurs as he pounds into her, pausing here and there to roll his hips, going as deep as he could. Out of desperation, she squirms, hoping to get away from him, but his grip is too strong. "Ssshh… Don’t run, sexy. Take it all.” All she can do is stay still and take it.
He asks, his hand adding pressure on her stomach. ”Am I there? All the way there?”
She nods frantically. "Fuck. Yes, you're there. Too good.” As time passed by, words became harder to form. Only moans and whimpers easily come out. He is fucking her unrelentingly as if he hated her. Making her feel things she never felt before, spots she barely knew she had.
”Fuck, baby… You’re…so…deep.”
”I wish I could go deeper. That pussy is too fucking good.“
Tears now roll down her cheeks as she watches his dick disappearing inside of her. Both of them drunk on pleasure. The sound of their skin clapping and her slick walls makes it harder for him. He stays focused, his eyes fixed at her entrance, his eyebrows furrowed, probably trying to control his orgasm.
The bed moves with his strokes. Cherry feels that sensation again. The tingles, the pulses. Expect this time, he pulls out, leaving her confused and on the edge of passing out from pleasure in a moment. Without giving her time to form a question, he places both of her legs on his shoulders, lapping on her sopping pussy with a flat tongue. Cherry grips the sheet, her back arching as she pushes her hips on him. How could she ever function normally after experiencing him? She lost count of her orgasms at this point.
”Please. Too much…” She sobs, letting the pulses of her clit wash her away. This time, her orgasm is more intense, so much so she sees the stars for a minute.
”We’re only done when that pussy is full of me. On your side, sexy.”
At this point, Cherry cannot tell if she is dreaming or not. Nothing made sense anymore. From the corner of her eyes, she sees her reflection in the mirror. Her makeup is all smudged, her eyes wet and pleading. His large and warm palm lies on her hips as he positions himself right behind. Cherry’s eyes fall on Bryan, who gulps. She might be confused, but she spots envy and arousal in his eyes. Maybe a sprinkle of jealousy.
The small observation comes to an end when she feels him stretching her again. Her now-sensitive walls welcomed him faster. As if her body recognises him, she gives him access. One of her legs moved further, opening herself up even more. Cherry closes her eyes when he starts pushing inside of her. Steady and slow strokes that knock the breath out of lungs. Cherry undulates her hips, creating more friction between them. Her head falling back, leading their eyes to meet. That smirk reappears again. He is not done yet.
”Can Bryan fuck you like that, sexy?” He whispers low enough so no one else can hear.
”You’re not playing fair, baby.”
”Oh, because teasing me with Bryan is? You’re going to take it all. Be a good girl, yeah?” Cherry’s nails dig into his forearm as he is now meticulously fucking her, picking up his pace, going harder, deeper. Cherry closes her wet eyes, her body begging for another release when his hand found her clit.
"Eyes on the camera. Tell them how good it feels."
Eyes wet and desperate, she moans. "Fucking…g.ood." The man bites his lip, slowing down the rhythm once again, basically dragging the pleasure until she can no longer take it. Cherry turns her head to the side, looking at him with pleading eyes.
”Don’t look at me like that. I’m not stopping, sexy.” He pauses. In fact, makes me want to keep going.” The moment almost looks intimate. It will probably drive the audience crazy.
The stares, the whispers, the natural chemistry. One thing is sure: they both wanted each other for the longest. ”You can take it, sexy. I believe in you.” Cherry needs some rest. If she comes one more time, she might pass out.
”I want your dick in my mouth, baby.”
”Not yet.” He sternly responds before rubbing on her clit, sending her over the edge again. Her entire body shakes as he keeps fucking her through it, purposely angling his hips to rub against her spongy spot.
She whimpers, ”Too…much.” The pulses come from everywhere. She can barely keep up. She had prepared for intensity but not to that extent. Something rare occurs, she squirts, wetting the bedsheets and her inner thighs. He chuckles before slapping her ass.
”That pussy can’t get enough of me, sexy, is that it?” His voice is deeper than usual, which only makes her wet again. No pause, no cuts. Now there is she, hoping that he releases her soon. Cherry is not the type to give up. She will not let him brag about her passing out or using the safe word. One of the best experiences, if not the best, had to last. Who knows when she will ever experience such great sex?
Cherry lies on her back, her head hanging over the side of the bed. ”Come fuck my mouth, baby.” He follows pretty quickly, teasing her by sliding his fingers in her mouth. She coats them with saliva, slightly gagging as he pushes them further. Minutes later, she tries to control her gag reflex as he gently bucks his hips into her mouth. Tears fall down her reddened eyes as she takes him. The sight of her throat swelling and her face distorting because of him makes him groan louder. Apparently hearing him vocalise his pleasure brings her arousal back to life. One of the peaks of her job is seeing this control freak crumble because of her mouth.
”Fucking hell! I’m not coming inside of your mouth. Lie down on your back.”
Cherry wastes no time, her legs wrapping around his waist as he settles between her legs. Both of them moan at the contact. He leans forward, both his hands caressing her head as he rocks his hips, alternately rolling them, stimulating all the spots inside. Cherry flushes, her mouth opening as she takes all of him. Both of them, staring at their faces, turned on by their mutual reactions. The bed moved under the power of his strokes. His chain dangling in her face as he moves frenetically. Cherry plants her nails into his back. He grabs her hand, intertwining them together before hiking her legs higher. That new angle brings tears to her eyes.
"Yeah, you love it. Don’t you?”
"Fuck me. Fuck me like you owe me."
She feels him twitch inside of her, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he slams his hips inside of her, going as deep as deep as he could. He is close. The small moans, whimpers, and open mouth leave no doubts.
Cherry begs, her voice softer than usual, sultrier. ”Cum inside of me. Fill me. Please. Please. Please.”
The decibels of their moaning and groaning increase until she feels him pulse and twitch inside of her. ”Yes, baby. Give it to me, fuck!” He rests his forehead against hers, chasing that release.
”Cherry, fuck. Look at what you do to me.”
Cherry feels her wall furiously clenching around his member as he fills her up, spurts after spurts, eyes to eyes. Both of them panting and gasping in ecstasy while Cherry squirts, ruining the sheet once again. This one is particularly intense. Cherry feels like she has passed out for a minute. He brings her back to reality by sealing her lips together slowly and passionately. She giggles when they collect their breath.
”It was too good. Amazing!” He kisses her forehead before spreading her lips wide open, enjoying the way his cum oozes out.
"Look how you’re dripping."
Cherry stares before using her fingers to push his cum right back inside, licking the excess off her fingers. Their eyes meet again, and they share another kiss, full of tongue and saliva. Just when she thought they were done, she felt his warm fingers on her clit.
"Give it to me. One more."
"Virgil. I can't...too much."
”You know the safe word, sexy.”
”Please.” She begs with innocent eyes, which only motivates him to pursue until she starts sobbing. Virgil smiles cockily, very happy with the final result. Cherry lies there crying, her body recovering from what just happened. The most pleasurable experience of her life. The multiple orgasms, the overstimulation, and the small caring gestures. The perfect ingredients for a memorable moment. Virgil watches her, his hand gently caressing her stomach, giving her time to recover.
”Thank you. It was too fucking good.”
”Cut!” He screams, officially ending the scene. A signal for Bryan and Allan to leave the bedroom. His hands are still rubbing on her stomach. When she comes to her senses, a detail strikes her.
”Your hair hasn’t moved. How do you do that?”
”That’s a secret, sexy. Come on… Tell me how you feel. You’re good?”
”Sensitive, probably sore tomorrow, but great! What about you?”
”I just had one of the best pussies. Of course I feel good. Now I understand why Amanda keeps shooting with you.”
She chuckles, taking the time to observe her surroundings. A view of a pool and nature and a couple of paintings. Nothing worthy of her attention during the scene. “I generally prefer girls-on-girls scenes. Or solo.”
”Have I changed your mind, Cherry?”
”Don’t get too cocky.”
Cherry rises from the bed, her legs feeling like jelly when she fully stands. As she prepares to thank him again and join her private room, he offers, ”Free next week? We could hang out.”
”Hang out, ugh? I imagined a man like you a bit bolder.”
”You’re right. Let’s go eat some Jamacain food. I know a great spot. Then I’ll take you back to my place to fuck the shit out of you. No cameras, just you and me.”
”Sounds really good. Is Bryan joining us?”
”No. You and me. I’m not a big fan of sharing my favourites. He can have you but not at the same time.”
”Sounds good to me, baby. I need to shower now.”
****
One week later, she is back at his place. This time, no cameras, no lighting, nothing. After a great meal, she is sitting on his lap in his bedroom.
”You’ll be crying when I’m done with you.” That confidence in his tone turns her on. The man knows what he is doing, and she is here for it.
”Take it easy. I’m working in two days. The video went viral, and now my phone keeps ringing.” Cherry received opportunities she never even thought about. Their chemistry did not go unnoticed, and many envied them both.
He hums, leaning in to kiss and suck on her neck. ”Let’s get straight to it then.” Virgil comes back with a pair of handcuffs in his hand. Cherry gasps, her panties already getting wetter at the idea.
”My friends are right next to us. Let them hear how good I’m making you feel. You shouldn’t have a problem with that, uh?”
She grins, understanding that he has every intention to make her pay for her provocation with Bryan. An hour later, she is sobbing again, louder than the first time. Without cameras, everything doubled: intensity, strokes, and caring gestures. Simply too good to be true. How was she supposed to go back to normal after experiencing sex with him? He stimulated and pleased every part of her body from her mouth, breasts, stomach, pussy, ass, and legs to her toes. Filthy sex that included acts she would avoid doing with random guys. Cherry lies there, reconsidering her entire life.
She finally confesses, ”I think I’m in love with your dick.”
”And it loves you back. I told you I know a star when I see one.” Cherry giggles, gently pecking his lips. One thing she is sure about: she will fuck him again, shoot or not.
****
Wait, wait wait, if you enjoyed, where the comments at 😂?
requests (i combined 2): size kink for erling!!!!! doggy style would go crazy lmao! // brat tamer!erling? i feel like he gives off soft dom vibes, but if you push him hard enough, i can see him getting a bit more rough, plus the size kink! yeah im dead lol!
warnings: nsfw! unprotected sex, fingering (f recieving), size kink, belly bulge, he makes you take it cuz he's packing, brat/brat tamer dynamic, smidge of spanking
word count: 7.8k
notes: first full smut post on this blog lol enjoy, i've been OBSESSED with him lately so plz request more! , not proof read
you're at this little café near the marina, somewhere on the coast of portugal, the one with the blue umbrellas and the waiter who keeps recognising erling and pretending he doesn't. the menu is chalked on a board mounted high on the wall behind the counter, and you want the mango one, but you can't read the description from where you're sitting.
"erling," you say, not looking up from your phone.
"mm?"
"read the board for me. the mango one. does it have banana in it? i don't want banana."
he leans back in his chair, squinting up at the board with zero effort. he doesn't even need to squint. he's a head and a half taller than everyone else in here. "mango, passionfruit, lime, honey," he reads. "no banana. you're safe."
"good. order it for me?"
he's already standing, wallet in hand. "ice?"
"lots."
he comes back with both your drinks, sets yours down in front of you with a little napkin underneath it so the condensation doesn't ruin your phone case. he does this every time, the napkin thing, yet you've never asked him to.
"thanks," you murmur, taking a sip.
"anything else while i'm up?" he asks, and there's something in his voice, not quite a edge, more like a gentle ridge. his hand rests on the back of your neck as he sits back down, warm and solid, thumb brushing the top of your spine. "or are we all sorted, princess?"
you hum noncommittally, scrolling through instagram.
this is how the morning goes. you point at things in shop windows and he follows. you try on sunglasses and hold them up to his face and he bends down dutifully so you can check, hands on his knees, smiling at you in the mirror. you hand him your bag when it gets heavy—two seconds into having it—and he swings it over his shoulder like it weighs nothing, because to him it does weigh nothing, because his shoulders could carry a wardrobe.
at the third boutique, you're in the changing room and he's sitting on the little velvet bench outside, legs stretched across the entire aisle, and you pull the curtain open in a dress you're not even sure you like.
"zip me up," you say, turning around.
he stands. he has to practically fold himself in half to reach, one hand braced on the doorframe above you, the other drawing the zip up your back slowly. his fingers brush your skin, trailing warmth, and he leans down to press his mouth against the curve of your shoulder briefly. then his chin rests on the top of your head, his arms coming around you from behind, and you look at yourselves in the mirror—his enormous frame folded around you, your body almost disappearing into his.
"pretty," he says against your hair. "get it."
"i wasn't sure about it."
"i'm sure. get it." he's already reaching for his card.
by lunchtime, you're sun-heavy and lazy, sprawled across two sun loungers pushed together on a quieter stretch of beach. your head is on his chest, his arm around you, fingers tracing idle circles on your shoulder. you keep shifting, restless, and every time you move he adjusts without complaint—shifts his arm, repositions, pulls you closer. you're lying on him more than the lounger at this point, half draped across his torso, and he doesn't say a word about it.
"erling, my water."
he reaches behind him without looking, grabs the bottle, unscrews the cap, and holds it to your mouth. you drink without lifting your head, his other hand cupping the back of your neck so you don't spill.
"more?"
"no." you settle back against him, ear to his chest, listening to the slow thump of his heartbeat. he's so warm, broad and steady, like lying on a heated rock. you wriggle until you're comfortable, which takes approximately forty-five seconds of unnecessary squirming, and he lets you, patient as anything, his thumb stroking the same spot on your shoulder.
"you comfy?" he asks, and his voice vibrates through his ribs into your ear.
"mm."
"good girl."
he says it so easily, so simply, like he’s stating a fact. the sun is hot, the sea is blue, you're his good girl. you feel the words settle somewhere low in your stomach despite not wanting it to affect you.
in the afternoon, you walk along the promenade and you're tired and hot and your feet hurt from the wrong sandals, so you stop walking. just stop, in the middle of the pavement, and look up at him.
"my feet hurt."
he looks down at you. there's a beat where his expression is perfectly still—not annoyed, not amused, just still, assessing you. then he crouches, back to you, and you climb on without hesitation, your arms around his neck, legs around his waist. he stands up like you weigh absolutely nothing, hooks his arms under your knees, and keeps walking. people look, of course they look. he's six-foot-five with a grown woman on his back and he's strolling along like it's a sunday errand.
"you're lucky you're cute," he says, and you can hear the smile in it.
"i know," you reply against his neck.
back at the hotel, you're fresh out of the shower in your pajamas, which on such a hot night is just a flimsy tank top and panties. you’re laying on your tummy on the bed with a bottle of lotion, squirming around.
"can't reach my back," you say.
erling is standing, back to you, texting someone, probably his dad, and he doesn’t turn around. his thumbs move across the screen, steady and unhurried, and you can hear the faint click of the keys. he's finishing his text before paying any mind to you.
"erlingggg," you say again, drawing his name out, pressing your cheek into the mattress. "i'm waiting."
"mm-hm." still typing. not looking at you.
you kick your feet a little, heels bumping against the mattress. "it's gonna get dry. i'll be uncomfortable."
nothing. he hits send, slides the phone onto the dresser, and you're already opening your mouth to complain again when he moves. but he doesn't come to sit beside you, and he doesn't pick up the lotion bottle.
the mattress dips under his weight, a deep compression that tilts your body toward the center of the bed, and then he's there—all of him, all at once. his chest against your back, his hips settling over yours, his arms sliding underneath you and around your middle, hands splaying flat against your stomach. he's so big that the world disappears. the light from the lamp, the sound of the air conditioner, the city outside the window, all of it vanishes under the warm, crushing weight of him. his chin hooks over your shoulder, his hair falls forward and brushes your jaw, and he exhales slowly against your neck, a long, deliberate breath.
you can't move. you can barely breathe. his forearms are locked across your torso, his hands overlapping on your sternum, fingers so long they wrap around your ribs. you're pinned, fully, completely, pressed into the mattress by what feels like a wall of solid warmth. your fingers curl uselessly at your sides.
"erling—" you start, and your voice comes out smaller than you intended, muffled against the sheets.
"hm?" he shifts slightly, settling in deeper, his mouth now resting right against your ear. "what's the matter? you wanted my attention."
you squirm. it does nothing. your legs kick weakly beneath his and he doesn't even tense, doesn't adjust, just holds you tighter—his arms drawing inward until your back is flush against his chest, until there isn't a sliver of space between your bodies. you can feel his heartbeat against your shoulder blades, slow and easy and infuriatingly calm.
"i wanted lotion," you whine, turning your face sideways so you can breathe.
"did you?" his voice is so quiet. he rests his cheek against your temple, and you feel him smile, feel it, the shift of his lips against your skin. "you wanted lotion. like you wanted your smoothie this morning. and your bag carried. and your zip done up. and a piggyback because your feet were a little bit sore."
