Mother Have Mercy on Us All

It was on one of your aimless wanderings, driven by no more than a pull of curiosity when you found the castle.

It was perched on the edge of the Carpathians like a stone gargoyle, crumbling but proud.

As you approached, silent as mist, you felt it before you saw him, a heartbeat, slow and strong, pulsing with youth and sorrow. And when your eyes found him.

You forgot how to breathe.

He was standing by a frost-dusted window, moonlight pooling over his delicate features. He couldn’t have been more than twenty, his dark hair tousled, his eyes lost in some unseen thought.

A young Count.

A lonely one.

You could feel it in the ache of his soul.

So you stayed.

You watched him from the shadows, night after night.

You told yourself you would only stay until sunrise. Then another night. Then another.

And as you watched him, something unthinkable began to stir within your undead heart. Longing.

A sweetness you thought you had buried with your humanity.

He would read by firelight, sometimes walking when troubled, his robes half-undone, exposing a pale chest that made something deep in you ache with hunger that was not for blood. You learned his patterns. You watched him sleep.

Yes, even as he dreamed.

In the stillness of his chamber, you perched in the rafters or slid like fog into the corners.

He looked beautiful in sleep, unguarded, eyelashes brushing flushed cheeks, breath warm on the pillow. You would stand there for hours, not daring to touch, only watching.

You wondered if your presence had reached him somehow, through the veil of sleep.

You whispered your name to him, not audibly, but in that strange language of dreams. You touched his face in the ether, kissed the corners of his mind.

And he began to respond.

"Who are you?" he'd whisper in sleep. "Why do I feel you when I close my eyes?"

You watched him wake with your name on his lips.

Then one night, in his dream, he touched you back.

You stood by his bed, cloaked in darkness. His dreamscape shimmered like moonlight on still water.

He saw you, and he smiled, not in fear, but with curiosity.

“You,” he said, rising from his bed, dressed in only a loose white shirt that clung to his skin.

You went to him, letting your hand ghost over his chest. His skin was warm beneath your touch.

Real. Craving.

He kissed you first. Soft, then desperate, as if he had waited lifetimes.

You melted into him, his hands roaming your body with gentleness.

The dream shifted, his bed swallowed in shadows and silk.

He lay beneath you, breathless, with pleading eyes.

When you took him, he gasped your name.

You moved together like tide and shore, his body rising to meet yours with an eagerness that unravelled your restraint.

He clutched your hips, his head thrown back, whispering promises in the dream.

“I want to be yours. Always. In this life. The next.”

You held his face close to your chest.

When he woke the next morning, the scent of you lingered on his skin.

One evening, when the snow fell thick and silent, you chose to stop hiding.

He stood in the great hall, candlelight catching on his cheekbones. You emerged from the shadows like a ghost, ancient and otherworldly, your eyes locked to his.

He did not scream. He stepped forward.

"You're real."

"I am."

He didn’t run. He didn’t demand answers.

He simply breathed you in, like he had been waiting.

Over the coming weeks, he invited you into his life. Into his thoughts. Into his heart.

You told him everything. What you were. What you had become. What the world had taken from you.

And he listened, always.

Sometimes, he would hold your face between his hands and whisper, "You were alone too long. But you're not alone anymore."

One night, as the fire burned low and his head rested in your lap, he spoke up.

"I want to be like you."

You froze.

He sat up slowly, eyes glowing with fierce intent. "I want your eternity. Not because I fear death, but because I want to share your forever."

You touched his chest, feeling that pulse, the pulse you grew to love. "You don’t know what you’re asking."

"I do," he said, fiercely. "I want to be yours. Entirely."

The transformation was slow.

You taught him the sacred rites, chants whispered in forgotten languages, blood rituals that called down shadows from the mountains.

He memorized every word, every rune. His soul burned with hunger, and you guided it gently.

You watched as his eyes changed first, deeper, darker, ancient. Then his body followed: leaner, longer, his beauty stretching into something different.

The nights grew colder, and so did his skin. Yet his gaze never lost its fire.

And on the night of the final rite, he stood before you, breathless and unafraid.

"If I do this, there’s no going back," you said.

He took your hands in his. "There’s nothing back there for me. Only forward. Only you."

You pressed a kiss to his lips, fangs brushing his skin.

And then you drank.

He cried out once, a sound not of pain, but of release. And finally, you offered him your blood, which he began to drink.

When it was done, you held him as the darkness embraced him.

His breathing slowed. Then stopped.

And then, he opened his eyes.

The dawn tried to creep in, but your wards held strong. The sky lightened to a shade of pearl, and you lay beside him, uncertain.

Would he wake? Would he still want you?

He stirred.

Then his eyes opened, no longer human, but radiant in their darkness.

He sat up slowly, hands braced against the silken sheets and turned to you with a crooked smile.

“I feel it,” he whispered. “You. In me.”

You reached to touch his face. “How do you feel?”

“Hungry. Powerful. Whole.” He leaned in, eyes full of heat. “Yours.”

And then he kissed you, with all the hunger of a newborn immortal, all the adoration of a man who had given everything to love you.

The young Count was gone.

Nosferatu was born.

And he was entirely, irrevocably yours.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

Something felt wrong the moment I stepped outside. A chill slid down my spine, sharp and deliberate, even though the morning was warm and still—too still. No breeze, no birdsong. Just quiet.

I lived on the far edge of Hawkins, on a street so small it barely counted as a street at all—five houses scattered through the trees, each one tucked far enough away that you could go months without seeing a single living soul. “Neighbors” was a generous word for people you never saw, never spoke to, never borrowed a cup of sugar from. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Miss Pettigrew, though her cat Hermes made his presence known every other day. The fat menace wandered into my yard to terrorize me and the birds nesting in the maple outside my kitchen window. He’d despised me since the day my parents and I moved in when I was five, always swiping at my ankles even when I tried—stupidly—to feed him.

I locked the door behind me and walked to the bus stop across the road. Convenient, really—the line dropped me right in front of the library, and when my shift ended I could cross over to the supermarket, grab whatever I needed, and head straight home. Simple. Predictable. And after everything that had happened in Hawkins—after the military checkpoints and the sleepless nights—that predictability felt comforting.

But today wasn’t normal.

That uneasy feeling stuck with me all day, coiling in my stomach, whispering that something was watching me. Every time I turned around, there was no one. Nothing. Just dust motes drifting through the library’s quiet, empty aisles.

Not many people came in anymore. The occasional student, maybe. Most of the town had evacuated when they had the chance. The ones who stayed had either refused to abandon their homes… or couldn’t afford to. I fell into the second category. After my parents died, this house was all I had left. Leaving wasn’t an option.

And yet, as dusk crept in and that chill returned, I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe—just maybe—it should’ve been.

By the time my shift ended, the sky had settled into that pale, bruised lavender Hawkins always got before nightfall. Beautiful, but uneasy — the kind of dusk that made you think twice before walking anywhere alone. I slung my bag over my shoulder, locked up the library, and stepped outside.

There it was again.

That feeling.
Heavy. Purposeful. Like someone’s gaze was hooked into the back of my neck.

I tried to brush it off as nerves — leftover paranoia everyone in Hawkins had earned the hard way — but it clung to me as I crossed to the supermarket. Inside, the store was nearly empty. Just Mr. Riggs behind the counter, thumbing through his hunting magazine like always.

“Quiet day?” I asked.

“They all are,” he said without looking up.

I gathered the basics — bread, coffee, microwave dinners — but the whole time, I couldn’t shake the sense that someone was trailing just one aisle behind me. Nothing ever followed when I looked. Still, the prickling stayed, sharp as a warning.

Outside, the air felt wrong again. Dense, almost electric. The hairs on my arms rose before I even reached the bus stop.

Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
Then fifteen.

The bus was never this late.

I checked down the road. Empty. Too empty.

A rustling sound slid out from the shadows across the street.

I froze.

It wasn’t the skittery, frantic sound of an animal. This was slower. Intentional. Leaves whispering against each other as something moved through them.

Something watching me.

“Okay… not great,” I murmured, shifting my groceries.

The rustling grew closer, brushing along the tree line in slow, deliberate waves. My breath caught in my throat as a shape stepped forward — tall, pale against the fading dusk, moving with that strange, quiet grace I’d seen a hundred times before.

Not here.

Not real.

Not him.

But when he stepped into the open, the world tilted.

It was him.

Henry.

His face wasn’t monstrous or twisted like the nightmares Hawkins whispered about. No vines. No contorted limbs. Just… Henry. Sharp features, hollowed eyes, that almost delicate stillness he had when he was studying something — or someone — he found interesting. Beautiful, in a way that made your stomach drop.

I’d seen that face for years. In dreams that felt too vivid, too warm, too wrong. Dreams where he’d speak to me like he knew me, like he was waiting.

I just never expected to see him on a street corner in Hawkins, standing under the bruised evening sky like he’d stepped directly out of my sleep.

He tilted his head, the same way he always did in those dream-conversations, the ones where I couldn’t move, couldn’t look away.

“You recognize me,” he said softly.

My fingers tightened around the grocery bags. “You’re not real.”

A faint smile touched his lips — the exact one I’d memorized without meaning to. “And yet… you’re speaking to me.”

He moved closer. Not threatening. Not rushing. Just… certain. Like he knew I wouldn’t run.

And the terrifying thing was—
I didn’t.

“I’ve been in your dreams for a reason,” Henry murmured. “I didn’t think you’d understand at first. But you do, don’t you?”

The air around us thickened, almost humming. The trees behind him seemed to dissolve into shadow, melting into something darker—something I recognized from those dreamscapes he’d pulled me into night after night.

His world.
His mind.
The place he’d always called “home.”

I swallowed. “You said it wasn’t real.”

His eyes — pale, searching — locked onto mine. “It can be. For you.”

The shadows behind him widened, swirling like ink suspended in water. I felt their pull, familiar and terrifying all at once. Like falling asleep. Like drowning. Like being chosen.

Henry extended his hand.

“Come with me.”

My heart hammered so loudly I was sure he could hear it. The street, the grocery bags, the bus that never came — it all felt distant now, unimportant. The whole town held its breath.

I had seen this moment in dreams.
But I’d never believed it would follow me into waking life.

And as his hand hovered inches from mine, I realized one thing with a clarity that chilled me deeper than the evening air:

He hadn’t come here to haunt me.
He’d come to take me back.

My fingers hovered above his, trembling — not from fear, not entirely, but from the strange familiarity of this moment. I’d taken his hand before in dreams. I had felt the warmth of his skin, the steadiness of it.

But touching him now felt like crossing a line I could never uncross.

Henry’s expression softened, the sharp edges of him easing into something almost… human. Patient. Hopeful.

“It’s all right,” he murmured.

And somehow, impossibly, it was.

I placed my hand in his.

The world folded around us instantly — the trees dissolving, the fading sky shattering into darkness, the pavement falling away beneath my feet. But I didn’t fall. Henry’s grip anchored me, held me gently but securely, his thumb brushing the back of my hand as the world rebuilt itself.

Light returned. Warm light.

When my vision steadied, I sucked in a quiet breath.

It was the Creel House.
But not the decayed, haunted ruin Hawkins whispered about. Not the place swallowed by vines and nightmares.

This version was… alive.

Golden lamps glowed softly from every corner. Sunlight streamed through tall windows draped in lace curtains. The walls, once cracked and rotting, were freshly painted — cream, warm, inviting. The air smelled faintly of cinnamon and old books. A piano sat in the corner, polished to a shine, not a single vine growing through its keys.

And the quiet… wasn’t ominous.
It was peaceful.

Domestic.

“You… did this?” I whispered.

Henry released my hand slowly, as if afraid I’d crumble without his support. “I remembered it differently,” he said. “Before everything changed.” His eyes moved over the room with a softness I’d never seen in him — not in dreams, not in the real world. “I rebuilt it the way it was. The way it should’ve been.”

He looked back at me.
There was something fragile in that look — something he’d never let anyone else see.

“For you.”

My chest tightened. “Why me?”

Henry stepped closer, lines of tension slipping from his posture as he spoke — the veneer of the terrifying, unstoppable thing he’d become peeling back to reveal the lonely boy underneath.

“I’ve watched you for a long time,” he admitted, his voice low but not dangerous. “Not to frighten you. Not to hurt you.” He hesitated, as if choosing the right words mattered. “You’re… different. Untouched by the cruelty of this place. You don’t run. You don’t pretend.”

He swallowed, jaw tense.

“I wanted to protect you.”

I almost laughed — soft, breathless, disbelieving. “Protect me? Henry, you’re—”

He stopped me gently, a single shake of his head. “Not with them,” he said quietly. “Not with the ones who fear me. With you… I can be something else.”

I studied him — the careful way he held himself, the way he didn’t step too close, didn’t touch me again without permission. Protective, yes, but not suffocating. Watchful, but not cruel.

He wasn’t looming over me.
He wasn’t manipulating my mind.

He was simply… waiting.

“This place,” he said, motioning around the room, “is yours as much as it is mine. You will be safe here. No one can reach you. Nothing can harm you.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I won’t allow it.”

The intensity in his eyes should have scared me.

It didn’t.

Instead, something warm unfurled in my chest — a dangerous warmth, one I didn’t know how to name. The house felt like a dream I’d slipped into hundreds of times, but this time the dream wanted me to stay.

Henry extended his hand again, but not to drag me anywhere.
Just to lead me deeper into the glowing halls of the home he’d created.

“Come,” he said softly. “Let me show you.”

And for the first time all day, the off-kilter feeling faded.

Because, somehow… being here with him felt right.

Henry walked with me through the hallways for a while, pointing things out with a gentleness I didn’t know he was capable of. A restored painting here, a record player there, all arranged like he’d curated every detail specifically with me in mind.

But eventually his attention shifted — like he was hearing something I couldn’t, sensing something outside the walls of this perfectly reconstructed home.

“I have to step away for a little while,” he said.

My stomach tightened. “Step away? Where?”

He hesitated before answering, choosing his words carefully. “There are… things I must maintain. Boundaries. Barriers. This world doesn’t run by itself.”

Of course it didn’t. This was his creation — a living extension of his mind.

But the way he said it wasn’t ominous. He wasn’t talking about hunting or hurting. He sounded almost like someone saying they had to check on a garden or tighten a fence gate before a storm.

He brushed his fingers lightly along my arm — a fleeting touch, as if he still wasn’t sure he was allowed. “You’ll be safe here,” he said firmly. “This place is yours. Explore it. Get comfortable.”

I nodded, and he gave a small, almost shy smile — a rare expression that softened the sharpness in him.

Then he slipped away, fading into the shadows of the front hall like he’d simply stepped out of a daydream.

For a long moment, I just stood there, listening to the soft silence he left behind.

Then I began to explore.

The house was… perfect. Not in a sterile, dollhouse way — but warm and lived-in. The kitchen smelled faintly of fresh bread and cloves, as if someone had been baking that morning. A kettle sat on the stove. A vase of lilies brightened the counter, their petals impossibly white.

Upstairs, the bedroom he’d prepared for me was soft and calm — pale blankets, an open window letting in golden light, a shelf stocked with books I loved. Books I’d never told anyone about.

He knew.

Not in a creepy, invasive way — but in that dreamlike way where he seemed to understand the pieces of me I kept quiet.

The hours passed gently. I curled up on the couch, letting my fingers drift over the velvet cushions, listening to the house breathe. I played a few notes on the piano, surprised when the keys were perfectly tuned.

He had tuned it.
For me.

When the front door opened again, evening light spilled in behind him. Henry looked different — not tired, but softened, relieved to see me still here, still safe. His shoulders relaxed in a way I’d never seen.

“You stayed,” he said, voice low.

“I told you I would.”

A warmth flickered over his expression, brief but unmistakable. He stepped closer, studying me like he was memorizing something important.

“Did you find the house… agreeable?”

“It’s beautiful,” I said honestly. “It feels like… everything I ever wanted.”

The words seemed to hit him harder than I expected. Something tender crossed his face — a raw, unguarded affection he didn’t mask quickly enough.

“I wanted it to be,” he murmured. “For you.”

He reached out, brushing a loose curl from my cheek with careful fingertips — like I was something delicate, something precious. His touch lingered just long enough to make my breath hitch.

Henry noticed.
And for once, he didn’t pull away.

Instead, he took a slow step closer, his voice warm and steady.

“You belong here,” he said softly. “With me.”

And in that moment — in this impossibly alive house, wrapped in golden light and strange peace —
I almost believed him.

Henry stayed close after he returned — not hovering, but moving around me with a kind of gentle gravity, as though the house revolved around where I stood. He motioned toward the kitchen.

“You haven’t eaten,” he said, voice soft but certain.

I almost laughed. “Does food even exist here?”

His lips curved in a ghost of a smile. “It does when I choose it to.”

The lights in the kitchen warmed, flickering with a life of their own. On the stove sat a pot of soup — steaming, fragrant, real. A loaf of bread rested beside it, warm enough that the air above it shimmered slightly.

“You cook now?” I teased.

Henry tilted his head. “I learn what I need to. You require nourishment.”

“You say that like I’m a plant.”

He stepped closer, his expression unreadable but not unkind. “Plants die without care. Humans… despair without it.”

The quiet sincerity in his voice made my breath catch.

We ate together at the long dining table — one of those heavy, old-fashioned ones with carved legs and polished wood. The soup tasted like something I’d loved as a child, though I couldn’t remember ever telling him that.

He watched me with that soft intensity of his — not judging, not analyzing, just… watching. Making sure I ate enough. Making sure I was content. Every time our eyes met, he looked away first, as if affection was something he wasn’t used to showing openly.

After dinner, he put on a record — an old bluesy tune that filled the house like warm honey. I drifted toward the piano, brushing my fingers over the keys. Henry approached quietly.

“Play,” he murmured.

“I only know a little.”

“That’s enough.”

I began a soft melody — halting at first, then smoother as the house seemed to breathe with me. Henry stayed behind me, close enough that I could feel the faint warmth of him at my back. His fingers brushed mine when I reached the higher notes.

The touch was feather-light, but intentional.
Affection disguised as guidance.

When the song ended, he didn’t move away.

“You make this place…” He searched for the word. “…alive.”

I turned to look at him. He was staring at me like I was something he’d spent years searching for in the dark.

Jealousy glimmered in his expression then — subtle but unmistakable — when I glanced toward the window, as if the outside world might distract or lure me away.

“You don’t need to think about out there,” he said quietly.

“Why not?”

“Because nothing out there has ever protected you. Not like I will.”

His words should’ve frightened me, but instead they wrapped around me like the warm hum of the record player.

Later, when the house dimmed into a soft golden glow, he walked me upstairs. He stopped outside my bedroom door, standing straighter than before, as though he were controlling every part of himself.

“You may rest,” he said. “You’re safe here.”

“You’re not sleeping?”

He paused. “I don’t require sleep.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

His eyes flicked to mine. There it was — the crack in his calm, the vulnerable part he usually hid.

“You want me to stay.”

It wasn’t a question.
But I nodded.

For a moment he said nothing, the air thick between us. Then he stepped inside, moving with careful restraint, as if he feared breaking something invisible.

