♡

You stir when the bed dips, murmuring his name in that sleepy-soft voice that makes his cock twitch painfully against his zipper.

“Shh, baby,” he whispers, lips brushing your knee as he settles between your thighs. “Go back to sleep. Just need my dessert.”

He starts slow—god, so fucking slow—like he has all the time in the world. Mouth warm and lazy, kissing over the damp cotton first, breathing you in through the fabric until the panties are soaked twice over. Only then does he hook a finger under the gusset and tug it aside, humming at the sight of you make—swollen, glistening, already fluttering for him.

The first lick is a long, flat stripe from entrance to clit, deliberate, savoring. He groans like he’s tasting something forbidden and perfect, the sound rumbling straight into your core.

“Fuck… missed this all day,” he mumbles against you, voice thick with exhaustion and hunger. “Missed this pretty pussy waiting for me.”

His thumb settles over your clit, pressing in slow circles—just enough pressure to make your hips jerk—while his tongue pushes inside you, slow and filthy, curling like he’s trying to drink you dry. Every tiny reaction you give him—the gasp, the whimper, the way your thighs tremble on either side of his head—he catalogues it, stores it, uses it. He learns you like he learns constellations: reverent, obsessive, permanent.

Hours. He stays down there for hours.

Sometimes he pulls back just to watch his thumb work you, eyes heavy-lidded and dark, lips shiny with you. “Look at you leaking for me already… such a messy girl.” Then he dives back in, lips sealing around your clit in a tight, perfect “O,” sucking soft and steady while two fingers slide in to stroke that spot that makes your back arch clean off the bed.

You’re close—so close—when he suddenly changes.

It’s like a switch flips.

The lazy worship turns feral in a heartbeat. Tongue flicking fast and hard, thumb grinding rough circles, fingers curling and pumping with ruthless precision. The wet sounds are obscene—loud, sloppy, echoing in the quiet room. He growls against you, hips grinding into the mattress because he’s so hard it hurts, chasing his own edge just from the taste of you.

“Give it to me,” he rasps, voice wrecked. “Cum on my tongue—wanna feel you fall apart, baby, please—”

You shatter—sobbing his name, thighs clamping around his head, whole body shaking as he drinks down every pulse, every gush, licking you through it like he’ll die if he misses a single drop.

When the aftershocks fade, he doesn’t stop. Just slows again, gentle now, soothing, pressing sleepy kisses to your swollen folds, your inner thighs, the soft crease where leg meets hip. His lower face is drenched—chin, lips, even his nose glistening—and he doesn’t care. Wipes it off on your thigh and smiles, drowsy and satisfied.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, voice hoarse.

He gathers you close, pulling you into his chest, your back to his front, legs tangled. His cock is still hard against your ass, but he ignores it, nuzzling into your hair.

“Love you,” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Love how you taste… love how you sound you make when you come for me… love you in my sweater, in my bed…”

You feel him smile against your neck, hear the soft, contented hum as he finally lets sleep take him.

“Just needed my dessert,” he mumbles, already half-gone. “Best part of the whole damn day.”

And with your taste still on his tongue and your body limp in his arms, Xavier drifts off—happy, full, and utterly yours.

祁煜 ⛦ RAFAYEL !

Rafayel comes to you pouting.

You hear it before you see him— the dramatic sigh, the keys tossed onto the counter with theatrical flair, the soft thud of his shoes kicked off one by one.

“Cutie ignored me all day,” he announces to the empty living room, voice lilting like he’s wounded. “Left me to rot in that boring studio while you were out doing… whatever mysterious human things you do.”

You’re on the couch in nothing but his silk button-up—three buttons done, the rest hanging open) and a pair of lace panties he bought you “as a joke.” The joke’s on him; they’re already ruined.

He stops in the doorway, eyes narrowing, lips curling into that dangerous little smirk.

“Oh. Look who decided to dress up like a present.”

You don’t even get to answer before he’s on you, knees hitting the rug, hands sliding up your thighs and spreading them wide like he’s unveiling a masterpiece.

“Missed this pretty cunt,” he murmurs, voice velvet and venom. “Bet it missed me too, hm?”

He starts slow, cruelly slow. Kisses everywhere except where you need him: soft presses along the crease of your thigh, the delicate skin just above your clit, the lace edge of your panties. Every time you twitch toward his mouth he pulls back, laughing under his breath.

“Rafayel—”

“Shh. Good art takes time, baby.”

He drags the flat of his tongue over the soaked fabric once, just once, then blows a cool stream of air right through it. Your hips jerk; he pins them down with one hand like it’s nothing.

“Sensitive tonight? Cute.”

Finally, finally, he tugs the lace aside with his teeth. The first real touch is just his lips: plush, warm, closing over your folds in a slow, open-mouthed kiss. He makes out with your pussy the way he kisses you when he’s trying to ruin your lipstick: deep, lazy, filthy, lips sliding and catching and sucking like he’s trying to drink you through them. A soft, wet sound every time he pulls away and dives back in.

You feel it in your spine.

He hums some annoying pop song that’s been stuck in his head for three days, the vibration rolling straight into your clit. Your hand flies to his hair on instinct.

“Yes—fuck—pull it,” he breathes against you, tongue flicking out to trace your entrance. “Use me, cutie, c’mon.”

You do. You fist those soft violet strands and shove his face exactly where you want it. He moans like you just gave him a gift, nose bumping your clit, rubbing it in messy circles until it’s shiny with you. Then he pulls back just far enough to spit, once, twice, watching it drip down your folds with half-lidded eyes.

“Pretty,” he whispers, and seals his mouth over you again.

He edges you twice. Brings you right to the cliff with that wicked mouth and those long artist’s fingers curling inside you, then stops, blowing cool air over your throbbing clit until you’re shaking and cursing his name. The third time you sob, actually sob, he laughs softly and gives in.

“Alright, alright. Greedy baby.”

And then he doesn’t stop.

He sucks your clit between those sinful lips and flutters his tongue so fast your vision whites out. Fingers scissoring, stroking, spitting again just to hear the wet sound when he pumps them back in. You come with his name cracked in half on your tongue, thighs clamping around his ears, and he just groans like he’s the one unraveling, drinking every pulse like it’s paint and he’s starving.

You’re still trembling through the aftershocks when he starts again.

Second orgasm. Third. Fourth. By the fifth you’re crying, oversensitive, pushing weakly at his forehead while he licks you open like he’ll never get enough.

“R-Raf—please—too much—”

He pulls off just long enough to flash you a lazy, smug grin, lips swollen pink, chin dripping, eyes glassy with lust.

“One more,” he coos, voice hoarse. “You can give me one more, can’t you? For your poor neglected boyfriend who missed you all day?”

He waits until your hand falls limp against the cushion, until your body going soft and trusting again.

Then he dives back in.

By the time he finally lets you breathe, you’re boneless, tears drying on your cheeks, his silk shirt twisted around your waist. He crawls up your body, kisses you slow and deep so you taste yourself all over his tongue, and smiles against your lips.

“Best welcome-home ever,” he whispers, nipping your bottom lip. “Next time leave the panties off. Save me thirty whole seconds.”

You’re too wrecked to even roll your eyes.

He just laughs, tucks you into his chest, and hums that stupid song again, content, smug, and absolutely drenched in you.

黎深 ⛦ ZAYNE !

You come home dragging your feet, shoulders knotted, temples throbbing from twelve straight hours of deadlines and idiots. Zayne is already there—white coat traded for a charcoal sweater, sleeves pushed to the elbows, glasses low on his nose while he reviews charts on the couch. He glances up once and immediately closes the tablet.

“Bed. Now,” he says, voice calm, clinical, final. “You’re presenting with acute sympathetic overdrive. Heart rate elevated, trapezius spasming, cortisol through the roof.”

You groan. “I’m fine—”

“You’re not.” He stands, towering, gentle but immovable. “Doctor’s orders: you need to relieve yourself properly. Thoroughly.”

You flop face-first onto the mattress still in your work clothes. He follows, fingers already working the buttons of your blouse with surgical precision.

“And you?” you mumble into the pillow. “You pulled a double shift yesterday. You must be just as tense.”

A low hum behind you. “I am. Which is why we’re going to treat both of us at once. Efficiency, darling.”

Before you can ask what that means, he’s sliding your skirt and panties off in one smooth motion, lifting you like you weigh nothing, settling on his back in the center of the bed. His cock is already hard against his slacks—thick, flushed, curving slightly toward his stomach when he frees it. He pats his chest.

“Straddle me. Face down.”

You know the position. You love the position—sixty-nine. Still, your thighs shake as you climb over him, knees bracketing his ribs, hands bracing on either side of his hips. He guides you back until your soaked cunt hovers an inch above his mouth.

“Good girl. Now lower yourself. Let me take care of you.”