"a lot bit sore," you correct, squirming again.
his arms tighten, just enough to make you feel it in your lungs. "shh," he murmurs, so gently it could be a lullaby. "i'm talking."
you go still, listening intently, because what else can you do? his thumb rubs a slow circle on your stomach, just below your ribs, and his lips brush the shell of your ear when he speaks. "you haven't said please once today. have you?"
you swallow, a whimper slipping out.
"have you, sweetheart?"
"no," you whisper.
"no," he agrees, soft and warm and devastating. "you haven't. not for the smoothie. not for the dress. not for the water. not for any of it. you just said 'erling,' and i did it, because that's what i do, isn't it? because that's how it works with us."
his hand slides up from your stomach, slow, palm flat and wide, fingers spread across your ribs. he traces the curve of them like he's counting, like he's memorizing.
"you just say my name and i come running." his nose nudges behind your ear, and his voice drops, not louder, just lower, a hum you feel in your teeth. "and that's alright. i love doing things for you. you know that. but today, baby... today you've been very, very greedy."
your breath catches. his hand stops, resting right beneath your chest, warm and heavy.
"have i not given you enough today?" he asks, and he sounds genuinely curious, the way someone might ask about the weather, calm and measured. "the dress, the shoes, the dinner last night, the necklace yesterday. the flight here. this room. all of it mine, all of it yours. and you can't say please?"
you're trying to think of something to say, something bratty and deflective, but his weight is pressing you into the mattress and his hand is warm on your ribs and his mouth is soft against your ear and your brain is just white noise.
"i'm not angry," he says, like he's reading the tension in your silence. "i'm never angry with you. you know that. i just think..." he shifts, rolling you both slightly onto your sides so he can look at your face, his arm still banded around your waist, his other hand coming up to brush the hair out of your eyes. his blue gaze meets yours, steady and fond, and he smiles—slow and easy, like he has all the time in the world. "i just think we should work on your manners a little bit."
his thumb traces along your cheekbone, following the sweep of it like he's drawing something, and the gesture is so tender it almost disguises the weight of what he's saying. you try to dip your chin, to duck away from the quiet scrutiny of his gaze, but he catches you immediately—fingers sliding beneath your jaw, tilting your face back up with a grip so controlled it could hold an egg without cracking it.
"ah, ah. look at me when i'm talking to you," he says, and there's no sharpness in it at all, which is the worst part, because you could handle sharpness. you could rally against sharpness, fire back, dig your heels in and be bratty about it. but this—this soft, patient, immovable steadiness—leaves you with absolutely nothing to push against. he's a wall of gentle and you're just bouncing off it uselessly.
"there she is," he murmurs when your eyes meet his again, and his mouth curves into something impossibly fond, his dimples cutting deep into his flushed cheeks. "there's my girl."
your stomach flips. he has to feel it, the way your breath stutters, because his hand tightens just slightly on your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, and he watches the movement of his own finger with a kind of lazy fascination.
"now," he says, settling himself more comfortably beside you, pulling you closer until your back is flush against his chest again and his arm is draped heavy over your waist, his chin returning to its spot on your shoulder. you can feel the full length of him behind you—the breadth of his chest, the solid plane of his stomach, his thighs bracketing yours so completely that your legs look almost childlike between them. "i want you to think really hard for me. can you do that?"
you nod, which is difficult with his hand still holding your jaw.
"out loud, baby. use your words."
"i can do that," you manage, and it comes out so much smaller than you intended.
"good." he presses a kiss to the spot just behind your ear, lingering, his lips warm and dry. "tell me what you think happened today. with your manners. where did they go?"
you squirm, and his arm tightens like a seatbelt locking, holding you perfectly still against him. "i don't know," you whisper.
"sure you do." his hand finally releases your jaw, sliding down the column of your throat—slow, deliberate, his palm settling there with a gentleness that makes your pulse hammer against his fingers. the rabbiting beat of your heart pushes uselessly against the cage of his hand, but he doesn't acknowledge it, just keeps his fingers resting there, a loose collar of warmth and pressure. "i think you got comfortable. i think you got used to me handing you everything you want the second you snap your fingers, and you forgot that it's nice to ask properly."
"it's not snapping," you protest, finding a tiny flicker of defiance somewhere beneath the haze he's reducing you to. "i just say your name."
"you do," he agrees, nodding against your shoulder, his hair tickling your neck. "you say my name like it's a magic word. like erling is the same as please and thank you all wrapped up together. and i let you, because i like hearing it. i like being the one you call." his lips drag along the curve of your shoulder, a slow graze that leaves goosebumps in its wake. "but that doesn't mean it's good manners, does it?"
you're quiet, turning the admission over in your head, feeling the truth of it pressing against the inside of your teeth. "no," you say finally, barely audible. "it doesn't."
"mm." he sounds pleased, deeply and genuinely pleased, the way he sounds when you correctly predict the score of a match or remember his coffee order without asking. his hand on your throat shifts, thumb stroking a slow line from your collarbone to your chin, and he turns you in his arms—a slow rotation, his body rearranging around yours like water—until you're facing him, tucked into the space between his chin and his chest, your forehead pressed to the warm bare skin above the collar of his t-shirt. his hand finds the back of your head immediately, fingers threading into your hair, cradling you there.
his heartbeat is right there against your cheek, steady and slow and maddening in its composure while yours feels like it's trying to claw its way out through your ribs. you can smell him this close—warm skin and that expensive body wash, the one in the dark glass bottle that you've started associating so completely with safety and want that catching a trace of it in public makes your knees threaten to buckle.
his fingers stay threaded through your hair, gentle, rhythmic, combing through the damp strands in a way that makes your scalp tingle and your eyes want to flutter shut, but the low pull in your belly keeps them open, keeps you hyperaware of every single point where his body meets yours.
"so," he murmurs into the top of your head, the word vibrating through his chest and into yours, "now that we've established that you've been a incredibly greedy today—i want to know something else."
his hand slides from your hair down to the nape of your neck, warm palm settling there, fingers curling loosely around the base of your neck from behind. not squeezing, not restricting, just resting, a weight that reminds you with every breath that he's bigger than you, that he could do anything he wanted, that the only reason you feel safe is because he's chosen to make you feel safe. his thumb traces the ridge of your spine, slow, meditative, like he's reading braille.
"when you were lying on your tummy just now, squirming around in that little top, holding that bottle of lotion you couldn't reach—" he pauses, and you feel him smile against your hair, feel the stretch of his lips, the warmth of his breath shifting. "what were you actually hoping would happen?"
the question drops into the small space between your bodies like a stone into still water, and you feel the ripples spreading outward through every nerve ending you possess. your face burns. you try to press it deeper into his chest, to hide in the broad warmth of him, but his hand at your nape tightens—just barely, just enough—and tilts your head back until you're looking up at him, your chin resting against his sternum, his eyes gazing down at you from what feels like an impossible height even lying down.
"don't hide from me," he says softly, and his free hand comes up to brush the hair back from your flushed face, tucking it behind your ear with a tenderness, every movement careful and precise. "that's not very brave, is it? and you're a brave girl. i've seen you be brave. you walked into a room full of footballers at a christmas party and didn't even flinch. you can tell me what you wanted."
"i just wanted lotion," you breathe, and even you can hear how thin it sounds.
"just wanted lotion," he echoes, and the way he repeats it back to you, each syllable rolled around like he's tasting it for accuracy, makes the lie sound exactly as flimsy as it is. his eyebrows lift, just barely, just enough to signal that he's giving you a chance to correct yourself, a window to be honest, and when you don't take it, when you just press your lips together and stare up at him with the petulant set to your jaw that you know drives him a little bit crazy, something shifts in his expression.
never anger, just… a quiet recalibration, like a man deciding on a different approach. "okay," he says simply, and then his hand comes down on the curve of your ass—firm, precise, barely anything behind it really, just the flat of his palm connecting with the thin cotton of your panties in a clean crisp sound that cracks through the quiet room like a snapped twig. it doesn't really hurt, it's not meant to hurt. it's meant to startle, and it does—you flinch with a sharp little gasp, your hips jerking forward against him, and his hand stays exactly where it landed, warm and heavy and resting there with an unhurried certainty that makes your skin prickle and start to bloom red.
"that's for lying to me," he says, and his voice hasn't changed at all, still that same low and honeyed tone, still patient, still impossibly gentle for a man whose palm is currently molding the shape of your ass. his fingers curve slightly, a reflexive squeeze that's more possessive than punitive, and you feel the pressure of it ripple through your lower stomach, your thighs pressing together on instinct. "try again. what did you want?"
your breath is coming faster now, shallow little pulls that barely fill your lungs, and the heat in your face has spread downward—your chest, your stomach, the insides of your thighs—until you feel like you're glowing with it, a slow internal blaze that his calm is somehow stoking rather than smothering. he watches you struggle with it, watches the defiance warring with the want behind your eyes, and his thumb traces a slow absent circle on the curve of your hip where his hand has drifted, patient as gravity.
"you," you whisper finally, and the word comes out sticky and reluctant, dragged from somewhere deep and honest. "i wanted you."
"there," he says, and the warmth that floods his voice is genuine, rewarding, a sound like sunshine breaking through cloud cover. "that wasn't so hard, was it? just a little bit of truth. thank you, baby." his hand on your hip slides upward, tracing the dip of your waist, the ridge of your ribs through the thin cotton of your tank top, and then back down again, a slow meandering path that makes your muscles jump and tighten beneath his touch. "wanted me to do what, exactly?"
"i wanted you to touch me," you admit, and your voice cracks on the last word, splitting it open, laying the raw want inside completely bare. his hand stills on your waist.
"touch you?" he repeats, thoughtful, rolling the words around in his mouth like he's considering them from every angle. his blue eyes hold yours, steady and unblinking, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "where? here?" his hand moves to your hip, squeezing gently through the fabric. "here?" up to your waist, thumb brushing the underside of your ribs. "be specific, sweetheart. i'm a footballer, not a mind reader."
you squirm against him, the wet heat between your legs pressing maddeningly against the inside of your thighs, and the petulance flares up again—one last flare of it, one last flickering resistance—because admitting it, saying it out loud, guiding his hand there yourself, feels like surrender, and some stubborn part of you doesn't want to give him the satisfaction. but his hand is resting on your waist now, motionless, waiting, and his face is so open and so patient and so handsome in the low golden lamplight, his long hair falling across his forehead and his eyes soft with something that looks a lot like adoration, and the defiance just melts out of you like ice in the sun.
you reach down and take his hand. his fingers are so much larger than yours that wrapping around them feels like gripping a banister, and you feel the subtle flex of his knuckles beneath your palm, the quiet strength coiled in every tendon, as you guide his hand off your waist and down—over the plane of your stomach, past the edge of your tank top, over the slight curve of your lower belly where the muscles flutter and jump beneath his touch, until his palm settles between your legs, pressed flat against the soaked cotton of your panties.
his hand is huge, fingers splayed over your mound, and you feel him exhale, the warm rush of his breath stirring your hair and the tension vibrating through his chest where your cheek rests. he lets you guide him, lets you press his palm down until there’s no mistaking what you want—what you need. his thumb sweeps slowly, circling over the damp cotton, and when you gasp, he grins, bending his head so his lips brush the shell of your ear.
“thank you for showing me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice a velvet hush, threading through you and making your whole body tighten with anticipation, “i like it when you’re honest with me. makes it so much easier.”
you arch your hips into his hand, your thighs spread, greedy and restless, and he rewards you with a gentle squeeze, fingers flexing, massaging you over your panties until you’re squirming, desperate for more. the fabric is already damp—nearly soaked—and when he presses two fingers just there, right where you’re aching for it, your breath stutters and your legs clench helplessly around his wrist. he’s so broad, you realize, his whole forearm braced across your hips, pinning you in place, making you feel small and helpless and so deeply, sweetly owned.
he slides his hand beneath the waistband, the backs of his knuckles tracing a slow, teasing path over your bare skin, and then his index finger finds your slit, slick and hot. he groans, low and pleased, a sound that rumbles through his chest and into your cheek, and his finger circles your clit with a care that makes you shiver, each movement deliberate, patient, coaxing.
“mmm, you’re always so warm here,” he breathes, his words a lazy drawl against your ear, “so soft for me. you know i love how tiny you feel in my hands, don’t you?” his finger dips lower, sliding between your folds, collecting your slick, and then he’s pressing—not too hard, just enough—at your entrance, testing.
he knows how it always is, how his fingers stretch you so much more than anyone else’s, how just one feels like your body is barely containing it, every nerve ending lit up, fluttering with the effort. he eases his finger inside, slow and steady, watching your face, lips parted, eyes fluttering, your breath coming in shallow, needy gasps.
“that’s it, good girl,” he croons, and you whine softly, your hips rocking involuntarily, trying to take him deeper. he moves with you, never forcing, always guiding, his thumb rubbing lazy circles over your clit as he works his thick finger in and out of you, careful not to push for more. he knows you can never take more than this, that even the suggestion of a second finger makes you clench up, overwhelmed by the stretch of just one.
“look at you,” he murmurs, his tone endlessly proud, teasing, “always so eager and still so tight for me. such a perfect fit.” he curls his finger, finding that spot inside you that makes you cry out, your legs trembling, your thighs pressing desperately around his wrist. your hands clutch at his forearm, nails digging into the hard muscle, and he laughs, soft and indulgent, watching the way you writhe and mewl in his grasp.
his thumb keeps that maddening slow rhythm on your clit while his finger works inside you, curling and pressing with a patience that feels almost cruel, and just when your thighs start to shake and your breath turns to thin desperate little pulls, he slows. not stops—slows, his movements going syrupy and languid, his finger barely moving inside you, just resting there, filling you, his thumb still circling but so lightly it barely counts as contact. your hips chase the pressure instinctively, grinding down against his hand, and he lets you, watches you do it with those half-lidded blue eyes and that quiet fond smile like he's watching something endearing, maybe a cute baby animal.
he pulls his finger out out slowly, the drag of it making you whine, and then he's pressing forward again—but this time there are two fingertips nudging at your entrance, blunt and broad and slick with you, and your whole body tenses, your hand shooting down to grip his wrist.
"erling—"
"shh, shh. i know," he murmurs, and his mouth finds your forehead, pressing a kiss there, warm and firm. "i know it's a lot…" his fingers don't push, just rest there, a promise and a question, and his thumb resumes its slow stroke over your clit, keeping you slick and trembling and open. "just wanna make it easier for you later,"
the statement lands between your legs like a pulse of heat and you feel yourself clench around nothing, your body responding to the implication before your brain catches up. he waits, his fingers patient at your entrance, his eyes on your face, and when you don't say no—when your grip on his wrist loosens just barely, just enough—he pushes forward.
the stretch is immediate and overwhelming, a slow burning fullness that makes your mouth fall open and your eyes squeeze shut, your thighs falling open wider on instinct because there's nowhere else for them to go, your body making room the only way it knows how. he's so careful, easing in millimeter by millimeter, his thumb working your clit in steady circles to keep you wet and pliant, and when his fingers are finally seated inside you—both of them, buried to the knuckle—you feel like you're being split apart in the most devastatingly gentle way possible.
"there you go," he breathes against your temple, and you can hear the pride in it, the restrained heat, the way his composure is fraying at the edges just slightly. "that wasn't so bad. look at you, taking it so well."
he doesn't let you adjust for long. his fingers begin to move—a slow curling thrust that drags against your walls, stretching you open with each stroke, and your hands fist in the sheets beneath you, your back arching, sounds coming out of your mouth that you can't control. high thin whines and broken little moans, your hips stuttering between trying to escape the intensity of it and trying to press closer, take more, and he watches all of it with that same steady gaze, his dimples deepening every time you cry out.
and then he stops, his fingers slide out of you slowly, leaving you empty and clenching and gasping. your hips are chasing him before your brain registers the loss, and when you open your eyes he's already pulling back, sitting up on his knees above you. he's enormous from this angle—all that broad chest tapering to his waist, his shoulders blocking out the lamplight behind him, his hair falling forward around his face as he reaches for the hem of his shirt and pulls it off in one fluid motion. the muscles of his abdomen shift and flex, golden skin stretched over all that impossible width, and you're still trembling from his fingers, still soaking wet, still desperately empty.
he reaches for his waistband, pushing his joggers down over his hips, and then his boxers, and then he's there—hard and flushed and so thick that your stomach actually tightens with something close to fear, your thighs pressing together involuntarily. he's long, yes, but it's the girth that's devastating, the heavy width of him resting against his stomach, the head dark and slick already, and you think every single time you see it that there is absolutely no way, no physical way, that—
"don't worry, love," he says softly, reading your expression like a headline. he settles over you, one knee between your thighs, his arms bracketing your head, and his free hand reaches down to hook behind your knee, drawing your leg up along his ribs. the breadth of him covers you completely, shadows you, the heat of his body radiating into yours like standing too close to a bonfire. "don't do that thing where you get in your head about it. we always figure it out, don't we?"
he reaches between you, wraps his hand around himself, and presses the head of his cock against your entrance. you're so wet that the sound of it is obscene, a slick parting, the heat of him nudging against where you're swollen and desperate, and your hands come up to grip his biceps, fingers digging into the hard warm muscle there.
the first inch alone makes you cry out—a sharp high sound that you muffle against his shoulder, your teeth grazing his skin—and he groans, low and long, his jaw tightening, the tendons in his neck standing out like cables. his arm beneath you tightens, pulling your hips up to meet his, and he keeps pushing, keeps that slow relentless forward pressure that doesn't feel like forcing, just feels like inevitability, like the tide coming in.
you're shaking beneath him, your walls clenching and fluttering around the next few inches of him in rapid desperate waves that you can't control, and he's barely even started—still less than halfway, his cock stretching you open so completely that you can feel your body resisting, tightening around the intrusion like a fist trying to keep him out while simultaneously pulling him deeper. the pressure is extraordinary, a deep aching fullness that radiates outward from your core and turns your bones to liquid, and when he rocks forward another centimeter your hand flies back against his hip, pressing flat against the hard slab of muscle there.
