·:*¨༺𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒙༻¨*:·

When he suddenly leaves your cunt clenching around nothing, you whine at the emptiness. You begin to protest, but his voice, thick and dripping with desire, cuts through the silence first. 

“I want you on your knees, baby.” He lightly smacks your thigh and steps off the bed to stand. His cock hanging hard and wet between his thighs. It’s enough to make your mouth water and a part of you hopes he’s about to fuck your throat. You immediately begin to sit up on your knees, admittedly a little wobbly from how well he had been fucking you up until that point. “Remmick, what - “ 

“You think I didn’t notice earlier when you left more than a few buttons undone on your dress, hm? Leavin’ just a little peek of those pretty tits to tease me?” 

Okay, so he did notice. You can’t help but duck your head down in shyness.

“Nu-uh, chin up. Let me see ‘em.” 

He’s standing over you now, cock in hand and lazily stroking himself. Just the sight of him before you is enough to make your clit throb and a burning heat pulse between your thighs. You’re not even the least bit upset that he stopped fucking you, because seeing him like this; the want and need in his red-rimmed eyes, his fangs half-exposed, is pleasure enough. To be this wanted is all you’ve ever dreamed of. 

You proudly present your bare tits and tilt your head to look up at him. He looks down at you, his mouth slightly open with a sly subtle grin. You notice a small string of drool pooling that’s halfway down his chin. He groans. “Come here,” he says, but it comes out more like a groan, like he’s in pain every second he’s not touching you. 

He steps forward and a firm hand comes behind your neck. He tilts your head up before bending down and meeting you with a punishing kiss that takes your breath away. He pulls away but not before giving your bottom lip a sharp nip that makes you squeak. You feel the sensation of his bite between your legs which makes you grind against the bunched bed sheets. He reaches behind you to grab the pillow and folds it in half. “Sit up for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs. 

You oblige him and he guides you to widen your legs enough for him to slip the pillow between them. The slight pressure into your aching cunt is delicious and it’s difficult for you to not start grinding into it, to chase the high you were so close to reaching before he decided he wanted to play with you. He must see your frustration because he gives your forehead a quick peck. “Oh you still gonna get yours, don’t you worry about that.” 

What he does next though sends you nearly over the edge. He closes his mouth for just a moment and it looks like he’s trying to concentrate on what he’s tasting, but he smiles a wicked, devilish smirk and lets all the drool and saliva he’d been building up fall down from his lips and drip right in between your breasts. It’s not cold, but you shiver at the sensation. He steps away to admire what he’s done to you. It’s like he’s taking in a painting in a museum, if that painting was also a meal he wanted to devour. You can’t help but grind into the pillow now, and a small moan escapes you as you hold his gaze while you move your hips like you would if you were riding him. 

He growls before stepping forward and guiding his length to sit between the crevice of your tits.

Oh. 

Oh.

“Hold them together for me, love.” His typical twang is replaced by his Irish lilt and you can’t help but smile. You love it when he lets the mask slip. When you get a glimpse at the man underneath the monster. When you’ve managed to make him lose his senses. 

You hold your breasts together tight around his hot cock as he begins to move, slipping in and out between them. His precum leaks onto the swell of your breasts and finds its place among the spit that’s been smeared by his movements. You look down at the head of him peeking through your bust which makes you start to ride the pillow between your legs harder. The sight of him is so deliciously dirty and this act of pure unadulterated filth the two of you are engaged in is not lost on you. You would’ve never dreamed of doing something like this with anyone else, but he’s managed to drag you down deep into depravity.

He’s long enough that you can easily bend your head down and quickly lick the tip before it disappears again. You take a page from his book and spit, letting your own liquid fall down your chin and settle in between your tits and onto the head of his cock. He releases a deep throaty moan and begins to quicken his pace, but still maintaining a steady rhythm. 

He has a one hand grip on your left shoulder to steady himself and you sneak an open mouthed kiss to the top of his hand, continuing your ministrations onto the pillow while he uses the crevice between your tits to get himself off.

“That’s it,” he hums. “That’s fuckin’ it…” He punctuates his words with thrusts, his breath growing ragged with the effort of chasing his own pleasure. 

You whine, the grinding onto the pillow has brought you to the brink of climax. You’re so close, but there’s just something keeping you from falling over the edge. It’s maddening. But Remmick knows what you need without you having to ask. His free hand comes to cover your right breast and palm it, squeezing it roughly, but not so rough as to cause undo pain. You cry out with the new sensation that has somehow sent a direct line of pleasure directly to your center. It’s like he’s touching your clit but yet he couldn’t be farther from it. You gasp his name which makes his movements become jerky and uneven. He was close. 

“I’m about to give that pretty little neck of yours a necklace,” he snarls. “You ready for it?” 

All you can do is nod as he continues to squeeze your breast and let his thumb run across your hardened nipple which sends you into bliss. Your climax hits you like waves, first a blinding light and then smaller bursts. You feel his cock tighten and twitch before painting your chest in ropes of his release. 

He pulls out and away from your chest and presses his fingers lightly to your skin, making sure to spread his cum across your chest from collarbone to collarbone. He is the painter and you are his canvas. 

“Hmm, what should I call you?” he muses. “Call me?” Your orgasm has left you dumb.

“Darlin’ from where I’m standing, you’re a goddamn masterpiece deservin’ of a proper name.”