The first touch of his tongue is precise—one long, deliberate lick from entrance to clit that makes your arms buckle. He groans, deep and satisfied, hands clamping on your hips to pull you flush against his face.

“Labia minora engorged,” he murmurs, voice muffled, vibrating straight into your clit. “Clitoral hood retracted. Perfect autonomic response.”

You whimper around the head of his cock as you sink down, lips stretching wide. He’s thick, hot, pulsing against your tongue, and the taste of him—clean skin, faint salt, pure Zayne—makes you dizzy.

He starts slow, academic, like he’s mapping you. Tongue tracing every fold, cataloguing every twitch.

“The levator ani is fluttering beautifully,” he says, breath ghosting over your clit. “Pelvic floor tension releasing already. Excellent.”

Then his fingers slide in—two at once, no resistance because you’re dripping for him—and crook upward in that cruel, perfect angle that hits your front wall dead-on. His mouth seals over your clit, sucking in steady pulses while his fingers pump slow, deep, relentless.

You choke on his cock, eyes watering, throat working to take him deeper. He rewards you with a throaty moan that you feel in your spine.

“Sexual release triggers oxytocin and prolactin cascade,” he lectures between licks, voice wrecked now. “Reduces serum cortisol by up to thirty percent. You’re going to come for me at least three times. Minimum therapeutic dose.”

You try to pull off to breathe and he growls, hips flexing up, fucking shallowly into your mouth.

“No. Stay. Breathe through your nose. Relax your soft palate—yes—like that.”

His fingers speed up, scissoring, curling, while his tongue flicks your clit in tight, merciless circles. You come the first time with a muffled scream around his cock, thighs clamping on his head, entire body seizing. He doesn’t stop —just switches to soft, soothing licks while you ride it out, murmuring praise against your folds.

“First orgasm achieved. Heart rate one-thirty and climbing. Preparing second.”

The second hits harder, faster, because he adds a third finger and sucks your clit like he’s trying to leave a bruise. You sob around him, tears streaking into his trimmed hair, hips grinding helplessly.

He’s leaking steadily now, precome painting your tongue, cock jerking every time you swallow around him. You can feel him getting close—his thighs tensing under your hands, breath ragged against your cunt.

“Cum with me,” he orders, voice cracking for the first time. “Third one. Now.”

He curls his fingers hard, tongue lashing your clit without mercy, and you shatter again—vision whiting out, whole body locking up. The clench of your throat around his cock drags him over with you; he spills hot and thick down your throat with a broken groan, hips stuttering, fingers buried to the knuckle inside you while he licks you through both climaxes like he’ll never get enough.

When it’s over you collapse forward, cheek against his thigh, panting. He gently maneuvers you off him, turns you around, gathers you close. His face is flushed, lips swollen and shining with you, glasses fogged and crooked. He kisses your temple, voice soft again.

“Cortisol levels should be negligible now,” he whispers. “Sleep. I’ll run a warm bath in twenty minutes. Hydration and electrolytes next.”

You laugh, hoarse and wrecked. “You’re such a nerd.”

He hums, already half-asleep, arms locked around you like steel bands.

“And you’re cured,” he murmurs against your hair. “For tonight, at least.”

秦彻 ⛦ SYLUS !

Sylus is sprawled on the couch in nothing but low-slung grey sweatpants and that infuriating little smirk, scarlet eyes flicking across the tablet in his hand like the numbers on the screen are more interesting than you.

You’re curled against his side, wearing his black dress shirt and literally nothing else, pretending to scroll on your phone. Except you’re not pretending very well. Your gaze keeps sliding to the sharp, arrogant line of his nose, the way it cuts through the dim light like it was sculpted for sin.

The words slip out before you can stop them.

“Your nose looks so rideable.”

Silence.

Then the tablet lowers, slow and deliberate. Those crimson eyes lock onto you, amusement and pure danger swirling together.

“Come again, sweetie?”

Heat floods your face. You slap a hand over your mouth, mortified, but it’s too late. The smirk spreads, wicked and slow.

“Didn’t know my kitten was so obsessed with my nose,” he drawls, voice velvet and smoke. “How long have you been thinking about grinding that pretty little cunt all over it, hm?”

You squeak. Actually squeak.

He tosses the tablet aside, stands in one fluid motion, and scoops you up like you weigh nothing. Two strides and you’re in his bedroom, the city glittering through floor-to-ceiling windows behind the massive bed.

Sylus drops onto his back, arms folded behind his head, looking like a king waiting for tribute.

“Well?” He arches one brow. “Ride it, then. Ride until you’re satisfied, kitten. I’ve got all night.”

Your thighs are trembling before you even straddle his chest. He watches, hungry, as you crawl forward, knees settling on either side of his head. The moment your slick folds brush the bridge of his nose he inhales, deep and filthy, eyes fluttering half-shut.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re already dripping for me. Greedy girl.”

You sink down slowly, gasping at the first contact (his nose is perfect, straight and firm, slotting right between your lips, the tip nudging your clit). The groan he lets out vibrates through your entire body.

“Move,” he orders, voice rough. “Use me.”

You do.

It starts tentative—little rolls of your hips, testing, savoring, but his big hands slide up to grip your ass, spreading you wider, guiding you harder, faster. Every forward drag smears your wetness along the sharp ridge of his nose; every backward glide has the tip bumping your clit so perfectly your vision sparks.

“That’s it,” he growls against you, tongue flicking out to lap at your entrance between breaths. “Fuck my face exactly how you want. Make a mess.”

You lose it.

Hands flying to the headboard, you start riding him in earnest—hips snapping, thighs burning, tits bouncing under the open shirt. His tongue spears inside you every time you glide back, nose grinding your clit mercilessly when you rock forward. The room fills with wet, obscene sounds and your broken moans echoing moans of his name.

“Sylus—oh god—right there—”

He laughs, dark and filthy, the sound muffled against your cunt. “Not God, sweetie. Just your very devoted boyfriend letting you ruin his face.”

You’re dripping everywhere—down his nose, his cheeks, his chin, pooling in the hollow of his throat. He drinks it like wine, tongue thrusting deep, nose rubbing hard circles until your legs start shaking uncontrollably.

“Close,” you sob, nails scraping the headboard. “Sylus, I’m—”

“Do it,” he snarls, fingers digging bruises into your ass, forcing you to ride faster. “Come all over my fucking face. Mark me up, kitten. Want to smell you for days.”

The orgasm slams into you so hard you nearly collapse. Your whole body locks, a silent scream tearing from your throat as you gush against his mouth, hips jerking helplessly while he keeps licking, keeps rubbing keeps you riding the peak until you’re crying from overstimulation.

When the tremors finally fade, you try to lift off, legs jelly. His arms lock around your thighs like steel.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he rasps, voice hoarse, face absolutely drenched and gleaming. “I said until you’re satisfied. We’re nowhere near done.”

You whimper, because you’re still pulsing, still empty and aching in the best way.

He grins up at you, wicked and adoring, nose shiny with you, lips swollen and red.

“Round two, sweetie. And this time I’m setting the pace.”

He flips you effortlessly, pinning your thighs open with his broad shoulders, and dives back in like a man possessed.

You’re not leaving that bed until the sun comes up—and neither is the smug, perfect, rideable nose that started it all.

夏以昼 ⛦ CALEB !

You can’t even remember how you got here.

One minute you were storming into Caleb’s room, cheeks burning with second-hand shame embarassment—finding your favorite pair of panties balled up under his pillow like some dirty little secret. The next, he was on his knees in front of you, sunshine smile gone, pupils blown wide, begging in that cracked, desperate voice you’d never heard from him before.

“I’m sorry, pipsqueak—fuck, I’m so sorry, I just—your smell—”

And now it’s been hours.

Hours of him on his knees between your spread thighs, face shoved into the soaked cotton of the panties you didn’t even bother taking off. Hours of his tongue dragging slow, worshipful stripes over the fabric, nose buried so deep he’s practically suffocating himself in you. Hours of him whining like a kicked puppy every time you let him up for air.

You’ve got one leg hooked over his shoulder, knee locked around the back of his neck, heel digging into his spine to keep him exactly where you want him. His hands are fisted in the sheets because you threatened to stop everything if he touched himself.

“Please,” he mumbles again, voice muffled and wet against your crotch. “Please, I’m sorry—”

“Please what, huh?” You tug his hair hard enough to make him gasp, forcing his red-rimmed eyes up to yours. “You thought you’d just get away with stealing my panties like some gross little pervert? Look at you now.”

A broken whimper spills out of him. His hips jerk forward involuntarily, grinding against nothing, and you feel the wet spot on his sweatpants brush your ankle.

You laugh, mean and sweet. “Licking my cunt through my own panties like a dog. Pathetic.”

He sobs—actually sobs, hot breath fanning over the soaked fabric. His cock is outlined obscenely in his pants, flushed angry red at the tip, a steady drip of precome darkening the grey cotton. When his hand twitches toward it you kick it away with your free foot.