"i can't," you gasp, the words tumbling out wet and broken against his shoulder, "erling, i can't, it's too much, i can't take more—"
he stills. not immediately, not abruptly—there's one last tiny roll of his hips, a gentle nudge that makes you both groan before he settles, half-buried inside you, his breathing heavier now but still controlled, still infuriatingly measured while you're falling apart beneath him. his mouth finds your hair, pressing a kiss there, and you feel him smile again, that slow quiet curve of his lips that means he's thinking, that means he's about to be annoyingly reasonable about something that feels anything but reasonable.
"can't take more like this, hm?" he says, and his voice has dropped, gone rougher, a gravelly edge creeping into the warmth that makes your stomach clench. his thumb traces the curve of your jaw, tilting your face up toward his, and his blue eyes are dark now, the pupils blown wide, the steady composure still there but thinner, stretched taut over something hungry. "that's alright. let's make it easier for you."
the drag of him leaving you is almost worse than the push—your walls clinging to him, the wet sucking sound of it filling the quiet room, and you're left empty and gasping, your hips tilting up instinctively before you can stop yourself, chasing the fullness that's just been taken away. his hand runs down the length of your spine, palm flat and warm between your shoulder blades, and there's a weight to it, a gentle insistent pressure that tells you exactly what he wants before he says it.
"over, baby."
you turn onto your stomach without even thinking about it, your cheek pressing into the cool sheets, your arms folding beneath you. his hands find your hips immediately—those enormous hands that span your waist almost entirely, fingers wrapping around your hipbones—and he lifts you, pulling your ass up toward him until you're on your knees, face still pressed to the mattress, your back arching in a deep curve that he molds with one long slow stroke of his palm from the nape of your neck to the base of your spine. the position makes you feel vulnerable in a way that sends heat flooding through you—open and displayed for him, your thighs trembling, and when his hand smooths over the curve of your ass and squeezes, a slow appreciative handful, you whine into the sheets.
"there we go," his voice comes from above you, from somewhere impossibly tall, and you can feel the heat of him behind you, the broadness of his chest radiating warmth against your back without quite touching. "you always take me so well from behind, such a good girl for me." his thumb traces down between your cheeks, over the soaked cotton of your panties bunched to the side, through the slick mess of you, and you push back against his hand with a desperate shameless little roll of your hips that makes him laugh softly. "so eager now. where did all that attitude go?"
he notches the head of his cock against you again and your breath catches, your fingers twisting in the sheets, and this time when he pushes forward your body opens for him like a key turning in a lock—the angle different, deeper, gravity helping, your hips tilted and ready. the stretch is still enormous, still overwhelming, still enough to make your vision blur at the edges and your mouth fall open in a silent cry, but he slides in inch by slow careful inch and you feel yourself melting around him, your walls yielding and fluttering and adjusting to the impossible girth of him.
"that's it," he breathes, and his voice is wrecked now, finally, the composure cracking properly for the first time—a ragged exhale that sounds punched out of him. his hands tighten on your hips, fingers dimpling the soft skin there, and he rocks forward, sinking deeper.
you're sobbing, wet gasping sounds muffled into the mattress, your whole body shaking with the effort of taking him, the pleasure and the pressure blurring together until you can't tell where one ends and the other begins. he's barely halfway and you feel like you're being filled to your throat, every nerve ending in your body firing at once, your thighs shaking violently on either side of his hips. his hand slides up your spine again, anchoring at the back of your neck, and he leans forward, his chest draping over your back, his mouth hot against your ear.
his weight settles over you like a warm avalanche, his stomach pressed flush against the curve of your lower back, his hips flush against your ass, and the new angle pushes him just a fraction deeper—a fraction that makes you keen, high and thin and desperate, your fingers tearing at the sheets. you can feel him everywhere, the impossible breadth of him stretching you in ways you didn't know you could be stretched, and when his hand leaves the back of your neck and slides slowly around your side, tracing the ridge of your ribs, the dip of your waist, you don't think anything of it until his palm flattens against your lower belly.
he stills a bit as his fingers press in, gentle, exploratory, and you feel the pressure of it from both sides—his hand on the outside, his cock on the inside—and the realization hits you at the same moment a low pleased sound rumbles through his chest and into your back. there's a swell there, a faint rounded prominence just above your pubic bone that wasn't there before, a soft visible outline of exactly how deep he is inside you, and his thumb traces over it with a slowness that makes your entire body clench.
"mmm," he hums, and you can hear the smile in it, the quiet wonder, the satisfaction underneath. his fingers spread wide across the swell, pressing down just enough to make you feel it—to make you feel everything, the pressure of his cock and the pressure of his hand meeting through the thin wall of your body, and your arms give out entirely, your chest dropping to the mattress, your face turning sideways against the cool sheets while a broken moan tears out of you. "look at that. look at how brave you're being for me."
his hand stays there, molding over the shape of himself inside you, and he rocks his hips—a slow shallow thrust that barely moves, just grinds, and the bulge shifts beneath his palm, pressing outward against his fingers. he groans, the sound raw and unguarded, his forehead dropping to the back of your shoulder, his blond hair spilling across your skin.
you can feel the weight of his palm pressing him deeper, feel the way his fingers trace the outline of himself inside your body like he's committing it to memory, and the intimacy of it is so devastating that tears prick at the corners of your eyes, your mouth falling open against the sheets. you try to speak and nothing comes out—just a wet shaky exhale, your hips twitching weakly beneath him, and his free hand smooths up your spine again, a slow grounding stroke.
"shh, i know," he says, and there's that condescending tenderness again, the soft patronizing warmth that makes your chest ache and your walls clench simultaneously. "i know it's a lot. you're doing so well. such a good girl when she wants to be, isn't she? didn't want to say please all day but look at you now, taking all of this, being so sweet for me."
his hand presses harder against your belly and your vision whites out at the edges, a sobbing moan catching in your throat, and he holds himself there—buried to the point your body simply refuses to take more, his hand cupping the swell of himself inside you, his chest blanketing your back, his mouth warm against the curve of your neck.
"maybe this is what you needed all day," he whispers, his lips brushing your skin with every word. "not smoothies and shopping and someone to carry your bag. maybe you just needed to be full and quiet and good for a little while. is that what all the fussing was about, sweetheart? you just wanted my attention here?"
he punctuates the question with a slow deliberate roll of his hips, his cock dragging out halfway before pressing back in, and his hand tightens over your belly, feeling the bulge retreat and return beneath his palm. the sound that comes out of you is barely human—a broken wavering cry, your thighs shaking so hard the mattress trembles with it—and he hums against your shoulder, pleased and patient and utterly in control.
you whine, high and thin and pathetic, your fingers twisting so hard in the sheets that the fabric bunches and wrinkles beneath your clenched fists. he responds by rolling his hips so agonizingly slowly that you feel every single inch of him, every ridge, every vein, the broad head of his cock dragging against that spot inside you that makes your vision sparkle and your thighs clamp together on instinct. his hand returns to your belly, pressing flat, and the dual sensation of being filled and held and mapped all at once makes a sob tear out of your chest.
"still can't take all of me," he observes, and there's no disappointment in it—just a quiet factual tenderness, like he's noting the weather, his thumb stroking over the soft swell where his cock is buried inside you. his hips draw back, almost all the way out until just the head is notched inside your entrance, your walls clenching desperately around the tip of him, and then he pushes forward again in one long unhurried slide that makes your mouth fall open in a silent cry. "but you're taking so much more than you thought you could. aren't you?"
"yes," you gasp, the word ripping out of you, "yes, i'm—please—"
"there it is," he says, and the warmth that floods his voice is genuine, luminous, a sound like sunlight breaking through curtains. his chest presses tighter against your back, his arms wrapping around you from behind—both of them now, banding across your chest and stomach, pulling you up and back against him until you're kneeling in his lap, impaled on his cock, your back against his chest, his chin hooking over your shoulder. the new position drives him somehow deeper and you keen, your head falling back against his collarbone, your hands gripping his forearms where they cross over your belly. "there's that word. took you all day to find it, but here we are. such good manners when you try."
he presses his palm over your belly again from this angle, fingers splaying wide, and the bulge is more pronounced now with gravity pushing you down onto him—his hand cupping it, kneading gently, feeling the shape of himself through you while his other arm bands across your chest, holding you flush against the furnace of his body. you're so close. you've been so close for what feels like hours, the tension coiled tight and trembling in your lower stomach, and every tiny movement—the flex of his thighs beneath yours, the press of his hand, the shallow grinding thrusts that barely qualify as movement at all—sends you spiraling closer to an edge you can't quite reach.
"please what?" he murmurs into your ear, his lips brushing the shell of it, and you can hear the smile, can feel it radiating through every point of contact between your bodies. he's barely moving now, just holding you there, full and stretched and trembling in his lap, his cock buried as deep as your body will allow, his heartbeat thudding against your shoulder blades. "use your words, sweetheart. tell me what you want and i'll give it to you. you know i always give you what you want."
"please let me come," you whisper, and your voice cracks on the last word, splitting it clean in half, and his arms tighten around you—a convulsive squeeze, like even he can't help it, like the raw honesty of the request gets to him despite every effort to stay measured and composed. his breath shudders against your neck.
"since you asked so nicely," he says, and his voice is rougher now, the gravel in it more pronounced, the careful softness beginning to fray at the seams. his hand slides down from your belly, fingers tracing the junction of your thighs where you're stretched impossibly tight around him, and then a bit higher, finding your clit with a precision that makes you jolt—swollen and oversensitive and dripping, and his fingers begin to circle it with the same maddening patience he's applied to everything else tonight.
each thrust now rocks you forward in his arms and he pulls you back, impaling you again, his cock hitting that devastating spot inside you with unerring accuracy while his fingers work your clit in tight slick circles. the sounds filling the room are obscene—wet, rhythmic, the slap of skin against skin, your sobbing breathless moans tangled with his low steady groans, and his mouth is hot against your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin, his arms locked around you like he's keeping you from flying apart.
"come on," he murmurs against your neck, and his voice has lost the teasing edge now, the condescension stripped away to reveal something raw and desperate beneath—the quiet ferocity of a man who has been patient for as long as he possibly can. his fingers tighten on your clit, pressing harder, faster, and his hips snap forward with a thrust that punches the air from your lungs. "come on, baby, give it to me, you've been so good, so good for me—"
it crashes through you like a wave breaking—a full body convulsion that starts at your core and radiates outward through every limb, your back arching against his chest, your walls clenching so hard around him that he groans, actually groans, a raw gutted sound that you feel vibrate through his ribs into your back. your thighs are shaking violently, your fingers white-knuckled on his forearms, and he holds you through it—all of it, every aftershock and tremor—his arms steady and immovable around you, his mouth pressed warm against your shoulder, his hips slowing to a deep grinding roll that draws your orgasm out until you're whimpering and oversensitive and trying to squirm away from his fingers on your clit.
he lets you squirm for exactly three seconds before his arm tightens across your chest, holding you still. "where do you think you're going?" he breathes against your ear, and you can hear the grin in it, the dark playful warmth, and his hips roll forward again—a slow deep thrust that makes you cry out, your overstimulated walls clenching around him helplessly. "i'm not done with you yet."
warnings: really fucked up fic, darker themes, mentions of mental health issues, smut, mature themes (18+)
A/n: guys, read the warnings. If you read the first part, then you know what kind of fic this is and he doesn’t magically just redeem himself. It is FICTION. Don’t read then bitch to me because I’m pmsing and will straight up just tell you to k*s iwl. Anywho, for those who requested a part two, here it is. (That gif inspired so much of this icl lmao)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hadia punches the code and her front door clicks open after that familiar low beep. She takes a moment to stare into her quiet apartment that’s barely lit. Nothing seems amiss, yet the hairs on her arms stand on end. She tries to tell herself that she’s just being paranoid after what he said:
‘… maybe I’ll come back for you.’
That was over two months ago. When Virgil didn’t turn up for his mandatory session, Hadia was obligated by law to report it. So she did. Even though she knew he was long gone. An investigation was launched but frizzled out a few weeks later. For all they knew, Virgil’s only crime was physical assault after being taunted by his very abusive father. His therapy sessions went well and there have been no new reports of him getting in trouble. Hadia guesses it didn’t feel necessary to spend time and resources searching for a man whose only crime was getting back at the person who made his childhood hell. Especially since his father survived the attack, though she heard reports of his memory being spotty. All the while, Hadia carries around fifty extra pounds of guilt on her shoulders. Only she knows the true extent of Virgil’s sins. She tried to rationalize the situation as best she could: it was probably justice, those officers were sadistic— the kind that delighted in watching a man beat on his wife and child; it wasn’t her fault, she wasn’t an accomplice— she found out about it after they were already dead; Virgil would probably come back and hurt her if she actually told. Some days, they worked well enough for her to exist almost peacefully with her thoughts, but not always. Other days, she would have to skip work when anxiety made her physically ill. She blames that for why her apartment has been feeling tampered with lately. Her inhale rattles her chest as she steps inside, quickly locking the door behind her. All her furniture is as she left them this morning, so too her potted plants and framed achievements on her wall. Breathing a sigh of relief, she flicks the switch and her kitchen is flooded with lights. Hadia moves towards her fridge only to pause. She almost thinks she imagines it— that it was just a trick of the light. But as she continues to stare until her vision blurs at the edges, she realizes she didn’t.
“W-what?” She stares at the bowl in the sink like a dark entity— eyes wide, mouth agape and trembling. She slowly approaches to inspect the bowl that has evidence of dried cornflakes stuck to the sides.
Hadia desperately begs her brain to work— to recall her morning in chronological order. She always does the dishes at night after dinner, paranoid about harboring insects. In the mornings, when she prepares breakfast, she always ensures to clean the kitchen before she leaves. However, she picked up breakfast on her way to work this morning because she was running late. She left a clean kitchen behind; she’s sure of it. Her swallow morphs into a strange choking sound as she’s wracked by a series of heart palpitations. Hadia specializes in the human mind, she emphasizes the importance of rationality. So she tries to do that: be rational.
“You forgot to wash the bowl from the night before, you always have a snack before bed. Cereal, a yoghurt bowl, a fruit salad.” She mutters to herself as she washes the bowl.
This time though, she fights the sliver of embarrassment as she takes her phone out to record her actions. Proof, just in case she’ll need it tomorrow. She left her kitchen clean. After a thorough shower in scalding water, Hadia scrolls Amazon for home cameras and makes a purchase that assures her it’ll be delivered in two days.
**********
Hadia lingers in the shower to do what she has been forced to lately: compartmentalize. Last night, she had one of those dreams again. The kind of dreams that she wakes up from feeling a fresh wave of guilt all over again. Because in those dreams, she’s under his skillful hands; under his mercy. She’s always bound: cuffs, cables or ropes. She hears his voice just as she did that night in her bedroom, him whispering filth in her ear. Mocking her for pretending to be so put together and perfect but loving the way he defiles her. She always wakes up on the verge of an orgasm, pussy pulsing and tears streaming down her cheeks. Hadia made the belated realization the fourth night after one of those many dreams; she didn’t just feel guilty for knowing what he is: she feels guilty for wanting him all the same. Virgil fucked her so good it must’ve rewired the very structure of her brain. A few weeks ago, Hadia even found herself in a stranger’s bed, something she hadn’t done in years. Chasing the high Virgil gave. But of course, it was subpar. She was polite enough to give Frank her number when he asked despite being disappointed, but she never heard from the man again. Hadia isn’t too peeved about it, she would’ve eventually told him she had no interest in seeing him anyway.
“Maybe I just need to feel good?” She questions herself over the harsh spray of water.