He didn’t lie beside me.
Not at first.

He sat against the headboard, long legs stretched out, watching over the room like a silent guardian. I settled under the blankets, the soft lamplight brushing over both of us.

After a long moment, I whispered, “Henry?”

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to sit so far.”

He inhaled — barely a sound, more like a thought crossing his chest — and shifted. Slowly. Deliberately. He lay beside me, the mattress dipping under his weight. He kept a careful inch between us, his restraint almost tender.

But then, as I drifted toward sleep, his hand found mine under the blankets.

Tentative.
Almost shy.

His fingers curled around mine slowly, as though he were memorizing the shape of my hand.

“I will protect you,” he whispered. Not a threat. A promise. “From everything.”

And with the warmth of him beside me, the house alive around us, and his fingers intertwined with mine, I believed him.

For the first time in years, I fell asleep without fear.
Because Henry — the monster, the man, the dream that had followed me for years — was right there, guarding me.

And I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to leave.

When I woke the next morning, Henry was already watching me.

Not in the unsettling way I once feared — but quietly, thoughtfully, as if he’d spent the whole night memorizing the rise and fall of my breathing. His hair fell a little messier than usual over his forehead, softening the sharp features he usually kept so composed.

“You stayed,” I whispered.

His eyes flickered. “I told you I would.”

He didn’t move at first. He just looked at me with that intense stillness he possessed — a stillness that felt like it was reserved only for me now. But something in him was different this morning. Looser. Warmer. The affection that had hovered beneath the surface last night now sat openly in his gaze.

He lifted a hand, hesitating for the smallest moment before brushing a thumb along my cheekbone. The touch was slow… deliberate… almost reverent.

“You look peaceful like this,” he murmured. “It suits you.”

“Like what?” I asked, voice soft.

“Mine.”

The word hit me in the center of my chest — not demanding, not forceful, but hungry in a way that felt deeply human. His thumb lingered near the corner of my mouth, tracing the faint curve of a smile I hadn’t realized I was wearing.

I swallowed. “You’re being… affectionate.”

His lips twitched in something close to amusement. “Does that displease you?”

“No.”

Something dark and warm bloomed behind his eyes at that.

He shifted closer — careful, measured — until his forehead nearly touched mine. His breath brushed my lips, slow and controlled, though I could feel the tension radiating from him.

“Good,” he said, voice low. “Because I find I don’t wish to hide it anymore.”

His fingers slid gently down my jaw, curling beneath my chin so I’d look directly at him. There was no cruelty in the touch. Just possession softened by tenderness.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispered. “To be near you without fear that you might vanish into the waking world.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I promised.

His expression shifted — relief, desire, something dangerous and tender all tangled together. He leaned closer, brushing the bridge of his nose against my cheek in a soft, intimate gesture.

“You say that,” he murmured, “and part of me wants to believe you.”

“Part?”

“The other part wants to keep you close enough that belief isn’t necessary.”

There it was — a confession of possessiveness wrapped in velvet. Not threatening, but undeniably fierce. His hand slipped to the back of my neck, thumb tracing circles as he studied my face.

“I want to understand you,” he said. “All of you. The parts you show the world and the parts you hide even from yourself.”

His voice dipped softer, almost vulnerable.

“May I?”

It wasn’t a demand. It was a question — a request for permission from someone who could command the entire world to kneel.

My pulse fluttered beneath his touch. “Yes.”

Henry closed his eyes briefly, as if steadying himself. When he opened them again, the affection there had deepened into something that felt… consuming.

Not harmful.
But hungry.

He leaned in, his forehead pressing fully against mine, his breath warm against my lips.

“Then let me explore,” he whispered. “Slowly. Intimately. Completely.”

His hand slid around my waist, drawing me closer with a gentleness that would’ve shocked anyone who’d ever feared him. But I wasn’t afraid. Not of him. Not here.

In his dreamhouse — in the world he built for us — Henry wasn’t a monster.

He was a man finally allowing himself to want.

And he wanted me.

Henry didn’t move after those words left his lips — he simply watched me, his hand warm at my waist, his breath brushing my skin in slow, steady waves. It was like he was giving me a chance to step away.

I didn’t.

Instead, I lifted my hand, letting my fingertips skim the side of his jaw. He stiffened almost imperceptibly, not from discomfort, but from surprise — as if no one had ever touched him gently before. His breath hitched, the smallest break in his perfect composure.

“You always look so controlled,” I whispered.

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple shifting under my thumb. “Control is necessary.”

“And here?” I asked softly. “With me?”

He closed his eyes for a heartbeat. “Here… less so.”

I explored him slowly — tracing the line of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbone, the soft lock of hair that fell toward his forehead. Every touch made him lean closer, just slightly, unconsciously. He looked at me like he didn’t know what he’d done to deserve it.

“You don’t have to hold everything inside with me,” I said.

His eyes opened — pale, intense, vulnerable in a way few would ever see. “You make it difficult not to.”

Before I could answer, he slipped an arm around me, pulling me just a fraction closer. Possessive — but gentle. Protective, not imprisoning. His fingers spread lightly at the small of my back, holding me as if I might dissolve into the air if he let go.

“I don’t like the way the world touched you,” he murmured against my temple. “How it hurt you. How it overlooked you.”
His grip tightened slightly — warm, steady.
“I would never allow that here.”

The protectiveness in his voice sent a warm shiver through me — not fear, but something deeper, something safe.

“Henry,” I whispered, my hand sliding to his chest, feeling the slow, controlled beat of his heart. He wasn’t breathing the way he usually did — he was breathing me in, as if the air didn’t matter unless I was part of it.

He tilted my chin up with the lightest pressure of his fingers. “You do not understand what you’ve become to me.”

“Then show me.”

His pupils widened, a ripple of emotion passing through him — gratitude, hunger, wonder — before he leaned in. Our noses brushed, soft and slow. His hand cupped the back of my neck, thumb stroking my skin with a tenderness that contradicted everything he’d ever been.

He stopped a breath away from my lips.

Not out of hesitation — but out of restraint.
Giving me the chance to close the distance.

But I didn’t need to decide.

He made the choice for both of us — barely.

He kissed me like it was the first kiss he had ever allowed himself. Soft. Careful. Reverent. His grip at my waist tightened just enough to draw me closer, as if anchoring himself to the moment.

When he pulled back, only slightly, his forehead rested against mine.

“You are mine,” he whispered, breath warm against my lips, “and I… am yours.”
A confession. A surrender.

His thumb traced my lower lip.
“And I won’t let anything take you from me.”

I didn’t want to pull away.
And I didn’t.

In that golden, quiet room of his dream-home — warm between his hands, breathing the same air — I let him hold me. Let him show affection he had never shown another soul.
Let him be the man hidden beneath the monster.

as you walked down the hallway you noticed that every door had one number printed on it. at the very beginning of the hallway the numbers started, or more like ended, with the number 012. and at the end of the hallway the numbers ended with number 002. you weren’t exactly sure why there wasn’t a number one and were just about to ask one of the women walking past you, who you assumed were other nurses, why there wasn’t 001 anywhere but out of the corner of your eye you could see Dr.Brenner walking towards you.

you turned to him, a dazzling smile on your lips, which Dr.Brenner returned. “Hello, Ms Y/L/N. Already making yourself familiar with your new workplace?”. You gave him a nod and walked towards him, “I have a few questions to this place though”. Dr.Brenner nodded and motioned for you to follow him, “let’s talk about this in my office.”.

you walked after him while looking at every door you were passing to see if any of the doors were room 001. (no they weren’t. door 001 was nowhere to be found.)

shortly after you and Dr.Brenner walked into a fairly big room, which must be his office. Dr.Brenner sat down behind a big white desk, motioning for you to take the seat opposite to him. you sat down and looked around, scanning his office, memorising every single detail in the room. when your eyes are fixed on Dr.Brenner again he begins to talk, “so, you said that you had a few questions, Ms Y/L/N?”.

you nod, “yeah well, first of all, is this a kids hospital? because while i was walking i could only see kids.”

Dr.Brenner smiles swiftly, “yes, you could call it a kids hospital.”. you smile back at him before stating your next question, “so, why is there no room 001? i’ve been looking at every door, but 001 is nowhere to be found.”

you noticed Dr.Brenner’s shoulders tensing slightly before he answered you, “we don’t have a number one.”

you furrow your brows, “are the numbers kids? why would you-“. you got cut off by a knock at the office door. before you could ask Dr.Brenner to let you finish your question he shouted for the person to come in.

you turned around, and in the doorway stood a handsome, quite tall man in a completely white, flawless satire. he had a dazzling smile on his lips. the man had blonde perfectly styled hair and stunning blue eyes.

Dr.Brenner was the first one to speak, “Mr.Ballard, is there anything i can help you with?”. the man, whose last name is assumingly Ballard walked into the door, not sparing you a glance, but what you didn’t know is that he already saw you, strolling into the ‘hospital’. “No sir, i just wanted to volunteer to show our new nurse around.”. Dr.Brenner nodded and smiled at him before turning to you, “would you like a tour, Ms Y/L/N?”.

you returned Brenner’s smile and nodded, “i would really appreciate that.”. Brenner turned back to Mr.Ballard before speaking, “you two are supposed to call each other by your last names. all the time. but, Mr.Ballard’s full name is Peter Ballard.”

Dr.Brenner turned back to you and smiled, “if you want to ask me any other questions, you know where to find me.”

and with this sentence Peter offered you his hand. you smiled at him and happily accepted his hand and got out of the chair.

you two walked out of the office together and you turned to him after the door closed behind you two, “so, why you, Mr.Ballard?”.

he turned to you and shook his head, “i don’t understand. why me?”.

you chuckled, “why did you volunteer to show me around?”. Peter smiled, “can’t a man be a gentleman these days?”.

you smiled at him before turning to looks at the doors he pointed to.

after 30 minutes of pointing at doors and explaining where to find which nurse at which time you finally built up the courage to ask him how old he is.

he turned to you and sighed, “we aren’t supposed to talk about this. we’ll get in trouble when we know more about each other than absolutely necessary for our job.”.

you pouted and shook your head, “but Dr.Brenner told me your first name, even though i don’t need it.”

peter scratched at invisible dirt at his pants, mumbling under his breath, “i’m 31”. your eyes widened slightly before you smiled, “you look younger, Mr.Ballard. well, since you already broke the rule, why shouldn’t i? i’m 23.”

peter’s head snapped up to look at you, “you’re quite young, Ms Y/L/N.” you chuckled and looked up at him, giving him your best angry expression, “are you saying that i look *old*?”. peter looked at you with a bewildered expression, “no, no i-i didn’t mean that! i just meant that-“. peter’s rambling was cut off by your laughter, “you’re so cute. this was a joke, pretty boy.”.

you reached up to pat his shoulder and walked off, not before turning back to him and giving him your a sickly sweet smile and a slight wave.

and this was the moment when peter knew that he had to have you. he had to be the one to make this cockiness of yours turn into pure submission.