“Oh no no no. This is a punishment, remember? You don’t get to touch that filthy cock of your’s.”

Caleb’s whole body shakes. He leans forward again without being told, tongue flattening against the gusset, licking broad, desperate stripes like he’s trying to drink you through the barrier. You reward him with a slow roll of your hips, grinding your clit against the bridge of his nose, and he moans like he’s the one coming undone.

“You humiliated me, Caleb,” you sigh, threading fingers through his hair just to yank harder. “Ruined everything we had. Our friendship, everything. Least you can do is feel a fraction of it.”

You glance down and, oh. There’s a fresh, darker patch spreading at the front of his sweats. He came just from this. Just from tasting you through cotton and being called a pervert.

You laugh again, delighted and cruel. “Aww, did you just come in your pants? Already?”

He whimpers, nodding frantically, hips still twitching through the aftershocks.

“Poor baby,” you coo, and finally, finally hook your thumbs into the waistband of your ruined panties. “Guess I’ll be nice—ah!—wait, wait—ahhh, fuck!”

The second the fabric is pushed aside Caleb snaps.

Hands shoot up to grip your thighs hard enough to bruise, spreading you open like he’s starving. There’s a sharp rip as he tears the panties clean in half, and then his mouth is on you, no hesitation, no teasing, just pure, sloppy desperation.

He buries his face so deep his nose is flush against your clit, shaking his head side to side to coat himself in you. Tongue plunging inside, curling, licking up every drop like it’s the first time he’s ever tasted anything good in his life. The noises are obscene, wet, animal, his moans vibrating straight into your core.

You cry out, back arching, fingers tightening in his hair until he whines. He doesn’t care. He’s humping your leg now, cock still hard and leaking through his soaked sweats, dragging himself against your leg like he can’t help it. You twitch at the sheer size of it, the feeling of it dragging against your skin through his pants.

“F-fuck—Caleb—”

He pulls back just long enough to gasp, “Taste so fucking good, pipsqueak, please don’t stop, please—”

Then he’s back, sucking your clit between his lips, tongue flicking fast and messy while his hips rut helplessly against your calf. You can feel how big he is even through the fabric, thick and ridiculous, and the thought alone makes you clench around nothing.

Your thighs start shaking. You’re close, so close, and he can tell because he doubles down, licking into you like he’s trying to crawl inside and never leave.

When you come it’s sudden and brutal, a full-body spasm that has you yanking his hair hard enough to hurt. He moans like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him, drinking you down in greedy gulps, hips stuttering as he spills again in his pants just from the taste of you cuming on his tongue.

When the haze clears you’re both panting. He’s still on his knees, face shiny and wrecked, eyes glassy with devotion and shame.

You loosen your grip in his hair, petting gently now.

“Friendship’s not the only thing ruined,” you whisper, breathless.

Caleb just smiles, small and sheepish and utterly fucked-out. “Good,” he rasps, voice raw. “Was getting tired of pretending anyway.”

his cock aches underneath his uniform and he just can’t take it. fuck the damn challenge. it’s the last thing on his mind, you being the first thing. your pussy struggling to take his cock, specifically. 

he groans, the sound raw in his chest, and stalks toward you like he’s already lost the battle with himself. his hands hook around your hips, pulling you off the counter and straight into a deep, desperate kiss.

“need you,” he mumbles against your lips, the words barely out before his tongue pushes into your mouth, hot and hungry. the force of it makes you lightheaded, your whole body going loose in his grip as he kisses you like he’s been deprived for weeks—it’s been one day. 

you part from him, much to his dismay, and look up at him through lidded eyes. “w-what about—”

“fuck it. you know i can barely go a day without fuckin’ you, baby.” he mutters, spinning you around and bending you back into your original position over the counter. “this okay, pips? or are you bent on winning the challenge this year?”

and, thank fucking god, you whimper with a shake of your head, “mmph, no… i want you, caleb.”

it’s all the confirmation he needs. he drags your his hoodie up over your ass, bunching the fabric at your waist, then tears your panties off like they offended him. his own uniform comes off just as violently, shredded off his body like a second skin he can’t stand to be in anymore.

when he finally pulls his cock out, the tip is already glossy with precum. the sight alone makes his breath hitch. he can’t help thinking how impossible it would’ve been to last a whole month without you—when he’s practically wanted you since… well, forever.

he gathers wetness, dragging his tip across your slit before slapping your cunt with the hefty weight of his cock. he revels in the way that you jump and whine, “stop teasing, caleb.”

he breathes out a soft, messy apology before pushing into your drooling hole, and your cunt welcomes him back instantly—greedy, grateful, like it’s been waiting for him just as badly.

it doesn’t take long before he bottoms out inside you, filling you completely. he’s so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat, every inch of him stretching you open in the way you’ve been craving.

“g-god, caleb,” you sigh, content with the way his cock stretches you around him. “you feel s’good, baby. s’deep.” 

caleb’s hands grasp tightly at your hips as he ruthlessly pounds into you and he lets out a throaty moan that borders on a desperate whimper. the sound makes your pussy flutter around him which elicits yet another sound from your boyfriend. 

“b-baby,” he says, voice cracking slightly. “fuckin’ love this pussy. can’t go without it—always need you s’bad.”

you laugh on a moan, wiggling your ass in front of him like a minx and whisper out, “it’s all yours, caleb. f-fuck, ah—yeah, right there! fuck me however much you want.”

caleb’s eyes roll back at the confirmation. his cock jerks uncontrollably before his body nearly keels over as his orgasm hits him like a truck out of nowhere. his warm cum fills you up till it’s practically overflowing out of you. 

“sh-shit, baby—” caleb whines. “‘m sorry, god, didn’t mean to cum s-so fast.”

you shake your head, “‘s okay… now that we’ve established no nut november is over for you, you can cum as much as you want.” you giggle, tightening around his messy length before whispering. 

you tighten around him again, your voice low and wicked when you whisper to him.

“preferably inside of me.” 

#XAVIER: NOVEMBER 3RD @ 10:05 PM

xavier genuinely thought no nut november meant he wasn’t allowed to eat nuts for the entire month—peanuts, cashews, almonds, all of it. easy. he didn’t snack on that stuff anyway. but when he discovers what it actually means? when he realizes the “challenge” he so confidently agreed to has nothing to do with food and everything to do with him not getting to cum? he’s furious.

furious that you tricked him. furious that you knew he never kept up with trends like this and still let him agree with that innocent little nod.

now it’s been three days. three long, hard days without touching you, kissing you, filling you with his cum and claiming you as his. 

frankly, enough is enough. 

xavier knows it’s late and that he has no business pounding on your door at 10 PM knowing good and well the two of you have to work early in the morning, and yet? he does it anyway without having a damn to give. 

when you open the door, he doesn’t even give you the chance to utter a single word before he’s grabbing your face and smashing his lips against yours for a depraved kiss. you moan in surprise and it allows him a chance to deepen the kiss to his liking. 

he pushes the two of you farther into your apartment so he’s not stuck in the doorway, but the second the door clicks shut behind him, he’s pinning you back against the cool wood. the chill contrasts sharply with your overheated skin, making you gasp just as his lips trail down your neck.

he nips at every patch of exposed skin he can reach, ignoring your breathless whimpers for him not to leave a mark.

“couldn’t wait any longer,” he murmurs, slipping his fingers in the waistband of your sleep shorts and rubbing at your clit, pulling clipped little moans out of you. “miss you, miss being inside of you. i can’t last a month, you win.”

“xavie,” you whimper, back arching off the door as his skilled fingers toy with your neglected bud. “no nut november is stupid anyway. i lose too.” 

it’s all it takes for xavier to rip your shorts and panties down and pull his aching cock from his pants and fill you up right against the door. 

you can’t help but cry at the feeling of your pussy molding to the shape of his cock again. three days without sex isn’t a long time, in fact, that’s pretty normal for… normal couples. 

but you and xavier are far from that. you’re insatiable for one another. you fuck like bunnies and while he’s more eager than you, slamming his hips up with force and haste, you still find yourself craving him several times a day nearly every day. 

“xavier!” you cry after a particularly sharp thrust against your spongy g-spot, velvet walls contracting around his thick length. “oh fuck, fuck, fuck.”  

he pants, thumb catching your clit again and rubbing disoriented circles against the swollen pearl. “cum with me,” he coaxes desperately and you cling onto him and his words for dear life. “come on, angel. show me you missed me as much as i missed you.”

your orgasm is explosive, the single leg you have wrapped around his waist pulls him closer as you attempt to keep your balance. you cry a mantra of his name while your ears ring. 

xavier follows in suit, stilling deep inside of you and spurting out thick ribbons of warm cum into you with a soft moan. he burries his head into the crook of your neck and bites the skin there again like he’s trying to make the marks impossible to cover up in the morning. 

