angel cake

"five minutes," he grins, holding up the remote. "just wanna show you how this massage function works."

as soon as you're within reach, he grabs your wrist and pulls you down onto his lap. the clipboard nearly slips from your hands as you land sideways across his thighs.

"bobby!" you laugh, trying to push yourself up. "clark will kill me if i don't finish this inventory."

"clark can wait," he murmurs, his lips finding that spot behind your ear that makes you melt. "you've been working wayyyy too hard anyway."

his hands slide down to your hips, fingers tracing patterns through your skirt as he starts kissing down your neck. you can feel his breath against your skin, warm and teasing.

"seriously, i need to-oh," you gasp as he nips at your pulse point, your body betraying you as you lean into his touch.

"need to what, babe?" he asks, his voice muffled against your skin. "right now i think you need to relax." before you can protest again, he's guiding your hips to move against him and lifting your thigh to get you to straddle him. the friction sends a jolt straight to your core, and you bite back a moan.

"bobby," you breathe, but your hands are already tangling in his hair instead of pushing him away.

"that's it," he murmurs, his hands tightening on your hips as he helps you grind against him. "just like that."

his lips find yours, and you're lost in the kiss, all thoughts of work and inventory sheets forgotten. his tongue explores your mouth as your hips move against his with increasing urgency.

"god, you feel so good on me," he whispers against your lips. "been thinking about this all fuckin’ day."

"me too," you admit, your head falling back as he kisses down your neck again.

the leather chair creaks softly as your movements become more desperate. bobby's hands slide from your hips to your ass, practically kneading your ass as he guides your movements.

"like that?" he asks, though he already knows the answer from the way you're grinding against him. "you like rubbing against me like this?"

you can only nod, words failing you as pleasure builds with each movement. bobby's dirty talk has always been your weakness…the sweet way he says the filthiest things.

"wish we were naked," he murmurs, his hips bucking up to meet yours. "wish i could feel how wet you are right now."

the thought sends a fresh wave of arousal through you, and you press harder against him, chasing the pleasure that's building with each movement.

“this is a really bad idea…” you whine in a haze, “anyone can walk in and catch us-”

"let 'em watch," he growls, his hands gripping your ass tighter. "maybe they'll learn something."

you laugh breathlessly, but it turns into a moan as he shifts his angle, pressing perfectly against your clit through the denim. the friction is maddening, not enough to get you there but more than enough to drive you wild.

"that's it," he encourages, his voice dropping to that low rumble that makes your stomach clench. "ride me just like that baby…"

bobby's hands guide you, his mouth claiming yours again as he swallows your moans.

"ew! guys!" kat's voice cuts through your post-orgasmic haze. "really?! on the furniture we're selling?!"

you and bobby freeze simultaneously, eyes wide with panic as kat stands there, hands on her hips, looking utterly disgusted.

"we had a deal! if he got to hang out here like a deadbeat loser, we agreed NO SEXUAL ACTIVITIES in the store!"

bobby has the decency to look embarrassed, though he's still holding you tightly on his lap. "we were not having sex," he defends. "our clothes are on."

kat stares at him like he's just grown a second head. "the 'it doesn't count with clothes on' rule? seriously? are we fifteen again?”

"we weren't-" you start, but she cuts you off.

"don't even," she grimaces. "i can see exactly what you two were doing…grinding all over each other like teenagers in the back of a movie theater…"

"it's not like we stained it," bobby mutters.

kat throws her hands up in exasperation. "oh, well that makes it perfectly fine then! as long as the furniture remains pristine, feel free to turn my workplace into your personal love nest!"

you hide your face in your hands, mortified. "can we please just forget this happened?"

"oh, i'm not forgetting this," kat says, "i'm mentally documenting this moment for future blackmail purposes."

"hey!" bobby protests. "that's not fair, we didn't even finish."

"BOBBY!" you and kat yell in unison.

"what?" he asks, genuinely confused. "i'm just saying, it's rude to cockblock." he grumbles, finally loosening his grip enough for you to slide off his lap.

as you stand awkwardly adjusting your clothes, kat looks between you both with disgust.

"you two are like horny rabbits with impulse control issues. now get back to work before i tell clark you're both 'stress testing' the furniture cause i'm pretty sure that's not in the job description."

"actually," bobby pipes up, "i think it could fall under 'team building exercises'."

kat stares at him, then at you, then back at him again. "i'm going to pretend you didn't just say that. now both of you, back to work. and if i catch you 'testing' any more furniture, i'm hosing you both down with the fire extinguisher."

as she walks away, bobby leans in to whisper, "think she'd really use the fire extinguisher?"

you stared at the message, your heart hammering against your ribs. your apartment, your sanctuary, suddenly felt like a glass box, and he was standing right outside, able to see everything.

you scrambled off your bed and crept to the window, peeking through the blinds. down below, under the flickering streetlamp, stood his figure.

even from this distance, even with the distortion of the glass, you knew it was him. he was just standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, looking up at the building with an unnerving stillness.

panic, cold and sharp, lanced through you. how? how did he find you? you were always so careful. you never used your real name, never showed the outside of your building, never gave away any identifying details. but he'd used your name in the message. a name you couldn't even remember sharing. a cold dread settled in your stomach.

your phone buzzed again, the sound making you jump.

aeri0n_t: i know you're in there. please just talk to me.

you didn't answer. you couldn't. you just stood there, frozen, watching him as he pulled out his phone and typed. a moment later, a new message appeared.

aeri0n_t: i'm coming up.

no. no, no, no. you backed away from the window, your mind racing. you could lock the door and hide in the bathroom. you could-

the knock echoed through your apartment, loud and insistent.

you held your breath, praying he'd think you weren't home, that he'd just leave.