submission to him.

~~~

later that day you laid on your bed in your new room, smiling to yourself. you were quite happy with yourself, you had gotten to know everyone and the kids were already really fond of you.

you rolled onto your stomach and grabbed your book from your nightstand, deciding that you would read a little bit before going to sleep.

you were an hour into your reading when your door opened and closed soon after with a quiet ‘thud’. you turned your head to see peter standing in your room.

you were about to say something to him, ask him why he’s here, but peter put his finger to his lips and shook his head.

you sat up in bed and peter walked over to your bed. he placed his hands softly, oh so softly, on your shoulders, leaning down to your face. “can i kiss you?” he whispered, so close to your lips that you could taste his breath.

you were shocked but you nodded your head anyways and his lips were on yours in a matter of seconds. you returned the kiss rather softly compared to his feverish kissing.

peter bit down on your bottom lip making you gasp, giving him the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth. while his tongue explored your mouth he guided you backwards onto the mattress.

after a few minutes you pulled away, panting and peter moved down to kiss your neck. while you were trying to catch your breath peter found your sweet spot and started nibbling and sucking at it which made you let out a strained moan.

peter smiled and moved further down to your collarbone, his eyes fluttering up to yours, searching for any kind of discomfort.

he’s satisfied to see that your mouth is slightly agape and your brows are furrowed. “please let me take your shirt off, y/n.”. you bit your lip and looked at him, nodding your head.

peter didn’t waste a second before he started unbuttoning your shirt. he let out a groan when he saw your lacy white bra.

all of peter’s prayers were finally heard. they sent him his rescuing angel.

he pressed a few small kisses in the valley of your breasts while fondling with your breasts. his thumb brushed over your nipple and he felt you shudder, making him chuckle. “so sensitive for me, sweetheart?”.

he guided his hand under the small of your back, slightly pressing you upwards to show you that he wants you to arch your back. you did as he wishes and he reached behind you to undo your bra. the moment your tits were free peter began nibbling, suckling and even slighty biting at your right nipple while twisting and pulling the other one with his hand.

you let out a breathy moan and burried your hands in his hair, pulling his soft blonde locks softly.

peter took his mouth off your nipple, a soft ‘pop’ being heard in the room. he gives you a crooked grin, which made your heart flutter with adoration, before moving over to your other nipple, doing the same thing he just did to your right nipple.

after a while he got bored of that little game of his and decided to suckle at the soft flesh under the swell of your breasts, leaving purple and red splotches all over your breasts.

when he was satisfied with the marks he left on you, and how sensitive and puffy your nipples were he started kissing down your stomach.

his fingers curled around the waistband of your brandnew uniform skirt, only raising his eyes swiftly to yours to search for your approval.

you nodded, your eyes watching his every movement as he slowly, teasingly pulled down your skirt. a smirk slowly creeped up his lips as he saw that you weren’t only wearing matching panties to your bra, but there was a stain of your arousal right in front of him.

he tsked at you and shook his head, “you’re a dirty slut, aren’t you? so desperate for me that you’re fucking soaking yourself, embarrassing.”.

but in fact, he didn’t find it embarrassing at all, it only made his painfully hard errection grow even harder, if that was even possible.

he was contemplating to just give in to the urge to rock pathetically into the duvets.

peter looked up at you while tracing the outline of your pussy through your panties, “mhh, let me make you feel good, angel.”

you looked down at him and took a shaky breath. you looked into his eyes which were now no longer the dazzling blue from earlier, but a darker shade which showed you just how much he wanted you. you were just about to nod when you heard quiet talking outside, your eyes snapping to the door immediately.

it was that moment that you realised what you were doing.

it was one thing to disobey the rule of knowing each other better than you’re allowed to by telling each other how old you are, but this? you two definitely shouldn’t do this.

you looked down at peter with worried eyes, “maybe- maybe we shouldn’t, peter…”. peter just gave you a sweet smile and rested his hands on your stomach, “we won’t get caught, angel. i’m gonna make sure we don’t get caught. and besides, you shouldn’t feel ashamed of what makes you feel good. now, please let me taste you.”

you looked down at him and nearly moaned out loud when you saw the desperation etched into his gorgeous features and the way his lustful eyes kept flickering between your pussy and your eyes.

you bit your lip and nodded softly, “o-okay”, peter smiled at you and pressed a grateful kiss to your thigh.

peter hooked his fingers under the fabric of your panties and pulled them down. he let out a quiet groan when your glistening folds were exposed to him.

he pulled your panties off your legs and pocketed them without your notice.

for later times of desperation, he told himself.

peter took his thumb and spread your pussy lips to see your dripping hole. “you’re such a messy girl, aren’t you? i’ve barely even touched you and you’re dripping” he smirked and circled your hole with the tip of his pointer.

your hips bucked towards him and he stopped every kind of movement and pressed the palm of his hand onto your abdomen.

“stay still or i will leave you here like this, dripping and whining desperately for someone to touch you. just like a bitch in heat.”

you whimpered and shook your head, “please touch me, peter.”. his head slowly bent further down to give you a last chance to push him away. but when you whined and pulled at his hair he let any kind of guard he ever had up, down and licked a bold stripe up your pussy with the flat of his tongue.

you leaned your head into the pillow and bit the soft cushion to prevent any kind of noise that’d may escape your mouth as peter started giving your clit a few little kittenlicks.

soon, peter got tired of teasing and started nibbling and sucking at your clit. you moaned into the pillow and arched your back.

peter’s eyes flicked up to find yours staring at him intensly. you felt his perfect lips curve into a smirk as your hole fluttered when his eyes met yours.

peter focused on your pussy again and pushed his tongue into your hole, letting out a moan against you which made you shudder from the vibrations.

you let out a strained moan “p-peter… ple-ase…let me make you feel- oh fuck…- good too..”

peter’s eyes flicked up to yours, he popped his mouth off your clit for a moment just to mumble a “feeling so good when i’m buried between your thighs, angel…” before diving in again and starting to suck and nibble at your clit harder and more urgently while sneaking a finger inside of your throbbing hole.

you threaded your fingers through his curls and bit your lip while bucking your hips onto his face. peter watched you intently while suckling at your clit.

he slowly sunk another finger inside of you and felt you squeeze his fingers tighter. your eyes fell shut and you let a very audible moan slip through before you clasped your own hand over your mouth.

you’ve obviously had sex before, but nothing compared to this. peter was so skilled that you were seeing stars already and he was barely eating you out for ten minutes.

“‘m close… so close, peter!” you suddenly chimed up, your voice slightly pitched due to your nearly graspable orgasm.

only a few more seconds, you already saw it dangling before you… so close…

suddenly peter pulled away and gave you a sadistic smile that quickly turned into a faux pout. he leaned down and gave your clit a last gentle kiss which made you jolt before he leaned up to your ear and whispered; “so close… yet so far”.

he chuckled and pulled your bottom lip out of it’s pout. “don’t look at me like that, angel. you’ll get to cum soon enough.”

with that peter kneeled on the bed and began to undo the buttons of his shirt. you scrambled to get up too to take his belt off before he, not so gently, pushed you back on the bed.

“you’ve gotten no permission to touch me, as far as i remember, slut.”

as so often your own body and your dirty dirty mind betrayed you and you just had to rub your thighs together which made peter let out a taunting laugh. “what a desperate little thing you are, angel. don’t worry, i’ll teach you manners soon enough.”

he kept unbuttoning his shirt agonisingly slow and when it was finally off your eager eyes practically devoured him alive. you scanned every inch of skin that you were able to see so carefully, you were sure you could make out every single pore.

but what your lust clouded mind didn’t notice was a little tattoo at his left wrist. just a black splotch from far away that every clearthinking person would’ve noticed.

well, you weren’t clearthinking anymore. the only thing you could think about was how handsome peter is and the itch between your legs.

you didn’t register that peter took any more clothing items off until he hovered over you again. “turn around” were the words he whispered next.

you flipped yourself over onto your stomach and peter pulled your hips up into the air. he grabbed both of your wrists and held them behind your back before a smooth leather band held them together.

his belt.

before you could react you could feel his hips grinding against your ass and his warm back leaning over yours.

his hot breath hit your ear as he whispered “you think you can take me, angel?”. you nodded eagerly into the pillows and whined. “yes yes… please, peter…”

he placed a kiss on your cheek before sitting up on his heels and giving his cock a few pumps. you crained your neck to look at him and let out a soft moan at the sight.

his hair was messy from your pulling on it earlier, his lips puffy from eating you out and his eyebrows pulled together in cause of the tiniest friction of his cock after it being neglected for so long.

he guided his tip towards your leaking entrance and slid his cock up and down your messy cunt a few times before returning to your entrance.

peter placed a hot palm on your lower back and rubbed some reassuring figures on the soft skin. “you ready, angel?”.

you gave him a nod and looked back at him again. “yes, yes ‘m ready!”, you said eagerly.

peter leaned down and gave you a soft peck on the lips before pushing your head back into the pillows.

peter guided his cock slowly into you and groaned loudly when he bottomed out. he stayed still for a minute before starting to grind his hips against your ass.

you moaned into the pillows when peter finally started to thrust into you. his hips pulling away and snapping forward at a steadily building pace.

you bucked your hips back towards him and muffled your moans in the pillows, along with your pleads for him to go faster.

by the time peter was thrusting into you hard and fast like you wanted from the beginning on, you were already close again in cause of your sensitivity from your orgasm being taken away so close to the peek.

if it weren’t for peter holding your hips up and slamming them towards his you would’ve long ago collapsed on the bed.

you turned your head to look at peter with pleading eyes. he looked down at you and cocked his head with a faux pout; “what is it, angel? are you close, hmm?”

you nodded and stuttered out a broken yes, your legs twitching from your impending orgasm. peter kept his pout on and tried to hide the evil smile behind it; “y’gonna have to hold it, angel. gonna have to wait f’me to cum.”

you groaned frustratedly and snapped your eyes shut.

to make matters worse peter reached a hand down and started playing with your clit. your eyes flew open and looked at him with frustrated tears prickling in your eyes.

“p-please let me cum, peter…”; peter shook his head disappointingly and pulled his lips down into a frown. “you’re such a greedy slut, aren’t you? can’t even wait for me to cum with you.”

you moaned loudly as your hips started jerking back to his, “please, peter…”. he gave you another disappointment look but whispered ‘cum’.

you let out a string of thank you’s while your legs now trashed under you and you came around peter’s cock.

when you came down from your orgasm you noticed that peter was still pumping into you. you whined and tries to squirm away from him; “stop, peter. ‘s too much… already came!”

peter let out a low grunt and kept slamming his hips into yours. “well too bad that i didn’t cum yet. you gotta wait for me to be finished with you, angel. i will stop when i feel like it.”

you lowered your head back into the pillows your whole body jerking from aftershocks and overstimulation.

you felt peter’s grip tighten on your hips and hus thrusts getting more eratic. “oh, angel, ‘m gonna fill you up so good… you’ll never even think about another man.”

you whined and bucked your hips against his; “please, peter… need y’cum!”. peter gripped onto your hair with one hand and pulled your head up, he leaned down and hissed into your ear “tell me how badly you want my cum, angel.”

you moaned loudly, uncaring if anybody heard at this point and bucked your hips again. “need it so bad, peter. wanna have y’babies. please fill me up… needa feel full.”

peter groaned and threw his head back, “such a dirty slut you are. pretending to be a good innocent girl meanwhile you are begging me to fill you up. dirty, dirty girl.”

peter hips jerked into you erraticly a few times before you felt his hot cum shooting into you.

you squeezed for eyes shut and stiffled a moan at the unknown feeling. peter’s hips jerked a few more times while he came down from his orgasm before he pulled out.

he unbuckled the belt from around your wrists and kissed the sore red spots of where the belt strained against your wrists.

he grabbed onto your hips softly and turned you onto your back. as soon as you could see him you gave him a tired smile which he returned.

he leaned down to press a soft kiss onto your sweaty forehead and brush a few strands of hair from your face. “such a good little angel for me.”

you smiled at the praise and crained your head to peck peter’s lips. his hands were carresing the red fingertip prints on your hips before one hand trailed lower.

you felt his fingers inside of you before your brain could catch up with what was happening. your hips tried to jerk away from his touch but he held them down firmly.

peter looked away from his fingers stuffed into your cunt to look up at you. “shh, angel. ‘s alright, just gotta make sure that all of my cum stays inside of you.”

he gave you a soft smile and fucked his fingers into you a few more times before he was satisfied with his work.

he pulled his fingers out and tapped your lips with them. “open your mouth and suck my fingers clean, angel”

you opened your mouth and started sucking his fingers obediently while holding eye contact with him. he let out a groan while holding eye contact, “don’t tempt me, angel.”

you popped your mouth of his fingers and he smeared your spit onto your cheek before leaning down to kiss you.

“i’ll be back tomorrow, angel. keep my cum inside you, i’ll check. and i warn you to behave tomorrow and not even think of washing your messy little cunt.” he pecked your lips one last time before he got up to get dressed.

you pouted and watched him get dressed, “y’not gonna cuddle me?”. he turned to look at you and sighed, “i wish i could, angel. but we’re gonna get caught if i stay here for the night.”

you nodded and looked at the clock on your night stand, “are you gonna get back safely?”

he smiled at your concern but he bit his smile back when you looked at him, “i’m not gonna get caught, i promise, angel.”

he leaned down to give you a last peck on the forehead before scrambling out the door.

you curled up under your blankets and smiled happily, the time here could be more fun than you’d imagined.

You’ve known Henry for the majority of your life, or at least the half of your life that you remember. You had both been taken from your homes, your deaths faked while you were put under the care and control of a certain doctor and given new names, although they weren’t names. They were numbers. Yours was 002, Henry’s was 001. 

When you first arrived at the lab, you were shaken up, you refused to talk to anybody or even interact with the other boy. However, you soon learnt that you had a lot more in common than you had hoped. You had powers, it explained why you could see glimpses into the future, predict things and guess what someone was thinking- although you knew now that it wasn’t guessing. It was all true. You had believed that in the first 9 years of your life that these things were all ‘in your head’, as your father told you when you asked him if he was seeing other women, cheating on your mother. You refused to believe there was something unique or special about you. 

As the years passed, your powers grew stronger, and you also began to form a friendship with the other boy in the Lab, Henry. He was a year or 2 older than you, you never knew for sure. The first time he ever spoke to you was when he warned you about the Doctor tattooing you, he showed you his sore, red arm with 001 written in black ink. He told you to try to stay calm, he got punished for moving about in his seat when the pain got too much. You thanked him, and from that day he made a promise to himself- he promised he would keep you safe and that one day he would escape with you, so you could both live the life you deserved. 

As more years went by, you and Henry continued to grow closer. More children also began to arrive at the lab, none of them were over the age of 6. Doctor Brenner ordered them to call him Papa, you and Henry had quite rightly refused to call him this. He began lessons, helping these children to use and build their powers, to grow them stronger. You and Henry would also attend these lessons, Brenner would often ask one of you to help the children, to give them advice- but most of them were only 5, they struggled to understand. This resulted in punishments, which you and Henry had to leave the room for. 

As you got older, you realised your feelings towards Henry were more than what you should feel for friends. You had a crush on him. Upon realising this, you started to behave differently around him. You would blush when he felt the cut on your cheek, wishing his soft fingers would caress your cheek to pull you in for a kiss instead, or when you be alone with him in the Rainbow Room you would try to keep a little distance and appear engaged in an activity so he wouldn’t try talking to you, you would only stumble on your words as you spoke back. 

He picked up pretty quickly that you liked him in this way, he couldn’t help it with his powers, could he? He could use and control his better than you could, meaning he could read your thoughts, whilst you struggled to read his. However, you liked it better like this, you knew that you and Henry would probably die in the lab before you could leave, meaning you’d rather spend your in-between years as friends and not risk the shame of rejection. 

However, you needed to tell someone about this crush- it was driving you insane. Martha, the nurse, was the only person in this place you could trust, besides Henry, so you opened up to her one day when she was treating your most recent wounds before performing an overall health and wellness check as it was leading up to your 18th birthday. For your 16th birthday, you and Nurse Martha spent an afternoon in a sex education lesson, so you wondered what was in store for your 18th. Peter said nothing special happens, that it’s just like any other. 

However, your 18th birthday was one to remember, it seemed even better than your 7th (which you could only vaguely remember, you received a dollhouse that you had been begging for all year). You spent the majority of the day in lessons with Brenner and other doctors and scientists, but the evening made up for the last 9 years you had spent in the Lab. 

There was a knock on your door, you expected it to be Nurse Martha, but when you opened it you were met with…

“Henry?” You gasped, poking your head out the door to check the halls before grabbing his arm and pulling him into the room, “what are you doing? If you get caught you’ll-”

“If I get caught then at least it was for a good reason,” he smiles, pulling something out from under his black jumper, what had he been hiding? “Happy birthday.” 

He handed it over to you, it was wrapped up in some tissue? A napkin?

“Cake?!” Your eyes widen, and then soften as you look up at Henry. You remembered from your years before the Lab that birthdays were usually celebrated with cake, yet Brenner never allowed it on birthdays. “Where did you get this from?” You ask, sitting down on your bed. 

“Stole it from the kitchens, one of the ‘children’ caused a fire on the south side of the building today and the staff were made to evacuate.” He said, yet (for the first time) you knew what he was thinking, you knew he was lying. 

“You started a fire? To get me some cake?” You chuckled in disbelief. 

“Well, you deserved something to make you happy. I wish I could’ve gotten you a gift.” He said, looking down at his lap, you could tell he was thinking about something else, you couldn’t quite work out what it was. 

“You can think of the cake as a gift!” You said, smiling as you picked at a bit of it before taking a bite, it was delicious. “Anyway I like spending time with you, and we don’t get to see each other as much as we used to.” 

“That’s because we’re at different levels, y/n. I’ve known about my powers and how to use them since I was young, you only discovered them in there. Brenner doesn’t believe you’re as… powerful as I am, but I know you can prove him wrong, can’t you?” Henry’s eyes fell on you as he asked the question, you nodded your head, telling him you will prove him wrong, that you’ll make him feel stupid for ever thinking that way about you, to which Henry whispered a small “that’s my girl.” 

“What did you say?” You asked, feeling the heat rush to your face. 

“I didn’t say anything,” he smirked. You must have read his mind again. “Can I tell you something?” Henry asked. 

“Of course.” You said, finishing the last bit of cake, folding the piece of tissue up and placing it on your drawers. 

“Do you remember when you first arrived at this place? I was finally happy to have someone else with me, but you were too afraid to even talk to me. I spent years trying to get you to trust me, you may not have realised that, but I wanted to be your friend. Before I was brought here, I didn’t have any friends, I spent most of my time by myself and that’s how I wanted it to be, but it was just so lonely and cold here, I wished I spent my time differently. I knew it was too late by then, but then you arrived. I knew, given the situation, that you would most likely shy away from me, attempt to escape, but I wanted to try. I wanted to know that I at least tried to make a friend, but I feel like I’ve done more than that,” he said, placing his hand on your knee, “I’ve realised in these last months that I… like you. More than a friend should like a friend. And I won’t lie to you, I know you feel like this about me too, but I wished I would have heard it from your mouth rather than your thoughts,” he chuckled, his eyes coming up to meet yours. 

“C-can you kiss me?” You ask, stupidly stumbling on your words as the feeling of his hand on your bare skin and his eyes looking into yours became too much. 

“It would be my pleasure.” He smiled softly, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. 

You were the first to lean in, needing to know if Henry’s lips were as soft as you imagined- and they were. Your breath was snatched from your lungs as his lips pressed into yours. He could taste cake from your lips, causing him to smile into the kiss before carefully pulling back. You didn’t want to stop, it took everything inside you not to pull him back. 

“Thank you.” You whispered, watching as he quickly stood up, adjusting his clothes before grabbing the door handle. 

“I should go now, so I don’t get in any more trouble with Brenner. But I hope we can do this again… soon.” 

“Me too,” you smiled, still trying to process the fact that Henry had admitted he liked you back and kissed you in the space of 5 minutes, “I hope you get back safely. Good night, Henry.”

“Good night, love.” 

—————————♡—————————

“002?” A knock at your door distracted you from the drawing you were working on, you placed the pencil down on your desk and made your way to your door, opening to be greeted with Nurse Martha, who had Henry by her side. 

“Hello.” You chuckled nervously, “is everything okay?”