“i love nuts in november,” xavier whispers and you can’t help but let out a breathy laugh and nod. 

“me too.”

#ZAYNE: NOVEMBER 8TH @ 11:17 PM

irritation doesn’t even begin to cover it. zayne has been battling a migraine for seven days straight, and there’s only one thing he can blame—the absurd, month-long, orgasm-free challenge known as no nut november. each day has been worse than the last, but today feels like the peak of his frustration, the kind he hasn’t felt in ages.

he’s usually patient, calm, steady—but now he’s worn down to the bone. he snapped at colleagues, was short with patients, and that little smile you’ve trained him to wear so easily? completely gone. not even the carefully packed macaroons you tucked into his lunch can touch the edge of this misery…

all he needed was you. 

so when he comes home a bit later than usual with his lips turned down in a little pout and trudges into the bedroom and spots you in his bed, it’s like the straw that breaks the camel's back. 

he huffs, unbuckling his belt with quick hands while his cock hardens underneath his slacks. 

“what are you doing?” you ask, smiling knowingly. you already know he won’t last long—clingy, needy, always craving your touch. the tension radiating off him is palpable, and there’s only one thing that can fix it: you.

without a word, he strips down to his boxers and slips into bed beside you, tugging you close into his arms. his face buries into your chest, nuzzling against you, and you swear you can hear him purring with contentment.

“i don’t think i care for this challenge, my love,” he mutters, voice low and rough around the edges. “i tried… really, i did. but work’s been hard, and the days without you just keep stretching longer and longer. every hour feels heavier than the last. please… can we just—”

he swallows, his big, pleading eyes locking onto yours, something raw and vulnerable in them that you’ve never seen before. his hands fidget on your body, unsure, yet desperate for your answer.

“fail. together?”

how can you say no?

and now zayne’s desperately rutting into you while trying to maintain his composure, but it’s been so long… almost 9 whole days without being buried in your warm cunt. his cool facade cracks and every ounce of need pours out of him. every little moan says, “i missed you,” and every thrust says, “i need you.” 

and that’s the thing about zayne. he has no trouble saying these things—he says them to you all the time—but words only tell part of the story. the way he fucks you tells it all, in a wild, desperate, overzealous way. every thrust, every grip, every groan screams one thing louder than words ever could— i love you.

his thick cock drags against your sopping walls, as his hands roam your body like he can’t get enough of your body and he wants to etch the memory of the way you feel in his brain. he gropes your tits, runs his fingers down your abdomen, grips at your hips, squeezes at your thighs—hands so hot and heavy, but still sweet and gentle.

“sweetheart,” he moans throatily and it has you sighing in content. “you’ve ruined me—god, i can’t even go 8 days without you.” he finds your hands and laces his fingers with yours. 

“you’re so weak, zaynie,” you breathe, a choked laugh slipping out with it.

“i am,” he agrees immediately, nodding as he squeezes your hands in his. “so, so, so weak—always weak when it comes to you.” he lets out a breathy laugh, his voice shaking. “y-you’re all i think about. every second of the day—i think about how you feel wrapped around me… think about filling you up so much you can’t think about anything but me. so you know exactly how it feels.”

your heart flutters in sync with your cunt, his words igniting heat that twists your stomach with need. “think ‘bout you all the time, zayne,” you whimper, and he groans, cock throbbing, balls pulling tight.

“then won’t you cum for me?” he asks, voice hot and sharp. “cum for me so i can fill you up with my cum.” it’s not a suggestion—no, it’s a command.

and really… who are you not to obey? especially when he asks so kindly.

#RAFAYEL: NOVEMBER 16TH @ 4:33 PM

rafayel has been so strong and oh so good. he loves a challenge, and when you first mentioned no nut november, he brushed it off with a cocky, “pffftt, this will be eaaasy.” and god, does he wish he’d said anything else, because now? he can’t take it anymore. the first week was fine—annoying, sure, but manageable. he had urges, but they didn’t own him. by day ten, though, rafayel was restless, pacing, jumpy, painfully aware of every brush of your skin and every thought of you. every single day after that? a living nightmare.

his resolve has crumbled to dust. he doesn’t care about the challenge anymore—can’t care—because you’ve taken over every corner, every crevice of his mind. he can’t paint, can’t sleep, can’t keep forcing himself into cold showers like they’ll save him.

he just needs you, and he needs you bad.

it’s his need that spams your phone with texts. 

rafayel ♡: cutie pls come over

rafayel ♡: you win

rafayel ♡: need you :( i cant take it anymore

you: muhahaha, i’ve been waiting for you to fold. i’m on my way ♡

when you arrive at his place with a permanent smirk on your lips, he doesn’t give you much of a chance to gloat, whimpering, “come here.” before molding his soft lips into yours. rafayel needily guides your body into his bedroom, tearing all of your clothes off of you and moaning into your mouth in the process. 

“rafayel, sl-slow down.” you attempt to say, but he swallows all of your words, drinking them in like he needs them to sustain himself. 

he pulls away from you just to get rid of his clothes and take in the sight of you with swollen lips, hazy eyes and heaving chest dressed in nothing but your underwear. then he’s immediately on you again, pulling your panties to the side and pushing his cock inside of you. 

he lets out a guttural moan—raw, shaky, broken. the kind of sound that tells you exactly how badly he’s craved you.

“i–i… oh fuck—cutie, fuck—you’re s’tight.” the words fall apart on his tongue, voice cracking like he’s coming undone inside you. “too tight… please—tell me you missed me as much as i missed you.”

you gasp as your walls stretch around him, fuller than they’ve felt in two aching weeks. your hands grip his strong shoulders, your mouth dropping open in a helpless moan—soft, sweet, impossible to hold back.

rafayel whimpers again at the sound. he hasn’t heard it in so long that now it’s overwhelming him, shattering whatever self-control he thought he still had. 

“i–i did miss you, baby,” you whine, nails digging into his shoulders until little red crescents bloom across his warm skin. he hisses at the sting—then his hips snap forward, harder, faster, like the pain only spurs him on.

“r-rafayel—hah! slow down— ‘m not going anywhere!”

“damn right, pretty girl.” he’s panting, voice frayed at the edges, a low chuckle rumbling out of him. “you’re not going anywhere until we make up for all that lost time. we’re never doing this again, right? you won’t make me spend a month without you ever again, right?”

you should tease him—should laugh at the fact he barely survived two weeks—but the truth is you spent that time touching yourself to the memory of him, aching for exactly this… and you never said you’d be participating in no nut november. 

so you just nod, breath shaky, a needy sound slipping out of you. “never.”

he groans, a deep, desperate sound, before crashing his lips against yours, kissing you like he’s starving. then his hips drive forward, pressing all the way in, and he spills into you with a needy, helpless moan that trembles against your mouth.

the sudden warmth inside you makes you gasp, but it’s the kind of shock that melts straight into relief, into everything you’ve been aching for these past weeks. your legs wind around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer, keeping him there as he rides out his orgasm—still moving, still chasing yours with shaky determination.

he really, really needed this.

#SYLUS: DECEMBER 1ST @ 12:00 AM

sylus knew you were upset with him. furious, even. he knew you never expected him to actually make it through the entire month of november without a single orgasm—and that’s exactly what made it fun. that’s why he held out as long as he did. your begging was adorable: all the pouts, all the half-assed seduction attempts, all the dramatic threats about killing him if he didn’t fuck you stupid. none of it worked the way you wanted. if anything, it only strengthened his resolve. and that made you livid.

it wasn’t that sylus didn’t want you—god, he wanted you constantly. how could he not when you always looked so perfect, when you kept throwing yourself at him like temptation incarnate?

but the wait? the wait was worth it. more than worth it. he knows it the moment the clock hits midnight, november finally ending—because you’re on him instantly, tearing into him like something starved.

“you bitch,” you practically growl, voice shaky as your hands tear at his clothes. “how dare you leave me hanging for a month?! do you know how many hours i went without you? do you?!”

“720, sweetie. i know because i went that long without you, too.” he drawls, a little smirk on his face hiding the pure excitement that he’s feeling, though his cock shows you just how eager sylus really is. “but it was a challenge. you didn’t really expect me to lose, did you?”

you want to strangle him. 

instead, you let your pussy strangle his cock, sinking onto him in one go. your walls painfully stretch to accommodate his size but you breathe through it and take it in stride like you have a point to prove. 

“just shut the fuck up and fuck me, sylus.” you groan, grabbing his hands and placing them on your hips. “fuck me good or i will never forgive you.”

his laugh comes out more like a groan, rough and strained, and he nods once before gripping your hips tight. in one effortless motion he lifts you—weightless in his hands—then drops you back down, thrusting up into you at the perfect, brutal angle. “as you wish, pretty girl.”

you cry out, sharp and high, when the tip of his cock slams against your cervix. “sylus!”