"i know you're in there," his voice called through the door, muffled but clear. it was deeper than it was through your speakers, rougher around the edges with an emotion you couldn't quite place. maybe frustration? desperation?

"i can see your light is on. please, just open the door sweetheart."

you stayed silent, your back pressed against the wall, your entire body trembling.

"please," he said again, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "i'm not going to hurt you. i just...i need to know you're okay. you ignored me for four days. i was worried."

his words should have been reassuring, but they weren't. he was worried…he was so worried he'd tracked you down and was now standing at your door, demanding entry. this wasn't the sweet, reverent "silver dragon" from your chat room.

another knock, harder this time. "open the door, or i swear to god, i'll wake up every single person on this floor until someone lets me in."

the thought of causing a scene, of your neighbors seeing him, of them finding out what you did for a living, was more horrifying than facing him yourself. with a shaking hand, you reached for the deadbolt and turned it. the chain was still on, a flimsy last line of defense. you peered through the crack.

he was even more striking in person. with the lean, athletic build you'd only seen in glimpses on screen. his hair was a shock of silver-white, messy and sticking up slightly, he was dressed in dark, expensive-looking clothes, but they were rumpled, as if he'd been wearing them for days. and his face…his face was a storm of emotion. anger, yes, but also a deep, unsettling distress that made him look younger, more vulnerable, and infinitely more dangerous.

"oh fuck," he breathed, his eyes finding yours in the narrow opening. relief washed over his features, quickly replaced by a simmering fury. "why didn't you answer me?"

you swallowed hard, your throat dry. "aerion... you can't be here. how did you find me?"

he didn't answer. instead, he simply put his shoulder to the door. the chain snapped with a loud crack, and he was inside your apartment, pushing past you before you could even react. he kicked the door shut behind him, the sound of it clicking into place echoing like a gunshot in the sudden silence.

he stood in the middle of your living room, his gaze sweeping over your space—over the soft glow of your ring light, the scattered lingerie, the laptop still open on your bed. his jaw was tight, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. he looked like a caged predator.

"four days," he said, his voice low and dangerously quiet. he turned his full attention to you, and you took an involuntary step back. "you ignored me for four fucking days. with no fucking explanation. i thought something happened to you…"

"you shouldn't have come here," you whispered, wrapping your arms around yourself, a pathetic attempt at a barrier. "you're scaring me."

his expression softened for a fraction of a second, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. he took a step toward you, and you flinched. he stopped, his hands coming up in a gesture of surrender.

"i'm not going to hurt you," he said, his voice gentler now, but the intensity was still there, burning beneath the surface. "i just...i needed to see you."

he closed the remaining distance between you, his movements slow and deliberate. he didn't touch you, not at first. he just stood there, so close you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, could smell the faint, clean scent of his cologne mixed with something else, something metallic and sharp, like ozone before a storm.

"why were you ignoring me?" he asked again, his voice barely a whisper. he reached out, his fingers gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. his touch was surprisingly soft, but it made your heart pound with fear. "was it something i said? something i did?"

"this... this isn't a good time," you stammered, your mind racing for an excuse, any excuse. "i was... i'm in the middle of something."

he glanced over at your laptop, then back at you, a knowing, almost bitter smile playing on his lips. "a show? were you about to go live for them? for the faceless masses who tip you in tokens and don't give a shit about you?"

he stepped even closer, his body now even closer against yours. his face was inches from yours, his eyes searching yours, desperate and demanding. "i gave you a shit ton of tokens. i gave you my name. i thought...i thought we had something."

"we don't have anything," you said, your voice trembling but firm. "this is my job. you're a client. that's all."

"don't say that," he growled, “i'm not just some client. i'm the one who tells you you're beautiful when everyone else is just telling you to spread your legs. i'm the one who respects you!"

"respect?" you laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. "you tracked me down, aerion. you broke into my apartment. that's not respect. that's borderline obsession."

"it's not obsession," he insisted, his voice rising with frustration. "it's... it's devotion. i care about you. i've never cared this much about anyone…it hurts."

you were trapped. trapped between his body and the wall, trapped by his desperation and your own fear. you could feel the hard lines of his body against yours, could feel the frantic beating of his heart against your chest.

"you're not scared now, are you?" he murmured, his hand tracing the line of your jaw.

you nodded, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement of your head. it was the truth. you were terrified. but the nod, in his eyes, was a betrayal.

his face changed. the desperate, pleading boy vanished, replaced by something cold and hard. "oh," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "you're scared. you want something to be afraid of?"

a bitter laugh escaped his lips. "fine. you want to treat me like a client? then i'll fucking behave like one."

before you could even process his words, one arm wrapped around your waist, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed nothing. you gasped, your hands flying to his shoulders, trying to push him away, but it was like shoving against a statue. with a grunt, he hoisted you over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.

the world tilted, your hair hanging down in a curtain as you stared at your apartment floor. "no! put me down!" you screamed, your voice raw with panic.

you thrashed wildly, kicking your legs, pounding your fists against his back, but he was immovable. it was like hitting brick. his grip on you was like iron, pinning you in place. he stopped beside your bed, and with a careless shove, he dumped you onto the mattress. you bounced, the air knocked from your lungs, scrambling to get away, but he was on you in an instant, one hand pressing down on the center of your chest, holding you flat.

"stay fucking still," he commanded, his voice a low growl.

you didn't stop. you couldn't. you bucked and twisted, trying to squirm out from under his weight, your screams muffled by the room. he just watched you, a look of detached annoyance on his face, as if you were nothing more than a fly buzzing around his head. with his free hand, he reached over and adjusted your laptop.

"no, no, no," you sobbed, realizing what he was doing. he angled the screen, tilting the camera until it pointed directly at the bed, at you, trapped and struggling beneath him. the little green light was on. it was still live. your audience, your faceless masses, were watching everything.