“Yes! I was asked by Doctor Brenner to collect you and 001 and to take you to his office, he would like to tell you both about his newest… project.” 

“I’ll be two seconds,” you say, rushing over to your bed to grab your jumper, throwing it on to cover your tank top before returning the door, shutting it as you follow Martha and Henry down the halls. 

You gave Henry a glance and in your mind you asked him ‘do you know what this is about?’, he then looked back over at you and shook his head, ‘no, he hasn’t said anything about a project.’

“Here we are,” Nurse Martha smiled as she knocked on the door to Brenner’s office, “don’t be nervous, sweetheart.” She said to you, patting your shoulder. 

“Ah, thank you, Martha, I can take it from here.” Brenner said with a cold smile as he held his office door open, inviting you and Henry inside as the nurse turned around and headed back down the halls. 

You and Henry sit down when instructed, on the chairs opposite the Doctor’s desk. He opened a cabinet, pulling out a folder and placing it in front of you and Henry as he sat at his desk. 

“You’re probably wondering why you’re here,” Brenner mused, opening up the folder, looking at the two of you as if you were supposed to know, but you both shook your head. “Over the years, I have worked with several doctors and scientists to try to find a way of combining both of your powers, seeing as the children here have only inherited percentages of your abilities from the testing we have done. But there may be a way to go about this that could potentially be successful, as you two are the oldest and possess the the most unique abilities-”

“What are you trying to say?” Henry asked, his eyebrows furrowing. “Do you need to take more blood samples?”

Doctor Brenner thought about his next words carefully, not wanting to scare either of you off with his proposal. He folded his arms in front of him on the desk and leaned forward. 

“To put it simply, we want you two to begin the next generation, to reproduce, to-”

You interrupted him by choking on air as you finally realised what he meant. He wanted you and Henry to have a child together, in hopes that this child will inherit both of your powers and abilities. 

“And when do you want this to happen?” Henry asked, his voice avoiding any signs of emotion as he looked into the eyes of the Doctor. 

“Nurse Martha has been tracking 002’s menstrual cycle, and this week would be perfect for successful conception. Maybe even today?” Brenner said with a joyous smile. Of course he’d be happy, he won’t be the one to carry this damned baby for nine months. “So, is that okay with you?” He asked, as if you and Henry had a choice. 

“Yes, Doctor.” You replied in unison. 

“Wonderful!” He clasped his hands together, “you may do… it… in either of your rooms, we haven’t got any spare rooms at the moment- and I believe it may be helpful to have some sort of comfort.” He said before walking over to the office door, holding it open for the two of you. 

—————————♡—————————

You and Henry walked in silence, you had non-verbally decided to go to your room- or at least that is where you were both heading. The silence between the two of you was unbearable, you needed to say something-

“So, you are definitely comfortable with this, right?” Henry asked, his fingertips brushing against yours as you walked side by side. 

“I guess so, we can’t risk saying no-”

“If you don’t want to do this then we won’t.” Henry stated, confidently. 

You thought for a moment, you wanted to do it, you wanted to feel Henry close to you like this, it’s what your body has been aching for for the last month- when he would send a small smirk your way when he caught your eye you would feel your lower half tingling, when he would place his hands on your waist as he moved past you when you were sent to retrieve something from the cramped storage cupboard you wanted nothing more than to push yourself up against him, when he-

“I’ll take that as you being okay with this then?” He smirked, wiping the small drip of blood from his nose. Bastard. Your thoughts were private!

“Yeah,” you smiled, finally arriving at your room. You took a deep breath before opening your door. Henry followed you in and carefully shut the door behind him. “So, how do you want to do this?”

Henry gave you a gentle smile as he slowly moved closer to you, his hand cupping your cheek like it had done a few weeks ago, when he had kissed you on your birthday. He leaned down slowly, your noses brushing as your lips touched. You run your fingers through his hair before pulling him closer, catching his lips in a sloppy, clearly inexperienced kiss. 

His free hand rested on your hip, pulling your body closer to his, so close you could feel heat radiating from him. He kissed you hungrily, like this was his last chance to show you how much you mean to him, even if he can’t properly tell you. 

He moved his hands to the bottom of your jumper, tugging on it, ‘let me take it off’. 

And you allowed him, breaking free from the kiss for a mere 5 seconds made you feel empty, cold, like a piece of a puzzle was missing, but when Henry had taken your jumper off and let it drop to the floor, his lips crashed into yours once more. 

‘Your turn’, you told him. You loved how you could communicate with his like this, not having to take your lips off of each other to speak. 

Your hands fumbled about as you found the bottom of his jumper, beginning to lift it up. He took over, breaking the kiss once more as he dropped it to the floor, now lying in a pile with yours. His hands now played with the waistband of your grey joggers as he gave you a puzzling look- a look full of lust, desire, want, but also love. He slipped his fingers into the waistband and began to drag them down your hips. 

“Henry,” you whispered. He stopped immediately and looked at you, scanning your face for any signs of fear. “I just… I wanted to tell you… I don’t know how to do this.” You admit, your face flushing a deep red. 

“Neither do I,” he tells you, “why don’t we figure it out together, hm?” He raises his eyebrows, continuing to pull your joggers down, slowly revealing your underwear. 

“Okay.” You say, smiling as you stand awkwardly, not knowing what to do with your hands as he undresses you. 

When the material pools at your feet, you step out it, now left in your underwear, bra and a thin tank top. Henry was still fully dressed. He caught on quickly and rid himself of his t-shirt, letting that fall on to the pile of discarded clothes that lay on the floor. His hands moved down to push his joggers down his legs, leaving him in just his white boxers. You took that as a sign and removed your top, leaving you in your white bra and panties. 

“You’re beautiful.” Henry said, looking at your body, “I never thought something could be so beautiful.” 

“So are you.” You said, placing your hand on his chest, noticing the scars on his skin that were undoubtedly caused by a certain doctor. “What do we do next?” 

“...we get naked.” Henry said, his hand coming up to play with your bra strap, “is that okay?”

“That’s okay.” You tell him. 

‘Can I take this off?’ he asks you, his eyes finding yours as you nod your head. His hands slide around you, to your back to find the clasp of your bra. He immediately notices that this would be more difficult than expected, so he gets you to turn around, with your back facing him. 

He easily unclasped your bra, carefully sliding the straps off of your arms before taking the material and letting it fall on the floor. 

He could feel his blood rushing down to his cock as he thinks about how you’re standing braless in front of him. He tells himself not to worry about what you would think as you turn back around to see him hard through his boxers, that was meant to happen, that’s what needs to happen, right?

“You can turn around now.” Henry says, swallowing thickly. 

Your hands cover your boobs as you turn back around to face him, but he quickly removes them, telling you not to be shy. Then your eyes finally catch what was between his thighs. 

“Henry… is that…?” Your eyes were full of curiosity as you stared at his erection. 

“Yes, I expect you’ve never seen one like this before.” He says, you shake your head. 

“I’ve only seen what was in t-the anatomy books.” You tell him, and he smiles softly. He feels like he has a slight advantage here, having heard his classmates at school talk about sex all the time, he felt repulsed by it- but that was before he met you. 

He finally takes off his boxers, you watch carefully as his cock leaks precum, your hand unexpectedly reaching to wipe it off with a finger, causing Henry’s breath to hitch. 

“Can I?” You ask him, ‘can I make you feel good?’

Henry nods his head, taking your hand in his and wrapping your fingers around his length before guiding it up and down at an achingly slow pace. He bites his lip, holding back a groan from escaping his lips as you quicken the pace. 

“S-stop,” he warns you, “I want the first time I cum to be with you.”

You nod your head and remove your hand, not knowing what his words meant. 

“Can I make you feel good?” He asks, hooking a finger into the waistband of your underwear. 

“Please…” You whimper, “when I’m with you I feel things down there, what does that mean, Henry?” You ask. 

“It means you need my fingers, darling.” He whispers, pushing your last remaining garment down and off of your body, revealing your cunt to him. “Fuck…” he groans, getting down on to his knees to look at you closer, he had never seen this part of the female body up close before. 

He dips a finger into you, delighted to find you were already wet for him. He moved his finger up along your slit, searching for your clit. He knew that would make you feel good, and he was desperate to hear you moan for him. 

“Oh my-” Your knees buckle when his finger grazes over the nub, he smirks, replacing his finger with his thumb as he rubs circles where you needed him. 

He continues to examine you, two fingers from his other hand spread your folds apart and he watches you pulse, a sign that you wanted more. 

He stands back up and removes his hands from you, placing one on your waist. 

“Lie down,” he tells you, guiding you backwards towards the bed. 

You lay down, your head against the pillows, your arms by your head and your legs spread slightly. He was happy to see you were comfortable around him. 

He follows you, kneeling between your legs, spreading them a tiny bit further. He brings his hand back to your heat, teasing your entrance with his fingertip. 

“Tell me if it’s too much.” He says, sliding his index finger into you slowly, earning a pleasured gasp from you. “Does that feel good?” He asked, a smirk playing on his lips as he eases it back out before pushing back in. He believes you were ready for a second one to follow, so his thumb rubs your clit as he slides his middle finger in too. 

“Feels too good, Henry.” You moan, a lazy smile on your lips as you look up at him. 

He replies with a satisfied ‘hm’ as he continues his actions. He feels the way your walls pulse around his fingers, and basically hears your heart pounding in your chest, he knows you’re close. 

Slowly, he stops what he was doing, leaning down to pepper kisses on your thighs, even placing a delicate kiss over your clit. 

“I think you’re ready now, sweetheart.” He says, moving up a little on the bed so your hips were in line with his. 

“Okay.” You say, not knowing what he thought you were ready for, but agreeing anyway. 

He took his cock and swiped off the precum that had leaked from the tip and swiped it over your clit, making your hips shuffle as he lined himself up with you, slowly inching his cock inside of you. 

The pain was hot and red, it took you by surprise and you found yourself clawing at the bedsheets. Henry noticed this and took your hands in his, moving them to his back. You didn’t want to hurt him but as he pushed in further,  your nails began to dig into his skin, sure to draw blood. 

“You’re doing so well.” He whispered, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Does it hurt?” He asked, although he knew the answer before you nodded your head. 

When he was fully inside you, you let out a whimper. You had never realised you could feel this way before, so full. You loved it. 

He didn’t move for a few moments, until he felt you were ready, when you caught your breath and your walls stopped clamping around him. That was when he began to gently rock his hips, thrusting in and out of you. 

Sweat beaded on Henry’s forehead as he tried his best to hold himself back from rutting into you at a faster pace, but as your legs wrapped around his waist, he began to quicken his pace. 

“Oh my… Henry, faster!” You panted. 

He did as you said, not holding back anymore. After weeks of wanting nothing more than this moment, Henry couldn’t believe what was happening. Surely this wasn’t real- but as your nails clawed at his back, he knew it most definitely was real. 

“I love you.” The words slipped from Henry’s lips and caught you by surprise. You didn’t say anything, not knowing what to say. Instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer to you, your lips crashing into his. 

You suddenly became aware of how he felt inside you, the spots he hit deep inside your body that you would have never known were there, but especially how good it felt. 

“Henry… I feel something… In my tummy-”

“Let it go, darling.” He said, his hand sliding to your lower stomach, just below your belly button, and pushing down. The pressure resulted in even more pleasure, you felt so good, you never wanted this feeling to leave. 

Suddenly, a white wave of ecstasy crashed over you, spreading through your whole body. You almost felt euphoric. 

“Gonna… gonna cum inside you- fuck!” He groaned, his thrusts growing slower and sloppier, and then you felt something hot rush inside of you. 

Henry remained above you, his arms placed either side of your body to support him. He was trying to catch his breath before he stood back up and continued with his day- but you pulled him down, making him put all his weight onto you. 

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close to you as you both came down from your highs, worried that if you let go of him, he would leave and you would never speak about this again. 

When you realised he was still inside of you, your walls involuntarily clenched around him again, causing him to groan into the crook of your neck. You whispered a soft apology before you ran your fingers through his soft hair. 

“I love you too.” You finally confessed. 

He lifted his head up, giving you a smile before kissing the corner of your mouth. 

Tom’s hands snapped to your waist, fingers digging into the soft curve of it, holding you firmly in place.

“Baby…” he warned in a low, strained voice. “You need to behave.”

You only smiled sweetly at him, the picture of innocence, as you leaned in closer, your nose brushing along the sensitive skin of his neck before you nuzzled there — breathing him in, letting your lips ghost feather-light kisses along his pulse.

Tom tipped his head to the side automatically, granting you access without even realizing it. A shudder rippled through his body as you pressed a slow, lingering kiss right at the spot where his heartbeat thundered against your mouth. His hands flexed on your waist again, but this time it wasn’t just to hold you still — it was to ground himself, to stop himself from losing it completely.

You couldn’t help it — you began to grind down slowly against him, just the barest movement, enough to make you both feel it. His cock, already hard as stone, strained against his sweats, pressing right into your core with a desperate kind of need that made you whimper softly into his neck.

Tom groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through your entire body. His hands clamped down on your waist, stopping your hips mid-roll.

“Stop,” he rasped, voice raw with the effort it took. “Behave, or I swear, baby… you’re not getting what you want.”

You whimpered, resting your forehead against his shoulder, frustration and need pooling low in your belly. Every fiber of you craved him — the way he touched you, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that ever mattered. You pressed the softest, most apologetic kisses into his skin, your lips tracing over the edge of his jaw.

“But...” you breathed out, your voice trembling slightly with want, “I can feel you… you want it too…”

He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, his hands moving up and down your sides in a soothing, restraining motion. His fingers traced the curve of your waist like he was memorizing it, like it was the only thing anchoring him to control.

“Of course I want it,” he muttered roughly against your ear, his lips brushing your skin and sending shivers racing down your spine. “I always want you. But not here. Not with your mom just a room away.”

You whimpered again, hips shifting unconsciously against him, desperate for friction, for more — but he held you firm, refusing to give in.

You lifted your head to look at him, bottom lip caught between your teeth, eyes wide and pleading. “Please…”

He cursed under his breath, closing his eyes for a moment like he was praying for strength. When he opened them again, the blue was nearly swallowed whole by black, his pupils blown wide with need. His thumb brushed along your lower lip, pulling it free from your teeth, tracing the softness there.

“You’re killing me, angel,” he whispered. You leaned into his touch, heart hammering, your body aching for him.

“Then do something about it,” you whispered back, your voice trembling with vulnerability and trust, a silent plea he could never ignore.

For a moment, he just looked at you — really looked at you — like you were something precious, something he didn’t quite deserve but would fight like hell to keep. His hands moved up to your face, cradling it gently as if you were something breakable. His thumbs brushed your cheeks, the touch so soft it made tears sting at the back of your eyes.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, “how much I love you.”

The sincerity in his voice broke you a little. You nodded, unable to find your voice, and leaned into his kiss when he finally closed the distance between you.

It wasn’t rough or hurried. It was slow. Deep. Reverent. His mouth molded to yours like it was home. His hands tangled in your hair, holding you close, and your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling yourself impossibly tighter against him.

The need between you simmered just under the surface, every kiss, every caress feeding the fire — but neither of you crossed the line. Not yet. You trusted him to take care of you, and he trusted you to wait for him.

You could feel his heartbeat pounding against your chest as he whispered against your lips, “Just wait ’til I get you alone.”

You smiled, your body melting against him, knowing the wait would be worth it — because when Tom loved you, he loved you completely and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The clock on the wall ticked louder than usual as the minutes dragged on. You barely registered your mom fussing when she noticed the time, scrambling to the front door from upstairs.

“Honey, I’m gonna be gone for a while,” Your mom said quickly, stuffing her phone and wallet into her purse. “Gotta check the office and hangout with the girls tonight.”

Tom nodded distractedly, still half-focused on you — more on you than anything else, really — while you stayed curled perfectly beside him, still absorbed in your phone, oblivious to the growing tension stretching between your bodies.

“Okay, love. Take your time,” Tom said easily, before giving your mom a kiss.

You barely hummed in acknowledgment, not even glancing up, your thumb lazily scrolling, the soft glow of the screen lighting up your pretty, completely unbothered face.

But Tom’s attention was nowhere else.

His eyes tracked every little movement you made — the absent-minded way you swung your feet, the soft curve of your mouth, the way your hair fell around your face like a halo.

And when the front door finally clicked shut behind her, when the distant sound of her car engine roared to life and slowly, slowly faded into silence, Tom’s demeanor shifted.

You didn’t see it — didn’t see the way his blue eyes darkened into something deeper, more dangerous. Something that had been brewing for the past hour, simmering beneath his skin as he held himself back while your mom was still there.

But now?

Now it was just you and him.

Without warning, strong hands gripped your hips dragging you to his lap and then he squeezed your ass hard, dragging you down flush against him.

You gasped, the sound coming out almost like a whimper, your phone slipping from your hand onto the couch beside you.

You finally looked at him — Wide eyes meeting his.

Tom’s gaze was molten, heavy-lidded, and filled with so much raw hunger it made your breath catch.

“Finally,” he growled, voice low and rough as his fingers dug deeper into the soft flesh of your ass, possessive and greedy.

You blinked up at him, confused and dazed, your lips parting slightly. “Tom…?”

He smirked slowly, predatorily, tugging you even closer until you could feel every hard inch of him pressing up against the thin barrier of your clothes.

“You really think you can sit there,” he murmured, thumb stroking the dip of your waist almost soothingly — almost — “being so goddamn sweet, so goddamn innocent… teasing me… and not pay for it?”

Your cheeks flushed instantly, heart thudding wildly in your chest.

“I wasn’t—” you started to protest, but he cut you off with a firm squeeze, making you gasp again, your body instinctively arching into him.

“Yes, you were,” he said, tone leaving no room for argument. His hands started to roam — slow, deliberate, claiming every inch of you. “You don’t even realize what you do to me, do you, baby?”

You shook your head weakly, dizzy from the intensity of his stare, the feel of him beneath you, surrounding you. He chuckled darkly, low and dangerous, one hand sliding up your spine to tangle gently but firmly into your hair.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because if you did… you’d know just how close I am to losing every bit of control I have left.”

You whimpered at the confession, the need in your belly coiling tighter and tighter. Tom leaned in, his lips brushing your ear, his voice a silken, sinful promise.

“Now,” he whispered, “you’re gonna sit here, like a good girl, and let me enjoy you.”

You shivered, instinctively nodding, the heat of his body burning through your clothes, his grip never faltering.

“That’s it,” he praised softly, nipping lightly at your earlobe. “That’s my good girl.”

His praise made your whole body shudder with want, need flooding you so fast it left you dizzy. Tom’s hands kept moving — slow, teasing passes down your back, your sides, your thighs — like he was memorizing you all over again.

He shifted you slightly, settling you even deeper into his lap so he could feel everything, and you could feel just how badly he wanted you.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmured against your skin, kissing along your jaw, his lips warm and sure. “Sitting on my lap suddenly like you’re not the most tempting thing I’ve ever seen. While your mom literally just a room away from us…”

You whimpered again, involuntarily grinding your hips against him, needing more. His hands tightened instantly, holding you in place.

“Nuh-uh, baby,” he chided softly, dominance curling into every syllable. “You move when I say you can move.”

You bit your lip, wide-eyed, every muscle in your body trembling with the effort to obey. Tom smiled at the sight, dark and wicked and so proud.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured again, rewarding you with a slow, deep kiss — one hand tilting your chin up, the other anchored firmly at your waist.

The kiss was devastating — a slow claiming, a pouring out of everything he’d been holding back: the hunger, the need, the pure worship he felt when he touched you. His tongue slid against yours in a slow, sensual dance that had your toes curling, your body melting into him.

He only pulled back when you were gasping, your hands clutching at his shirt desperately. He rested his forehead against yours, both of you breathing hard.

“This is mine,” he said, squeezing your waist possessively.

“And you’re gonna let me remind you just how much… when I’m ready.”

You nodded, barely able to speak, completely at his mercy. And Tom — your Tom — just smiled that dark, satisfied smile, his hands already starting to roam again, slow and sure.

A startled yelp tore from your throat when Tom, without a single warning, shifted his grip under your thighs and stood up — lifting you clean off his lap like you weighed nothing at all.

Your hands flew around his neck instinctively, clinging tightly, your wide eyes locking onto his smirking face.

“Tom!” you squeaked, half laughing, half breathless.

He only chuckled — a dark, warm sound that rumbled from his chest as he carried you effortlessly down the hall, ignoring your playful squirming.