After getting ready, she orders herself a vibrating toy she sees online with the best reviews before heading to her kitchen to prepare breakfast. Her shoulders sag in relief when she notices the space is untouched. No bowls in the sink. She makes a quick meal and is out of her house twenty minutes later. A shiver wracks her frame as she steps out into the nippy early morning air. Winter is fast approaching and she estimates they’ll get snow within a few weeks. Hadia hums softly under her breath as she attempts to start her car. The gentle purr doesn’t come. She tries again and again and on the fourth attempt, she starts begging.
“Please please please…. fuck!” Hadia slams her palms against her steering over and over until they hurt.
Running a hand over her slick bun, she gathers herself with a deep breath and orders an uber. While she waits, she calls the mechanic she finds closest to her after a quick internet search.
“Hi, I’m having some car trouble?”
“Good morning. What exactly is the problem?” The man on the other end inquires politely.
“It just won’t start. I tried multiple times; it doesn’t even make a sound.”
“What model?”
“2025 CR- V.”
“Was the vehicle overheating before?”
“No.” The uber slowly pulls up and Hadia hurries over with the phone sandwiched between her shoulder and ear.
“Any strange sounds recently?”
She greets the driver with a nod before responding; “No. It was basically brand new and was running smoothly.”
“Did you pour something in the engine?-”
“Why would I-” Hadia takes a deep breath to collect herself;
“No, I didn’t pour anything down the engine.” She says through gritted teeth.
“Ma’am, sorry to say, but if there were no signs of overheating or strange sounds to indicate a broken timing belt, with that model and year…it’s a brand new vehicle and that sounds like a blown engine. Something that didn’t belong was definitely poured into it. Give a day when you’re available so I can send someone to take a look and have it towed here if necessary.”
Hadia feels like the vehicle is closing in on her. Her brain suddenly goes to Virgil. Chemist. But she’s being ridiculous. ‘Right?’
“I… um I’ll be off work tomorrow. Would that work?”
“Yes ma’am, we’re open on Saturdays. I’ll pen you down for a call at 10 am to confirm.”
“Thank you.” It’s a meek whisper from her lips.
Hadia’s heart slams painfully against her ribcage and as her paranoia resurfaces, she thinks it’s time to take some time off work and go visit her mother in St. Lucia.
***********
Hadia feels physically weighed down by even her scrubs at the end of her shift. She’s exhausted and she’s guessing that the rush hour is why it’s harder to get an available car. With a frustrated huff, she marches out of the hospital’s parking lot and onto the busy streets. The train station is a fifteen minute walk from her workplace. She dismisses the feeling of being watched the entire journey home as her fatigued brain playing tricks on her. Hadia calls her mother while she goes through her night routine.
“Sa ka fét?” (How are you?)
“Mwen byen, mama.” (I’m fine).
“You sound tired.” Her mother switches to English smoothly.
“I just got off work, mom.” She says with a laugh.
“Dat not work tired, sweetheart.”
Hadia sighs as she exits her bathroom with damp skin and wet hair.
“Haven’t been sleeping well recently.” She confesses part of the truth.
“Ah. You need to drink Fevergrass or Bay Leaf tea at night, yes? You won’t get soursop leaves over there. Come visit home so I pray over you and give you the right things. You don’t miss your mama?”
Hadia laughs again. “Of course, mom. I’ll request some time off to visit soon.”
“Good.”
Hadia opens her underwear drawer while her mother chatters away on the phone. She searches idly, throwing in quick quips and giggles here and there. Two minutes without success is when her brows furrow. She has specific cotton panties that she likes to wear to sleep, yet she can’t seem to find a single one. Her movements grow more frantic, her mother’s voice sounding like static in her ear. She wears them the most, so she ensures they’re always clean. Hadia races over to her hamper to go digging anyway. Fear crawls up her spine in a cold slither. Just as she suspected, they aren’t there either.
“Hadia?”
Her mother’s continuous call of her name finally brings her back to her body. “Sorry mom, I got distracted; what were you saying?”
“Get some sleep, pumpkin.” Her mother coos sweetly, unaware of her inner turmoil.
“Okay mom, I’ll brew some tea then go to bed. Orevwa.” (Goodbye).
Hadia practically flings her phone the second her mother hangs up and starts digging through all her drawers frantically. After an hour of no success, Hadia decides to get the cameras installed the second they come and to change the passkey to her front door.
**********
Saturday is eventful. First, the mechanics come to inspect and diagnose her vehicle. The scruffy Caucasian man confirms that something was definitely poured into her engine and it wasn’t motor oil. She watches her vehicle get attached to the tow truck with an annoyed scowl on her face at the inconvenience it’ll cause and the amount she’ll have to spend.
“How much will all this cost?”
The man who introduced himself as James cocks a brow; “Why are you asking when your partner already called ahead to handle it?”
Hadia chokes around nothing, eyeing him like a fish out of water. “I— wh—”
“Ah shit, I guess I ruined a nice surprise.” He mutters in annoyance, scratching his beard harshly.
“Look, when he announces it to you later, act surprised, will you?” He grumbles before marching over to climb into the truck.
Hadia almost wants to scream for them not to leave her alone as they speed away. Instead, she takes a deep breath and feigns normalcy. Her packages arrive two hours later and she calls someone to have the cameras installed immediately. She orders groceries, cleans her apartment, cooks a nice hearty dinner of braised ribs with rice and vegetables. After she’s showered with food sitting uncomfortably in her stomach, Hadia knows she won’t be able to ignore everything that has been going on recently. She stares at her phone— at the contact she blocked months ago after she woke up groggy and disoriented in her room. A notification pops up on her screen before she has the chance to do something idiotic;
[Jessica (work) 6:32 pm]: hey Dr. Harris, the group of us are going for drinks at Chez Lounge at 9. Would you like to join?
Hadia doesn’t even sit to think about all the ways it’ll be awkward hanging out with a bunch of residents who all seek her approval until it makes her uncomfortable how competitive they get. She’s just so grateful for a distraction.
[Hadia. 6:33 pm]: I’ll be there.
She plays music at full volume while she does her hair and makeup. She chooses a black mini dress, black tights underneath, black heeled boots and a nude coat. After double checking she has everything in her purse, Hadia hurries out of the house with 20 minutes to get to her destination on time. The train is almost empty as it slows to its first stop. Hadia has her attention on her pocket mirror while she applies her lipstick. The train rattles to a start again and she looks up just in time to see inside the train across from the one she’s in. Her grip on the mirror loosens enough for it to clatter to the ground by her feet. Hadia doesn’t blink as she’s held captive by a familiar pair of brown eyes. They’re intense enough to steal her breath, just like they did all those months ago. He stands in his towering glory, hair concealed by a black hoodie, holding onto the hand strap despite the seats she can see available. Slowly, his lips tilt in a subtle smirk. The moment only lasts a few seconds before both trains start moving in the opposite direction. Hadia blinks rapidly, trying to make sense of her surroundings— trying to rationalize. Nothing comes. She’s either hallucinating or Virgil was actually on that train. Hadia can’t decide which scenario is worse.
*************
Predictably, she doesn’t have fun. The residents were eager to chat or buy her another drink, but Hadia refused. She spent the night giving awkward laughs and one worded responses while she zoned out, lost in her thoughts. The martini she nursed turned warm with almost half of it still in her glass by the time she decided to call it a night. They frowned or pouted, Hadia can’t be sure. Matter of fact, she only knows two from the six by their names: Jessica and Callum. Her journey home was a tense one with her constantly scanning her environment and sweat beading at her temples despite the temperature. She almost breathes a sigh of relief when she’s safely in her apartment with the door locked behind her. Hadia shrugs her coat down her shoulders as she strides towards her room. Her whole body freezes in the doorway.
Virgil stands with a familiar bowl in his right hand and her brand new toy in the other. “Is this and Frank supposed to replace me?”
He tosses it back onto her bed while she gapes at him like an idiot. Virgil spoons the last bite of cereal into his mouth before placing the bowl on top of her dresser.
“H-how do you know about Frank?” Something pulls at the muscles in her lower belly. Hadia is still working out what the emotion is.
He cocks a brow; “I have my ways.”
“Are you why he hasn’t reached out?”
“Don’t worry, he’s alive.”
The baritone of his voice makes her rattle. Virgil drags his dark eyes up the length of her body with heat burning in his gaze.
“I’m surprised you came back.” She whispers.
He swipes the corner of his mouth with a thumb; “No you aren’t.” He deadpans.
“I figured you would…because you—”
“Because I’m a sociopath.” He finishes coolly. He takes a few menacing steps closer. Hadia is rooted in place.
“You know?”
“I am many things and being self aware is one, unfortunately. You specialize in nutcases and weirdos, so you also know that on rare occasions, people like me develop a-”
“An obsession-”
“A bond.” They both state at the same time.
Virgil shrugs insouciantly. “I guess this could be an obsession, you’d know better than I do.”
Virgil’s eyes grow half mast when he’s close enough to smell her familiar citrusy scent. He reaches a tentative hand out to touch her waist.
“Tell me, Dr. Do obsessions usually come with missing people?”
Hadia should move away; she doesn’t. “It normally comes with stalking them.” She blinks up at him with her breaths rattling her chest.
His brows furrow; “I had to test the waters to see if you’d turn me in.”
“Surely there were other ways.”
“Not as fun, and you blocked my number.” He pulls her into his body.
“I bet you liked it. I bet it gave you a sick little thrill, knowing I was close, knowing I was watching. It’s why you didn’t get the police involved. Isn’t that right?”
Hadia shakes her head with a pathetic whimper, already tipping her head up as he closes the distance between them.
“No? Then why did you dream of me so often? Calling my name in your sleep? You missed me too, hm?”
Hadia’s heart races in anticipation but she manages to give a weak shake of her head again.
“No? You’ll admit it soon, Hadia.”
Hadia’s helpless moan is muffled by his desperate mouth. She rips her lips away, ignoring his annoyed frown.
“You wrecked my car, Virgil.”
“And I’m paying to have it repaired.”
She continues to glare up at him.
“What? You prefer a new one?”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” She stands her ground.
Virgil breathes a heavy sigh, muttering curses under his breath. His features suddenly smooth over before he speaks. “I’m sorry.”
Hadia blinks up at him torn between being impressed and afraid. “You’re very good at that; it’s genuinely believable.”
He gives her a sarcastic smile. “I know, I’ve been practicing. Now shut up and kiss me.”
He moves first but she returns with the same amount of fervor. Hadia will think about all the ways he corrupted after she gets what she has been craving for months now. Shamefully, she already feels her panties growing damp.
“Where are my panties?”
Virgil ignores her muffled words to slither his tongue inside her mouth. Her knees almost buckle at the action. Hadia is forced to tighten her grip when he sucks on her tongue delicately, groaning at the sound of her whimper. He pulls away, pressing on her bottom lip with his thumb.
“Open.”
She obeys, eyeing him like something divine. It makes his blood sing. Virgil puckers his lips and allows spit to dribble in her waiting mouth. He dives back in— a messy clash of tongues than actual kissing. It makes Hadia throb until she rolls her hips forward, trying to grind against him.
“You look so good, Hadia. Went on another date?” He breathes the words against her swollen lips.
“No, no date.”
“Good, because I didn’t plan on doing anything tomorrow and I’d like to keep it that way.”
His hands start tugging her dress up her body.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean, Hadia.” He grips her tights after speaking, the sound of the material giving way under his strength makes her pant harder.
And she does know what he means— Frank.
“You’re insane.”
“And you love it.” He punctuates his statement by plunging two fingers inside her after hastily shifting her panties to the side. No warning. No proper prep. Because he knew she’d be wet for him.
Hadia wants to feel shame for it, but maybe later, with the absence of pleasure, she will. In the moment though, nothing else fucking matters. The heels on her feet put her at the perfect height to bury her face in the crook of his neck. Virgil slowly twists his fingers inside, hissing at the loud squelch.
His free hand wraps loosely around her neck, tilting her face upward. “Open your eyes, baby.”
Hadia didn’t even realize she had squeezed them shut until he spoke. She blinks them open, struggling to keep eye contact with him.
“Listen to how much you missed me.” He quickens the pace, thrusting his fingers deeper.
Her mouth pops open; she tries to squeeze her legs together because it feels so good. It’s beyond scratching an itch you weren’t able to reach. Virgil angles his fingers to find that spot inside like he has her anatomy mapped out. He stays there, rubbing it until she’s gargling gibberish. Hadia’s legs shake as the familiar tug in her belly grows more intense. She grips onto his wrist that’s working her body with a sob.
“Gonna- please-”
She presses her open mouth to his, breathing in his rugged exhales. Hadia starts rocking her hips, pleading desperately. That’s when he stops abruptly before gingerly pulling his fingers from her body.
Hadia makes a sound between a gasp and a cry; “Why? Please don’t, I was so close Virgil I beg you-”
He tutts softly at her. “Take your clothes off, baby.”
She scrambles to kick her shoes off then drags the dress overhead without care of her makeup getting smudged. Her bra and panties are thrown haphazardly to the floor, joining her dress and coat.
Virgil is a lot less frantic. He takes his hoodie and pants off almost leisurely. But she sees the way he tents the front of his boxers.
“Hands on the vanity, arch your back.”
Her heartbeat sounds loud in her ears as she moves to obey. Their gazes clash in the mirror, and not for the first time, she shivers at the intensity of his eyes. She should be terrified of him, so why isn’t she? Virgil keeps staring while giving his cock a few languid strokes. Hadia can’t decide if it’s to make her squirm or he’s genuinely enjoying the view. Her eyes turn pleading without her realizing.
“That’s the look. I fucking love when you look at me like that.”
He stalks closer then swipes a hand out to send her things stacked on her vanity crashing to the floor.
“Virgil.” She says petulantly.
“Hm?” He hoists her right leg up, maneuvering it until she bends her knee and places it on top of the furniture. It forces her to lean her upper body further down, hands moving towards the back of her vanity.
The new position makes her feel so open, so exposed. All her complaints wither away at the feel of his heavy dick gliding through her folds. Hadia holds her breath in anticipation. When he starts pressing inside, she lays her forehead against the cool, wooden surface beneath her body.
“Look up, Hadia. Look at the faces you make when I fuck you. See why I couldn’t get you out of my head for weeks.”
A strangled moan escapes her mouth but she obeys. She uses all the strength she can muster to raise her head despite Virgil stretching her to her limit; despite him pressing deep enough for her to feel pressure while he still has inches left to give. It’s the angle. It has to be. Hadia stares at her reflection: slacked mouth, furrowed brows and wet, desperate eyes. She already looks overwhelmed.
“Don’t.” He warns, voice a little wrecked.
Hadia immediately drops the hand she intended to reach behind and press to his lower abdomen.
“Good girl.”
Hadia is embarrassed by the sound she makes in response.
“You’re gripping me, baby. You missed me, hm?”
Hadia nods then shakes her head. Virgil drags his cock all the way out to plunge deep inside again. Hadia wiggles her fingers and toes as he keeps going, exactly like that. It allows her to feel every textured inch of him.
“Virgil, Virg- I can’t.” She squeezes her eyes shut until they burn.
“Eyes open, Hadia. Or I won’t let you come.”
She blinks them open to stare at both their reflections. She looks a mess already; sweat and tears ruined her makeup and her curly hair is already frizzed out from its up-do. Virgil’s hair is similar to hers yet he still looks a lot more composed. His brows are furrowed almost angrily and red splotches on his skin show his exertion. Virgil looks up and they make eye contact. It’s so heated that she keens out loud.
“Such a nice ass.” He brings a palm down against it, then spreads her cheeks with a groan.
Virgil pulls out and dips his head to flick his tongue against her rim like he physically couldn’t help himself. This time, Hadia drops her forehead against the vanity with a harsh thud. He licks a long stripe up the entire length of her ass before spitting. He straightens and immediately stretches her pussy again. Hadia feels like ripping her hair out with how good it feels.
“Gonna start prepping you so I can fuck you here too.” He mutters as he works his thumb inside. It’s a tight fit, and such a delicious addendum to the blinding ecstasy taking hold of her senses.
“Eyes up, Hadia.”
She does with a miserable sob. Planting his feet, Virgil pistons his hips harder.
“You missed me, baby?”
“Yes! Fucking yes, Virgil. I missed you.”
“There we go, such a good girl.”
Hadia screeches as she’s sent hurtling over the edge. The release is otherworldly; it feels like her body had been wound up for months rather than the few minutes since they started.
“M sorry- didn’t- didn’t mean to-”
Virgil hums, fucking a little harder against her g-spot. “Came without permission. I thought you’d be good for me, Hadia?”
Hadia snivels loudly with a nod. “I am, I swear I am but-” she cuts herself off with another scream. Virgil doesn’t let up and it feels like he keeps pulling orgasms from her even though she hasn’t stopped shaking through the first one. Her leg kicks out until he’s forced to hold it in place.
“Feels too good? I know, baby.”