"there," he said, a sickeningly satisfied smile on his face. "now everyone can see."

he shifted his weight, grabbing your chin in a punishing grip, forcing your head to turn toward the camera. you whimpered, tears streaming down your cheeks, blurring the view of the little green light. you squeezed your eyes shut, you wouldn't look. you wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"open your eyes," he commanded. "look at the camera.”

you blinked them open slightly as his grip on your chin tightened, and with his other hand, he brought two fingers up to your tightly sealed lips. "open up," he ordered.

you shook your head, a muffled whimper escaping your throat.

smack.

the sharp, stinging crack of his hand against your cheek was so unexpected it made you gasp. it wasn't hard enough to truly hurt, but the shock, the humiliation, was something that shot red hot through you.

"i said, open up," he repeated, his voice utterly devoid of warmth. "or the next one will be a lot harder."

defeated, your body trembling with a mixture of fear and a strange, unwelcome thrill, you slowly parted your lips. he didn't hesitate, pushing his two fingers into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. the taste of his skin was salty, clean.

"get them nice and wet," he instructed, his eyes locked on yours through the camera video. "show them how good you are at following orders, sweetheart."

you hesitated, your mind screaming at you to bite down, to do anything. but the look in his eyes, the promise of pain, held you captive. you closed your lips around his fingers, your tongue moving tentatively, coating them with your saliva.

"that's it," he murmured, a flicker of that old approval in his voice, twisted now into something darker. "such a good girl when you want to be. you know how to use that mouth, don't you? it's all you're good for, really. talking to them, taking their money...and now, taking my fingers."

he began to slowly pump his fingers in and out of your mouth, fucking your mouth with his hand. "suck," he commanded, his voice a husky whisper. "show everyone how much you like it."

the degradation burned through you, but a sick part of you, the part that craved his attention, obeyed. you hollowed your cheeks, sucking on his fingers as he'd instructed, your eyes locked on his.

just then, a sound pierced the tense silence, a cheerful, electronic chime from your laptop.

ding!

unknown443: [tip: 100 tokens]

another chime followed, then another, a cascade of notifications lighting up the screen from other usernames.

aerion smiled, a cruel, triumphant curve of his lips. he pulled his fingers from your mouth with a wet, obscene pop. a string of saliva connected your bottom lip to his fingertips before breaking. the sound, the sight, was utterly humiliating, and a fresh wave of heat washed over your face.

"good girl," he purred, the praise a poison dart. he shifted his weight, the hand that had been pinning you down moving to your waist. with a rough tug, he yanked you further down the bed, positioning you exactly how he wanted, your body pliant under his strength. his free hand trailed down your stomach, his fingers hooking into the delicate lace of your panties.

"let's see what we have here," he murmured, more to the camera than to you. "let's see if the rest of you is as obedient as your mouth."

you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself, but you couldn't stop the helpless whimper that escaped your lips as he pushed the fabric aside. his fingers found your folds, and you froze. you expected pain, expected roughness. but his touch was exploratory, almost clinical, for a split second. then he stilled.

you felt him tense above you. you dared to open your eyes, and the look on his face was one of pure, unadulterated triumph. a slow, predatory smile spread across his lips.

"well, well," he breathed, his voice thick with smug satisfaction. he looked from your face to the laptop, making sure the camera had a perfect view. "she's fucking soaked."

he slid one long finger through your slick folds, and you cried out, a strangled sound of shame and unwilling arousal. it was true. despite your terror, despite your disgust, your body had betrayed you.

"you can scream all you want," he said, his voice a low, taunting rumble. he pushed that single finger inside you, sinking it knuckle-deep with a slow, deliberate thrust. "but your body doesn't lie. it wants this. it wants me."

your back arched off the bed, a desperate, involuntary reaction to the invasion. you thrashed your head from side to side, but it was useless. he was too strong, his hold too absolute. he began to move his finger, pumping it in and out of you.

"so fucking tight," he groaned, his eyes closing for a moment as if savoring the sensation. then he opened them, his gaze burning into yours. "and so fucking wet. all this for me? or for them?"

he added a second finger, stretching you, filling you. the sensation was overwhelming, a mixture of pleasure and pain that short-circuited your brain. your screams turned to ragged, panting sobs.

"answer me, baby" he demanded, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in a tight, cruel circle. "who is this for?"

"you!" you sobbed, the word torn from you. "it's for you!"

"yeah that's what i thought," he suddenly withdrew his fingers, leaving you feeling achingly empty. he brought his hand up to his face, his eyes never leaving yours as he looked at his glistening fingers. then, holding your gaze, he slowly, deliberately, licked them clean.

a guttural sound of pure satisfaction rumbled in his chest. "fucking delicious," he breathed. he leaned down, his face inches from yours, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that you knew the camera's microphone would pick up perfectly. "i think i'm going to start by eating your pretty little pussy."

he didn't wait for a response. he pushed himself up and leaned over you to your laptop. you flinched away, but he wasn't interested in you right now. his long fingers tapped at the keyboard, and you heard the soft whir of the camera's motor as he adjusted its position. he angled it down, capturing the entire length of your body on the rumpled bedsheets.

he returned his attention to you, his eyes dark with intent. he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your panties, the only barrier left between you and complete exposure. with one sharp, decisive tug, he ripped them. the delicate lace gave way with a tear, and he tossed the ruined fabric aside as if it were nothing.