“You’ve been testing me all day, baby,” he said, voice low with wicked amusement. “Now you’re gonna see what happens when you push too far.”

You barely had a second to process his words before Tom kicked your bedroom door open with a solid thud, stepping inside with purpose.

The door swung shut behind him — and then you gasped again when he tossed you onto the bed. You bounced slightly on the soft mattress, a whine slipping from your lips as you scrambled onto your elbows to look at him.

Your breath caught immediately.

Tom’s hands were already tugging his black shirt up and over his head, revealing the strong planes of his chest, the tattoos that always made your stomach flip, the slight flex of muscles under his skin. His hair was a little messy from your earlier touches, his jaw clenched with restraint.

You swallowed thickly, heart hammering against your ribs.

He didn’t say a word — just tossed the shirt aside carelessly and stalked towards the bedside drawer. You watched him with wide eyes, your heart pounding louder in your ears with each step he took.

And then you saw it.

The metal catching the light as he pulled out your favorite pair of handcuffs — the ones lined with plush velvet, the ones he only ever used when you were being especially difficult.

Which, today, you had been.

Your breath hitched. Your thighs pressed together instinctively.

Tom smirked, the kind of dark, knowing smirk that told you he was absolutely aware of what you were thinking — of how badly you wanted this, how much you craved the way he tamed you when you got bratty.

“You know what these mean, don’t you, baby?” he asked, voice dripping with dominance as he twirled the cuffs lazily around one finger.

You nodded quickly, wide-eyed, heat flooding your cheeks.

Tom chuckled darkly, stalking closer to the bed, every movement slow and deliberate — like a predator savoring the moment before pouncing.

“Use your words,” he commanded softly, the low rasp of his voice sending shivers down your spine.

“Y-yes,” you whispered, voice trembling slightly. “I know.”

“And you still decided to be a little tease, didn’t you?” he asked, tilting his head, his tone almost mockingly sweet.

You bit your lip, nodding again.

He climbed onto the bed with you in one fluid motion, his body caging yours in without even touching you yet. His eyes were dark, burning with the need he had been holding back, with the absolute power he had over you in this moment.

“You wanted this,” he murmured, lowering himself until his nose brushed yours. “You wanted me to lose control.”

You whimpered softly, nodding again, unable to tear your gaze away from his. Tom smiled — slow, dangerous, and so devastatingly handsome that it made your chest ache.

“Good,” he whispered against your lips. “Because now you’re mine to tame.”

With that, he slid his hands up your arms — slow, teasing — and gently, but firmly, clasped one cuff around your wrist.

The cold metal kissed your skin, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core.

You watched, breathless, as Tom expertly guided your other wrist up, locking it into place as well, leaving your hands pinned delicately together above your head.

He tested the cuffs lightly, making sure you were secure but still comfortable — a familiar, tender habit that made your heart clench with love even in the midst of your dizzying need.

You shifted under him, testing the restraint, and Tom’s eyes darkened further, his hand pressing against your hip to keep you still.

“None of that,” he murmured, his voice pure molten dominance. You stilled immediately, your breathing shallow, your body humming with anticipation.

Tom sat back slightly, admiring the sight of you laid out beneath him — wrists bound, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling rapidly, blue eyes glazed with trust and submission.

“You have no idea how beautiful you are like this,” he said, voice raw with emotion.

You whimpered again, feeling your heart squeeze painfully at the sincerity laced in his words — at the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

He leaned down slowly, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then finally your mouth — a soft, lingering kiss full of promises.

His lips left yours only to trail slowly down your throat, lingering over the sensitive spots he knew drove you crazy, nipping and kissing as he went.

“You’re gonna lay here,” he murmured against your skin, his voice vibrating through you, “and you’re gonna take every damn thing I give you.”

You whimpered again, nodding frantically, your body straining towards him, desperate for more. Tom chuckled — low and dark and so full of satisfaction it made you ache.

“Good girl,” he praised, dragging his mouth slowly, torturously, back up to claim your lips again.

The moment Tom pulled away from your kiss, you chased his mouth instinctively, a small needy whimper escaping you as your wrists strained slightly against the cuffs.

Tom only chuckled — low and rough, the sound vibrating through his chest as he dipped his head, letting his forehead press lightly to yours.

“Easy, baby,” he murmured, smirking. “We’re just getting started.”

His fingertips — calloused and warm — traced an agonizingly slow path down the side of your neck, over your collarbone, across the faint curve of your chest. His touch was featherlight, barely there, teasing you, setting every nerve ending alight.

You whimpered again, your body desperate for more, straining up toward his hand.

Tom watched you with burning eyes, soaking in your every reaction — the way you gasped for breath, the way your hips shifted restlessly against the bed, the way you looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

“You look so pretty begging for me,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

And then — without warning — he gripped the front of your shirt, twisted the fabric in his fists, and ripped it open with one violent tug.

You yelped in shock, your heart leaping into your throat, the sudden tear of fabric loud and shocking in the heavy air of the room.

Buttons flew across the bed and the floor — but Tom wasn’t paying them any attention. Because his gaze was now glued to you. The soft gasp that left him was almost a growl.

The force of the motion had sent a gentle bounce through your breasts, your soft breast on full display for him, vulnerable and exposed.

“Fuck,” he breathed, almost reverently. “No bra?”

Tom’s hands — large and sure — immediately came up to cup you, squeezing almost possessively. You arched instinctively into his palms, a loud gasp ripping from you, your back bowing so beautifully it stole the air from his lungs.

A raw, low moan escaped him — so deep and desperate it made your whole body clench with need.

“You planned this,” he accused, voice rough as gravel, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive peaks with slow, delicious cruelty.

You whimpered, your cheeks flushing deeper, caught somewhere between shameless and utterly undone.

“Answer me,” he demanded, giving your breasts another firm squeeze that had you crying out softly.

“Y-yes,” you confessed in a breathy whisper. Tom chuckled darkly, satisfied, his grip tightening just enough to make you keen.

“My dirty little slut,” he said roughly, pride and lust thick in his voice.

Your body writhed under his touch, your hips grinding into the air without thinking, desperate for friction, for relief, for him.

And then — without even realizing it — you cried out for him in the only way you knew would get you what you wanted.

“Daddy… please,” you whimpered, voice cracked and desperate. His fingers dug just a little deeper into your soft flesh, his eyes darkening until there was almost no blue left, only pure, molten desire.

A slow, wicked smirk curved across his mouth.

“There she is,” he murmured, sounding almost proud. “My good girl, remembering who she belongs to.”

You nodded frantically, moaning softly, feeling your body tremble with anticipation. Tom leaned in, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear, his breath hot and shivery against your skin.

“You’re mine, baby,” he whispered, his voice a velvet promise. “Mine to tease. Mine to touch. Mine to fuck. Mine to ruin.”

You whimpered again, your body on fire, your soul burning with the overwhelming intensity of how much you needed him.

Tom pulled back just enough to admire you — the way your ruined shirt hung off your shoulders, the way your flushed skin glowed in the dim light, the way you were practically vibrating with need, bound and helpless for him.

He brushed his nose along your jawline, his touch infuriatingly soft compared to the sharp dominance in his posture.

“You’re gonna lay there,” he said slowly, each word dripping with authority, “and you’re gonna take everything I give you, understood princess?.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you breathed, your whole being surrendering to him in that moment.

Tom smiled — a dark, devastatingly beautiful smile.

“And you’re gonna say thank you,” he added, his voice a rumble that vibrated through your bones. You moaned, writhing beneath him, your wrists straining uselessly against the cuffs.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you whimpered, desperate to please him, desperate for more.

Tom’s low growl of satisfaction filled the room — and then he was kissing you again, rough and deep and consuming, one hand tangled in your hair, the other still possessively kneading your breast.

The moment you felt Tom’s warm breath ghosting over your breasts, you arched your body instinctively, chasing the heat of him with a desperate whine.

But he didn’t give in.

Instead, Tom hovered there, his mouth maddeningly close to your nipple — so close that you could feel the soft exhale of his breath, but not the blissful contact you craved.

You whimpered, the sound breaking in your throat as you tugged helplessly against the fuzzy cuffs binding your wrists above your head.

“Please..,” you whined again, your voice sweet and cracking under the weight of your need. He only chuckled, dark and low, sending another wicked shiver down your spine.

“Begging already, baby?” he teased, voice rich with amusement and control. You nodded frantically, your hips shifting restlessly against the bed, your whole body a live wire of sensation.

“Please, Daddy,” you breathed, your voice trembling. “Please touch me… I need you.” Tom tilted his head, his blue eyes practically black with dominance and lust.

“Need me that bad, huh?” he murmured, almost to himself.

His hand snaked down to your waist, squeezing the soft curve there with a bruising possessiveness that made you gasp.

“Then behave,” he commanded in a low growl, his fingers tightening for emphasis.

You whimpered again, nodding quickly, your chest heaving with every ragged breath. As he smirked — slow and devastating — before finally, finally lowering his mouth.

The moment his lips wrapped around your nipple, you cried out, your back arching so sharply it lifted your entire body off the bed.

His mouth was relentless — hot and wet and hungry — as he sucked and licked and nipped, driving you absolutely wild.

You strained against your cuffs, desperate to touch him, to anchor yourself somehow against the overwhelming pleasure crashing through your body.

But Tom didn’t stop to give you a break.

He moved to your other breast with agonizing slowness, kissing a heated trail across your skin before taking your other nipple into his mouth with the same intense, greedy devotion.

You moaned loudly, the sound raw and desperate, filling the room.

“You’re so fucking sensitive for me, baby,” Tom growled between kisses, the vibrations making you writhe beneath him.

“Please,” you begged again, your voice breaking, tears of frustration and pleasure prickling at the corners of your eyes.

Tom chuckled, deep and satisfied, clearly reveling in how undone you were for him.

“Such a good little slut for Daddy,” he praised, alternating between slow, luxurious sucks and sharp little flicks of his tongue that had you gasping and moaning and clenching your thighs together.

You could barely think, barely breathe.

Every touch, every kiss, every growled word from him only pushed you deeper under, drowning in the overwhelming need only he could satisfy.

Tom pulled back just slightly, his lips swollen and glistening from the attention he had lavished on you, a cocky, possessive smirk playing on his mouth as he looked down at you.

You were a mess — panting, flushed, trembling, desperate — and he looked so proud of the state he had reduced you to.

“You gonna be good for me now, princess?” he asked, dragging the tip of his nose along your jawline, the motion tender yet commanding all at once.

“Yes, Daddy,” you sobbed, your whole body aching for him.

“Good girl,” he praised, the two simple words sinking into your skin like a brand.

Then, without any more warning, he was lowering himself again, his mouth reclaiming you, devouring your breasts alternately with a slow, ravenous hunger that had you spiraling higher and higher.

Your body was already a trembling mess beneath him — wrists straining against the cuffs, hips grinding helplessly against the mattress, your skin slick with heat and need.

And then — with no warning at all — you felt the slow, deliberate press of Tom’s fingers slipping between your thighs, parting you with a devastating tenderness that made your whole body seize in anticipation.

You gasped sharply, arching into his touch as his fingertips slid through your wetness.

“Goddamn,” Tom breathed against your breast, his voice ragged with raw hunger. “So fucking wet for me already.”

You whimpered, your whole body clenching when you felt two of his fingers slowly, purposefully thrust inside you, stretching you, filling you.

The intrusion was smooth but commanding, no hesitation, just pure, overwhelming possession.

Your head spun. Your hips jerked up to meet his hand. Your moan tore free from your throat without permission.

Tom groaned against your skin, his lips never leaving your breast even as his fingers began to move — slow at first, almost teasing, pumping into you with a rhythm that immediately sent shockwaves through your body.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his voice vibrating through your chest. “Take it. Take Daddy’s fingers.”

You cried out, squeezing around him instinctively, the tight pull of your body making him hiss in pleasure.

“You feel that?” he growled low in your ear, thrusting his fingers in deep before pulling back and doing it again, harder this time.

You nodded frantically, helpless under the onslaught of sensation.

“Say it,” he commanded, squeezing your waist roughly in his free hand to keep you pinned. “Tell me how good Daddy makes you feel.”

Your body was on fire, your mind barely able to form words, but you obeyed — you always obeyed when he used that voice.

“So good, Daddy,” you moaned, tugging at the cuffs, desperate to touch him, to anchor yourself against the way he was tearing you apart and putting you back together all at once. “Feels so good…”

Tom rewarded you with a deep groan, the sound so primal it made your stomach tighten deliciously.

“Good girl,” he praised, thrusting his fingers harder now, faster, rougher — the wet, obscene sounds of your body welcoming him filling the room, making you both lose yourselves even deeper.

You cried out again, clenching helplessly around him, your walls fluttering, your legs trembling.

Tom lifted his head from your chest just long enough to look down at you — your flushed face, your glassy eyes, the way you bit your lip trying to hold yourself together.

“You gonna come on Daddy’s fingers, pretty girl?” he taunted, his mouth curving into a dark, wicked smile. “Gonna fall apart just because I’m touching you?”

You whimpered a broken “yes,” your body already tipping over the edge, your muscles quivering, the tight heat inside you coiling impossibly tight.

“You’re so desperate for me,” he groaned, curling his fingers inside you in a way that made your vision white out for a second. “So perfect… made for me.”

Every thrust was perfectly timed, perfectly deep, hitting every sensitive spot inside you with brutal precision. You couldn’t help it — you were calling for him, crying out, your voice nothing but his name and his title over and over.

“Daddy… Daddy, please…” you sobbed, your whole body shuddering.

The way you said it — so breathless, so broken, so his — had Tom groaning deep in his chest, his forehead dropping to yours.

“You’re mine,” he whispered fiercely, his thrusts never faltering. “Only mine.”

You nodded frantically, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming intensity of it all — the pleasure, the emotion, the power he had over you.

Tom kissed you then — hard, claiming, utterly dominant — swallowing your desperate cries as he worked you closer and closer to the edge.

The moment you spread your legs wider for him, offering yourself without hesitation, Tom let out a low, primal groan against your skin — a sound that made you shudder and whimper.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped, voice thick with dark praise. “Show me who you belong to.” His fingers, already deep inside you, took full advantage of the new access.

You gasped sharply when he curled them expertly, hitting that devastating spot that made your vision swim and your back arch clean off the bed.

Your cry filled the room, raw and breathless, while Tom finally lifted his mouth from your breast, leaving a trail of hot kisses up your collarbone, then along your throat.

His teeth grazed your pulse, slow and deliberate, while his fingers kept thrusting into you with a rough, unrelenting pace that had your body trembling violently.

You could feel yourself getting closer with every ruthless stroke, your body tightening, your heart hammering against your ribs like a caged bird.

“Fuck,” Tom groaned against your neck when he felt you clench hard around his fingers, your walls fluttering desperately.

“You’re so fucking tight for me, princess,” he growled, his voice vibrating through your skin.

Then, without warning, his thumb pressed down against your swollen clit, rubbing slow, punishing circles that had your hips jerking helplessly, your whole body crying out for release.

You moaned loudly, your voice breaking into little sobs of pleasure, the sensation almost too much.

Tom chuckled darkly at the sound, the deep, satisfied rumble sending another wave of heat pooling low in your stomach.

“Listen to you,” he taunted, his voice dripping with dominance, with rough, degrading praise. “Making a mess all over my hand like a desperate little slut.”

You whimpered, your wrists tugging uselessly against the cuffs as your body writhed beneath him.

“Can’t even think, can you?” he murmured, nipping lightly at your throat. “All it takes is Daddy’s fingers and you’re already falling apart.”

You sobbed, nodding frantically, needing more, needing him to push you over the edge. Tom’s fingers moved faster now, rougher, his thumb never letting up its ruthless assault on your clit.

“Pathetic little thing,” he growled against your ear, the words sending you spinning deeper into that space only he could drag you into. “Crying for me… begging for your stepfather to fuck you… so fucking needy.”

You whimpered, tears of overwhelming pleasure slipping from your eyes as your body tightened impossibly around him, the tension coiling harder and harder inside you.

“Such a good little slut,” Tom murmured, his breath hot against your cheek. “Made to be used. Made to be broken for me.”

The words shattered something inside you — made your heart and body give up any last shred of resistance. You moaned his name, your voice breaking, your whole body locking up as you teetered right on the brink.

Tom felt it — he knew you were close — and his voice dropped even lower, rough and commanding.

“Come for me, baby,” he ordered, thrusting his fingers deep one last time. “Let go. Show Daddy how good he makes you feel.”

You broke apart in his arms, shattering into a thousand pieces, your body clenching around his fingers in wave after wave of overwhelming pleasure.

Your cries were raw, broken, your hips jerking uncontrollably as Tom held you down, working you through every second of your release.

“That’s it,” he praised darkly, kissing the tears from your cheeks. “That’s my good girl.”

You sobbed softly, your whole body trembling, completely wrecked — completely his — and Tom gathered you into his arms, kissing your forehead tenderly even as his fingers slipped free from your still-twitching body.

You whined helplessly when Tom, still towering over you, brought his soaked fingers to his mouth — his dark, hungry eyes locked on yours.

Slowly, deliberately, he slid his fingers between his lips, sucking them clean with a low, guttural groan that made your entire body shudder.

“Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough, wrecked with need.

Your chest heaved with shallow breaths, the sight of him undoing you all over again, making your legs tremble in their restraints.

But you barely had time to recover before Tom’s hands big, warm, and unrelenting grabbed your thighs and parted them wider, baring you completely to him.

You gasped, trying to squirm, but he just growled lowly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he settled himself between your legs, his face so close you could feel the heat of his breath.

Tom’s hands gripped your thighs possessively, pinning you down like you might dare to escape him — like you even could if you tried.

“Look at you,” he murmured darkly, his thumb brushing dangerously close to your cunt but never quite touching. “So pretty… so perfect… so ready for me.”

You moaned brokenly, tugging weakly at the cuffs around your wrists, desperate for something — anything — but all you could do was lie there and take it.

Tom gave you one last wicked smirk before leaning in, his tongue darting out and licking a slow, deliberate stripe up your soaked folds.

You cried out, your back arching sharply off the bed as your body jolted in pure, blinding pleasure.

Tom groaned against you — a deep, desperate sound — as if he couldn’t get enough, as if he needed you just as badly as you needed him.

“Fuck, baby…” he growled, his breath hot against your cunt. “Tastes even better straight from the source.”

His mouth sealed over you, his tongue licked, sucked with a ruthless hunger that had your head spinning, your vision blurring at the edges.

You sobbed, your hips trying to buck against him, but Tom was relentless — his hand clamped down hard on your thighs, forcing you to stay open, to take everything he gave you.

Every lick of his tongue and thrust of his fingers was rough, determined, perfect — pushing you higher and higher until you thought you might break apart from the intensity alone.

He moaned against you, the vibrations sending new shockwaves of pleasure straight through your core.

And then — as if he knew exactly how to destroy you — his nose brushed up against your swollen clit with every movement, sending electric jolts racing up your spine.

You cried out again, louder this time, the sound echoing off the walls.

You were completely gone — lost to the feel of his mouth, his tongue, his nose grinding against your most sensitive spot while he groaned and devoured you like a starving man.

“That’s it,” Tom murmured roughly between licks, his voice dark and approving. “Give it to me, baby. Let me have it all.”

You whimpered, your body thrashing against his hold, desperate for more, desperate for everything.

“You gonna come again for me, pretty girl?” he taunted, pulling back just enough to blow a hot breath against your soaked folds, making you whine pitifully. “Gonna soak my face like the needy little thing you are?”

You could barely form words — just nodded frantically, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes from the sheer overwhelming pleasure.

Tom chuckled darkly, the sound sending another shiver down your spine.

“Good girl,” he growled, and then he was on you again — sucking, licking, thrusting his tongue into you so ruthlessly that your world tilted on its axis.

You screamed his name, your whole body locking up as the orgasm crashed into you, tearing you apart at the seams.

Tom didn’t stop — he kept working you through it, dragging every last wave of pleasure from your writhing, sobbing body until you finally sagged against the bed, completely, utterly spent. Only then did he pull away, his face glistening with your release, his eyes dark and wild and so proud.

He climbed up your body, releasing your wrists from the cuffs with a soft clink, and gathered you in his arms, cradling you against his chest like you were something precious — because to him, you were.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against your hair, voice wrecked with emotion. “Always mine.”

And you clung to him, your heart still racing, knowing without a doubt that there was nowhere in the world you were safer — or more utterly his — than right there, in Tom’s arms.