Black spots dance over her vision; she feels lightheaded. He must notice because he pulls out before she can beg for mercy. It only takes a few tugs before he moans deeply and she feels warm streaks against her skin.
“So fucking good, Hadia.” He grunts with his muscles pulled taut, hand working over his cock like he’s possessed.
Hadia collapses against her vanity with heaving breaths. Shivers wrack her body in intermittent waves. His warmth disappears suddenly and she whines, reaching back blindly for him. He leaves but returns a few minutes later with a damp rag. He’s surprisingly gentle while he cleans her up, cooing when she protests as he wipes where she’s most sensitive. He hauls her up with one hand and sets her gently on the bed. Hadia watches, sated to her very bones, as he removes her clothes scattered on the ground. He leaves then returns to her room with his backpack in hand.
“Please, no drugging this time.” She eyes him warily.
“I won’t.”
She eyes him softly; “Because you feel remorse?”
He stares blankly at her. “Because I know you won’t call the cops so it’s unnecessary. And stop staring at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re tempted to play doctor.”
Virgil unzips his bag and tosses one of her cotton panties by her feet on the bed with a smirk.
“All of them.” She demands, eyeing him incredulously.
“I’ll return another one when I see you again.”
Hadia clears her throat quietly, watching him get dressed. “And when will that be?”
He doesn’t respond until he’s fully dressed; he moves closer to kiss her until she’s breathless. When he pulls away, he’s wearing that infamous smirk that makes him look devilish.
down your back — william saliba summary: the markings down his back show your claim. pairing: william saliba x fem!reader warnings: consensual activities mentioned + teasing. a/n: I don’t even know what the fuck this is but uhh enjoy??
whistling a made up tune, william saliba joyfully saunters down the sobha center hallways with not a care in the world. the season was going well, his girlfriend was happy, and therefore he was happy. there wasn’t much for him to complain about.
“morning!” he greets employees with his normal cheerful expression, as he rounds the corner and enters the locker room where the lads were changing.
still whistling a cheerful tune, wilo throws his basic black t-shirt off and into his locker. he begins searching his messy cubby for his training shirt, that he always seemed to lose in the mess of his equipment and other necessities.
“get attacked by a bear?” declan playful jokes, though he knows those markings aren’t from a bear. in fact, the entire team who dared to look over at wilo, knew those markings were from a good night in the sheets.
rolling his eyes, he tosses one of his old shirts at declan and continues his futile pursuit. he knows damn well these “bear markings” were your manicured nails digging into his skin.
“are there fresh ones?” wilo whispers to Declan who checks his back for him.
“hard to say, but clearly you should ease off a bit.”
rolling his eyes, Wilo knew even if he tried to give it to easy and soft, you’d beg for more. you’d purposefully whine out the noises he so desperately loved to hear.
keeping his comments to himself, wilo found the shirt he was looking for and threw it on before more comments could be made. fishing for his phone in his bag, he began typing on the device.
you leave new markings?
no. but I can tonight :)
shaking his head at your message, he tossed his device back into the bag, and turned out of the locker room heading for the training pitch. he knew the scratches had to be bad enough that a comment was made, but he didn’t dare stop you. he liked belonging to you in that sense.
—
shimmying his feet out of his shoes, he tripped along the line of his other mess of shoes, and up the stairs where he smelt the vanilla mahogany scent drifting from.
he knew this scent well. this was the scent you were on the very first night you’d gone further than kissing, and Wilo began to associate it with the euphoric that came with sex.
the bathroom door was slightly ajar just like a welcoming sign he needed. slipping into the room, he found your clothes scattered among the floor.
joining yours, he tossed his clothes in the pile and pulled open the shower curtain revealing your naked body to him.
a guttural moan escapes his lips as he slips into the burning hot shower and closes the curtain behind him. you didn’t need to turn around, his natural body heat lit the steaming shower into a blaze.
palming your ass with his large hands, they work their way up to wrap around the dips of your hips, and he pulls you into his hard cock.
words don’t need to be exchanged for him to know and feel your desires. they spill down the shower walls like the droplets of hot water from the shower head.
adjusting himself into you, he presses his palm into your spine, folding you in half. with nothing to grip against, he slowly starts grinding himself into you.
the rhythm was like a tease. you knew he was doing this for a reason. he wanted to hear your filthy pleas and your dirty moans fill the room like steam.
pushing your lips together to form a tight line, you use all the ounce of control you had to not give him the satisfaction. if this was punishment, at least it was good. you could feel the pleasure rippling through you like a tidal wave.
watching your body like a hawk from where he stands, he noticed the small tweak of your knees. while they weren’t entirely shaking yet, he knew they had to be getting there. he knew you were on the edge of the climax, and that was his perfect chance to leave you with nothing.
your lips slightly parted, battered breathing slipping out against the shower tiles, they echoed through the steam. it was what he needed to go harder and faster, but he didn’t dare. he didn’t dare let you finish what he’d achingly wanted.
slipping out of the shower, he towels off his body leaving you cold and alone in the thick steam. he didn’t get too far away from the shower, when he felt your sharp nails dig a long line down his spine, “finish what you started, asshole.”
🕸️ synopsis: moving into your new nyc apartment a few months ago came with one unexpected perk: djed, the quiet neighbor two doors down. he’s soft-spoken, wears oversized hoodies, and always smells ridiculously good. you’ve had a massive crush on him since day one, but his constant exhaustion and sneak outs at the most bizarre hours of the night leave you with more questions than answers.
pairing: spidey!djed spence x reader(afab)
genre: spider-man au, smut, NSFW
warnings: tipsy reader, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), piv, creampie, light praise, wrist bondage
wc: 8.3k
a/n: guys don’t yell at me but i’ve never watched a spider-man movie in my life..
“I love you! I have never loved anyone more than you, dear!”
“Oh, I wish we could be together, baby... but I’m already engaged!”
You sighed. The cheesy romance movie playing on the TV and the bottle of wine that you’d already chugged wasn’t doing a single thing to help fight the absolute cringe shit-show unfolding in front of you.
A jagged streak of lightning flashed outside the window, followed by a rumble of thunder that seemed to mock your exact mood. The wind howled hard enough to make the whole building subtlly sway, making you feel for a second like the entire tower might just tip over into the storm.
It was past midnight on a miserable Tuesday, and instead of sharing this dreary evening with someone, you were sprawled across your sofa, swirling the last lukewarm drop of red wine in your glass. Moving to New York a few months ago was supposed to be this exciting, fresh chapter, but right now, in the quiet of your apartment, the city just felt massive and lonely.
The weather was relentless. Torrential rain lashed violently against the balcony glass, whipped around by gusts of wind that rattled the frame. You yanked your fleece blanket all the way up under your chin and set the empty glass down on the side table. On screen, the dramatic couple was finally locking lips.
Your tipsy mind slowly drifted back to earlier that evening, specifically, nine o'clock in the lobby. You had been coming back from the corner bodega, when the heavy front door was held open for you.
“Let me grab that for you,” the familiar voice murmured.
You looked up, your heart doing a predictable little jump.
It was indeed him. Djed. The quiet, ridiculously attractive neighbor from two doors down. As usual, he was wearing an oversized dark hooded jacket, smelling like a dizzying mix of fresh cotton and woodsy cologne. Even with the persistent dark circles under his eyes, looking somehow even more exhausted than usual, his soft-spoken greeting had made your stomach do an embarrassing little flip.
He was already reaching out his hand for your single plastic grocery bag. It weighed practically nothing, literally just a carton of eggs, a box of pasta, and a bottle of wine, but you had handed it over without a second thought.
Anything to buy two extra minutes of his company in the creaky elevator. You remembered watching his broad shoulders under that jacket as he held the bag, listening to his chuckle when you made some stupid joke about the windy weather.
And then what did he do?
After he walked you to your door and handed over your eggs, he wished you a sweet good night, turned right around, and headed back down the hallway toward the stairs, slipping out into the windy street at ten p.m. without even pulling his hood up. No taxi waiting, no umbrella as a precaution, just walking out into the night like he had somewhere urgent to be.
You took a slow sip of your wine and groaned, staring up at the ceiling fan.
“Girl, stop,” you muttered to the empty room, thoroughly annoyed with yourself. “Seriously, get a grip.”
You’d been living here for months. You two exchanged polite smiles, held doors, made small talk in the hallway. If the guy two doors down was interested, he would have made a move by now. He was just being nice. A polite neighbor with a weird sleep schedule and terrible timing, nothing more.
Deciding to flush the thought of Djed straight down the drain, you reached for the remote to turn off the TV and finally head to bed.
THUD.
You froze. The remote hovered an inch above the cushion.
It wasn't thunder this time.
You knew you were tipsy, but you weren't that tipsy. It was a heavy wet impact right against the exterior glass of your balcony door, followed by the harsh scraping sound of something heavy sliding down the frame.
Your heart slammed against your ribs. Every drop of wine-induced relaxation instantly evaporated, replaced by cold panic. You even pinched yourself just to check if you had actually fallen asleep on your couch and were just stuck in some vivid dream.
What the hell was that? You were six floors up.
Breathing shallowly, you pulled the blanket up to your nose, eyes wide and fixed on the sheer curtains blocking the balcony. Another flash of lightning illuminated the glass, and through the fabric, you saw the undeniable, dark silhouette of a body slumped against the floor of your balcony.
Adrenaline spiked through your veins. Your hands started trembling as you fumbled on the couch cushions for your phone, mind racing through every worst-case scenario. Was it a burglar? A jumper? An intruder trying to break in through the glass?
Your instinct for self-preservation kicked in before your brain could even process what was happening.
You scrambled off the couch and grabbed the empty wine bottle from the coffee table bit its neck, holding it like a club. You held your breath as you crept toward the balcony door, the short distance suddenly feeling like scene straight out of a horror movie. Every muscle in your body was coiled tight.
It’s six stories up, you reminded yourself frantically. No normal person can climb six stories in a rainstorm.
Another flash of lightning lit up the balcony illuminating the figure through the sheer curtains. Indeed the horror movie, you thought. He was curled on his side, one arm clutching his ribs, his head resting against the wet concrete.
And then you saw the red suit.
Even soaked in rain and smeared with dark grime, the unmistakable red and blue pattern stood out against the dark tiles. The eye lenses on the mask flickered in the dark as he struggled to lift his head.
Your jaw dropped. The wine bottle lowered an inch, but not entirely.
Spider-Man?
The city’s literal superhero was slumped on your balcony, looking less like a savior and more like a dying stray cat.
You stared in utter disbelief. Of course you’d seen him on the news, on TikTok clips swinging past Times Square, on front-page headlines… but seeing the actual guy, in the flesh, shivering onto your cheap outdoor mat was completely surreal.
A harsh cough rasped through his suit’s mask. He pressed his gloved hand against the glass, his fingers slipping down the surface as he tried to drag himself up.
Your fear melted away immediately, replaced by a wave of frantic adrenaline. He wasn't an intruder. He was hurt.
Unlocking the balcony door, you pulled the sliding glass back. A burst of freezing wind and rain instantly hit your face, along with the unusual smell of wet leather.
“Hey! Hey, get inside-“
You dropped the wine bottle onto the rug, reaching out into the freezing rain to grab him under his arms. The suit was soaked, cold, and surprisingly heavy, but you hauled him across the threshold into your living room.
He didn't fight you, letting out a breathy gasp as he hit your fluffy carpet. Spider-Man. The city’s literal superhero, the guy painted on billboards, plastered all over the news, and praised on every social media feed in New York was currently lying sprawled out in your apartment. You stared down at him in utter disbelief, taking in the textured web patterns of his suit, the vibrant red and blue fabric completely out of place against your freshly bought cozy living room decor.
What were you even supposed to do right now? Call an ambulance? Call 911? Offer the guy a cup of chamomile tea?
“Sorry- sh-shit, I’m sorry,” his voice came out muffled through the suit’s fabric, thick with exhaustion and a staggering amount of embarrassment. “Did not... mean to crash... your apartment...”
“Just stay still,” you said frantically, quickly sliding the glass balcony door shut to block out the roaring storm.
You turned back to him. He was lying on his side on your rug, breathing heavily, his chest heaving under the wet suit. The eye lenses on his mask were looking around your living room like he was desperately searching for an escape route.
“Are you- are you hurt?” you stammered, hands trembling as you motioned toward his hands on the ribs.
“Just... ugh- winded,” he rasped out. “The wind gust hit me crazy hard when I was swinging... missed the jump to my balcony and... slammed straight into your glass frame like a bird. Ribs took the hit.”
Wait…
What?
You blinked.
His balcony?
Before you could even begin to process what he meant by that, he reached up with his trembling, gloved fingers to the back of his head. He tried to pull the damp fabric of the mask up over his chin, but the rain-soaked material was stuck tight against his skin, refusing to budge. A frustrated groan escaped his throat as his shoulders slumped in defeat.
Seeing him struggle, you just couldn’t sit aside. You had to know who was behind the mask. And again… what did he mean by “his balcony”?
You stepped forward and dropped to your knees beside him on the rug, sitting back on your heels. Up close, the heat radiating off his body cut straight through the chill of the storm outside.
“Here... let me help,” you whispered, your own voice barely louder than a breath.
Your heart was hammering so quickly you were sure he could hear it. Who was under here? The chaotically tipsy thoughts in your head were racing a mile a minute. Was he some secretive billionaire? A famous supermodel moonlighting as a vigilante? Some random kid from the city? No… his shoulders were way too broad and his frame was far too thick and muscular for him to be a teenager. But who? Was he actually about to just show you his face?
Your fingers shook as they brushed against the textured material at the base of his neck. Finding the edge of the fabric, you carefully hooked your thumbs under the rim and slowly, very gently began to peel the mask upward.
He stayed completely still under your hands, as if holding his breath (you were actually the one holding your breath), his hands resting heavily on his knees.
You slid the mask up past chin, over his full lips, and past the dark skin of his nose.
Even before the fabric fully cleared his eyes, your brain hit a sudden wall of recognition. That familiar dark skin… The neat goatee… The exact shape of those lips you’d secretly stared at in the elevator…
Your breath hitched, mind completely refusing to accept the reality unfolding under your fingertips.
You yanked the soaked red fabric off his head, tossing it onto the carpet. His dark locs, damp from rain and heat, spilled free, tumbling down to frame his neck and forehead.
He leaned his head back against your sofa, taking a deep, greedy gulp of room-temperature air.
Every drop of wine in your system instantly vanished, replaced by a shock so sharp it felt like a slap. The world seemed to stop spinning, narrowing down to the exact face looking back at you.
Sitting right in front of you, drenched in rain, and looking at you with wide, flustered eyes... was Djed.
Djed. The same Djed? The quiet, ridiculously hot neighbor from two doors down? The guy who carried your groceries three hours ago?
“Djed?!” The name burst out of you.
His expression was an unreadable, chaotic mess: a mix of deep embarrassment, his brain frantically calculating ways to disappear through the floorboards, and the lingering shock of taking a full-speed hit to your balcony glass.
He swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the side for a second before meeting yours, looking entirely mortified.
“I... uh...” Djed rasped, rubbing a hand down his face and groaning softly into his palm. “Honestly? I was really hoping you were asleep so I could just... lay on your balcony for a minute, catch my breath, and sneak back over to my place.”
You blinked at him in sheer absurdity. “Are you serious? It sounded like a missile hit my balcony, Djed! Even if I was knocked out cold, I would’ve woken up!”
A flustered chuckle escaped him as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked so thoroughly embarrassed, like a guy who knew he’d just ruined any chance of ever acting normal around you again.
“Yeah... fair point,” he muttered, his voice dropping an octave as he looked up at you through his lashes, completely at your mercy. “Look, I’m... fuck. I’m really sorry about this. I shouldn't have crashed into your space.”
“I mean you’ve already said it was an accident so it’s fine.” you chuckled. “You can crash into my space any time you need, neighbor.”
You emphasized the last word, and a genuine laugh pulled at his lips, taking the edge off his embarrassment.
“Appreciate it,” he rasped, shaking his head at himself with a sheepish grin. “Though... you’d think Spider-Man himself would have better skills with his webs.”
“I’m just saying, the glass door won that round,” you teased, leaning forward slightly. “Honestly, though... how do those things even work? Is it coming out of your skin, or is it tech?”
Djed raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint entering his eyes despite his exhaustion.
“It’s all me. Comes straight out of my wrist,” he murmured, a low smirk pulled at his lips. “What, are you questioning my technique and my biology now?”
“I’m just curious!” you laughed softly.
“Wanna see?”
Without waiting for an answer, he flexed his fingers, clicking his middle two fingers sharply into his palm.
A thin, silk-white strand shot straight from his wrist, sticking instantly to the empty wine glass on your coffee table. With a quick, casual flick of his arm, Djed yanked the web back, snapping the glass effortlessly right into his palm.
You gasped. “No way! That’s actually cool.”