"much better," he said, his gaze raking over your naked cunt.

he shifted down the bed, his body a heavy, commanding presence. he settled between your legs, his shoulders pushing your thighs apart, forcing them wide. there was no escape. you were completely open, completely vulnerable to him. you could feel his warm breath on your most sensitive flesh, and you squeezed your eyes shut, your entire body tensing in anticipation.

then his mouth was on you.

it wasn't gentle. it wasn't exploratory. it was a hungry, possessive assault. he licked a long, wet stripe up your slit, stealing a choked gasp tore from your throat.

he didn't stop. he sealed his lips over your clit and sucked, hard, sending a jolt of white-hot pleasure-pain through you. your hips bucked involuntarily, but his hands came up to grip your thighs, holding you down, pinning you in place.

he ate you out with a messy, single-minded intensity. it was all wet sounds and desperate lapping, his tongue delving into your entrance, his teeth scraping lightly against your folds. he was devouring you, and the sounds he made were obscene, slurping and groaning as if he were a starving man and you were his feast.

"look at her," he panted, pulling back for just a second, his chin glistening with your wetness. he wasn't looking at you. he was looking at your pussy, his expression one of pure adoration. "she's so pretty. so fucking pretty."

he dove back in, his tongue swirling around your clit in tight, relentless circles. your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the silver strands, but whether you meant to push him away or pull him closer, you couldn't say.

"she behaves so well," he murmured against your flesh, the vibrations of his words sending shivers through you. "she never ignores me. not like you do."

he punctuated his words with a sharp thrust of his tongue, fucking you with it, and you cried out, your back arching off the bed.

"no," he continued, his voice a dark, worshipful chant. "she always gets so wet for her owner, huh? she knows who she belongs to, even if you don't."

he increased his pace, his mouth working you with a ferocity that bordered on violence. one of his hands left your thigh, and you felt two fingers slide easily inside you, curling upward to find that spot that made your vision blur. he pumped his fingers in time with his tongue, a perfect, devastating rhythm.

"that's it," he groaned, his voice muffled by your flesh. "give it to me. give me what's mine."

the coil in your stomach tightened to an impossible degree. the pleasure was overwhelming, humiliating, undeniable. you could feel the audience watching, could hear the distant chime of more tips, but it all faded into the background. there was only the weight of his body holding you down, the relentless movement of his tongue and fingers, and his voice, claiming you, body and soul.

the coil inside you snapped. a blinding, pulsing wave of pleasure ripped through you, so intense it was almost painful. your body went rigid, a choked cry tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you. your thighs trembled, your pussy clamping down around his fingers as wave after wave of release washed through you.

he didn't stop. if anything, he intensified his efforts, his tongue flicking mercilessly against your oversensitive clit as he worked you through every last spasm. he drank you in, his groans of satisfaction vibrating against your flesh as he lapped up every drop of your release, not letting a single bit go to waste.

when you finally collapsed back against the sheets, boneless and gasping, he slowly pulled away. he didn't wipe his mouth. he just leaned back over you, his face hovering inches above yours, his chin and lips slick and shining with your cum. the scent of your own arousal filled the air between you, musky and intimate.

"taste yourself, baby" he commanded, his voice a low growl. "taste what you gave me."

he didn't wait for an answer. he crushed his mouth to yours, a messy, possessive kiss. you could feel the sticky wetness of your own release on his lips, taste yourself on his tongue as he forced it into your mouth. it was a humiliating, intimate act, and the camera captured it all. through the haze of your own pleasure, you were acutely aware of the hard, thick length of his cock straining against the fabric of his pants, pressing insistently against your thigh.

he finally pulled back, his chest heaving, his indigo eyes burning into yours. "have you ever taken a dildo?" he asked, his voice rough, conversational, as if he were asking about the weather.

your mind, still foggy from your orgasm, struggled to process the question. you shook your head, a small, hesitant movement.

a slow, predatory smile spread across his face. "no? just your fingers?"

you nodded again,

"good," he breathed, the word a puff of air against your lips. "then i get to be your first."

he pushed himself up, kneeling between your legs. his eyes never left yours as his hands went to his belt. the metallic clink of the buckle was loud in the quiet room. he undid his pants, pushing them down just enough to free himself.

and there it was.

his cock sprang free, hard and heavy. it was just as perfect as it had been on the laptop screen, but seeing it in person, feeling the heat radiating from it, was something else entirely. long and thick, with a satisfying heft, the skin was pale against his dark clothes, but the head was a flushed, angry pink, already beading with precum. prominent veins mapped a path up the shaft, and it jutted out from his body, a testament to his undeniable arousal.

he wrapped a hand around it, giving it a slow, deliberate stroke. "this is what you do to me," he said, his voice thick with lust. "this is what ignoring me for four days did."

he leaned down again, his face so close his features blurred. his free hand came up to grip your jaw, his thumb pressing on your chin, forcing your mouth open. "open up," he whispered, his voice a dark, intimate command.

you obeyed, your body too overwhelmed, too wrecked to fight back. he hovered over you, his gaze locked on your open mouth, and then he spat. a warm, wet string of his saliva landed on your tongue. it was a primal, claiming act, and a fresh wave of humiliation washed over you.

before you could react, his mouth was on yours again. this kiss was different, deeper, more possessive. he swirled his tongue with yours, mixing his spit with yours, a messy, intimate exchange that left you breathless and dizzy.

when he finally pulled away, a string of saliva connected your lips. his eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with lust. "my turn," he said, his voice rough and gravelly.

he held his hand out, palm up, in front of your face. "spit."

you hesitated for only a second before obeying, spitting into his waiting palm. he gave a low, appreciative hum. he brought his hand to his cock, using the combined slickness of your saliva and his to coat his length. he pumped himself slowly, his fist gliding over the rigid shaft, the wet sounds filling the room. he watched you the entire time, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your stomach clench.