You whimpered quietly against Tom’s chest, your body still trembling, your heart racing with the aftershocks of what he’d just done to you.

But even in your dazed state, you couldn’t ignore the hard, heavy pressure of his cock pressed insistently against your stomach — burning hot even through his sweats.

He held you tightly, possessively, his big hands rubbing slow circles along your back as if trying to soothe you.

You felt his heart pounding just as fiercely against your ear, betraying just how much he needed you too, even if he was trying to keep you calm, keep you waiting.

“Behave, angel,” he murmured lowly against your hair, his voice rough with warning, dominance lacing every syllable.

But something in you — that stubborn, bratty part he loved just as much as he loved punishing — refused to listen. You knew the truth. He needed you just as desperately as you needed him. Maybe even more.

Slowly, deliberately, your fingers brushed over the mattress until you found the handcuffs he had discarded earlier.

You grabbed them with trembling hands and, before Tom could react, you slipped them over one of his wrists and clicked them closed with a soft metallic snick. Tom chuckled darkly against you — a low, dangerous sound that sent a fresh shiver racing down your spine.

“Oh, so that’s how you wanna play, huh?” he rumbled, his free hand sliding down to grip your ass possessively, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp.

You didn’t answer — just met his heated gaze with a coy little smile as you slowly moved back, straddling his lap again. His eyes burned into you, the hunger and amusement clear in the way he let you do it, for now.

Your hands trembled slightly — from excitement, from nerves — as you moved to the waist band of his sweats, working it open with slow, teasing movements. Tom’s jaw tensed, his free hand tightening on your hip as he watched you.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, baby,” he warned, voice a low growl vibrating straight into your bones.

“Don’t forget who’s in charge.” You bit your lip, looking up at him through your lashes — all innocent, all temptation — and slowly tugged the material down.

He hissed through his teeth when you peeled his sweats down just enough, freeing his thick, heavy cock from its confines.

It sprang free, flushed and hard, the tip glistening slightly, and the sight made your mouth water, your thighs clench around him.

Tom groaned, his head tipping back slightly, his muscles taut with restraint.

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered, his handcuffed wrist straining slightly as if he needed to touch you, to grab you, but couldn’t.

You leaned in, brushing the tip of your nose teasingly along his jaw before whispering against his ear, “Thought you said I should behave?”

Tom’s low, wrecked laugh made your heart stutter in your chest. He turned his head, fixing you with a look so intense it stole the breath right out of your lungs.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret this, princess,” he promised darkly.

“You think you’re in control just ‘cause I’m letting you have a little fun?” He shifted his hips up just slightly, letting his cock press harder against your stomach, making you gasp at the sheer heat of him.

“You forget who owns you,” he growled, his eyes darkening to something almost feral. “Whose good little girl you are.” You whimpered, your body arching instinctively toward him, the sound making his lips curl into a slow, wicked smirk.

“That’s right,” he murmured approvingly, his free hand trailing up your body, slow and possessive.

“You don’t make the rules here, baby.” He gave your hip a sharp squeeze, making you cry out softly. “But i will let you pretend for a minute, but you know who you belong to.”

You nodded frantically, your breathing shallow, desperate for him to touch you properly — to claim you the way you craved.

The heavy sound of Tom’s breathing filled the room, thick and uneven, matching the rapid pounding of your heart.

Your hand, so small against him, wrapped gently around the base of his cock, feeling the heat, the way he pulsed eagerly in your grip.

You glanced up at him through your lashes — the way he was watching you, dark and wild-eyed, made your stomach flip with anticipation.

You pressed a soft, teasing kiss right against the flushed, sensitive tip, tasting the faint salt of him. Tom groaned deep in his throat, his free hand moving to your hair — not tugging, not forcing, just weaving his fingers through it, stroking you softly, almost reverently.

The tender gesture made you whimper softly, a noise that only made him grip your hair a little tighter.

“Fuck, baby…” he murmured, his voice thick, strained, wrecked already just from your mouth on him. “You’re gonna ruin me…”

Encouraged by the way he shuddered under your touch, you slowly opened your mouth and let your lips part over the very tip of him, your tongue flicking out, tasting him again before sliding down a little deeper.

Tom’s whole body tensed. His hand tightened slightly in your hair, not to hurt, but to anchor himself — to feel you, to remind himself not to lose control too fast. You could feel how hard he was struggling not to take over completely.

“That’s it, good girl,” he rasped, the praise so rough it made your core clench with need. “Nice and slow, just like that…”

You kept your pace deliberate — slow, worshipful, feeling every vein, every throb of him against your tongue. Every time you hollowed your cheeks just a little, Tom groaned, his hips shifting unconsciously, needing more of you.

When he thrust up just slightly without meaning to, the sudden movement made you gag softly around him, and the desperate, broken sound that tore from his throat made your entire body flush with heat.

“Fuck, baby, sorry —” Tom breathed out, his free hand stroking your hair quickly in apology even as his hips rolled up again, chasing your mouth.

You looked up at him again — and the sight was almost too much to bear. His head was tilted back against the pillow, his chest heaving, the muscles of his stomach flexing with every shallow breath.

His lashes fluttered against his flushed cheeks, his free wrist straining against the handcuffs like he physically couldn’t stop himself from wanting to touch you, to grab you, to take control.

The sight made your thighs squeeze together involuntarily. You whimpered around him, the vibration making him curse and buck his hips again.

“You’re fucking killing me, angel,” he growled, voice ragged, pleasure-strained. His hand tightened in your hair again, this time guiding you slowly, not rough but insistent.

“Deeper, baby. You can take it. I know you can,” he encouraged, his voice dropping into a low, commanding tone that had you obeying without a second thought.

You eased down further, taking him deeper into your mouth, feeling his cock twitch against your tongue, hearing the raw, helpless groan he let out when you did.

Your hands slid up, bracing on his thighs as you let him guide you, let him set the rhythm — slow at first, but each glide of your mouth over him making him more desperate, more wild.

“You were made for this, weren’t you, sweet girl?” Tom murmured thickly, his hand fisting in your hair possessively. “Made for me. Only me.” The praise, the possessiveness in his voice, made your entire body ache for him.

You whined softly in response, and Tom’s hips jerked again, deeper this time, but you welcomed it — craved it — taking every inch he gave you until you were lightheaded from the lack of air and the overwhelming closeness of him.

“You feel so good, fuck,” he growled, his voice barely more than a wrecked whisper. “If you keep being this good for me, I’m not gonna last, baby.”

You whimpered again around him, hollowing your cheeks more, and Tom cursed, squeezing his eyes shut as he fought for control.

But even handcuffed, even half undone, Tom was still Tom — still dominant, still in charge. With a soft growl, he tugged you up suddenly by your hair, pulling you off him with a wet pop. You gasped for air, dazed and desperate, staring up at him.

Tom looked absolutely wrecked — his chest heaving, his skin flushed and damp with sweat, his cock throbbing with need between you.

But his eyes — those fierce, dark blue eyes — were laser-focused on you, gleaming with satisfaction and raw, unfiltered possession.

He leaned in, his hand still tangled in your hair, and kissed you hard — deep, messy, claiming — tasting himself on your tongue, tasting you, tasting everything he owned.

“You think you’re in charge ‘cause you had me cuffed?” he growled against your lips, biting your bottom lip lightly and making you moan.

“You’re mine, princess. Always mine. Remember that.”And the way he said it — low, rough, reverent — made you feel like you never wanted to belong to anyone else.

Your breathing came out in ragged, shaky little gasps as you looked up at Tom, your eyes still glassy with need, your body trembling with anticipation.

“Uncuff me,” he said lowly, voice heavy with authority, and you didn’t hesitate — your hands moving automatically, obeying him without a second thought.

The second the cuffs clicked open, Tom moved like lightning — flipping you onto your belly with a sharp tug that knocked the breath out of you in a surprised yelp.

Before you could even react, you felt the solid weight of his hand pressing between your shoulder blades, pinning you hard against the mattress. Your heart thudded wildly, a moan slipping from your lips at the rough control he exerted over you without even trying.

“Stay,” he commanded softly, the rumble of his voice sending shivers down your spine.

You whimpered in response, hips twitching instinctively up toward him, needing more — needing anything he would give you.

You heard him chuckle darkly, the sound low and full of something almost feral, before you felt his hand slide up to the back of your neck. He squeezed — not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make your head spin deliciously, the weight of his dominance grounding you completely.

Your cheek pressed into the sheets as you moaned from the contact, from the feeling of being so thoroughly, completely his.

“You like that, don’t you?” Tom murmured against your skin, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot and teasing. “God, you’re such a good little thing for me.”

He kissed your cheek softly — a stark contrast to the rough dominance of his grip — before tightening his hand around your neck just a little more, enough to make you moan louder, your thighs clenching with desperation.

You could feel the heavy, insistent press of his cock against your bare, dripping folds — the contrast of the soft, sensitive head dragging along your soaked heat making your body jolt and whimper under him.

Tom groaned low in his throat as he rubbed himself against you slowly, teasing you mercilessly, sliding between your folds but never pressing inside, never giving you what you were aching for.

You tried to push your hips back into him, desperate for friction, for more — but Tom’s hand tightened against the back of your neck again, a silent warning to behave.

Your stomach twisted with desperate need as you moaned helplessly into the mattress.

“Patience, baby,” he rasped against your ear, his voice dripping with thick amusement and dark promise. “You don’t get to call the shots. Not after the way you teased me earlier.”

You whined, the sound high and needy, your body burning under his slow, tormenting touch.

Every drag of his cock along your folds left you more wrecked, more desperate — your body arching, back bowing, trying so hard to behave but so hungry for him that tears pricked your eyes from the overwhelming need.

And Tom knew it — loved it — feeding off the way you trembled under his control.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his free hand moving to gather your wrists behind your back, pinning them there firmly. You gasped, your body shuddering with raw anticipation.

You barely had time to register the cool brush of metal before you heard the familiar click — the cuffs snapping back around your wrists, binding you again. You whimpered at the feeling, the loss of even the small amount of control you’d had.

Now you were completely vulnerable, completely at his mercy — your face pressed into the sheets, your ass arched up toward him, your hands helpless behind your back. Tom leaned down, his body blanketing yours, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear.

“You look so fucking good like this,” he whispered, his voice low and reverent. “So ready for me. So desperate.” You moaned, arching your back more, silently begging for him.

But Tom didn’t thrust into you.

Not yet.

Instead, he continued the slow, torturous dragging of his cock against your folds, feeling how soaked and swollen you were for him, how your body trembled under his teasing touch.

He growled low in his throat, clearly struggling to keep himself from taking you — but he was determined to make you wait, to make you feel it.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” Tom murmured against your ear, his voice thick with dominance and hunger.

“Use your words.” You whimpered, struggling to form words through the haze of need clouding your brain.

“Please…” you gasped out, your voice barely a whisper.

“Please, Tom… need you… need you so bad…” He chuckled darkly, dragging his cock along you again, the head catching slightly against your entrance but still not pushing in.

“That’s not good enough,” he said roughly, squeezing the back of your neck again. “You know what to call me.”

Your entire body flushed, your toes curling against the mattress as you realized what he wanted. You moaned, desperate and wrecked, before finally whispering the name he demanded:

“Please, Daddy…”

The second the word left your lips, Tom growled — a low, feral sound of pure satisfaction — and finally, finally thrust his hips forward just enough to breach you, making you cry out in relief.

The room seemed to shrink around you, every sound fading except for the ragged breathing you both shared and the low creak of the bed.

You could feel every heartbeat thudding through your body — heavy, desperate — as you waited, trembling under Tom’s full, burning gaze.

He stayed still for a second longer, savoring the control, savoring the way your body shivered beneath him, so needy and willing.

Then with a low, guttural groan, he thrust into you — hard. The sudden, powerful push made you cry out, pleasure and shock mixing into a raw, breathless sound that echoed off the walls.

Tom growled as he sank fully into you, feeling how tight, how perfectly you wrapped around him — as if your body was made for him.

“Fuck, baby…” he groaned, his voice shaking from the effort it took not to lose himself completely. “You feel so goddamn good.”

Your wrists twisted slightly in the cuffs behind your back, but he gripped them tighter, using the leverage to pull you back against every sharp, deep thrust of his hips.

He set a brutal, rough pace immediately — no teasing now, no holding back — just pure, raw possession. The force of each thrust made your ass jiggle against him, each bounce sending shockwaves of pleasure through you both.

Tom’s eyes darkened, blown wide with lust as he watched himself disappear inside you again and again, the sight sending another growl rumbling through his chest.

“Look at that,” he rasped, voice thick with awe and hunger. “Taking me so good… like you were made for me.”

You could only moan in response, the words slipping from your lips incoherent, your mind blank with overwhelming sensation.

Your body arched under him involuntarily, desperate to take more, to meet every hard thrust with your own eager movements, but Tom still had your hands bound, keeping you pinned exactly where he wanted you — utterly helpless to do anything but feel.

Each time he slammed into you, he squeezed the soft curve of your ass, groaning at the way your body responded to him — so perfect, so obedient, so utterly wrecked.

“You like being like this, don’t you?” he murmured harshly, breath hot against your ear as he leaned closer, his body pressing heavier onto yours. “Completely helpless…completely mine.”

You sobbed a broken little “yes,” not even thinking, just feeling, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it. Tom chuckled darkly, pride and dominance rolling off him in thick waves.

“Good girl,” he praised, punctuating his words with another hard, deep thrust that made you gasp and arch up into him again.

The bed rocked beneath you both, the headboard knocking faintly against the wall in time with the rough rhythm of his movements. The sounds filling the room — your moans, his deep groans, the slap of skin meeting skin — wove together into something primal and raw, something that made your chest tighten and your whole body heat with need.

And still, Tom didn’t slow down — if anything, he moved harder, faster, the hand at your back flexing and holding you tighter, making you take every ruthless, claiming thrust he gave you.

“You’re mine,” he growled again, the words vibrating through you like a command. “Say it, baby. Say who you belong to.”

You gasped, feeling your climax coil dangerously close, feeling yourself shatter piece by piece under his unrelenting dominance.

“You, Tom !” you cried, voice cracking from the force of it. “I’m yours — always yours!”

He groaned in satisfaction, his hips snapping into you even harder now, chasing both your release and his. The sounds of pleasure, of need, filled the room until it felt like it was too much.

Tom dropped his forehead against your shoulder, his teeth lightly grazing your skin as he drove you both closer and closer to the edge.

You could feel it coming — that burning, consuming wave — and Tom could feel it too, the way your walls fluttered desperately around him, the way your breath hitched and your body trembled under his.

The room was nothing but heat and ragged breaths, the air thick with need as Tom shifted behind you, adjusting the angle — and suddenly, a white-hot bolt of pleasure tore through you when his cock slammed against that devastating spot deep inside.

You screamed out, pleasure tearing from your throat before you could even think to hold it back. Your body jerked forward on the mattress, but Tom caught you easily, strong hands gripping your hips, keeping you right where he wanted you. He groaned, low and guttural, feeling you clamp around him so tightly it made his head spin.

Without a word, he hauled your hips up higher, arching your back into an even sharper angle, exposing you completely to him. The shift made every thrust hit even deeper, even harder, and Tom wasted no time — setting a brutal, relentless pace that had you sobbing in pure pleasure.

Every slap of his hips against you echoed loud and vulgar in the room, each thrust jarring your entire body forward only to be dragged back again by his unyielding hands.

You cried out with every thrust, feeling yourself spiral closer and closer to the edge, and Tom groaned, the sound feral and rough, his fingers digging into your soft flesh possessively.

He watched, mesmerized, as your body responded to him — the way your ass bounced and jiggled with every powerful slam of his hips — and with a low, dark chuckle, he squeezed the flesh roughly before landing a sharp smack against one cheek.

You moaned — a broken, desperate sound — and arched into the sting, the heat of it blooming deliciously under his hand. Tom smirked darkly, pride swelling in his chest at how perfectly you responded to him.

“You love this, don’t you?” he rasped out between heavy breaths, the dominance dripping from every word. “Getting used like my perfect little toy… taking Daddy’s cock like you were made for it.”

Your only answer was a whimper, your brain too fogged with pleasure to form any real words. But that wasn’t enough for Tom.

Not even close.

With one hand still gripping your cuffed wrists, he fisted the other into your hair, yanking your head back just enough to make you gasp.

“Say it,” he growled low against your ear, his voice rough and commanding. “Tell me how much you love being Daddy’s little fucktoy.”

You moaned at the dirty, degrading words, your body clenching around him even tighter — the shame, the pleasure, the overwhelming emotion tangling into something addictive, something you couldn’t escape even if you wanted to.

“I love it,” you gasped, voice breaking as you surrendered fully. “I love being yours, Daddy — love being your dirty little secret…”

Tom groaned in approval, his thrusts somehow growing even rougher, harder, driving you further into the mattress with every brutal snap of his hips.

The sound of your cries, the desperate way you tried to push back into him despite the cuffs binding you — it sent a surge of pure, possessive lust through him.

He pulled your hair a little harder, forcing your head to tilt so he could nip at your exposed throat, his teeth scraping just enough to make you whimper again.

“You’re mine,” he snarled, every word sharp and raw against your skin. “My good little toy… my perfect stepdaughter.”

You could only moan, your body trembling violently now, your climax coiling so tightly inside you it hurt. But Tom wasn’t done yet. He let go of your hair only to grab both of your hips in a bruising grip, holding you still while he hammered into you with ruthless, punishing thrusts.

The headboard slammed against the wall with every brutal movement, the bed groaning under the force of it, but neither of you cared — lost entirely in the overwhelming, primal connection between you.

Your whole body felt like it was burning, spinning out of control, and Tom was right there with you — his breathing ragged, his muscles tight with the effort of holding himself back for just a little longer.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” he growled, his voice dark and teasing. “Cum all over Daddy’s cock like the good little slut you are?”

You sobbed a broken “yes,” your whole body locking up as you clung to the last thread of your control, knowing it wouldn’t last much longer under his merciless pace.

“Then do it,” Tom commanded roughly, slapping your ass again hard enough to leave a stinging handprint behind. “Be a good girl and cum for me. Now.”

The moment Tom barked that final command, your release hit you like a tidal wave — fierce, uncontrollable, overwhelming. Your whole body locked up under him, a scream tearing from your throat as you shattered, moaning his name brokenly into the mattress.

Your legs trembled violently, your wrists straining against the cuffs in pure, raw pleasure, your entire body bowing under the force of it.

White-hot ecstasy splintered through you, making your vision blur at the edges, your breath coming in desperate, ragged gasps.

Tom groaned low in his throat the second he felt you clamp down on him, your walls milking him, your entire body begging for his release.

He lost whatever little restraint he had left. His hips snapped harder, faster, every brutal thrust now fueled by pure, desperate need as he chased his own high.

He leaned down over your trembling body, his mouth right at your ear, and his voice turned even darker, even filthier.

“Such a perfect little slut… milking Daddy’s cock like you were fucking made for it…” he rasped, his tone dripping dominance and lust. “Taking every inch like the desperate little toy you are. So greedy for me. So fucking good for me…”

You whimpered at his degrading praise, another wave of aftershocks wracking through your body at the pure dominance radiating from him. Your cunt fluttered around him involuntarily, drawing out a deep, broken groan from Tom’s chest.

His pace turned frantic, rough, desperate — every thrust bruising, overwhelming, the headboard slamming violently against the wall as he drove into you without mercy.

You could feel it, how close he was — the way his breathing stuttered, the way his hands gripped your hips so tight they would definitely leave bruises in the morning.

“Fucking mine,” he growled into your skin, voice almost animalistic. “All fucking mine. Gonna fill you up, baby — gonna fucking mark you from the inside out…”

And then, with one final, brutal thrust that had you sobbing in overstimulation, Tom buried himself deep to the hilt inside you.

He stilled, his whole body trembling as he moaned low and rough, and you could feel it — the sudden, hot rush of him spilling deep inside you, coating your already sensitive walls in sticky, burning warmth.

You moaned brokenly at the sensation, your body instinctively arching into him, welcoming the feeling of being full of him, claimed by him.

You barely had the strength to move, completely boneless, utterly spent, and Tom chuckled breathlessly against your skin.

He dropped his forehead to your shoulder, still panting heavily, his body blanketing yours in a heavy, possessive way that made your heart thud wildly.

Slowly, he reached for your cuffed wrists, his touch finally soft again — gentle — as he uncuffed you with careful fingers.

The second your wrists were free, Tom tossed the cuffs aside with a clink “You did so fucking good, baby,” he murmured against your hair, his voice rough but affectionate, almost awed.