“See? Still got it,” Djed smirked softly, raising an eyebrow, and set the glass down. “Or are you still questioning my technique?”
“No-no, absolutely not! You’re amazing!” you laughed softly, holding your hands up in surrender.
The playful back-and-forth instantly broke the heavy tension, dissolving the lingering shock between you. The awkwardness melted away into something surprisingly warm and comfortable: it seemed like every Tuesday night Spider-Man was casually shooting webs off your living room furniture.
He uncurled his long legs, placing a hand on the floor to push himself up to his feet. “Alright. Point taken, though. I should probably head out and let you get back to your night before I destroy any more of your balcony-“
The second he stood straight up, his breath hitched. He winced, a sharp groan cutting through his throat as his hand slammed instinctively against his left ribs. His body stiffened, bent slightly sideways as his balance wobbled.
“Whoa, hey!” You rushed forward without thinking, catching him by his forearm to steady him. Up close, you could hear how ragged his breathing had suddenly gotten.
“Fuck,” Djed gritted out through his teeth, closing his eyes as he waited for the sharp spasm in his side to pass. “That... definitely pinched a bit.”
“You are not going anywhere,” you declared, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Sit back down. Let me check it out.”
Djed looked down at you, flustered all over again by your sudden proximity, but too sore to put up a fight. “I’m kind of... stuck in the suit,” he admitted quietly. “The rain shrank the material tight against my back so I can’t really pull it off on my own with my shoulder locked up.”
“I’ll help,” you said immediately.
The words left your mouth before your brain could catch up. And only after saying it did the full weight of the situation crash over you. You were going to have to peel that damp, skin-tight suit right off his bare skin.
You swallowed heavily, your pulse taking a sudden leap as you guided him toward the edge of your couch. “Just... sit.”
The air in the room felt heavy with the lingering scent of the wine you’d been drinking before he hit your window. You suddenly felt a flash of self-consciousness, hoping he wouldn't think you were just some sloppy mess who couldn't handle her Tuesday night. Outside, the storm was raging harder than ever: a brutal mix of howling wind and heavy rain that had forced the entire city to lock itself indoors tonight.
Djed didn't argue. Even though you could tell he was mortified by the whole ordeal, it seemed to you that the pain in his side left him with zero choice. He let out a low breath, lowering his frame onto the edge of the couch. His knees were spread slightly, his forearms resting on his thighs as he stared down at the carpet, his chest still rising and falling in heavy breaths.
You climed onto the couch behind him and sank onto your knees on the cushions, taking a silent gulp of air to steady your trembling hands.
The heat coming off him was intense: warmth radiated around him and cut straight through the chill of the apartment. He smelled like cold rain, leather, and that deep, woodsy cologne you always caught a hint of whenever you passed him in the hallway.
Just act normal, you told yourself.
He’s hurt.
You’re just helping your neighbor.
Your extremely hot, ridiculously handsome neighbor who is about to be half-naked on your sofa.
“Okay,” you murmured to yourself, your voice coming out slightly breathier than you intended. “Where’s the zipper?”
“Base of the neck,” Djed rasped. He tilted his head forward, exposing the back of his neck and as his damp locs tumbled over his shoulders to the side. “There’s a small metallic seam... should slide straight down.”
Your fingers brushed against his nape, and Djed instantly went rigid. A tiny shudder ran down his shoulders at the touch of your cool fingertips against his burning skin.
“Sorry- hands cold?” you asked quickly, your face flushing hot.
“No. No, you’re good,” he muttered into his chest, letting out a subtle cough to cover up the raspy edge in his voice. “Just... sensitivity. The suit’s like a second skin.”
A second skin. The mental image made your stomach do a dizzying flip.
You found the small metallic tab hidden under the collar. Hooking your thumb into it, you slowly dragged it down.
The sound was agonizingly loud in the quiet room. As the zipper slid down his spine, the tight fabric parted, revealing the smooth dark skin of his broad back. You stared at the deep cut of his spine, the flex of his muscles every time he breathed, and the faint sheen of rain and sweat lingering on his skin.
A sudden urge hit you to just rest your palm flat against his shoulder blades, to trace the warm line of his muscles and see if he’d shiver under your touch again.
But you forced your hands to stay steady, swallowing hard as you genuinely wondered if he could feel your frantic breathing against his bare skin.
From the outside, Djed looked completely unfazed, sitting motionless, staring straight ahead at your dark TV screen as if he were just waiting out a dull doctor's appointment. But his hands remained clamped tightly over his knees, his knuckles tensed as he held himself rigid.
“Okay... top half is unzipped,” you whispered, leaning in just a fraction closer to help him peel the damp sleeves down his shoulders.
The movement brought your face right beside his ear. Being so close to him made the feeling of intense heat coming off his skin almost overwhelming, a flush deepening the tone around his neck and jawline.
“Gotta... peel the arms out,” Djed muttered. He carefully shrugged his left shoulder forward. “Can you grab the sleeve?”
“Yeah. Yeah, got it.”
You reached over his shoulder, your forearm brushing against his bare chest as you grabbed the wet suit material.
You could feel him looking at your face, his eyes scanning yours, but you avoided eye contact at all costs. You wouldn’t be able to handle it right now.
With his arms finally pulled free of the sleeves, the heavy top half of the suit pooled around his waist, leaving his chest, shoulders, and back completely bare.
You swallowed hard, thoughts chaotic and racing in your head as you tried to keep your focus strictly professional. The fabric slumped forward, and you saw it — the landscape of damage. A bruise blooming purple-black across his left ribs.
You probably should be getting ice, bandages, something. Instead, your palm flattened against his body.
“Can I...?” you asked softly.
Djed gave a slight nod, his jaw clenched as he stared straight ahead.
Very gently, you pressed your fingertips against the bruised skin. His skin felt impossibly smooth and soft under your hands — warm and dark, taut over carved muscle. You lightly traced your fingers along his ribs, trying to gauge the swollen area. You dragged through it slowly, feeling the involuntary flex under your touch.
But as your hand drifted a little lower, your fingers tracing a delicate, feather-light touch so you wouldn't embarrass him even further, Djed instantly flinched, a ragged breath catching in his throat. You looked at him with a sudden spike of worry.
Surprisingly, he wasn't looking at you at all. In fact, he had turned his head completely in the opposite direction, hiding his profile so you couldn't read his face. Was he really that embarrassed to admit he was in pain?
You could feel the rigid tension in his abdominal muscles as you slowly dragged your hand back up his side. But underneath your palm, something else caught your attention: his heart was hammering against his ribcage at a frantic, breakneck speed.
“Djed, your heart rate is crazy high,” you said, your brow furrowing with genuine concern as your hand lingered against his chest. “And you’re still flinching. Are you sure nothing's broken? We might actually need to get you to a hospital…”
“No, no hospital,” Djed turned his head quickly. “I promise... the ribs are fine. It’s already… feeling better. Perks of the spider bite. Accelerated healing and stuff.”
You blinked, looking from his face down to the bruise. “Wait... really?”
“Yeah,” he muttered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Honestly, the worst of it was the wet suit. The rain shrank the material so tight against my chest it was basically suffocating me. That’s why I was panicking... couldn't get a full breath in.”
“Oh,” you breathed, relief washing through you. You relaxed your posture, though your palm was still resting flat against his bare skin. “Okay. Good. That’s... really good.”
Then you hesitated, thoughts jumping back to the feeling of the rapid rhythm of his pulse thudding under your fingers.
“But… if the suit’s off and your ribs are healing...” you murmured, looking up to meet his eyes, “...then why is your heart still beating out of your chest?”
Djed went completely quiet.
The silence between you stretched, heavy and thick with the rain storming outside. Slowly, his eyes shifted down to your lips, then back up to your eyes, stripped entirely of his usual guarded cool-guy facade. A smirk began to spread across his face, his dark eyes sparkling with a teasing look that practically screamed: Are you seriously this dense?
Your body seemed to realize it before your brain did. A wave of intense heat rushed to your cheeks with an overwhelming speed.
Oh.
Seeing your face and the wide-eyed shock in your expression only made Djed’s smirk widen.
He didn't pull away from your hand. Instead, his fingers came up and gently wrapped around your wrist: not to push your hand off his chest, but to hold it there, right over his pounding heart.
“Well,” Djed muttered, a raspy whisper sent a shiver straight down your spine. “Part of it’s the adrenaline from almost smashing my head open...”
He seemed to stretch the words out on purpose, deliberately drawing out what you’d already pieced together, stretching the tension thin, as if teasingly delaying the very moment you both were dying to crash into.
He paused, his thumb lightly tracing the delicate skin of your inner wrist, his breath fanning hot against your face as he leaned in just an inch closer.
You completely forgot how to breathe.
“...but mostly? It’s because you’re touching me right now.”
Only now, with your faces mere inches apart, did you realize just how intoxicatingly close you’d gotten to him. Somehow, without you even noticing, you’d shifted from kneeling safely behind his back to practically sitting in his lap — that was how seamlessly the distance had closed.
Your mind completely short-circuited. Under normal circumstances, if you weren't currently tipsy and hopelessly attracted to him, you would never in a million years be sitting here, tracing his bare chest with the unbothered confidence of a medical professional. What were you even doing right now?
Part of you wanted to panic or play it off, but the unfiltered heat in his gaze had you completely rooted to the spot.
Every single excuse and attempt at playing it cool disintegrated into thin air. His eyes flicked down to your mouth one last time, and a second later, his hand slid up from your wrist to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling deep in your hair as his lips finally covered yours.
Your eyes fluttered shut with a soft, helpless gasp against his mouth. The sudden warmth of his lips made your entire body melt, your hands instinctively tightening their grip on his bare shoulders as you leaned fully into him, kissing him back.
Any hesitation he’d had seconds ago was finally wiped out.
The kiss quickly became messy, chaotic — an uninhibited collision unlike anything you’d ever experienced in your life, overflowing with raw need, pure desire, and a starving kind of hunger.
The utter desperation with which his hands wrapped around your body, hoisting you right up into his lap, knocked the remaining air straight out of your lungs. You found yourself straddling his thighs, the searing heat of his skin burning straight through the thin fabric of your clothes.
You gasped against his mouth, and Djed immediately took advantage of it, his tongue sliding deep inside, tasting you, tasting the faint lingering sweetness of the wine on your breath. A dizzying moan escaped you as your hands slammed onto his bare shoulders, gripping him tight to pull him even closer.
He was so big, so intoxicatingly hot against you. His hands moved over you frantically, sliding up the curves of your hips, gripping your waist, and pulling your lower body flush against his.
Boldness took over, and your hands slid down from his shoulders, trailing over the defined ridges of his abs. You let your fingers wander lower, teasingly tracing the line where his smooth skin met the fabric of his suit at the bottom of his stomach. A strangled groan broke from the back of Djed’s throat, vibrating straight against your lips — a sound so raw it made your core clench with a sudden ache.
Hearing that sound come out of him only made you bolder. You dragged your fingertips across his lower abdomen again, pressing deliberately into the firm muscle, testing how much control you had over him.
“You like that?” you murmured against his mouth, your voice breathless and laced with a confident tease.
Djed’s response was a needy drag of his teeth against your lower lip, his fingers digging tight into your waist as if he were trying to pull you straight through his skin.
The kiss deepened, becoming harder and more urgent as your mouths worked together in a rhythm that left both of you breathless, your senses completely overwhelmed by the taste of him and the sound of his ragged breathing.
Before you could even process the sudden rush of movement, Djed shifted, effortlessly tipping you backward, pressing you horizontally into the soft cushions of the sofa. His chest pressed flush against yours, trapping you completely between his warmth and the couch. His body settlled over yours with a weight that should have been suffocating but wasn’t. It felt like being anchored.
“Fuck...” Djed gritted out, breaking the kiss for a split second just to drag his lips down your jawline, his hot breath searing against your neck. “I’ve been... losing my mind over you for months.”
His teeth gently nipped at the sensitive skin right under your ear, making your back arch with a breathless gasp. His mouth moved down to pull the soft flesh of your throat, sucking slightly. His hand tightened in your hair, tilting your head to give him better access, while his other arm wrapped firmly around your waist.
With his weight hovering over you, you could feel the rock-hard ridge of his erection straining against the bunched-up fabric of his suit pants. It was pressing directly against the center of your hips.
Unable to resist, your hand slid down between your bodies, your fingers wrapping around his heavy length through the material. Djed’s hips bucked instinctively into your palm, a broken groan vibrating through his chest at the direct contact.
He paused, his breathing a total mess as his eyes flicked up to meet yours — completely consumed by desire, yet holding that vulnerable intensity underneath.
“You have no idea...” he rasped, his thumb lightly tracing the side of your waist as he pressed his hips down against yours, “...how many times I stood next to you in the elevalor just wishing I had the nerve to say something more than how the weather is today.”
You giggled, your thumb stroking slowly along the hard ridge under your palm.
“You could’ve just asked me out,” you whispered, leaning up to brush your lips against his jaw. “Saved us both a lot of waiting.”
Djed chuckled. “I’m making up for lost time right now.”
Your hands slid down his bare back as you pulled him back to you. His tongue swept past your lips again, and you sucked on it, hard, and the sound he made was half growl, half whimper.
This was what you’d wanted. Months of hallway encounters, of watching his hands when he carried groceries, those long fingers wrapping around paper bags with a grip that looked like it could crush but never did. Months of wondering what he looked like under the quiet demeanor he wore like a second skin.
Now his hips rolled against yours and there was nothing quiet about the thick ridge straining through his suit.
“You feel that?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Another roll followed, but this time it was slower, grinding. “That’s what you do to me. Every time I see you.”
He set a slow and punishing rhythm, his hips rolling over steadily, dragging his hardness straight against the sweet spot between your thighs. Every roll sent a fresh shockwave of heat straight through your body, the friction pressing you flat into the couch until you were squirming helplessly beneath him.
Your head fell back as you closed your eyes for a second. Your throat exposed itself even further and now you could feel the bruised pressure blooming over your skin. Meanwhile his mouth dropped to the collarbone: a wicked mix of teeth scraping and tongue soothing that sent another wave of heat to your pussy.
As he worked over you, his palm traced soothing circles over your waist, smoothing down the curve of your hip before his fingers dug lightly into the outer flesh of your thigh. Slowly, his hand slipped inward, his knuckles brushing over the skin of your inner thighs.
You were ridiculously sensitive there, and the feather-light drag of his fingers sent an electric shiver through your entire frame. In that exact second, the teasing arousal you’d been holding onto completely dissolved, morphing into an actual desperate ache in your soaked pussy. You could literally feel the heat building between your legs, the wetness and the way your underwear slowly started soaking through as your body readied itself for him.
You pulled his face back to yours, kissing him again but this time deeper, messier. A chaotic mess of tongues and teeth and the salty taste of his skin when you bit his lower lip and dragged your teeth back over it.
“Fuck,” he hissed.
The room filled with the wet sounds of your kiss, his low groans, and the quiet whimpers escaping your throat every time his hips rolled against yours. It felt like neither of you wanted to break the heated make-out, but the wet clothes and lingering fabric were rapidly becoming unbearable.
His hands slid down from your waist, gripping the elastic of your pants and underwear together. With one smooth tug, he dragged them down past your hips and over your knees. You kicked them free, your skin cold for only a fraction of a second before the intense heat of his body filled the space between your legs again.
Djed paused on his knees, his eyes trailing down your exposed body.
“So wet already. Is that all for me?” It was almost reverent, and the hunger underneath made your inner walls clench around nothing.
“Yes.” Your voice cracked on the syllable. “Fuck, Djed, yes.”
He lowered himself slowly, the broad spread of his shoulders parting your knees as he settled firmly between your thighs. His large frame blocked out the rest of the living room, hovering over you until his face was just inches from where you needed him most. His breath hit your swollen folds, making your pussy flutter in anticipation. As he paused to look up at you, his thumb smoothed over the hyper-sensitive skin on the inside of your thigh, tracing a slow, grounding circle that kept you pinned right where he wanted you.
“I’ve thought about this.” His tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip. “Thought about having my face right here...”
“Then do it.” You panted. Your hips squirmed against his grip. “Stop fucking teasing me, Djed.”
His eyes locked onto yours for a fraction of a second before he leaned down and buried his face straight between your legs.
The first stroke of his tongue was flat and slow and so fucking precise you nearly screamed. He didn’t lap at you like he was testing, he licked like he already knew your body, like he’d mapped this moment in his head a hundred times and was just executing the plan. His locks spilled over your thighs, heavy and cool against your heated skin, swaying with every motion of his head. His tongue curled around the swollen nub, flicked once, then dragged down through your folds to spear inside you.
You moaned his name as your hips bucked up off the sofa instinctively. Djed’s hands came up immediately, pinning your thighs down, holding you completely steady while his mouth worked over you.
“Oh my god.” You panted. “Your fucking mouth.”