"that's better," he groaned, giving himself one last, tight squeeze.

then, without warning, his hands were on you again. he grabbed your hips, his grip bruising, and with a rough, effortless movement, he flipped you over. you landed on your stomach with a soft "oomph," the air knocked from your lungs. he was on you instantly, his weight settling over you, his knees pushing your legs apart.

you felt the hot, heavy length of his cock press against the curve of your ass. he shifted, dragging it down until the swollen, flushed head was nestled right against your entrance. you were still so wet, so open from your orgasm and his earlier assault.

he didn't push in. not yet. he just held himself there, the tip of his cock teasing your slick folds. he moved his hips in a slow, maddening circle, using your wetness to coat himself, getting the head of his cock "super wet" as he'd intended. the friction was delicious, torturous. you could feel every contour of him, every vein, as he slid against you, teasing your clit with every pass.

"feel that baby?" he breathed in your ear, his voice a low, possessive rumble. "this is what you've been waiting for..."

"...this is what you were made for."

and then he pushed in.

there was no gentleness, no slow acclimatization. he drove into you in one long, brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt. the stretch was immense, a burning, overwhelming fullness that stole your breath. a sharp, guttural cry was torn from your lips, muffled by the sheets beneath your cheek. he was bigger than anything you'd ever taken, bigger than you'd imagined, and he filled you completely.

he didn't give you time to adjust. he set a punishing rhythm from the very beginning, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, his hips slapping against your ass with a loud, wet smack.

the camera, positioned perfectly, captured everything: the glistening sheen of your combined wetness coating his thick shaft as it pistoned in and out of you, the way your flesh clung to him on every retreat, the slick drip of your arousal running down your inner thighs to soak the sheets.

your face was smushed into the bedding, your mouth open in a silent scream as moans were forced from your body with every powerful thrust. you felt like an animal, a bitch in heat, being taken and used, and the shame of it was mixed with a dark, thrilling pleasure you couldn't deny.

"that's it," he grunted, his voice a low, rhythmic pant. "take it. take all of it. take all of this fuckin’ cock…you're so fuckin’ tight, baby."

he brought his hand down on your ass in a sharp, stinging slap. the sound echoed in the room, followed by your yelp. "such a good girl for me. taking my big cock so good..."

his hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back slightly, forcing your arch deeper. he panted, his words punctuated by the relentless slap of his skin against yours. "remember our first private show? you said you didn't know how you'd ever take all of me." he laughed, a dark, triumphant sound. "look at you now. taking every inch."

he slowed his pace for a moment, grinding into you, his cock pressing deep, making you whimper. "it makes me wonder, though..." he murmured, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper he knew the mic would pick up. "if this pretty little pussy is this tight... i wonder how that cute, tight asshole would feel."

panic, cold and sharp, lanced through the haze of pleasure. he was looking at the camera, a speculative smirk on his face. "what do you think, chat? should i find out?"

"no!" you screamed, the word tearing from your throat. "no! please!"

you started to thrash weakly beneath him, trying to squirm away, but his grip on your hip was like iron. your pathetic struggles only seemed to amuse him.

he laughed, a deep, cruel rumble that vibrated through his chest and into yours. "shhh shh calm down, honey" he soothed, his tone mockingly gentle. "don't worry. this time, i'll just enjoy the cunny i came for."

he released your hair and grabbed your hips with both hands, his grip bruising. he resumed his brutal pace, fucking you harder, deeper, chasing his own release. your protests died in your throat, replaced by the mindless, desperate moans of a body completely overwhelmed.

one of his hands left your hip, snaking around your body to find your clit. he began to rub it in tight, fast circles, his touch knowing, exact. the additional stimulation was electric, shooting through you like a lightning bolt.

your body, already pushed to its limit, spasmed in response. the sounds of your slick wetness grew louder, a filthy, rhythmic squelching that mingled with the slap of his skin against yours and the distant, cheerful chime of tips flooding in.

"that's my girl," he grunted, his rhythm never faltering.

he leaned down, his chest pressing against your back, his lips brushing against your ear. "this is the last time you'll ever go live for them," he panted, his voice a low, possessive growl. "you understand? after tonight, i promise to take goood care of you.”

your mind, a haze of pleasure and pain, could barely process his words. you just wanted it to stop but you wanted it to never end. you nodded dumbly against the sheets.

a low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "yeah, you do," he praised, his voice thick with satisfaction. "fuck, you're so pretty when you get cock dumb…"

that was it. the coil inside you snapped again, harder this time. your vision went white, your body convulsing as a powerful orgasm tore through you.

a long, broken moan was ripped from your throat, your pussy clamping down around his thick cock like a vise. you could feel your release gush out of you, soaking the sheets beneath you, a final, humiliating surrender.

he groaned as your walls clenched around him, his pace faltering for a moment as he savored the feeling. he rode out your orgasm, his strokes slowing as you trembled and whimpered beneath him.

he leaned back up, his hand still resting possessively on your ass, and looked directly at the camera, a triumphant smirk on his face. he gave your ass a light pat.

"and that's cum number two," he announced to the live audience, his voice clear and full of arrogant pride. he watched the comments fly by, the tips pouring in. "how many do you think we should go for, huh?" he asked, his tone casual, as if he were taking requests.

you didn't have the energy to answer. you just lay there, a miserable lump under the blanket, hoping he'd get the message.

he found you a moment later, his brow furrowed in concern. he'd seen this before. he knew the signs. "oh, shit," he sighed, running a hand through his already messy hair. "it's that time again, ain't it?"

you just nodded, not trusting yourself to speak without crying. he knelt down in front of the couch, his calloused hand gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your damp forehead. "that bad, huh?"

you nodded again, tears welling in your eyes. "it hurts," you whispered, your voice cracking.