A broken whimper spilled from your lips when Tom finally, agonizingly slowly, pulled out of you. You could feel everything — the obscene, sticky warmth of him spilling out of you immediately, the emptiness, the aching need that didn’t even begin to fade.

Tom groaned low in his chest when he caught sight of his release dripping out from your swollen cunt. His hand tightened on your hip possessively, his thumb brushing almost reverently over the sensitive skin, and he cursed under his breath, voice thick and ruined.

“Fuck, baby… look at you…” he rasped, almost in awe. “So fucking perfect. Stuffed full of me…”

Before you could even respond, he surged forward, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss that stole every ounce of air from your lungs.

You whimpered into him, your hands flying up to clutch at his hair desperately, your nails scraping lightly against his scalp.

Tom’s free hand was everywhere at once — greedy, rough — sliding up your body before finding your breast and squeezing it hard enough to make you cry out against his mouth.

You arched into him instinctively, desperate for every inch of contact, every scrap of dominance he was willing to give you.

He groaned into the kiss when he felt your nipple pebble against his palm, and without missing a beat, he broke the kiss — only long enough to growl against your lips,

“You think I’m fucking done with you, baby?” His voice was rough, teasing, but laced with something dangerous underneath.

You shook your head immediately, your chest heaving with every ragged breath you took. Tom smirked, dark and wolfish, before nipping sharply at your bottom lip and dragging his mouth down, kissing a path across your jaw, down the column of your throat.

You gasped, your head tipping back instinctively to give him more access. Your fingers tangled tighter in his hair, tugging just enough to make him growl against your throat.

Tom bit lightly at your pulse point, making your whole body shudder, before moving lower — lower — until his mouth found your breast again.

Without hesitation, he wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking it into the heat of his mouth with a hunger that made you cry out, your back arching sharply off the bed.

Your fingers pulled harder at his hair, desperate, wordless in your need, but it only made him chuckle darkly against your skin.

He lavished attention on you, his tongue flicking wickedly over your sensitive bud before he drew deep, slow pulls that had your entire body writhing under him.

His hand slid to your other breast, squeezing and kneading with rough, possessive fingers, sending electric shocks of pleasure through your already oversensitive body.

“Mine,” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and wrecking. “Every fucking inch of you… you hear me?”

“Y-Yes… Daddy…” you gasped out, barely able to form the words through the haze clouding your brain.

That title — that one word — made Tom groan against you, his hips instinctively grinding against your thigh, letting you feel just how hard he was again for you. He bit down lightly on your nipple in response, sending another sharp bolt of pleasure-pain right through you.

“That’s my good fucking girl…” he praised, his voice low, dark, addictive. “Already so fucked out… and you still want more, don’t you?”

You nodded frantically, whimpering under his touch, craving him with every fiber of your being. Your nails scratched lightly at his scalp in silent begging, and Tom chuckled darkly before pulling back slightly to look down at you.

His blue eyes were nearly black with lust, his hair messy from your fingers, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. He looked like something wild — something untamed — and every inch of him screamed that he was far, far from finished with you tonight.

You whimpered brokenly when you felt the blunt, heavy brush of Tom’s cock against your inner thigh, the heat of him dizzying even before he moved.

Tom groaned low in his chest, the sound sending a shiver down your spine as he deliberately dragged the thick head of his cock through your soaked folds, coating himself in your arousal.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasped, voice raw with need. “You’re so wet for me… always so ready…”

You barely had a second to breathe before he pushed inside in one rough, hard thrust. Your body arched off the mattress with a cry at the sudden, overwhelming fullness, the stretch of him splitting you open so perfectly, so devastatingly right.

Tom groaned loudly at the feeling of you wrapped so tight around him, his fingers bruising your waist as he held you in place, not giving you a second to adjust before he set a brutal, relentless pace.

Each thrust slammed into you with precision, with ownership, dragging helpless cries from your lips as your head tipped backward, your mind going blissfully blank under the intensity of him.

You were utterly cockdrunk — floating somewhere between pain and pleasure, held there only by the bruising grip Tom kept on your body and the low, filthy words falling from his mouth.

“Look at you,” he growled through clenched teeth, his hips snapping into you roughly, “Not a single fucking thought left in that pretty little head, huh?”

You could only moan, nodding weakly, your fingernails scratching down his back in a desperate attempt to ground yourself. But it was useless — you were utterly, hopelessly lost in him.

Tom chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he slammed into you even harder, making you whine his name in broken little sobs.

He shifted slightly, angling his hips until his cock was grinding against that devastatingly perfect spot inside you, again and again, making your vision blur around the edges.

“That’s it, baby,” he coaxed roughly, “Take it. Take all of me… fuckin’ made for it.”

You tilted your head back farther, your throat exposed and vulnerable as you cried out for him. Your hands flailed until they found his shoulders again, clutching him desperately, helplessly, as he pounded into you with a feral kind of desperation.

The room was filled with the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, your broken cries, and Tom’s deep, filthy groans.

The smell of sweat, sex, and something deeper — something possessive, eternal — clung heavy in the air around you both.

“You feel that?” Tom growled, tightening his grip on your waist so hard you were sure he was leaving bruises,

“Feel how good you squeeze me, baby? How bad your body needs me?” You could only whimper, barely able to form words anymore.

But it didn’t matter — your body spoke for you, clenching around him with every brutal thrust, desperate to keep him inside you, desperate to pull him deeper, closer.

Tom watched you, drunk on the sight of your body unraveling beneath him, on the feel of you giving in to him so completely, so beautifully. His blue eyes were wild, dark, hungry, like he wanted to carve this moment into his skin forever.

“You’re mine,” he snarled, a dark promise against your throat, “Mine to fuck, mine to ruin, mine to put back together again.”

You sobbed something that might have been ‘yes’, might have been his name — you weren’t even sure anymore — but it didn’t matter.

Tom knew.

He felt it in the way your body bowed and broke for him, in the way your soul clung to his with every desperate sound you made.

And when he slammed hard into you again, tearing a wrecked, helpless scream from your throat, Tom only laughed — low, dangerous, satisfied. Because this was where you belonged: beneath him, undone by him, made whole by him.

Your mind was long gone, blissfully obliterated by the way Tom claimed every part of you — the way his cock speared into you over and over, relentless, merciless.

You whimpered, desperate for more even though you barely had the strength to breathe, your hands flying to your chest without thought, squeezing your own breasts, seeking even more sensation, even more of him. Tom’s groan ripped through the room like thunder at the sight.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growled, voice thick, low, almost inhuman with need, “Touching yourself like a filthy little slut for me.”

He punctuated his words by slamming into you hard enough to knock the air from your lungs. You cried out, your fingers tightening reflexively around your breasts, your back arching as the pleasure wracked through you.

Tom’s eyes darkened further, his jaw clenching as he locked his gaze on the sight of you — completely broken, mindless for him, because of him.

A string of curses slipped from his lips as he shifted slightly, angling just right — and then he saw it.

There, right below your bellybutton, the unmistakable bulge of his cock pressing from inside you. The evidence of how deep he was, how thoroughly he owned you, made something wild and vicious snap inside him.

“Jesus, baby,” he hissed, voice nearly trembling with a sick kind of awe, “Look at that… can feel me… see me inside you.” Your body jerked at the rough, almost reverent tone in his voice, a helpless sob falling from your lips.

You clawed at the sheets, overwhelmed, undone, as Tom’s hips snapped harder, sharper into you, keeping that perfect, brutal pace.

“You’re so fucking small,” he groaned, “Made to take me, stuffed full of me… god, you love it, don’t you?”

You nodded frantically, whimpering incoherently as your thighs shook with the effort to keep yourself grounded against the vicious pleasure.

Tom’s hands tightened possessively on your hips, holding you there, forcing you to feel every devastating inch of him.

“That’s it,” he snarled, “Such a desperate little slut for my cock. Can’t even think straight, can you, baby? All you can do is take it. Take me. Like the good little fucktoy you are.”

Your vision blurred with tears of pleasure, your body shaking under the intensity of him — the roughness, the possession, the love burning underneath every brutal word, every vicious thrust.

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t beg, couldn’t do anything but sob his name over and over, your entire being reduced to nothing but sensation, need, and the overwhelming, all-consuming presence of him.

Tom bent over you then, pressing his chest to your back, caging you in completely as his hips continued to hammered into yours, dragging the mattress with every thrust.

He wrapped a hand around your throat, holding you there, grounding you, his voice a low growl against the shell of your ear.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, voice deadly soft now, reverent and dark and possessive, “Every fucking inch of you. Inside and out.”

You whimpered brokenly, your whole body trembling against him, your mind shattering completely as his cock hit that devastating spot over and over with brutal precision.

The world spun wildly around you — the only thing you could feel, could breathe, could be was him. And through it all, Tom didn’t stop — didn’t let you come down. He drove into you like he was carving himself into your very soul, like he was determined to make you feel him for days, weeks, forever.

The cry that ripped from your throat didn’t sound human — it was broken, desperate, all-consuming as your body convulsed, pleasure crashing over you like a violent tidal wave.

Tom groaned, low and guttural, when he felt you clench around him so tightly he almost lost it right then. Your body was milking him, so desperately needy, so frantically lost in him that he could barely hold himself together.

But Tom wasn’t gentle — not yet. Even as you shattered around him, he didn’t slow. His hips snapped forward with ruthless precision, keeping his brutal, relentless pace as he chased his own release.

“God, look at you,” he growled, voice dark and wrecked as he pinned you harder to the mattress, one hand pressing between your shoulder blades to hold you down, “Fucking wrecked. Crying for it. Milking my cock like a desperate little slut.”

Your moans turned louder, rawer, your body jolting helplessly with every vicious thrust. You didn’t care if the neighbors heard — didn’t care if the whole world heard the obscene sounds Tom was tearing from your throat.

All you could feel was the overwhelming fullness of him, the delicious pain of your overstimulated body, the way he owned you, mind, body, and soul.

He leaned down, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear as he kept pounding into you mercilessly.

“You know what love?” he snarled, “You will be a perfect mother to my child, gonna fill you up and put a baby in you.”

You whimpered brokenly, nodding, incapable of words, your body trembling so violently you felt like you might collapse if not for his strength caging you in.

Tom’s rhythm faltered — just for a second — his own release rushing up fast, overwhelming, inevitable.

He gritted his teeth, groaning through them, before he gripped your hips bruisingly hard and thrust once, twice, then buried himself to the hilt with a sharp growl.

You cried out again when you felt the sudden, hot flood of him spilling deep inside you, your walls fluttering helplessly around him as if trying to pull him deeper.

Tom dropped his forehead to your shoulder, panting against your skin, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist to keep you anchored to him, to keep you his.

“Mine,” he rasped, kissing the curve of your neck almost reverently, “Every fucking part of you… mine.”

You whimpered softly, your body giving one last shudder as he slowly rocked into you, drawing out every ounce of pleasure he could wring from you both.

The brutal dominance in him slowly melted into something softer — still possessive, still powerful — but layered with something deeper. Something sacred.

Tom nuzzled against your skin, his breath warm and heavy, his hands smoothing gently down your sides now, coaxing you back from the edge of oblivion.

The room was thick with heat, the only sound your shattered breathing and the slow, rhythmic thudding of Tom’s heart pressed against your back.

He shifted slightly, the movement causing his still-hard cock to nudge deeper inside you, making you whimper helplessly against him.

Tom chuckled low, dark, utterly possessive, and without pulling out, he simply wrapped his arms tighter around your trembling body, caging you fully against him.

“God, you’re so perfect,” he murmured, voice rough and wrecked, nose buried in your hair. “You’re so fucking good for me… and you don’t even realize how ruined you are.”

You whimpered again when you felt him throb inside you, your body clenching involuntarily around him. His arms tightened just a little more, grounding you, claiming you.

“Still squeezing me,” he breathed into your ear, dragging his mouth along the shell of it, “Still so desperate, even after everything I gave you.”

The praise mixed with the raw degradation sent your head spinning. Your entire body bowed back into him instinctively, arching into his heat, your mind blissfully blank except for the overwhelming feeling of him — everywhere.

Tom’s hand splayed over your lower stomach, right over where the bulge of him had been earlier, and he groaned deep in his chest, completely wrecked by the sight, the feeling, the power of it.

“You were made for me,” he said, voice low and brutal, “This pussy…this body… every fucking inch of you. Mine.”

You mewled softly, your hands gripping at his forearms, not sure if you wanted to pull him closer or push him away — not that either was possible. You were completely at his mercy.

Tom’s hips shifted then — a slow, devastating roll of his pelvis that made your breath hitch and your back arch further against him.

He thrusted lazily now, slow and deep, dragging out every nerve-ending burning high sensation inside you.

You tilted your head back against his shoulder, utterly gone for him, your mouth falling open in a helpless moan as he set a slow, torturous pace.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered against your throat, lips brushing your sweaty skin. “Take it. Feel how deep you let me ruin you.”

He sucked at the sensitive spot behind your ear, making you cry out softly, clenching down around him again.

“You love it,” he growled, gripping your waist, controlling every tiny movement, “You love being my good girl and my filthy little slut all at once.”

Another slow, dragging thrust made your toes curl. You could feel everything — the slow stretch, the raw friction, the overwhelming fullness — and you whimpered brokenly, letting him move you as he wanted.

Tom nuzzled your hair, pressing soft kisses along your temple, almost reverent as his hips kept that slow, merciless rhythm.

“You don’t have to think anymore,” he whispered, voice molten against your skin, “Just feel. Just belong to me.”

Tears pricked at your eyes from how overwhelming it was — the pleasure, the dominance, the brutal sweetness wrapped into every touch and word. Tom felt the way you shuddered against him and smiled against your skin.

“My perfect girl,” he murmured, holding you closer, locking you down tighter, as he rocked you both into a slow, delicious oblivion — both of you lost, completely and utterly, in the other.

The heavy air between you cracked with need as Tom groaned against your ear, his breath burning hot against your skin.

He could feel you clenching around him again, your body instinctively pulling him deeper, tighter — like you never wanted to let him go.

He muttered a curse under his breath, the sound low and ragged. Without warning, he shifted — pulling out just enough to make you whimper before maneuvering you onto your knees.

You barely had time to process the new position when his hands clamped hard onto your waist, holding you steady.

“You want to have my baby?” he growled, voice thick with possession, “Then take it.”

Before you could even moan an answer, Tom snapped his hips forward, thrusting hard into you, making your entire body jolt forward with a broken cry.

Your arms gave out immediately, face buried into the mattress as Tom’s grip on your waist tightened — anchoring you, controlling you, owning you.

His pace shifted brutally now, every thrust deep and ruthless, hitting that devastating spot inside you with perfect, devastating accuracy.

Your moans grew louder, more desperate, filling the room without shame, without restraint. You were far beyond caring who heard — you existed only for this, for him. Tom chuckled darkly behind you, the sound vibrating through your spine.

“You’re so loud, baby,” he rasped, voice dripping with smug satisfaction, “So needy… so desperate to be fucked dumb on my cock.” His hand slid up from your waist, wrapping around your shoulder in a rough, commanding grip.

You gasped when he yanked you back onto him even harder, his cock driving even deeper, your body slamming back into his.

“Mine,” he growled, punctuating the word with a brutal thrust that made you cry out. “Let's make your mum a grandma, yeah? we will make her carried her own husband baby and call it her grandbaby.”

You could feel tears pricking at the corner of your eyes from how overwhelming it all was — the stretch, the brutal pace, the unbearable, perfect pressure that was building again deep inside you.

Tom didn’t let up, not for a second. He wrapped his arm fully around your torso now, pinning you against his chest while still pounding into you from behind.

Your back arched almost painfully, completely at his mercy as he fucked you through the rising pleasure tearing you apart.

“You can’t even think anymore, can you?” he taunted against your ear, his voice a growl of dominance and dark affection, “All you can think about is how good I fucked you. How you belong to me.”

You sobbed out a broken moan, your body jerking with every relentless thrust, your mind nothing but white-hot pleasure and the sound of his voice. Tom groaned again, deep and guttural, feeling you tighten desperately around him.

“You’re getting close again, aren’t you?” he whispered roughly, his hand sliding up to squeeze your throat lightly — just enough to make your head swim in bliss, “Go ahead, baby. Fall apart for me. Scream for me.”

You shattered in his arms, crying out his name like a prayer, your body shaking violently as you came hard around him, your release ripping through you like a tidal wave.

Tom cursed harshly, hips stuttering as your walls milked him greedily. His grip on your waist bruised tight as he chased his own release, groaning deep against your ear.

A few more brutal, desperate thrusts and he buried himself to the hilt, spilling deep inside you with a broken, wrecked sound of your name.

He stayed inside you, breathing hard, holding you tight against him like he never wanted to let you go. And somehow, neither of you needed words — your bodies spoke for you.

The soft sound of your breathing filled the room, broken only by the slow thud of Tom’s heart against your ear. You were curled into him without hesitation — small, pliant, completely his — and it pulled a low, satisfied chuckle from his throat.

He shifted slightly, brushing his lips tenderly across your bare shoulder, the gesture instinctive, almost reverent.

“Rest, baby,” he whispered into your hair, voice low and rough with leftover desire, but touched with something softer.

Possessiveness. Pride.

You hummed in your sleep, snuggling even closer, making his chest ache in a way he couldn’t explain — a strange, raw mix of dominance and overwhelming protectiveness.

He chuckled again quietly to himself, his arms tightening around you as if the mere thought of letting go was unthinkable.

When he finally felt your body relax completely, truly slipping into deep sleep, he moved carefully. Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled out of you, groaning quietly at the warm, messy slide.

You whimpered softly in your sleep at the sudden loss, your hips instinctively rolling back toward him, seeking him even in dreams. Tom cursed softly under his breath, his chest tightening with something primal.

He didn’t resist; he wrapped you back up in his arms immediately, pressing your smaller frame flush against him, needing to feel your warmth, your weight, your everything.

He stared down at you, a slow, wicked smile curving his lips as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

God, you were perfect.

And as he held you, Tom’s mind wandered — not to guilt or doubt like it once might have — but to the night it all began.

The first night he claimed you.

The memory was a vivid, searing brand burned into him — just like you were. You’d been so sweet, so hesitant, his perfect stepdaughter who always looking up at him with those wide, innocent eyes, trembling slightly but trusting him completely.

Your submission hadn’t been forced; it had been given. A gift. One that he hadn’t been gentle with — not in the way you might have expected — but in the way you needed.

That first night, he’d pushed you.

He could still remember how you whimpered when he first pinned your wrists above your head, how your breath caught when he whispered dirty praises and dark promises against your throat.

He remembered the way you melted under his touch, surrendering inch by inch, your body craving him even before you understood it. You hadn’t fought it. You’d thrived under it. Under him.

Tom’s fingers traced lightly down your spine now, mapping the same paths he had that night — still in awe of how perfectly you fit into his arms, his life, his world.

“You were mine from the start, weren’t you, pretty girl?” he murmured quietly against your temple, his voice a dark, adoring growl.

His toy.

His obsession.

His sweetest addiction.

Tom smiled to himself, the possessive heat in his chest only growing. He could still feel the way your body had given in, piece by piece, until you didn’t even know where you ended and he began.

You hadn’t just submitted to him — You belonged to him. Still tangled together, his hand slid down to rest possessively over your hip, fingers splaying wide as if staking his claim all over again.

He didn’t need ropes or cuffs right now. You were already tethered to him — body, mind, and soul. He buried his face into the crook of your neck again, breathing you in deeply.

Tom smiled wickedly against your skin, already planning how he was going to wake you up — how he was going to remind you again and again exactly who you belonged to. But for now, he would let you rest.

©2025 hisfavegirl. No part of this story may be copied, stored, transmitted, or shared in other apps.

Status came with expectations. On how to behave, on how to speak, even on how to dress. Money came with visibility, it came with assumptions. Gwayne made sure to meet and exceed those expectations at every turn.

The Hightowers were a old and notable family, there were few who did not know their name. And his father expected the most from him. He was the eldest son after all, the one who could continue the Hightower legacy when Otto was gone.

And those expectations extended to you.

While your family name had a status of its own, it held no candle to that of the Hightowers. In comparison, your family name was infantile compared to the Hightower's elder status.