“yeah, i got you,” he grunts, voice gritty. a breathy huff of your name slips out of him as his brows pull together in focus. he’s trying… god, he’s trying so hard to stay locked in on your pleasure, to give you everything you’ve been deprived of.

but thirty days without an orgasm…

his balls ache, heavy and swollen, his cock throbbing inside your tight, tight pussy—so tight he can feel your heartbeat around him. and as he pumps into you, desperate and controlled all at once, he starts to feel it—your pleasure mixing with his, bleeding into him until it’s almost unbearable.

your hands palm your tits imagining they’re his hands and you find yourself wishing he had hands everywhere. you want them on your tits, your hips, around your throat, pressing against your clit and stomach—you can’t get enough of him. 

this doesn’t help sylus’s dilemma. the sight of you taking every inch of his cock like you own it with your head thrown back makes him damn near feral. 

“fuck, baby,” he gasps, fucking into you like a mad man. “missed this—missed you. you feel like heaven.”

“y-you could’ve—hah! you could’ve had me, sy—” you moan with a little bite in your words. 

“i know, i know,” he murmurs, voice low and apologetic. “poor thing… i kept you waiting for me. ‘m so sorry. let me make it up to you, sweetheart.”

you’re on your back almost instantly—flipped before you can even register the movement. by the time your vision catches up, your eyes go wide, breath stuttering at how fast he moved.

his thumb finds your clit, circling it with cruel precision, and his thrusts slow to a deep, deliberate rhythm. he wants to draw your orgasm out painfully without letting his own break free. his whole body shakes with restraint. he refuses to cum before you. he won’t. not after making you wait so long.

only when you come apart beneath him—only then will he spill his thick, pent-up seed inside you. and when you do? when you break and gush all over his abdomen, clear liquid spraying over his abdomen with a shattered cry… all he can do is fill you up with a copious amount of cum with a fragmented groan of his own. 

you shudder beneath him, twitching with every slow grind of his hips, but even through the haze you manage to get something out—something more than the tangled moans filling the room.

“i hope you can make it to the morning,” you breathe, voice trembling but defiant, “because i’m far from done with you.”

Sylus let out an amused chuckle and slid his fingers through your hair, watching you admire the scene for a moment. He noticed how your eyes widen ever so slightly, pupils dilating as you took in his searing length standing tall, dribbles of pre already sliding down his aching cock, begging to be used already.

The more you took in the sight, the more you couldn't hold back. Your lips stayed agape as you inched closer and closer—well, it wasn't really you inching to his cock now, was it?

The closer you were getting, you realized there was no backing out now. Sylus was already guiding you to where he (and you) needs you to be.

And you didn't waste a second when your lips made contact with his warm skin, drawing even more kisses on his body. Your mouth works intricate patterns on his cock, kissing the tip then dragging your tongue down to his base before repeating the pattern.

After getting him worked up, noticing him starting to twitch at your touch, your lips eventually latch around his tip and you dunk your head down with his cock stuffed in your mouth.

"Easy." he growled—a hint of urgency following his voice before he gripped onto your hair tighter, watching you bob your head up and down, up and down, not caring about what pace you're going at, not caring about if you're doing it wrong—you just wanted to feel good.

"Slow." Sylus warned, pulling your head back and scrutinizing your impatient expression—seeing your pants draw out of your lips more quickly, lips still agape, slightly swollen from going too rough on yourself. Sylus couldn't bear seeing you like that. "Take your time, sweetie."

You didn't respond and latched your lips on his searing tip, swirling your tongue around his length before dipping your head lower and moving at a slow, fixated rhythm.

"There we go..." Sylus praised, fingers lock around your strands as he carefully tugged a little harder. "Breathe, baby. Breathe."

And you listen to him, sucking in a deep breath, trying to maintain your breathing to a minimum so you could feel better. But the feeling of his length suffocating you as you sunk deeper was getting impossible by the second.

A delighted moan left your lips as you took in more of his taste. He was so fresh, so clean that you wanted more. But the buck of his hips, slowly rutting against your mouth, was telling you a different story—he was close.

"Keep going..." He moans. His free hand was fumbling on the bed, clinging onto the bedsheet as he tried holding back, but not even that was enough to keep him stable. His fingers eventually unwrap around from the silken sheets and he starts reaching for one thing—one thing you had.

Your hand.

The moment his fingers intertwined with yours, he was already a twitchy throbbing mess in you. His cock was burning, craving to be worn out after barely being used. And as you continue to move against him—Sylus's grip on your hand started to become stronger and stronger as the seconds passed.

Without warning you, the only thing that seemed to leave his lips was a guttural sound of pleasure before spurs of warm cum shoot down your throat, causing you to gasp in surprise and pull away, letting dribbles of his sperm drip down your chin.

"Woah."

"Now I have to shower again." Sylus laughed, wiping the corner of your lip with his thumb, staring into your lust filled eyes with so many thoughts racing through his mind.

"I'll join you."

"Alright. Let's go then."

He was minding his business, going over auction dates and weapon trades in his study. You were perched on a chaise lounge in the corner, attempting to read a book. Soon, one innocent look turned into incessant staring, eyes dragging up and down. Insatiable.

“Is your book no longer interesting?,” he chided, peering over his glasses. A small gasp caught in your throat, guilty. “Mm, not really, no.” His lips curled dangerously, beckoning you with a ‘come here’ finger. You stood at the edge of his desk, hands splayed at the edges of scattered paper work.

“Come sit, Kitten. Tell me what’s troubling you.” Your heart flickered, legs almost tangling around themselves as you shuffled to his lap. Sylus’s hand rested on your thigh, the other arm around your waist. “Speak up,” he goaded, lips grazing your ear. You squirmed in his lap, meeting his expectant eyes. “I’m just…bored.” He hummed, not quite convinced with your response. “Would you like me to take you home, then?” “N-no—I just, want some attention,” you murmured, fingers curling into his dress shirt.

“That’s more like it,” he purred, pulling you in closer. “What kind of attention, pet?” He traced circles on your knee, “you’ve been staring at my face, did you think I didn’t feel your eyes on me?” You felt warm, from your cheeks to the heat pooling between your thighs. He read you so easily, all while you thought he was immersed in his work. “I want…,” you whispered, eyes closing in on his nose, lip tucked in your teeth.

“Oh, I see…you’re in need of somewhere to sit? Am I correct?”

Your thighs pressed together, panties already beginning to soak through. “Mmh—yes…” A low growl rumbled in his chest, his arms slipping underneath to lift you. “I suppose I can stop working for now.” His stride was measured yet swift as he carried you to the bedroom, setting you down at the edge of the bed. He reclined against the headboard, loosening each shirt button, eyes already calling you. Your knees dug into the soft mattress, crawling your way until you straddled Sylus’s waist. Just the anticipation alone had him hard, pressing against your clothed heat.

“Why are you so far away? My face is up here,” he teased, gripping your ass and positioning you to hover above him. His hands slithered up the backs of your thighs, hiking your skirt higher. “Mmm, so wet already,” he groaned, running a thumb over the transparent fabric sticking to your skin. You whined, legs already trembling, “S-Sylus—.” That same thumb pushed your panties to the side, pupils dilating at the sight of the sticky mess just inches above his mouth. “Kitten…you’ve interrupted my work, I have graciously laid back and waited…,” a kiss pressed to your thigh, panties dragging down and thrown to the floor. “Now sit. And use me like you intended.”

With a strong tug, your heat met his tongue, parting you open, giving your clit a flick. “Ah—mmn,” you keened, bracing yourself on his shoulders. Sylus guided your hips forward and back, until your body took over and created its own rhythm. It started off slow, patient, but the taste of you crawling over his tongue sent rattling moans through your insides. You chased the sensation, the delicious vibrations, whining and whimpering—fingers buried in silvery-white tresses. His cheeks hallowed, inhaling your sensitive clit between his lips. Red eyes were all you could see as your hips continued to wind, hazy and lidded as the scent of your arousal coated the lower half of Sylus’s face.

“Haah—haah, feels s’good,” you rasped, trembling harder with every suck and lick. His forearms locked around you, keeping you pinned in place. Your eyes widened, then rolled back as you felt his pink muscle fill you completely. It was warm and thick, wriggling against your walls like he was leaving his signature. “Oh fuck, Sylus—too…too much!” A gravely sound rose from his throat, rippling all the way up your spine. You thrashed in his grip, full and overstimulated—pleasured tears welling in your eyes. He pulled away for a breath, “poor thing, isn’t this what you wanted?” His thumb found your clit, rubbing in torturous circles.