"i know, baby. i know." he stood up, his jaw set with determination. "alright. you just stay put. i’ll take care a’you."

you watched him through blurry eyes as he bustled around his small kitchen. you heard the clinking of a spoon, the whir of his microwave, the crinkle of a chocolate bar wrapper. he moved with a clumsy sort of purpose, a man on a mission.

a few minutes later, he returned, carefully balancing a steaming mug, a bottle of painkillers, and a king-sized candy bar. he set them down on the cluttered coffee table before gently lifting your head and placing a pillow underneath it.

"alright," he said, his voice soft. "first things first. painkillers." he shook two pills out into his palm and held them out to you. "c'mon, sit up a little. i gotcha."

you groaned in protest, but he was already there, his strong arm supporting your back as he helped you sit up just enough to swallow the pills with a sip of the hot tea he'd made. it was just the way you liked it, hot but not too hot.

"good girl," he praised, easing you back down onto the pillows. he then picked up the hot water bottle, testing it against his wrist. "this thing's gone cold. i'll heat it up again."

he disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, returning with a freshly warmed water bottle. he gently lifted the blanket and placed it directly against your aching stomach, the heat immediately soothing some of the tension.

"better?" he asked, his eyes searching yours.

"a little," you admitted, managing a small smile.

"good," he said, returning your smile with one of his own. he then ripped open the candy bar and broke off a piece, holding it to your lips. "chocolate."

you laughed, a real laugh this time, and took the chocolate from his fingers. "you’ve got these on hand?"

he shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, "yeah, well. a guy's gotta be prepared, you know? can't have my girl sufferin'." he then sat down on the edge of the couch, carefully not to jostle you, and began to gently rub your lower back in slow, soothing circles.

"just relax, baby," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that was almost as comforting as the hot water bottle. "i got you. i'm right here."

you closed your eyes, letting the warmth of the water bottle and the gentle pressure of his hands lull you into a state of semi-consciousness. the pain was still there, a dull throb in the background, but it was manageable now. it was bearable.

"thank you," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

"don't mention it," he said, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "anything for you, princess. you know that."

he froze in the hallway, his cock instantly straining against his jeans. he could hear the wet, slick sounds of your fingers working your cunt, and he had to bite his fist to keep from groaning out loud.

the next day, you "borrowed" one of his hoodies. you wore it, and only it, around the house when your parents were out. the hem barely covered your ass, and you made sure to bend over a lot in front of him, "looking for something." he could see the swell of your ass, the hint of your pussy lips. when you finally turned around, your nipples were hard little points against the soft fabric of his hoodie…

aerion targaryen had not wanted a martell bride, that was the simple truth of it.

when the match had first been proposed, he had regarded it as what it was, another arrangement crafted by older, wiser people who believed they knew what was best for the realm.

best for him.

he remembered standing beside a window overlooking blackwater bay when the news had been delivered. "a princess of dorne?" he had said flatly.

his father had given him a look. "a beautiful princess of dorne."

"i do not particularly care." and at the time, he had meant it, or at least he had thought he did.

then he met you and, unfortunately for aerion, everything became much more difficult, because you were beautiful, not merely beautiful in the way courtiers described ladies to secure favor, you were genuinely, devastatingly beautiful.

you were kind.

gods, he hated how much he liked that. your confidence, your sweetness, your fire…

the trouble began when they were forced to spend time together, before marriage there had been dinners, walks, appearances and conversations neither of you could reasonably escape.

at first aerion had expected them to be tedious, instead he discovered that you were clever. you challenged him, argued with him and even laughed at him. the first time you laughed directly at one of his dramatic declarations, he had stared at you in complete disbelief. "how dare you laugh."

"because you sound absurd!!”

aerion's jaw tightened at your insolence, but something in him stirred at the sight of your unapologetic smile. no one- no one- dared speak to a targaryen so, let alone laugh at their pronouncements.

"you find me absurd?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

"i find your declaration that 'all lesser houses should bow before the might of dragons' rather theatrical for a supper conversation," you replied, taking a sip of wine. "especially when the only dragon present is the one carved into your knife handle."

he stared at you, speechless for a moment. the courtiers nearby had gone silent, their eyes darting between you both like spectators at a tourney.

"you walk a dangerous line, princess," aerion finally managed, though he couldn't keep the faint hint of amusement from his voice.

“and i must admit, your family's reputation precedes you." you said with a shrug.

a flicker of his old arrogance returned. "as it should."

"as it should," you agreed, much to his surprise. "but reputations are often exaggerated. i prefer to judge people by their actions rather than their bloodlines."

"and what have my actions told you so far?"

"that you enjoy being admired," you said thoughtfully. "that you're accustomed to getting what you want. and that beneath all that targaryen pride, there's a man who doesn't particularly enjoy being laughed at."

he leaned forward, "and what else have you discovered?"

"that you're lonely," you said simply.

his immediate instinct was to deny it, to push back with some cutting remark about dornish impertinence, but the truth of your statement left him momentarily defenseless. "i have a family," he said finally. "a dynasty."

"a family is not the same as companionship," you replied, your voice softer now. "a dynasty is a burden. a companion is a choice."

the evening ended with an unspoken understanding between you. as you parted ways, aerion found himself watching you retreat, the sway of your dark hair against your vibrant silks, the confidence in your stride. he had come to this marriage expecting to endure it, to fulfill his duty and nothing more.

now, for the first time, he wondered if duty might not be such a burden after all.

then came marriage and forced proximity finished what attraction had started because now you were everywhere.

at breakfast.

at supper.

reading by the window.

laughing with your ladies.

sleeping beside him….

the chambers that had once belonged solely to aerion suddenly felt empty whenever you left them. you had somehow become part of every routine, and months later, the transformation was complete. aerion adored you. there was no point denying it anymore, the servants knew, everyone with eyes knew, he followed you around the red keep whenever possible.

if you entered a room, somehow aerion appeared shortly afterward, if you mentioned liking something once, it mysteriously arrived days later.

flowers. spices. books. rare dornish wines.

anything.

everything.

the greatest shock, however, was how gentle he became with you…true, aerion targaryen would never be soft, but he was gentle. his hand always found the small of your back, he noticed when you were tired, when you were cold, when court became too much. it was as though he had developed an awareness of you that bordered on obsession.

yours and his first major argument had been simmering for days. you wanted to visit your family in dorne for the harvest festival- a reasonable request, in your estimation. aerion, however, saw it differently.