You could feel him smirk against you, the hot puff of air escaping his nose and fanning over your wet folds.
He hummed in approval, the deep vibration rattling through your clit and up your spine, and your back arched off the mattress without permission.
The contrast was dizzying. The quiet neighbor who usually barely said a word in the hallway was eating you out with a desperation you thought you could only dream of. His starved rhythm, and every low groan he let out vibrated straight through your core, the hot wetness of his mouth driving you toward the edge before you’d even had time to adjust.
Djed ate pussy like it was the only meal he’d ever wanted. His lips sealed around your clit and sucked in rhythmic pulses while his tongue swirled, and when your thighs started to shake he just pressed more weight down, kept you spread, kept you helpless. His jaw worked steadily, relentlessly, and the wet sounds of his mouth fucking you filled the room obscenely. You came to the sudden conclusion that you had never been eaten out like this in your entire life. Every movement sent a jolt through your system that wrenched a gasp from your lips. Djed didn't pause. His tongue parted your labia with a deliberate sweep, gathering the slick that coated your inner lips, making sounds that were already giving you dark ideas for the next time.
“That's it,“ you breathed. “Right there. Rightfuckingthere-“
He licked deeper, tongue plunging into your entrance, lapping at the slick walls that gripped and fluttered, then dragging up to your clit again in one long, unbroken stroke. Your thighs clamped around his head, but he didn't stop, didn't even slow down, your praise and sounds only seemed to make him more eager. His mouth sealed around your clit, sucking until the pressure became so intense, so hyper-focused, that your vision whited out at the edges.
Sprawled flat across your own sofa while your impossibly hot neighbor literally ate you out between your thighs — this was definitely not how you’d imagined your evening ending.
“Please.” You didn’t even know what you were begging for anymore. More, less, deeper... you just needed this to never stop. You needed him.
Djed pulled back just long enough to speak. His lips glistened with your slick. “Please what?”
“I need-“ Your brain short-circuited when his tongue found your entrance again and pushed inside, curling upward, searching. “Fuck. I need you to tie me up.”
Djed’s mouth stilled. His eyes lifted to yours, dark and unreadable.
“Tie you up?”
“Your webs.” The words tumbled out — a shameless craving you would never have possessed the nerve to voice in any other scenario, but the madness of the night and a bottle of wine had untied your tongue completely. “You can do that, right? I’ve seen you shoot it... I want it. I want you to bind my wrists so I can’t move, and then I want you to keep fucking eating my cunt before you fuck me until I come all over your dick.”
Djed’s eyes blazed with that quiet fire. The dark intensity behind his gaze deepened, but he didn't ask a single question more.
His hands moved with deliberate purpose, sliding up to grasp the hem of your shirt. In one fluid motion, he pulled it over your head, tossing both it and your bra aside until you were stripped completely bare beneath him.
He took your hands, raising them above your head and pressing your wrists together. You watched his arm, the way it flexed back, his fingers curling toward his palm in a gesture that looked practiced, strange, and impossibly hot all at once.
A silk-white band of organic webbing shot from him, wrapping tightly around your wrists and binding them securely together. It gleamed in silver-white, and impossibly soft where it draped over your skin. The consistency was strange: not sticky like glue, it had a tensile, almost organic give, adhering to your skin without pulling. The web bound your wrists with elastic patience; when you tested the restraint, the strands stretched slightly, but did not snap. When you relaxed, it held tight, entirely unbreakable.
Your pulse thudded in your throat and your cunt clenched as you realized you were completely pinned, entirely at his mercy.
Djed looked down at your bound wrists, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Like that?”
“Yes,” you breathed.
Djed didn't keep you waiting. He reached down, dragging the damp suit pants off his hips. Then, the briefs slid down his thighs until his rock-hard length sprang free toward his belly. The sight alone made the air leave your lungs. It was long, curved slightly upward. The head was a swollen, dusky plum that glistening with a bead of moisture at the tip. Thick veins ridged the dark length in branching relief, pulsing faintly in rhythm with his rapid heartbeat.
He groaned at the new sensations of cool air. A raw sound, scraped from somewhere deep.
You looked up at him, and a sharp pang of regret suddenly hit you for asking him to tie your hands so soon. His length looked so agonizingly hot, so inviting, that your mouth literally watered at the mere thought of taking him between your lips.
You could already picture it: feeling the dick swell even further under your hands, the head darkening as blood surged to the tip. You craved tracing your thumb over the flared ridge, circling the sensitive underside where his frenulum sat, watching his entire body react, his abs snapping tight, his hips bucking up off the mattress as you swallowed him whole.
“Fuck-“ you groaned just at the thought of it, your eyes drinking in his broad physique from below.
He was truly breathtaking. Dark locks spilled over his shoulders as he finished stripping off the last scraps of his suit. His chest heaved with every intake of air, and you noticed the nasty bruise over his ribs had already faded into a faint shadow just a few centimeters wide — a silent reminder of the superhuman hovering right over you.
Djed settled back down between your knees, the heavy heat of his body anchoring you to the couch.
He positioned himself between your legs and guided his head to your drenched entrance. He looked up, holding your gaze with a raw focus that made you catch your breath as he began to push inside. The first nudge of his cockhead against your entrance was barely pressure — just the suggestion of entry. Your pussy, swollen and slick, gripped at the crown, your outer lips parting to welcome him while the inner ones stretched in a slow drag.
He pressed in an inch and stopped.
The sound you made was not dignified. You were so ridiculously turned on, so desperate to feel the full weight of him inside you, and the constant reminder of your bound wrists only added fuel to the fire in your mind.
He stayed still, watching your face intently, checking your reaction. You had to bite your lower lip hard to keep from begging him to hurry up, desperately holding it in. You knew if you started pleading with him right now, you’d be far too embarrassed to ever face him in the hallway again.
Another inch. The shaft found the channel of your cunt, the ridge of the head dragging against your anterior wall with a friction that lights up your nerves in cascading sparks. Your hands twitched, trying to reach for him, but the webs held firm. You were pinned. Open. Helpless in a way that made every single nerve ending scream with hyper-sensitivity.
He sank deeper, stretching you with every millimeter of that thick, veined shaft. He filled you up until your inner walls fluttered and clenched in involuntary pulses around him. Every ridge. Every vein. The slight upward curve of his length pressing deep inside you made your vision blur.
“Look at you,“ he breathed. “Taking all of it so well.“
His pubic bone pressed flush against your clit, and you let out a breathless, muffled cry, your bound hands pulling uselessly against the web constraints above your head.
Djed let out a raw, broken groan as his forehead dropped to rest against yours, his hips beginning to roll.
“You’re so perfect around me,” he gritted out through his teeth, his hands digging firm into your hips. “Fuck...”
A slow grind first, his pelvis rolling against yours, the wet sounds of your joining obscenely loud in the quiet.
The sight of his parted lips, the edge of his teeth, the way his breath caught every time he bottomed out inside you—it only made you wetter for him. His shaft glistened with your shared fluids every time he pulled back. The room filled with the soft slap of skin, the wet suck of your pussy gripping and releasing him, and the quiet praise falling from his mouth.
Your clit throbbed again. Every downstroke ground his weight directly into your core, building the pressure into something white-hot and inevitable. You looked down, watching his cock disappearing into you — the shaft veiny and slick, the dark plum of his head buried deep, your pussy lips stretched tight around him, drenched and clinging with desperate suction.
The dark hair at his base was wet with your slick, curling in dark whorls against your skin. As you watched, he pulled back — the shaft emerging glistening, coated in your fluids — then pushed all the way in again. The visual of that penetration, of your puffy, drenched folds gripping and releasing him, drew a low moan from somewhere deep in your chest.
“That's it,” his voice roughened, his eyes darkening as he caught you looking. “Keep watching.”
He built the rhythm with a patience that bordered on torture: a slow entry, a pause at the deepest point where his pelvis ground hard against your clit, then a withdrawal so gradual you felt every single centimeter sliding against your clutching walls. Your breasts swayed softly with the motion, the air cool against your skin. His hand came up to cup one breast, his thumb rasping over your tightened nipple — and that double impact of the fullness stretching you inside and the rough friction on your breast made your back arch straight off the cushions. He pinched the nipple lightly, rolling it between his fingers until a helpless whimper broke from your lips.
“More,” you gasped, squirming under his weight. “Djed, please-”
His hips rolled in a circle, grinding against your swollen clit, and the direct pressure there detonated mini-orgasms — not the full crash, but flaring pulses that made your cunt spasm around him and your thighs tremble.
He did it again. And again. Each rotation a slow, devastating grind that built the heat in your core to an unbearable level. You were babbling now — words that could be his name, could be curses, could be prayers. The webs at your wrists stretched with your struggling, the strands thinning but holding steady, and the slight bite of them against your skin only added another layer of sensation to the overwhelming whole.
His pace began to fray. The measured thrusts grew longer in stroke, his withdrawal pulling him nearly free of your entrance before the return plunge sank him all the way to the hilt in a single, fluid motion. The sound of it — the wet, sucking clench of your cunt, the slap of his hips against your thighs, the creak of the mattress — filled the room like music.
“I’m close,” you gasped out. Your thighs were quaking now, the rhythm breaking into something jagged and frantic. “Djed, I’m-”
Your words broke something in him. His hips snapped forward, the rhythm shifting from measured to desperate in the space of a heartbeat. The pounding intensified — his cock driving into you in long strokes that hit your cervix with an almost painful spark. Your bound wrists strained against the webs as the wet sounds of fucking grew louder, sloppier, your slick coating his shaft and dripping down onto the sofa beneath you.
Through the haze of pleasure, you noticed how intensely he was watching your face, his dark eyes searching yours as if trying to hold your gaze through the absolute chaos of it. But every time your eyes locked with his, he suddenly flicked his gaze away, a shy flush creeping up his neck despite the aggressive way he was working his hips into you.
His sudden endearing shyness mixed with the sounds coming out of him — guttural, broken, half your name and half something wordless — pushed you right over the cliff.
His thumb found your clit, pressing down in tight circles — and that was it.
Your orgasm detonated. It seized you in a full-body clench, rippling through your cunt in waves, each spasm milking his shaft as your back arched and your vision whited out. A breathless scream tore from your throat, echoing through the small apartment.
Your inner walls gripped him so tight he moaned. And then his own climax hit, his cock jerking inside you, pumping ropes of hot cum deep against your cervix, pulsing and pulsing again until he was completely empty and shuddering over you.
Finally, his strength gave out, and he literally collapsed onto your chest, burying his face into the crook of your neck. You could feel the frantic rise and fall of his chest against yours as he tried to catch his breath.
A few quiet minutes passed as the room settled. He remained joined with you, his weight heavy and comforting. You could feel his sperm pooling inside you, and that realization alone sent a familiar warmth spreading through your lower stomach.
Slowly, Djed lifted his head. His eyes were soft and full of that quiet affection as he reached up with one hand. With a quick touch of his fingers, the organic web binding your wrists dissolved, releasing its hold and falling away like harmless silk.
As soon as your hands were free, Djed buried his face right back into the crook of your neck. You wrapped your arms around him, your fingers tangling deep into his locks, holding him close.
His cock softened inside you, still twitching faintly, still leaking into your warmth while your cunt fluttered around him in fading aftershocks. He didn't pull out, and he didn't seem to want to.
He just lay there, connected, his heavy breathing slowly evening out to match the already steady rhythm of your heartbeat.
Somewhere outside the window, a distant siren cut through the night, echoing through the city streets. Djed didn't flinch. He didn't tense up or move an inch.
For tonight, the world outside could wait.
Right now, he was just yours.
-> reblog to support me, if you enjoyed reading this and please let me know your thoughts in the comments! ཐི❤︎ཋྀ
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summary: players are gonna play, and you don’t want to be tied down, even if a handsome footballer is constantly blowing up your phone.
warnings: yn is not exactly likeable and does things she shouldn’t. she’s also a liar. so not everything she says she’s done is true. she just wants controversy to push people away. also jude is kinda pathetic in this. yum.
author’s note: i wanted a break from the pinkiverse and anon sent in an ask that inspired me!
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liked by messybitch1, messybitch2 and 256,829 others
ham1ltonshaderoom: yn yln spotted leaving the home of actor timotheé chalamet amongst split rumours with socialite kylie jenner. do you believe that she was there for what she claims was to ‘support a friend’? thoughts?
video linked in bio 🔗
view all comments
yourusername: posting this after i smiled at you. BITCH!
-> user1: girl why were you there. i can’t defend you
-> yourusername: fucking him 🤷🏽♀️
user2: yn yln you are a danger to public relations teams everywhere
user3: kylie girl don’t open instagram today
-> user4: this bitch said she was providing emotional support. horizontally. 😂😂😂
user5: i hate girls like this!! what happened to girl code??
→ yourusername: so i can’t even be nice to people anymore? damn.
user6: SHE’S INNOCENT FREE HER
-> user7: like even if she DID fuck him, he’s apparently single. so who cares?!
user8: yn’s publicist is somewhere chain smoking rn
user9: yn yln dating rumours always come with flash photography and zero shame
user10: she really collects actors like infinity stones
user11: STAY AWAY FROM MY MAN!!!
-> user12: just saw him… you’ll be aight xx
user13: she moves like she’s allergic to being alone
user14: she acts single because nobody claims her longer than a press cycle
user15: y’all mean asf because you’re all jealous
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↗ now playing: submission (ft. danny brown & kelela) by gorillaz.
liked by judebellingham, drewstarkey and 1,172,672 others
yourusername: feels so good doin’ me 🎶
view all comments
user1: WALLAHI i hate her. how are you fucking all of hollywood’s hot guys?!
-> user2: drew starkey ain’t post since last year but he logs in for a yn post… REF DO SOMETHING!!!!
user3: girl what are your plans now your movie has wrapped?
-> yourusername: walking. i love it.
-> user4: WALK WITH ME
user5: girl why is your fridge emptier than my bank account
user6: submission by gorillaz… jude liked… i understand the vision
user7: she was seen w/ jungkook, damson idris, and now jude bellingham is liking her posts….
-> user8: what black magic is she using ?!!
user9: jude baby please unlike, come home to the kids.
user10: paving the way for women’s wrongs i love u!!!
-> user11: she treats men how they treat women, how can i be mad 😂
user12: dj post so real cause why u playing BABY SHARK in the club?!
user13: men don’t even cheat anymore, they just “support yn’s career”
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liked by damn, everyonemessyasf, and 982,681 others
ham1ltonshaderoom: football’s golden boy jude bellingham the latest victim of playgirl yn yln? 👀
the actress was spotted getting very comfortable with a mystery man that fans are convinced is jude, just days after he was caught liking her instagram post captioned “feels so good doin’ me 🎶”
yn, who has been linked to more fine men than a gq cover shoot, has not confirmed or denied anything — which usually means she’s about to tell us they were “just talking” and technically, technically, she’s single.
thoughts on this potential power couple ham1ltons?
view all comments
user1: one thing abt yn yln is she gon keep a hot man at her side
user2: her pussy got black magic or something?!
-> user3: like let us in on the secret!!!!!!!!!
user4: i’m sorry but this is a gorgeous couple. annoyingly gorgeous.
user5: y’all calling him a victim like he didn’t walk there with his own legs. he knows who she is!!!
user6: this blurry ass picture is not proof of anything but i believe it with my whole chest
user7: she’s a whore!!!! a bad role model for women everywhere!!!!
-> user8: man on her arm, no man on your arm….
user9: she’s so unserious because you know if asked she’ll say “we were discussing football”
-> user10: horizontally
user11: yn yln has dated, allegedly dated, or spiritually damaged every man i’ve ever fancied
-> user12: CRUSH ON ME NEXT ME NEXT PLEASE
user13: i hate girls like this but also i would be girls like this if i could
user14: if i was jude and yn hugged me like that i’d post walking too. i’d post running. i’d post hiking.
user15: she’s hideous!! idk what they all see in her
-> user16: me when i lie
user17: yn yln’s only consistent role is being seen with somebody’s man
user18: she dates like she’s trying to make a spotify wrapped
user19: she wants people to talk so bad and then acts confused when they do
-> user20: and ur talking… 😂
yourusername: this is ai.
-> ham1ltonshaderoom: there is video footage from different angles
-> yourusername: crazy how good it’s gotten
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author’s note: idk what this is lol sorry xx
taglist (part two in rb): @aawdrea @djovulating @abbotbunny @midnightmadss @yatta-exe @nessalvswrld @cheyehc @ohwowhereiam @sillyjime @latinasforkyungsoo @m00nlitnight @pekotoru @faelvz @asapkeepmerockyyy @tar0sw0rld @imsonotweird @ririlovesgold @gwensexxual @planetnini @jkslvsnella @444urimagination @coconut-dreamz @youllbeback1778 @uwukris @galitzinegrl @janyiahsucks @mauvesmax @lalacorefray @iiamgracee08 @thee6lackbimbo @dontyoucallmecherry@vieenr0se @solqrpower @thefuckthesaurus @tak47-swaggy @pinkypieeee444 @ukioo @aawdrea @smolminsworld @dianazyb @chr-nx @wobblewobble822 @soytragonette02 @fizzedc @manzki @waffles2007 @nobystanderz @h-kitty-world @ilovequinn66 @komataru @kodeelynn @griddypops @fauxxfurr @sungirl222 (see yourself tagged when you don’t wanna be? or you want to be and don’t see yourself? send me an ask!)