“Such a needy little thing, making a mess of my face. Though, I can’t say I’m not enjoying it,” his free hand came down on your ass, leaving a hot sting on your flesh. It only made you wetter, your slick rolling down his neck. “Mmh…gonna cum Sy, please,” you whimpered, nails digging into your own thighs. “Are you asking me to go faster?,” he purred, flicking his tongue like a serpent, “or maybe…slow…” His lips swept reverently over your folds, making out with your pussy. The sounds emanating from where you connect were filthy, your mind was swimming and breaths labored. “Gonna..mmm cum,” you hiccuped, brows bowed desperately for Sylus to bring you to climax.

“Take what you want, Kitten. I’m all yours.”

Your eyes fell to his nose again, hips moving on their own. You rode over the broad hump, sliding up and down. The tip nudged your clit, sending chills over your skin. Just a little more…just enough pressure. “That’s it…good girl,” Sylus praised. His gritty voice was your undoing, every muscle pulled tight then softening as you came. Essence soaked his face, pooling at his shoulders—leaving his pillowcase ruined. “Fuck…fuck…,” you whined, riding out each wave, legs clamping around his head. You felt Sylus shift beneath you, his hips chasing friction that wasn’t there. He moaned into your pussy, deep and guttural—leaving him gasping for air.

“Sylus—are you okay?,” you panted, pushing off his face. His cheeks were flushed and glistening, expression completely blissed out. He took your hand, smoothing it over his still twitching cock, “mm, more than okay, Kitten.” You felt the damp patch beneath your palm, he came untouched just from you using his face, from riding his nose fervently. Heat bloomed across your cheeks, hands reaching to cover your face. Sylus grabbed your wrists, “don’t be shy, you know I love to feed your desires.” You felt your pulse spike when his eye began to glow, “however, I’m still hungry…”

Suddenly you found yourself on your back. His head lowered between your legs, breath hot as it fanned over your sex.

“And I can assure you, I am far more greedy.”

*~*~*~

——

“mmh—” your head falls on his shoulder as his lips find your temple to stifle a moan. His cock splits you open as you bounce on it. He’s putty under you.

His palm runs over your back, settling at the back of your neck, cradling your head while you take him to the hilt.

Gravity forces his tip to kiss your cervix each time his cock is pummeled into you. his brows furrow, another thought bubbling. you were hell-bent on fucking each one out.

“you sho—” you pull back to kiss him messy now, before he finishes his thought—drinking up his words. “nghh i—” his jaw clenches.

“hush, my sweet.” you murmur. His hands slide low, gripping your hips as he swallows back sounds that erupt as deep grunts. How could he be quiet when your pussy has him in such a deliciously syrupy grip.

His finger finds your clit, pinching it once. “hah—! s’deep nghh—” your head lolls back, eyes fluttering shut. But he doesn’t let you. he grips your chin, pulling you into a greedy kiss. Spit and tongue and teeth.

His hips move below you, plowing into you deeper and deeper and deeper—

“m’cu—cumming! Your voice cracks. One more thrust, one more kiss to your womb and he’s finishing in you.

You pull his face closer, calming your breath as you come down from your high—nose to nose.

He lets out a breathy chuckle.  

“If the punishment feels this good, my love, I’m doomed to repeat the crime.”

And even though he doesn’t let anything show, you notice the goosebumps raising at the base of his neck.

“Sweetie, I can’t,” he answers firmly, though his hand trembles just slightly as he switches brushes. “I’m close. The movement, the essence—I can feel it.” His gaze flickers toward the strange figure he’s painting: a creature that might have been an octopus… if octopuses had banana-yellow tentacles curling absurdly in every direction.

The longer you stare, the deeper your frown grows. 

“I think I’m close,” he insists, brows furrowed in concentration as his hand move faster, almost feverishly. “Close to capturing the movement, the essence. I can’t stop now—stopping would be a waste.”

He continues, completely ignoring you, and after some minutes, you decide to stop being patient. You lean in fully, pressing against his side, making it impossible for him not to feel you. “Rafayel,” you whisper, your lips brushing the edge of his ear, “what if I say you’ve painted enough bananas for one night?”

Still, he doesn’t stop.

So, you pout, dragging your nails lightly over his thigh. “Mmm… fine. Then maybe I’ll just have to make you stop.” Your voice turns singsong, deliberately, as your hand slides a little higher, your body shifting against him.

You throw one of your legs over his lap, straddling effectively the solid muscle. 

Rafayel’s head snaps toward you instantly, eyes flashing from your body to the canvas you’ve just blocked from view.

“I told you to—eh! what you—mghn—” your hand traveled to cup his cock through his short, forcing his hand to abandon the brush and clamp around your waist instead. 

You lean in, lips brushing the shell of his ear, your tone feather-light yet dripping with mischief. “That is not fair, Rafa… You’ve got a pretty girl right here, all for you tonight, and all you’ve been doing is painting.”

You grind down, only one motion, back and forth, slowly on his lap. 

“Don’t give me that look,” you tease, tracing the line of his collarbone with one lazy finger. “I’m just trying to save you from going completely insane over that…” you throw a look over your shoulder, looking one last time at that—“…thing.”

He stays silent, the only thing giving you is his hand tightening around your waist. A warning he clearly expects you to heed.

You don’t.

Instead, you lean forward, brushing your lips just shy of his, your eyes sparkling with challenge. “What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll win?”

“Win what?” he mutters, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Your attention.”

The silence that follows is thick, tense. For a moment you think he’ll go back to his brushes, pretend you’re nothing more than an inconvenience. But then his fingers dig into your hip, and his gaze finally snaps fully to you.

The brush slips from his fingers and hits the floor with a hollow clatter. You don’t get the satisfaction of gloating. His palm slides to the small of your back, dragging you flush against him as he rises to his feet.

His bluish-pink eyes bore into yours, a dangerous mix of irritation and heat. “Climbing all over me like some spoiled little brat… ruining hours of work for your games.”

You open your mouth to smirk, to tease but it falters instantly. His forearms flex as he sweeps the clutter from the table beside him. Jars, brushes, rags—everything crashes to the floor in a chaotic tumble. And then, with no warning, he drops you onto the newly cleared surface, the impact jolting through your body.

Your gasp earns nothing but the faintest, cruelest curve of his mouth.

“You wanted my attention.” His hands pin you in place, one heavy on your thigh, the other gripping your wrist against the wood. “Now you’ll have it. And you’ll learn what it costs to steal it from me too.”

You squirm, testing him, eyes glinting with defiance. “Maybe you should thank me,” you breathe, forcing your bravado. “That painting wasn’t going anywhere.”

His laugh is humorless. “Careful.” He leans down, his face ghosting yours promising you a kiss that… nevercame—denying you the kiss you instinctively leaned toward to. “Every second you keep talking, I think of new ways to make you regret it.”

“That so?” you deadpan, your legs closing around his waist. “And how exactly will yo—”

Your sentence quiet never see the end of it as you’re interrupted with a mean slap on your thigh, heat blooming under his palm.

Rafayel’s hand that had been pinning you to the table flips in a single, controlled movement. You find the world turning and, in a blink, you’re face-up on the cleared workbench, paint-splattered wood rattling next to you. 

Both of your wrists are caught and secured above your head in one iron sweep.

He stands over you, tall and unreachable, the studio’s clutter framing him like a chaotic halo. For a second, he simply looks—cataloguing, assessing—the predatory patience in his gaze sharpening into something darker. 

“You think a pout and a little straddle buys you mercy, huh?” his thumb drags once along the underside of your wrist, everything but gentleness covers it. “You don’t get to decide when I work and when I don’t.”

You fling a look up at him, chin high, picturing the smug little grin you planned to give. The grin trembles but refuses to fall away. “Maybe I like to decide,” your voice is breathless, your mind full of anticipation. “Takin’ control and all.”

He snorts. “Yeah, of course you do.” He drops his chest, letting his weight crushes you to the table. “But enjoy it while you can,” sharp teeth bite your lobe, a tiny bite that sends shot of pleasure down your spine. “I’ll make sure you remember why you don’t do it often.”

As for now, he lets the silence stretches until your pulse hammers in your throat. Then, with the slowness of a man who knows the exact point where patience breaks, he traces the heel of his hand from the hallow of your throat, between your shoulder blades and finishes on the small of your back—where you skirt is haphazardly hunched above your ass.

He repeats the motion again and again, and every inch of that line pulls at the composure you’d been so proud of.

Heat crawls through you—indignation and something you won’t name—and the brat in you flares one last time. “You sound like you’re enjoying this,” you say, although it sounds more like a whimper than anything else.

He glances down, and for the barest heartbeat, you catch his expression softening into something almost like affection in the corner of your eye. But the softness is gouged away and replaced with a mockery flick in his dilatated pupils. 

“’course I am. You deserve someone who won’t hand you everything on a plate.”

Somewhere between the stubborn pulse at your throat and the slow, mounting pressure of his hold, you realize you’ve called down a storm you’re not sure you can weather. 

He’s not frantic, he’s not clumsy. He’s methodical, a patient artist with a new muse to dominate—and he’s going to enjoy every meticulous, maddening minute of it.