"you are my wife," he'd stated, his voice dangerously quiet. "your place is here. with me."

"and i am your wife, not your prisoner," you'd retorted, "i have not seen my siblings in nearly a year. my mother sent a raven specifically requesting my presence."

that night in your chambers, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. you stood by the hearth, arms crossed, while he paced before you like a caged dragon.

"it is not safe," he insisted. "the roads are perilous this time of year. and i do not trust dornish hospitality toward a targaryen princess."

"my family would never harm me," you said, exasperated. "this is not about safety. this is about control."

he stopped pacing and faced you, his eyes blazing. "i have given you everything- books, wines, silks from across the narrow sea. is that not enough? must you always test the limits of my generosity?"

"generosity?" you laughed without humor. "you give me trinkets while denying me the one thing i truly want- a connection to my home, my family. these gifts are chains, aerion. beautiful, expensive chains."

“you will not go and that is final.”

the finality in his tone was absolute, a royal command that brooked no argument. he stood before you, not as the gentle man who brought you rare wines, but as the targaryen prince who expected obedience.

for a long moment, you said nothing. you simply looked at him.

"very well, husband," you said, your voice dangerously soft. you turned away from him and walked to the window, gazing out at the darkened gardens of the red keep. "as you have commanded me."

a flicker of triumph crossed his face, quickly replaced by confusion. this was too easy. he had expected tears, pleading, another sharp retort. he had not expected this quiet, hollow acceptance.

"good," he said, his voice gruff. "it is for your own protection."

you didn't turn around. "of course. everything is for my own good. i am a fragile thing, after all. a targaryen princess who must be kept in a gilded cage, lest i break."

the sarcasm in your tone was a subtle poison. he took a step toward you. "that is not what i meant."

"isn't it?" you finally turned, your face a mask of serene indifference that was more cutting than any glare could have been. "you do not trust me. you do not trust my family. you do not trust my judgment. you only trust your own will."

you walked past him toward the adjoining dressing chamber.

"where are you going?" he demanded, his voice tight.

"to bed," you replied without looking back. "alone. i find i am not in the mood for company tonight."

you disappeared behind the screen, leaving him standing alone in the grand chamber. the silence that fell was heavier than any shouted words.

he stood there for a long time, the silence in the chambers growing heavier with each passing moment. the victory felt sour, hollow. he had won the argument, but in doing so, he had lost something far more valuable. the rooms, once filled with your vibrant presence, now felt cavernous and cold. the fire crackled, but it offered no warmth.

an hour passed.

the moon climbed higher in the sky, casting silver shadows across the rugs. he could not sleep. he could not think. all he could do was feel the vast, empty space you had left beside him. he was a dragon prince, heir to a dynasty, and he was being tormented by the absence of his wife.

finally, with a low growl of frustration, he pushed himself away from the chair and strode toward the dressing chamber. he didn't bother to knock. he threw the door open with enough force to make it slam against the stone wall.

you were curled up on your side in the smaller, simpler bed, facing away from the door. the room was dark, save for a single candle burning low on a table. you didn't startle at the intrusion. you didn't even move. you had been expecting him.

"get up," his voice was a low command, rough with exhaustion and anger.

you remained still, your breathing even. "i am comfortable here."

"i did not ask for your comfort. i gave you an order," he said, taking a menacing step into the room. "you will not sleep in here like a scorned servant. you are my wife. you will sleep in my bed."

slowly, you rolled over to face him. your face was illuminated by the flickering candlelight, serene and utterly devoid of the passion he so often provoked in you. "i am obeying your command, husband. you commanded i not go to dorne. you commanded i stay here. i am staying here. is this not what you wanted?"

his jaw tightened. "you know what i meant. do not play these games with me."

"i am not playing a game," you said, your voice quiet but clear. "you made it clear that my will, my desires, my home- they mean nothing. you have decided what is best for me. so i have decided what is best for me tonight. and that is to sleep alone."

the calmness of your response was infuriating he had not expected this quiet, unassailable wall of indifference. it was a rejection far more profound than any shouted insult could ever be.

he crossed the room in three long strides and grabbed your arm, his grip firm but not bruising. "i will not be made a fool in my own home. you will come with me now."

you allowed him to pull you to a sitting position, your body pliant, but your eyes remained locked on his, filled with a chilling resolve. "drag me if you must, husband," you said softly. "force me back to the bed you wish to share. but know this. you can command my body to be there, but you cannot command my heart to follow."

his grip on your arm loosened. he looked down at you, at the woman he adored, who was now looking at him with the weary resignation of a prisoner.

he stood there, torn between the urge to throw you over his shoulder and carry you back to bed or leave you be.

"it was not my intent to make you angry with me." he muttered, his voice rougher than usual.

it was a pathetic attempt at an apology. he wasn't truly sorry about the slight, just sorry that you were upset, and you knew it.

"i am not in the mood for your excuses, aerion," you replied.

the thought of sleeping apart- of a night without your warmth, your scent, your skin pressed against his- was unbearable.