Do you take requests? If yes could you please do something for William Saliba🥹
❝ 𝓌ait for u ❞
dad!william saliba x mom!reader
synopsis: william doesn't want you to leave
warnings: none maybe
"Babe, could you help me zip up?"
William glances up from his spot on the bed, our one-year-old daughter happily perched on his lap, her giggles filling the room.
He takes a moment, his eyes traveling up and down your figure, as if memorizing every detail. With a soft sigh, he shifts to the edge of the bed, gesturing for you to come closer. You step into his space, standing between his legs.
"You're wearing that?" he asks, a mix of something unidentifiable in his voice.
"Yes, why?" You sweep your hair over one shoulder, giving him access to the zipper.
"Nothing," he replies, a teasing smile creeping onto his lips as he zips up the back of your dress. "So, where are you off to?"
"Just dinner with the girls. I'll be back before you even notice I'm gone."
He hums in acknowledgment, but his attention quickly shifts to our daughter, whose gentle babbling catches his ear.
She reaches for you, tiny hands outstretched, and without a second thought, you lift her onto your hip, settling back between William's knees.
His expression shifts to one of mock betrayal.
"Mon chérie, you still want to be with her? Même si elle nous quitte?" <Even if she leaves us?> he teases, pouting dramatically.
You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. "You’re so dramatic! I won’t be gone forever."
He presses a soft kiss to the back of your arm, lifting it slightly and resting his head against your side. "It will definitely feel like it," he murmurs, nuzzling into you, the warmth of his cheek against your skin grounding you.
"Are you sure you have to go?" he asks, his tone softer now.
"Yes, I’m sure. The girls have been planning this for ages." You settle onto his lap, still holding our daughter, who giggles with delight.
"So you’ve been waiting until I got home to leave me?” he asks, feigning indignation, though his eyes sparkle with amusement.
A smirk crosses your lips before you respond, "Of course not, my love. How could you ever think such a thing?"
William’s face falls dramatically as he catches your eye in the mirror.
The sight of his exaggerated pout makes you burst into laughter.
Shaking your head, you turn just enough to face him.
“Don’t do that,” you tease, leaning down to plant a gentle kiss on his lips. “Your face is going to get stuck like that.”
“William.”
“Hm?”
“You’re pouting.”
“I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.” A grin spreads across your face as you glance down at your daughter. “Ma belle, tell Dada he’s pouting.”
“Dada pat,” she chirps proudly.
William’s eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise.
“Quel traître tu es!” <What a traitor you are!> he exclaims, clutching his chest as if wounded. “You’re supposed to tell Mommy to stay.”
He carefully lifts her from your arms, settling her on his thighs so she can face you.
“Go on,” he encourages her. “Say, ‘Stay, Mommy.’”
“’Tay, Mommy,” she manages, her tiny voice sweet and earnest.
“There we go.” He kisses her chubby cheek, a satisfied smile lighting up his face. “Good job, bébé.”
You gasp, feigning shock.
“Did you seriously just use our own daughter to guilt-trip me?”
William looks up at you, his expression innocent.
“Is it working?”
You cross your arms, trying to hide your smile.
“No.”
“Really?”
“…Maybe just a little.”
His triumphant grin widens, looking like he just won a debate without even trying.
Before either of you can say more, the sharp sound of a car horn from outside interrupts your moment.
He lets out a dramatic sigh as you slip off his lap and cross to the dresser for one last spritz of perfume.
“That’s the girls,” you say, setting the bottle down. “I’ll be back before you know it, okay?”
He offers a quiet, reluctant hum in response.
Still, he follows you without hesitation, your daughter balanced comfortably on his hip as the three of you make your way toward the front door.
"Can I- can we have a kiss?"
You turn around with a knowing look on your face.
"Yes, both of you may have a kiss."
A look of victory takes over his face as both of you lean in.
Your lips meet each others in a slow, gentle kiss. You take it upon yourself to pull away knowing he wouldn't mind making you miss the dinner altogether.
Then you move over to your daughter.
"You wanna give mommy a kiss?"
She sweetly nods her head and puckered her tiny lips. You tilt your head for her to place a kiss on your cheek.
Before grabbing the knob and opening the door, you give them both one last look.
"I love you guys."
"We love you too," he steals one quick kiss. "Now go, avant que je trouve une raison de te faire rester." <before I find a reason to make you stay>
HII I love love ur writing <33 could you so a Saliba fic sort of angst yk how he got taken off for the spain v france match cause of his back and readers lowkey angry cause he wasnt feeling up to it in the morning and theyre arguing but then it's all resolved 😌😌 change however much u want i just need another wilo fic 😜 written by u ofc<3
worth it?
masterlist
fluff/angst
william saliba x female reader
note: thank u for ur request, i loved this idea sm. i wrote this over multiple days and with little proofread so if bits of it don’t make sense then i apologise. also i am keeping my requests closed until i have finished all the ones in my inbox and i am regularly posting my desire long fic!
the stadium erupted around you, spain had broken forward again as the crowd rose in anticipation with every pass, but all you could focus on was william. he had been slower for the last ten minutes, not by much, not by enough that anyone else would notice. but you did. you knew everything about his defensive play, every movement he made, conscious or unconscious and you knew this wasn’t him.
your fingernails dug crescents into your palms as you thought back to the words that had been haunting you since he had called this morning.
“i don’t know if i’m feeling up to it today.”
“what do you mean?”
“my back.” he had laughed softly after saying it, as though laughing would make it less serious. “don’t worry though, it’ll probably loosen up.”
“it has been ‘loosening up’ for weeks, william.”
“i know.”
“so tell them.”
only silence had followed.
“we’ll see.”
“no.” your voice had become firm. “you tell them before kick-off.”
“I’ll see how it feels.”
“you promised me you’d stop doing this.”
“i know.”
he hadn’t told them, you had known that the moment he walked out of the tunnel and smiled up at the families’ section giving you a small wave, to which you simply stared back, trying to work out whether the stiffness in his movements were only visible to you because you knew what to look for.
and then it happened, one moment he was running with the ball, the next had had stopped, hand on his back trying to straighten himself as the colour drained from his face before slowly lowering himself onto the grass. your heart stopped, everyone around you now sounding worlds away as you desperately tried to see what was happening, if he was okay. before you knew it you were moving towards the barrier when someone from the france staff gently stopped you.
“you can’t-”
“that’s my boyfriend.”
“yes ma’am and they’re helping him.”
“i know they’re helping him.” your voice cracked. “i just-”
you couldn’t finish speaking as you watched on helplessly whilst two physios helped pick him up from the ground, william’s face twisting with pain.
france lost but you couldn’t have told anyone the score if they asked, after william’s incident you had spent the remainder of the match staring at the tunnel he’d disappeared down.
by the time someone finally let you into the medical area, your heart had been pounding for over an hour. the door was half open and you could see william sat on the treatment table, still in his kit, tape stretched across his back whilst the medical staff packed their equipment away. he looked exhausted.
“i’ll leave you two alone.” the physio spoke quietly, noticing you at the door.
he left and the room fell silent as william offered a tired smile.
“…hey.”
his smile disappeared when you didn’t answer.
“you’ve been crying.” he pointed out.
you still said nothing.
“can you say something,” he swallowed.
you let out a sharp, humourless laugh causing william to flinch.
“you lied to me.”
“i know.”
“you promised me this morning that you were okay and if you weren’t then you would tell them.”
“i thought-”
“i don’t care what you thought.” you cut him off, your voice echoing around the room, “you knew, you knew your back wasn’t right.”
“i knew it hurt.”
“you told me you didn’t even know if you could play.”
“because i didn’t know.”
“but you went ahead and played anyway!”
“i had to!”
“no.” you shook your head. “no william, you wanted to.”
“they needed me.”
“and what if you’d gone caused permanent damage? what then?”
“i didn’t think-”
“I KNOW YOU DIDN’T!” the words exploded out of you before you could stop them. “you never think when it comes to football.”
“i always think.” he stared at you, speaking slowly.
“no, you don’t. you think about the next match, the next trophy and tackle but you never think about what happens if your body one day decides it’s had enough.”
his jaw tightened.
“you don’t understand.”
“i understand perfectly.”
“no you don’t, you’ve never had a chance to play in a world cup semi-final.”
“maybe not, but i’ve had the chance to watch the person i love almost throw everything away for one.”
the room fell silent and william looked away out the window.
“it wasn’t just one match.” he said quietly.
“it was.”
“no, it was my country.”
“and what about your future?” he didn’t answer so you continued. “what about arsenal?” silence. “what about next season or five years from now?” still nothing. “what about us?”
that made him look up.
“what?” he asked, his expression shifting.
“you risked all of it.”
“my career wasn’t-”
“you don’t know that!” you cried, stepping closer.
“do you know what went through my head when you sat down?” you asked, voice trembling. “i thought…” you stopped, closing your eyes, to steady yourself. “i thought that was it.” william’s face softened immediately. “i thought i’d just watched the man i love end his career because he couldn’t accept that his body needed rest.” you continued. “i thought about everything we had talked about, our future, our children. i thought all of it was about to change because football mattered more.”
“what?” his eyes widened.
“you heard me.” you whispered.
“it doesn’t matter more.”
“really?” you asked, tears now spilling down your cheeks, “because that’s exactly what it felt like.”
william stood too quickly, pain visibly shooting through his back as he winced so hard he grabbed the edge of the table, knuckles whitening but you barely reacted.
“you can’t even stand.”
“i know.” he hissed in pain.
“and you still think this was worth it?”
“i never said that.”
“you don’t have to, you showed me enough.”
“you think football matters more to me than you?” he asked, staring at you in disbelief.
“i think…” you looked away from him, voice breaking. “i think if you’d had to choose today, i’m not sure you would’ve chosen me.”
the words hung in the air, creating a poisonous atmosphere whilst william looked as though you had slapped him, lips parted in shock.
“you really believe that?”
“i don’t know what to believe anymore.” you admitted causing his eyes to fill with tears.
“i called you.”
“what?”
“i called you this morning because i was scared.” he repeated, voice shaking. “i didn’t call anyone else.”
“you called because you wanted me to tell you it was okay.”
“no, i called because i knew you’d tell me it wasn’t okay.” he watched as you frowned, the anger in your face faltering. “i wanted someone to stop me. but i also wanted to hear that i could still do it.” he continued to speak, letting out a broken laugh. “i wanted hope. i’ve spent my whole life playing through pains, it’s what we’re taught, if you can run, you can play and if it’s a final, you can definitely play.” he smiled bitterly, shoulders slumping as he ran a hand over his face. “i kept telling myself it’d settle like it always had before, but when i sat down, i knew, and i’ve never been more terrified.”
the room was painfully quiet as william finally looked at you.
“i wasn’t thinking about football anymore, i was thinking about you.” he swallowed hard, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “i thought to myself, she told me not to play and now she’s going to look at me and realise i chose this life, football, over her and her pleads.” a tear slid down his cheek. “i never wanted football more than you, not once. it was just that i was just too stupid to realise that trying to prove myself could cost me both.”
any urge to fight was long drained from your system.
“i was so angry.”
“i know.” he nodded, reaching for your hand.
“i kept thinking…” you wiped your face with your sleeve. “that if you loved me enough then you would’ve wanted to come home healthy more than you wanted to win.”
william closed the distance between you, as much as his back would allow as he cupped your face with trembling hands.
“i did want to come home to you.”
“so why didn’t you.” you whispered, resting your forehead against his.
“because, for one stupid moment, i convinced myself i could have both.”
a new silence settled between you, not an easy one like you were used to but instead an uncomfortable one filled with regret. you reached up, taking one of his hands from your face and pressing it against your heart as he spoke.
“but now i know that that’s not possible and if i get another chance then i’ll choose coming home to you, always.”
for the first time since you’d walked into the room you let your guard down as you fell into him. william hissed quietly as your arms wrapped around his waist, his injured back protesting but he held you anyway, he held you as tightly as he could.
i don't understand the obssesion some women have with wanting black footballers to date black women. i don't want to be that person but racism works both ways,and ive seen horrible comments to some wags just because they're white. it just proves that people that make those comments have a terrible self-steem and think interracial relationships shouldnt exist, which i think its stupid. if they're attracted to white women,good for them. im just tired of people looking for problems that don't exist. and also,this women are nowhere to be seen when a black woman dates a white guy.
Racism doesn't work both ways, there is no thing called reverse racism. Can a black woman be racist towards a white woman? No. Can a black woman be discriminating and vile towards a white woman? Yes
I feel like you are a white person just based off this statement. There is no obsession with wanting to see black ballers with black women. People just want to see beautiful black women in the same spaces as white women have always been in. There is no harm in that. I haven't experienced anything harmful with people expressing these opinions.
What horrible comments have these white wags gotten? Please show me one that is discriminatory towards their skin color.
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down your back — william saliba summary: the markings down his back show your claim. pairing: william saliba x fem!reader warnings: consensual activities mentioned + teasing. a/n: I don’t even know what the fuck this is but uhh enjoy??
whistling a made up tune, william saliba joyfully saunters down the sobha center hallways with not a care in the world. the season was going well, his girlfriend was happy, and therefore he was happy. there wasn’t much for him to complain about.
“morning!” he greets employees with his normal cheerful expression, as he rounds the corner and enters the locker room where the lads were changing.
still whistling a cheerful tune, wilo throws his basic black t-shirt off and into his locker. he begins searching his messy cubby for his training shirt, that he always seemed to lose in the mess of his equipment and other necessities.
“get attacked by a bear?” declan playful jokes, though he knows those markings aren’t from a bear. in fact, the entire team who dared to look over at wilo, knew those markings were from a good night in the sheets.
rolling his eyes, he tosses one of his old shirts at declan and continues his futile pursuit. he knows damn well these “bear markings” were your manicured nails digging into his skin.
“are there fresh ones?” wilo whispers to Declan who checks his back for him.
“hard to say, but clearly you should ease off a bit.”
rolling his eyes, Wilo knew even if he tried to give it to easy and soft, you’d beg for more. you’d purposefully whine out the noises he so desperately loved to hear.
keeping his comments to himself, wilo found the shirt he was looking for and threw it on before more comments could be made. fishing for his phone in his bag, he began typing on the device.
you leave new markings?
no. but I can tonight :)
shaking his head at your message, he tossed his device back into the bag, and turned out of the locker room heading for the training pitch. he knew the scratches had to be bad enough that a comment was made, but he didn’t dare stop you. he liked belonging to you in that sense.
—
shimmying his feet out of his shoes, he tripped along the line of his other mess of shoes, and up the stairs where he smelt the vanilla mahogany scent drifting from.
he knew this scent well. this was the scent you were on the very first night you’d gone further than kissing, and Wilo began to associate it with the euphoric that came with sex.
the bathroom door was slightly ajar just like a welcoming sign he needed. slipping into the room, he found your clothes scattered among the floor.
joining yours, he tossed his clothes in the pile and pulled open the shower curtain revealing your naked body to him.
a guttural moan escapes his lips as he slips into the burning hot shower and closes the curtain behind him. you didn’t need to turn around, his natural body heat lit the steaming shower into a blaze.
palming your ass with his large hands, they work their way up to wrap around the dips of your hips, and he pulls you into his hard cock.
words don’t need to be exchanged for him to know and feel your desires. they spill down the shower walls like the droplets of hot water from the shower head.
adjusting himself into you, he presses his palm into your spine, folding you in half. with nothing to grip against, he slowly starts grinding himself into you.
the rhythm was like a tease. you knew he was doing this for a reason. he wanted to hear your filthy pleas and your dirty moans fill the room like steam.
pushing your lips together to form a tight line, you use all the ounce of control you had to not give him the satisfaction. if this was punishment, at least it was good. you could feel the pleasure rippling through you like a tidal wave.
watching your body like a hawk from where he stands, he noticed the small tweak of your knees. while they weren’t entirely shaking yet, he knew they had to be getting there. he knew you were on the edge of the climax, and that was his perfect chance to leave you with nothing.
your lips slightly parted, battered breathing slipping out against the shower tiles, they echoed through the steam. it was what he needed to go harder and faster, but he didn’t dare. he didn’t dare let you finish what he’d achingly wanted.
slipping out of the shower, he towels off his body leaving you cold and alone in the thick steam. he didn’t get too far away from the shower, when he felt your sharp nails dig a long line down his spine, “finish what you started, asshole.”
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