His palm is still firmly capturing your wrists when the other finds its way against your panties. A devilish smirk touches his face—they’re wet.

“Who gets worked up from the threat of being punished? Only sluts do,” he pushes your shirt higher, exposing the line of your back, and his mouth lands there. He trails wet kisses, letting his tongue darting out there and here—leaving a series of teasing kisses that are much a claim as they are torment. 

His long fingers toy with your clit through your fabric. 

Time slows, the studio around you seems to contract until it’s just the two of you and the sound of ragged breaths. 

His digits are unhurried against your throbbing core. He coordinates his tempo: fingers circling around your clit—quiet never touching it—and the tip of his hot tongue drawing small circle at the very base of your spine.

You pant onto the wood, your forehead resting against it as your ass wiggle in hope to get his hand where you want it. Your nails dig onto his larger one, squirming under his weight.

“Need something?” his voice’s muffled against your flushed skin. His pink tongue explores lower, not afraid to lick your ass covered with panties and then back up to your spine.

“Fingers.” Your voice is thick with need, your mind is devoid of all thoughts except for the fat of his digits messing up your slick on your fat lips.

A low chuckle rumbles against your back, hot breath ghosting where his lips just were. He presses his hand flat between your thighs, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit through soaked fabric. “Greedy little thing.”

He frees his hand from above your head and comes to tug at your panties, pulling them tight against your swollen folds before snapping the elastic back in place, a sharp sting making your body jolt. 

“You’re dripping through these,” he mutters, dragging two fingers over the damp patch. He pushes the fabric aside at last, and the sudden cool air against your bare cunt makes you whimper.

Thick fingers spread the fatness of your cunt aside, two thumbs holding them apart as he crouches to be eyed level with the pretty pussy.

His pretty pussy.

He gathers a generous quantity of saliva in his mouth and spits. His eyes are fixated on the bullets of spit dripping down and mixing with your arousal.

And finally, he presses one thick elegant digit inside. A single and long finger reaching far deeper than some could ever. A messy moan spills free from your parted mouth and Rafayel answers just as enthusiastically.

“Ehhhhh…” he mutters, “…already clenching?”

He twists his wrist, sliding in to the knuckle before pulling back and thrusting again, each motion dragging out more wetness. His other finger teases at your entrance, circling then pushing; forcing its way in beside the first.

Your eyes roll back when his fingers curve and hit the spongy spot. But he doesn’t stop there—it would be too merciful—instead he uses his thumb to stimulate your clit, rubbing slow and in rhythm with his fingers inside you.

He leans in, lips brushing against your thigh as his voice drops to a growl. “Now… what was it you said?” his fingers curl deeper, his thumb pressing harder until your vision blur with tears. “ ‘tryin’ to save me from going insane over that thing’… mm?”

You choke on a moan, writhing under him, but his grip on your thighs pins you wide open. His tone drips with mock affection when he whispers your name, yet his eyes are dark—all the pretty blue and pink of his eyes eaten up by his blown pupils. “Look at you now. Who’s insane?”

Your body convulses when he scissors his fingers inside you, the round end of his middle and ring finger dragging against your walls with every slow pump. The sound is wet, filling the studio like another brushstroke in his masterpiece.

Your teeth sinking into your lip as you try to hold it in. But he sees it—sees the tremor in your thighs, sees your knuckles turning white.

“You’re holding back,” Rafayel says almost softly, “Don’t.”

His thumb presses harder, circling with surgeon’s precision. His fingers find that spongy spot again and again, curling, stroking, coaxing. Your bratty retorts die in your throat, replaced with desperate gasps.

“Say it,” he murmurs, his lips brushing higher up your thigh, wet heat from his breath raising goosebumps. 

His thumb slaps lightly against your sensitive button. “Say. It. Whose hands are driving you insane now?”

“R-Rafayel—”

And when you break—when the tension snaps inside you with a cry that tears from your chest—he watches you unravel with painter’s focus. Your slick gushes around his fingers, dripping onto his wrist, pooling under you. He doesn’t look away once, doesn’t let up his rhythm until you’re twitching and sobbing against the polished wood.

“Beautiful,” his lips ghost your slick thighs. His fingers slow, coaxing every last tremor from your cunt. “Messier than paint on canvas. But still…” his voice drops lower when he adds, “…perfect.” Followed by a kiss on your inner thigh.

When he pulls out his fingers, the studio’s light reflects on the slick glistening on his hand. And he’s so intoxicated, he doesn’t wait longer to lick them clean, one by one. As though savoring the work of art he just created.

His lips crash against your swollen cunt, tongue flattening and toying with your sweet spot. 

“A-ah—!” You jolt, crying out, thighs instinctively trying to close, and you try to push up from the table.

But Rafayel is faster, stronger. One palm slam on your lower back as the other push one of your legs on the wood, keeping you wide open for him to taste as he wishes.

His tongue works relentlessly, none of that practiced precision from earlier.

You sob, hips lifting, trying to wriggle away and chase it at the same time. His teeth catch on your clit, scraping lightly before he sucks it hard, and your vision bursts with stars.

“Thought you were tough,” he chuckles, blowing a hot breath on your sensitive part. “Gonna paint you with it,” he groans into your cunt, words muffled. “With every drop I’ll pour into your pussy.”

His fingers piston back inside your tight hole, two at once, curling viciously as his tongue never leaves your clit. Each thrust of his fingers punches that swollen spot inside.

Your voice breaks into ragged pants, your body trashing, but his grip on you in firm.

When your orgasm tears through you this time, it’s violent. Your cunt gushes around his fingers, soaking his palm, splattering the floor beneath you. He moans low and feral at the sight, drinking it down; messy slurps filling the room, nose buried against your folds as if he could drown there.

When he finally rips his mouth away, spit and slick drip down his chin in thick strands. His gaze immediately drops to your panties—ruined, useless, soaked through with spit and cum.

One strong arm hook around you, flipping you onto your back. You squeal at the sudden movement, body still spasming from your climax, nerves fried. But when your eyes catch his face—your stomach knots.

He’s gone. Utterly feral.

His lips are swollen red, glistening, and his pupils are blown wide, nothing human in the way they pin you down. He looks drunk, drunk on you. The obscene bulge straining his shorts twitches, leaking dark patches through the fabric, and yet—he doesn’t even touch it. His hand never stops, fingers still thrusting into your soaked cunt, curling, twisting, tormenting.

You’re sobbing, trembling, begging without words, but your body betrays you—milking him greedily, clenching and fluttering around those vicious fingers. He watches you unravel like a madman, chest heaving, a wild smile tugging at spit-smeared lips.

“Again,” he rasps, voice cracked, whispering hot against your ear. His spit dribbles onto your cheek, and he doesn’t even care—he smears it down to your mouth with his thumb.

He lets his fingers come out sloooowly before shoving them back in hard. His breath shakes as his forehead presses to yours, his voice desperate. “Gimme another,” he says twisting his hand so his palm could press your swollen clit until he sees those pretty tears pearling your beautiful eyes. 

𓂃۶ৎ CALEB

“You think that was funny?” Caleb slams his forearm into the door right beside your head as he cages you in. the dim light of his frat rooms casts shadows over his sharp features, but it’s his eyes—usually bright, playful violet—that burn into you now.

“Well, you said it yourself, Caleb.” Your tone is casual, dismissive. “We’re only frat buddies. Friends who fuck when we’re bored.” You tilt your chin up, unbothered, lips curling into that smug you know he hates. 

“I do what I want at the end of the day.” 

He presses in closer, chest brushing yours, breath hot against your mouth. His fingers twitch.

“And if what I want,” you add sweetly, venom wrapped in honey, “is grinding my pretty little ass against some stranger, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

The muscle in his jaw ticks, his nostrils flare. You swear the air between you crackles. His voice drops lower, rougher, barely restrained.

“You’re out here acting like I won’t fuck the attitude out of you for that.”

And you smirk wider, satisfied, because that was exactly the reaction you were pulling for.

A reaction where Caleb sneaks his hand under your miniskirt, roll it above your hips and in an instant got the zipper of his jeans undone. His leaking head of his cock grazes your entrance before you could even blink. 

He smears his pre-cum up and down your soaked folds, spreading your mess across his length with a guttural sound. 

He spits right onto his palm, then stroking viciously his length. You watch the saliva covering his size and your reaction is immediate—your cunt flutters in need.

And without much warning he drives right in. The stretch is devastating, a white-hot intrusion that steal the air from your lungs. His bicep bulge as he hooks your legs around his waist, pressing your back against the door, holding you up with nothing but raw muscle. 

“B-bastard, mghn—!” you rasp, nails clawing at his back, his arms, anything and anywhere you could reach.