"please," he breathed, reaching out to gently take your hand. he pressed his lips to your knuckles, kissing them with a reverence that made his usual arrogance seem distant.

the targaryen pride that usually demanded submission from others suddenly bent its spine for you. he released your hand and dropped to his knees on the cold stone floor of the chambers, the silence of the castle amplifying the sound.

he reached for the hem of your sleeping gown, his hands shaking slightly as he worked the silk upward, exposing your legs to the golden glow of the firelight. aerion didn't waste a moment, he pressed his lips to the inside of your knee, his mouth hot and eager against your skin.

he worked his way down slowly, kissing his way along your calf, his tongue darting out to trace the path, his breathing growing heavier. he reached your ankle and gently kissed your bare foot.

"lay back, my darling," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, losing the boyish panic for a more settled, desperate need.

you obeyed, sinking into the softness of the bed, the sheets cool against your heated skin. "you are not to make love to me tonight," you reminded him, your voice breathless as he settled between your spread thighs.

he froze, his mouth hovering just above your skin, his breath warm against your inner thigh. the command was a stone wall thrown up in the middle of his desperate supplication. for a moment, the arrogant prince warred with the pleading man. he had come here to conquer this silence, to erase the distance with the one language he knew you both spoke fluently. to be denied it now, when he was on his knees, was a humiliation he hadn't anticipated.

he lifted his head, his eyes locking with yours in the dim light. they were dark with a mixture of frustration and a raw, aching need. "you would punish me so?" he asked, his voice a low rumble. "you would have me worship you and then be denied?"

"i would have you understand," you replied, your voice steady despite the tremor in your limbs. "you cannot buy my forgiveness with pleasure. you cannot command my affection with your hands or your mouth. you denied me my will. tonight, you will be denied yours."

he stared at you, and you saw the moment he understood. this was not just about sleeping arrangements. this was about power, about respect, about the very foundation of the strange, fierce love you had built. he had tried to wield his authority like a sword, and you had just turned it back on him, showing him its edge.

slowly, deliberately, he lowered his head again.

for a long moment, he remained perfectly still, his forehead pressed against your thigh, his breath warm and ragged against your skin. then, slowly, as if testing the boundaries of his new submission, he turned his head. his lips, soft and reverent, brushed against your inner thigh, a question asked without words.

when you did not pull away, he grew bolder. his kisses became open-mouthed, his tongue tracing lazy circles against your skin, tasting the salt of you. he was worshiping, just as he had promised, but with a new, desperate humility. his hands, which had been clenched at his sides, came up to rest on your hips, his thumbs stroking the soft skin there, a silent plea for permission.

"let me," he breathed against your skin, his voice thick with a need that went far beyond the physical. "let me show you."

you remained silent, your body still, but you did not stop him. that was all the encouragement he needed. he shifted, settling more comfortably between your thighs, his shoulders pushing them wider. the firelight gilded the white-silver of his hair as he lowered his head, and then his mouth was on you.

there was nothing hesitant about it.

it was a hungry and desperate.

aerion targaryen, the proud prince, was a man starved, and you were his feast. his tongue flattened against your folds, a broad, firm stroke that made your back arch off the bed. a soft gasp escaped your lips, a sound you couldn't contain. he heard it, and a low groan rumbled in his chest, the sound vibrating against your most sensitive flesh.

"gods, you taste like honeyed syrup," he slurred, his words muffled against your cunt. he was messy, unrefined, his usual aristocratic grace completely abandoned. he ate you like a man dying of thirst, his tongue delving inside you, fucking you with it before moving up to circle your clit with a devastating precision.

he wrapped his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves and sucked, hard. your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the strands, holding him to you. he took it as encouragement, his enthusiasm redoubling. he alternated between sucking and flicking his tongue rapidly against you, one of his hands moving from your hip to slide two fingers inside you.

"is this for me?" he growled, pumping his fingers in and out of your slick heat, his mouth never ceasing its assault. "this sweet, perfect cunt? all for me, my love?"

you could only whimper in response, your hips rocking against his face, chasing the pleasure he was so expertly giving.

he was a mess, his face slick with your arousal, his chin dripping. he looked up at you, his eyes dark with lust and adoration, and the sight of him- your proud husband on his knees, his face buried in your cunt, worshiping you with his entire being- sent a bolt of pure ecstasy through you.

"that's it, my darling," he coaxed, his voice a husky whisper. "let me taste you. give me your forgiveness, pretty girl."

he curled his fingers inside you, finding that spot that made your vision white out, and sealed his mouth over your clit, sucking with a relentless, rhythmic pressure.

“please? please?…” he continued to beg, his voice sounding whinier and whinier. "sleep with me in bed, come back to me..."

the tension that had been coiling in your belly snapped, and your orgasm crashed over you in a blinding wave. you cried out his name, your body convulsing, your thighs clamping around his head as you came.

he stayed with you through it all, his tongue lapping gently, his fingers stilling inside you as you shuddered through the aftershocks. when you finally went limp against the sheets, he gently withdrew his fingers and placed one last, lingering kiss on your swollen, sensitive flesh.

he crawled up your body, not to lie beside you, but to hover over you, his arms braced on either side of your head. he didn't try to kiss your lips. instead, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his body trembling slightly. he was still hard, a testament to his own desire, but he made no move to seek his own release.

"i am asking for forgiveness" he whispered, his voice raw and hoarse, “i am regretful, my love.” it was different from his earlier attempt. this was not an excuse. it was a true apology of a sort, stripped of all pride, offered in the aftermath of his complete surrender. "not for making you angry. for taking your will."

he lifted his head, his face still glistening with your essence, his dark eyes searching yours. "i will spend the rest of my nights proving my respect to you, if you will let me."

aerion looked at you as though you had hung the stars over king's landing with your own hands and perhaps, in his mind, you had.