For the most part, you would meet those standards. Acting as befitted a young woman of your station. But you were, as well, only human. Mistakes would be made. Stumbles on your path, as it were. Never something to cause a scandal, but you had toed the line once or twice.

That was until you met Gwayne.

He had never needed to say it, but you knew from the moment your relationship with the Oldtown heir went public, you would have to rein in your moderately wayward ways. You did your best, especially in public. There was never a moment where there were not a set of eyes on you or your boyfriend.

Even when you least expected there to be.

The gala had been in preparation for months. It was an annual event, rotated between the oldest families from all over Westeros and this year it was the turn of the Hightowers. Which meant Gwayne had been more on edge about reputation than he usually was.

Today was no different, as he paced the floor of his living room. Your eyes followed him, back and forth until you felt dizzy.

"Darling, stop worrying!" you snapped, though the frustration wasn't directed at him specifically.

That stopped Gwayne in his tracks, his usually perfect hair ruffled from running his hands through it over and over again. His eyes bore into yours with an intensity that should have made you question your interruption, but he was like this all the time.

"Stop worrying? This is the first gala hosted by my father where we…" he moved closer, his hand pointing back and forth between you and him.

"…have been a couple."

His hands rested on the arms of your chair, leaning down to meet your gaze.

"Do not tell me to stop worrying."

You couldn't help it, it was like your body began running on autopilot. Your eyes rolling before he had even finished speaking. You were sure you could hear the fabric scratching under his fingertips as he clenched his hands on the chair's arms.

But you spoke before he had the chance to.

"Worrying does nothing except make you unbearable. I am aware how important tonight is, considering it has been all you've talked about for what feels like forever," you answered, meeting his gaze with an arched brow.

You knew why he was worried, but it hurt that he apparently had little to no faith in you. You expected him to argue back, but he didn't. Gwayne pushed away from you with a low grunt, making you almost ready to jump up and make him argue with you.

You were tired of him like this. Yes, the galas were important. They usually fostered business deals, relationships of all kinds. And Gwayne was the heir to his family business, of course it all put him on edge.

But when he was frustrated, so were you and your emotions often played an unfortunate role in your behaviour.

"Do as you please," you muttered, standing and collecting your coat and handbag from the stand by the door.

"I have appointments to get to…for this oh so important gala."

And then you were gone. The front door slamming behind you and echoing through the apartment.

You didn't come back that night. Or the next one. You knew you would just start an argument if you did and neither of you needed that. Not when the gala was only a few nights away. Plus, you were busy enough doing your own preparations.

With so many eyes expected to be on you, you needed to look your best. Not only for yourself. but for Gwayne. You represented him now as much as you represented yourself and your family.

That didn't stop you feeling a little mad at him though. He would assure you time and time again that your past missteps weren't something he worried about. Yet based on his reaction, they most certainly did. Even if he didn't voice those concerns out loud anymoe.

But that was a problem for right now, you had other things to focus on.

Gwayne was much the same. He thought to call you, but whenever he had a spare moment it seemed someone would find a way to take that time away from him too.

He just hoped you still came to the gala at all.

Tonight was the night.

You had spent the past week getting yourself ready. Beauty appointments of varying kinds, finalising your outfit. You were well versed enough in galas to know exactly what would be appropriate attire and what would not.

The Hightowers were old-money. Classic, dare you say old fashioned. Sometimes you loved it, sometimes you hated it. But when you picked up your dress, you were firmly back in the 'love it' camp. You wanted to impress, mostly for yourself.

But also to try and prove to Gwayne you weren't the same person he met just under a year ago. You could only hope that was a path you could safely walk down.

It took a few hours for you to get ready, though were thankful for the help of your longstanding team. They were no longer people you just paid for a service, they were friends. That little group kept you on track for every event, for the last five years.

Your phone pinged as your hairdresser, Flissa, worked on tackling your style for the night. You only glanced at it, quickly seeing Gwayne's name flash on the screen. With a sigh, you picked it up.

Angel, I know you're probably busy getting ready, but I can't wait to see you later x

Your lips pursed in response. You were admittedly still a little mad at him, but you knew you couldn't carry that forward to tonight. Any kind of frustration would only put the night going well at risk. After taking a moment, you began typing out your reply.

You know me all too well, darling. Can't wait to see you too x

You didn't think much more of it. The second you put your phone back down, your entire focus was on getting ready. There was only a few more hours left to get ready and make your way into Oldtown.

The doors to Gwayne's family home loomed over you. You had text him to say you had arrived, half an hour before the gala was to start - an expected arrival time for someone close to the hosting family.

He had promised he was 'just going to be five minutes' and when you checked the time, he still had two minutes but it felt like an eternity. Then the door finally opened, revealing Gwayne, suited and booted as you expected him to be.

Gwayne pulled you in quickly, the warmth of the house immediately enveloping you as he wrapped an arm around your waist.

"My sister is in the lounge if you want to go in there? A few people have arrived already but father needs me in the study," he explained, fingers stroking up and down your side as you walked.

You could tell he was still stressed, but he was doing his best not to be in front of you. But you weren't ready to be over it all yet, as petty as it might be. As you both came within a few steps of the lounge, you untangled yourself from his hold.

"Aren't you worried I might cause a problem if I'm left unattended?"

You could see the muscle in his jaw tick. But Gwayne said nothing. Only staring at you before simply turning and walking away. Maybe when the party began and he had loosened up a little, you would stop being so difficult.

With a roll of your eyes, you walked into the lounge. Immediately being greeted by Alicent and a few of your shared friends. A drink was pressed into your hands, any thoughts of Gwayne quickly leaving your mind as you began to socialise.

You remained in the lounge until the other guests began to arrive. Filtering inside in small groups, some entering the lounge you were in, others at the bar in the dining room or out in the gardens.

Gwayne was somewhere nearby, you could hear his laugh. But it wasn't common for you to spend all night with him at parties like this. Being glued to each other's side would be as looked down upon as not crossing paths at all.

You were meet when the meal was served, maybe dance together a few times or chat to a shared group of friends. But that was about it. The gala was essentially a chance for you to relax with friends whilst Gwayne networked.

And it was all fine. You laughed with your friends and Alicent, sharing stories and drinks. Gwayne met new people, solidified himself as the next head of the Hightower family.

You and the girls decided they were going to commandeer a nearby circle of couches, with Alicent bowing out to go and see if anything else needed doing for the party - she was sociable but nothing compared to you and the others.

A server set down more drinks. Then more, and then few more. You didn't see your friends as often anymore, life getting in the way and all that, so times like these were when you really got together and socialised.

Should you have kept asking for more? Probably not. But it was another hour before the meal, though you'd treated yourself to the canapes being carried around. And it would be at least another hour or more until the party really started - the Hightowers may have seemed old fashioned and a little uptight at times, but they knew how to throw a party.

You were a social being, and you couldn't stand around and do nothing for that long. Champagne flutes were soon emptied by you and your friends, the offer of specially made cocktails being made with a chorus of yeses from you all.

This was a party after all.

Gwayne had done his due diligence, working through the mental list of names his father had told him 'he simply had to speak to tonight'. It was laborious but worth it. He could hear you, chatting with his sister and then your friends. Your laughter breaking through the monotony of business conversations.

He tried to catch a second, even just to meet your eyes and check in. But that second never came. You, however, decided you had been parted from him for long enough.

He had just started yet another conversation, though the talk had wandered from business to just general chitchat. Gwayne recognised the warmth of your arm the second it hooked through his.

But he didn't quite appreciate the slightly drunken giggle that left your lips. He tensed for just a moment, his free hand holding on to yours that rested against his forearm, in a failed hope at keeping you in check.

"Darling," you giggled and Gwayne gave the man across from him a tight smile.

All he had to do was steer you away, get you a little food and everything would be fine…

…until you spoke again.

He knew it was just the alcohol. These parties were boring, he couldn't quite blame you. But he couldn't exactly say any of that in front of potential business partner.

"Can we go for a walk? It's so boring in here…"

You were almost hanging of his arm. Gwayne might have found it cute, if the location was different. This would be a situation he would handle later.

The man across from him frowned, he was about Gwayne's father's age and clearly concerned about the state you were in. And Gwayne knew Otto would surely hear all about this later.

"Love, not right now, alright. You go get some air and I'll join you in a minute." Gwayne said tersely, squeezing your arm and pulling his from you grasp.

But as you moved to walk away, a small pout on your lips, he leaned in and whispered for only you to hear.

"And when we get home, we're going to have a chat about how good girls behave."

There was something in his tone that made you shiver. He had made no secret of his more dominant streak both in and out of the bedroom. Maybe it was the alcohol, but you almost wanted to act up again just to get more.

And your bratty streak easily rivalled his dominant one.

"If you spent more time with me, I wouldn't be misbehaving now, would I?"

You sauntered off, or so you thought. What Gwayne actually saw was your slightly wobbly walk away to the patio. But it wasn't going to change his plans for later. He just had to get through this party and get you to himself at home.

Gwayne was quiet the entire ride home. Eyes trained on the road ahead - he rarely drank at parties like this, he hardly had time to. But the tight hold on your thigh told you exactly what kind of trouble you were in at home.

It wasn't that he was angry with you, not in the sense that this would be an argument. There had long been a silent agreement that if you stepped too close to how you used to act, he would bring you back to where you wanted to be. In whichever way was needed.

Even as the car pulled on to the driveway, Gwayne was silent. Though he still rounded the car to open your door and help you out. His hand held yours tight, almost dragging you into the house.

You couldn't help it. Excitement bubbled in your belly at just the idea of what he might choose to do as your…punishment. The last affects of the alcohol made you feel a little giddy, but you still had enough sense about you to know tonight was only going to get more enjoyable.

Gwayne let the door slam behind you both as you entered the apartment, flicking on the lights and throwing his jacket onto the couch and continuing on to the bedroom. You followed almost a little too enthusiastically, kicking off your shoes with stumbling steps.

"Darling…" you smiled as you made it through the bedroom door, but Gwayne was already half dressed with his supple leather belt in his hand.

Just what you wanted. Your favourite kind of punishment, sometimes you would even act out on purpose in just the hope it would happen. And you knew Gwayne enjoyed it as much as you did, considering it benefitted you both most of the time.

He sat down, belt in one hand and his free one tapping rhythmically against his thigh.

"You know what to do, princess."

That name sent such pleasurable shivers down your spine. Every single time. It was a name he saved only for situations like this. Following on from orders or whispered into your ear when he was buried deep inside you.

So it was no surprise you immediately got into position. Laying down over his lap, Gwayne had sat far enough back for you to rest your forearms and knees over the mattress. His hand ran up and down over the curve of your backside, making you arch in his hold.

The cool air of his apartment hit your skin as he lifted the skirt of your dress. You felt the vibration of groan through your whole body as he saw the underwear you had chosen. Maybe there had been a little foresight in your behaviour tonight.

"You naughty, naughty girl," Gwayne whispered, running a finger over the lace.

You had a chosen a very specific piece of underwear, a mix of lace and sheer fabrics, with a peekaboo back giving Gwayne a delicious view of your bare skin. He seemed to be lost at the sight, forgetting what was supposed to be happening.

"Did you plan this, hmm?" he asked, squeezing the flesh of one of the cheeks.

Your giggle was muffled by the bed below, earning you a warning tap on the backside. Apparently the sound was enough to snap Gwayne back to reality. But you weren't done. Once a brat, always a brat.

Putting more weight onto your elbows, you lifted just a little. Wiggling your hips and giggling again. That earned a little more than a warning slap to your backside, followed by a slow and purposeful tutting sound from your boyfriend.

"I'll take that as a yes."

You could hear the sound of the belt buckle as Gwayne moved into a better position. One hand on your back to keep you still while he shifted the belt into a better hold. You braced yourself, his punishments were both long and pleasurable.

The first hit rang out in the silence of the room. A soft yelp leaving you as your hands tightened into the sheets. It was like he knew just how hard to hit to give you that sting of pain while keeping it enjoyable.

"Count." he ordered, smoothing a hand over the slightly pink flesh before preparing for the next one.

You did as you were told, for now. You knew you had a little room for misbehaviour, even now. Counting with every stinging slap as Gwayne alternated from one cheek to the other. As you reached ten, you counted help let out a soft moan as he hit number eleven.

The hand on your back tightened, but he said nothing. Only hitting for number twelve.

He kept going. All the way to twenty before you began to squirm against him. You could feel the dampness growing between your thighs, unable to stop yourself from trying to rub yourself against his thigh.

Gwayne let out a soft hum. You were enjoying this a little too much.

He let the belt hit twice, in quick succession. Giving you no chance to even register the sting before the pleasure. You were almost dripping now. He could feel the heat of you even through his trousers.

Another two, quick again. And again. Until you could hardly hold back the moans.

"You're not supposed to be enjoying this, little princess," Gwayne chuckled, marvelling at how your skin reacted to every hit.

You heard the belt clink as he put it down. Then the rough feel of his palm as he smoothed over your warm, stinging skin. It was almost overwhelming, but you still wanted more. You wiggled your hips again and Gwayne's hand squeezed at the heated flesh. The sting made your back arch again.

But Gwayne gave you no reprieve. Sliding his hand down, dipping between your thighs with a slowness that bordered on torturous. Barely touching you, simpling smearing your wetness over your skin.

"But you do, don't you?"

He dipped his fingers lower, ghosting over your folds and then your pearl. With just enough pressure to have you whining.

"You like having Daddy punish you?"

He only got another moan as an answer. His fingers tapping against your bud in response, sending shockwaves through your body. Then he tapped again, like he was patiently waiting for an answer.

"Yes, Daddy," you whispered, earning your a gentle press to your swollen bud.

Gwayne chuckled. Maybe you had been punished enough, even he had the limits to which he wished to wait.

His fingers moved through your folds, slowly, but just enough to send desire racing through your veins. The hand on your back moving to stroke through your hair. The dual sensations, the stimulation, enough to make your eyes roll back.

You could already feel him hardening beneath you, pressing insistently against your stomach.

He picked up the pace, the wet push of his fingers mingling with the sound of your soft pants and moans. The hand in your hair coming down to massage at your backside again. Pleasure burned at your insides. Your body shifting as you tried to chase more and more of his touch.

His name came out as a gasp as your release ploughed through you before you could even think. Gwayne could feel the twitch and pull of your inner muscles, letting you ride out your high before he said a word.

And you knew from the way the hand on your backside tightened…you were in for a little more punishment.

"Did I say you could come, princess?"

Your eyes went wide. Two sharp spanks to your backside were the consequence to your actions. Making the still reddened flesh sting as your body continued to work through your orgasm.

"No, Daddy." you whispered, but if Gwayne could have seen your face, he would have seen no remorse at all.

Gwayne squeezed your backside one last time, before hauling you up to straddle his lap. The bulge in his trousers now thick beneath you. You couldn't help yourself, rolling against him with a soft moan.

"You really are defiant tonight, aren't you?" Gwayne mused, tangling a hand in your hair as his other slipped between you both. A few deft movements pushing the last two barriers out of the way.

The hard length of cock was nestled perfectly between your folds, a desperate little whine leaving you when he didn't immediately push inside.

"Please?" you asked, attempting to lean down and press kisses against his jaw.

Gwayne chuckled, leaning back and letting you get one kiss in before pulling away. His hands now resting on your hips to hold you still.

"How about a deal?" he asked, smiling as you immediately nodded, "Make Daddy come before you do?"

You answered with an attempt at a roll of your hips, making Gwayne smirk. He loosened his hold on your body, gripping himself at the base and pressing the swollen tip of his cock against your waiting core.

You both groaned in unison when he finally pushed in. Your head falling back in sheer pleasure. Gwayne held your hips for support but did nothing to help you move. This was meant to be all on you.

The pace started slow. Letting yourself adjust to the intrusion while ignoring the echo of a sting on your backside. Gwayne held you steady, fingers squeezing at the flesh of your hips as you finally sank down on to him fully.

But a slow pace was not what was needed. You were determined. Gwayne had set you a challenge and you had no interest in failing.

Before long, you moved like a woman possessed. Your body moving so fluidly, Gwayne was almost hypnotised. With every pass, the steady press of your body against his, he could feel his release creeping up on him.

His grip was bruising, his hands moving to palm at your backside. He wasn't taking a backseat anymore. Helping you lift and roll your hips until he could hardly contain his own low groans of pleasure.

"Fuck, princess…" he groaned, squeezing the flesh of your cheeks as he felt his body go rigid, his length twitching inside you before he could even hold himself back.

You kept moving. Pressing your lips to his as he grunted through his orgasm. Holding you tight as he thrust into you a few more times until he stilled. Gwayne fell back on to the bed, pulling you back down with him.

He remained buried inside you, as your face nuzzled into his neck. His hands running up and down your back as he pressed his face into your hair. It was moments like this, that he realised one thing.

He wouldn't change you for the world.

Gwayne Taglist:

@blissfulphilospher @multyfangirl @thenameswinter99

@elaratyrell @tumblin-theworldaway @legitalicat @sylasthegrim

@dixie-elocin

"This good?" you asked, slowly sinking down on his cock. Moments before you guys were just watching a movie, laughing and telling jokes when suddenly Koby asked- no, he pleaded for you to finally take you guys' relationship to the next level.

His hands roamed your body, gripping and squeezing at your hips, thighs, ass and tits. He looked up at you and nodded, "Yes, yes it's good ah!" he moaned, head resting on your shoulder.

"Let me know when you want me to move." you sat still, or as still as you possibly could but Koby was filling you up and you just wanted to move and feel him twitch inside of you.

You didn't want to be rough with him especially considering that it's his first time. But at the same time, you just wanted to bounce on his cock and hear his whines fill the room.

"I'm ready, y-you can move..." his face was red, and his lips swollen from the number of times you've kissed him. You lifted yourself up and slowly sunk down. You repeated this slowly for a little before his whimpers filled your ears. You didn't want to go too fast for him, so you buried your head in his neck and sunk your teeth in his flesh. Biting and sucking, leaving marks that contrasted his skin.

He dug his nails in the fat of your thighs and hip. "Can you...can you go faster? P-Please...?" He asked, letting out an airy moan. "Yeah, baby." you smiled, picking up your pace.

Koby threw his head back and grabbed at your hips. The warm feeling of your gummy walls and the way you clenched around him was such a wonderful feeling. God, he wonders why he didn't ask for this sooner.

Usually he'd just jerk off to a memory of you, or even your voice just wondering how you felt but the poor boy was just too nervous to ask, he's glad he did though. Finally getting that feeling of your skin on his, your pretty cunt swallowing his cock, Even your moans which were growing louder and louder made him wish he asked way sooner.

"You're doing s'good baby, so so good,"

The praise went in his ear and sent shivers down his body. He never thought he'd like that. He'd do whatever you wanted just to hear those words fall from your perfect lips.

Koby's hips bucked up and he pulled you down at the same time, earning a gasp from you. The feeling was so good that he just kept doing it. You gripped his shoulders, nails digging into him. He slowed his movements, "W-what? Did you not like it? I could stop,"

"No! No, I liked it. Please, keep going,"

He looked up at you and nodded, he leaned back against the headboard of his bed and lifted his hips while having you bounce on him.

Though, your legs started getting just a bit tired, but you wanted to keep going, to make his first time the best time.

"I- I'm gonna cum,"

"Then cum baby, you did so good, look so pretty under me."

"I do?"

The way he asked that while looking up at you. The way his glasses were fogging up and resting on the lower part of his nose. His lips were wet and puffy and red from the number of times you've kissed him and the number of times he has been biting and tugging at his lips.

You nodded your head as best as you could. Your hips started to stutter, and you tugged at Koby's hair. He moaned into your shoulder and pulled you extremely and impossibly close to him.

Your thighs tightened around his hips as the two of you came. The euphoric feeling of your cum sliding down his cock and onto his thighs made him slightly blush and may have gotten him hard again.

He rested his head in between your neck and held you for a while. When he leaned back and looked at you through low lids and a flushed face he smiled.

"Thank you,"

His voice was raspy and hoarse.

"You're welcome, my pretty boy.