Caleb only growls in answer, burying himself inch by inch until his pelvis slams against your ass. The breath shudders out of him, his chest crushing your shirted tits, his mouth dragging spit-slick kisses up your neck. 

Your moans grow loud, your mouth falling open for his biggest pleasure.

“Shhh,” he pants, though he sounds just as desperate. his hips grind into you, the fat head of his cock nudging your cervix. “We both love when you’re noisy, but you don’t want the whole frat house to hear how much of a cock-hungry slut you are. . . do you?”

And you’re incapable of answering, because his pace suddenly snaps—brutal, pounding, his heavy balls smacking against your ass with every thrust. The sloppy squelch of your cunt swallowing him down echoes off the walls, mixing with your shattered cries.

“God—fuck—” his voice’s wrecked, caught between a whimper and a moan. He pulls almost all the way out, leaving you aching and empty, before slamming back in so hard the door rattles—his pubic hair not missing to assault your clit too. “Tight—so fuckin’ tiiiiight.”

You whimper, drool slicking your lips, mind blank under the rentless pounding. “C-can’t—”

“Yeah, you can.” His hand finds your throat, squeezing until no sounds can came out of you. His lips brush your ear, hot and desperate. “You’re mine. You’ll take it. You’ll take all of me like a good girl.”

You can feel every thick vein of his cock pulses, already spilling heat deep inside you. But he doesn’t stop, as if he could stop. Not when the sound of his cum and your slick squelching so perfectly around his shaft sounds like a delicious melody to his ears.

The filthy mixture drips down your thighs, staining the floor beneath. A fat ring of white cum is presents at the base of his cock, his happy trail shining with filth.

“Nghhhhhhh,” Caleb moans, eyes glassy, violet gone near black. “Loooook at this, ohhhh, fuuuuck,” His voice cracks, lost in awe, wrecked beyond repair.

His grip shifts, freeing your throat only to yank your top up, shoving your bra aside. His rough palms knead your tits, pinching your nipples until you cry. Sweat drips from his jaw, his grin feral.  

“Pretty thing—cryin’ and still squeezin’ me like you wanna wring out every drop. Filthy girl. If you wanted my cock that bad you could have just asked.”

“D-don’t—don’t be so—full of yourself, ngh—” You choke on your own spit, walls spasming around him, an orgasm tearing through you with no mercy. Your body convulses against his wide frame, cunt flooding his cock until it’s a wet mess.

“Yessss—fuck yes, that’s it,” Caleb snarls, pounding through your climax, his own cock swelling again inside your wrecked hole. “lemme wreck you ‘til you don’t remember how to insult me anymore.”

He spits again, this time right into your open mouth, smearing it across your tongue with two fingers. “Swallow.”

Your throat works, obeying, and the sight of it has him losing his mind. His hips stutter, cock dragging out only to slam back in, bruising, needy. He groans loud, desperate, and spills into you again, filling you until you’re overflowing.

He holds you tight as he lays you on the floor, folding you under him as his thrusts turn messy, erratic, his entire weight collapsing on you. his teeth sink into your shoulder, and his voice drops to broken mumbling between grunts and curses.

But your fuzzy mind still catches some words: “perfect pussy… never enough—never stoppin’”

𓂃۶ৎ XAVIER

“C’mon, use your big words,” Xavier looks almost, almost, bored. 

Midnight hums in the room, the clock’s ticking in the corner, but you’re kind of… needy. And, unfortunately for you, you’ve never had the heart to propose or the courage to even speak up what you wanted clear and loud.

It just wasn’t your personality…

And now that Xavier leans back against the headboard, sprawled half-naked on your shared bed, with only his boxer clinging low on his hips. . . well it didn’t help your shyness by any kind.

And it’s still not helping that he lets no expression letting out except for his deep blue eyes scrutinizing your fumbling hands playing with your nightgown.

A long finger hooks under your chin, tilting your face up until you’re forced to drown in his gaze. He only lifts his eyebrows, hurrying you to speak.

“It’s nothing really—” but his eyes narrow. That look alone stops you cold. The silent command in them is clear: don’t you dare lie to me. 

Your throat bobs. “I just—huh, it’s embarrassing, and, truly, I’d understand if you don’t want—”

“Oh, god,” he cuts in, exhaling sharply through his nose. “Spit it out already.”

“iwantedtotryasixtyninewithyou” the words trip out in a frantic rush:

“What was that?” the bored face cracks to reveal something far more dangerous.

“I—” your cheeks are burning red, your whole body on fire. “—wanted to try a sixty-nine with you.” 

The silence that follows could split you in two.

Xavier’s gaze drags down your body, and when it slides back up to your face, his lips curl. A smirk that makes your stomach clench. 

“You get shy about that?” his voice’s rougher. He shifts forward, the boxer straining as his cock hardens against the fabric, evidence of just how not bored he is now. “You really thought I’d tell you no?”

His finger traces your bottom lip, pressing until your mouth parts. “You’re adorable when you beg without realizing it.”

Your cheeks flame, your thighs pressing together unconsciously. His thumb slides into your waiting mouth, the taste of salt and skin invading your tongue. He pushes deeper the fatness of his digit, pressing heavy against your tongue until you gag, spit coating your lips, spiling down your chin.

While your mouth is full of him, his other hand drifts down your body, fingertips skating over the fragile line of your collarbone, down to your breasts. He pauses there, circling your hard nipple through the thin fabric, a lazy torment, before trailing lower. 

“Can’t even ask properly and yet you expect me to climb over you and make a mess out of you?”

Your tongue curls desperately around him in answer, spit slicking his thumb, and you nod, eyes blown wide. It’s pathetic. It’s enough.

He pulls his thumb free with a wet pop, smears the mess across your chin, and then grabs your wrist in a firm, unyielding grip. His strength is terrifyingly effortless. He manhandles you into position, turning your body where he needs it and forcing your weight on his abdomen as he discharges his boxer in a swift motion. 

His cock springs free, thick and flushed, the strawberry tip weeping in anticipation.

The sight makes your throat tighten. The weight of him settles against your lips when you lean down, your breath hitching as he leaks warm onto your tongue before you even have the courage to suck.

The position is dizzying, his cock nudging against your lips as his breath fans over your slick folds.

“Open,” he orders, pushing the fat head of his cock against your mouth. The taste of salt and musk coats your tongue as you wrap your lips around him. Xavier licks a slow up your slit, pressing flat and wet, dragging from your dripping entrance to your clit.

Your muffled moan vibrates around his cock. Xavier chuckles darkly, forcing your weight to drop full onto his eager mouth. His tongue is ruthless, plunging between your folds, lapping everything you give him. His nose buries into your clit, inhaling shamelessly your scent.

You choke around him when he shakes his head side to side, his tongue trashing, his mouth obscene. He groans against you, the sound vibrating through your cunt, and rocks his hips forward, driving his cock deeper into your throat. Tears prick your eyes when the round tip graze the back of your throat, drool pouring down your chin.

“Relax,” he rasps, “You can take it just fine.”

His teeth graze your inner thigh in a fleeting bite, a sharp sting soothed instantly by the broad lick of his tongue. Then he flattens it, dragging up and down the fatness of your lips, soaking you in spit, before flicking his pink, rosy tongue tip against your clit. 

Your whimper escapes, muffled around his cock, and you pull off him for a desperate breath, spit stringing from your lips to his shaft. 

“You think you can ask me properly to cum?” he taunts, his words a hot vibration against your sensitive folds. His thumb slides into play, pressing tight circles on your bundle of nerves while his tongue plunges lower again, fucking you with obscene wet sounds.

Your thighs quake around his head, your nails digging into his thighs for purchase. Your chest heaves as you pant, spit still dripping down your chin. The coil inside you twists tight, unbearable.

“I—uh,” your mind is too cloudy to even think about something else than his mouth. Said mouth pulling away from your warmth to spit directly onto it. The warm slick runs down your pussy, mixing with the mess he’s already made of you.

He slurps it back up, greedy, and groans low in his chest. “Already, allll dumb, mh?” he mocks, sucking harder. 

Your vision blurs, the room starts spinning, your moans break ragged out of your sore throat, but he doesn’t stop one tiny second. 

His hands shift lower, gripping your ass with bruising force, spreading you open until you feel obscenely bare, every nerve alight and vulnerable under his mouth. 

He devours you like he’s carving you open with his tongue, like nothing else exists but the taste of you spilling over his lips and chin.

𓂃۶ৎ ZAYNE

The show flickers on the screen. 

You’re sprawled on the couch, long and heavy plaid keeping you all warm with a gigantesque bowl perched on your stomach. 

Zayne sits beside you, his weight dipping the cushions, your calves comfortably resting across his lap. Every so often his hands drift absentmindedly, fingers drumming along you shin.

Everything is… Domestic.

Until you catch the corner of his mouth quirking. 

“What?” you mumble, squinting at him through a mouthful of popcorn.

“Nothing.” His tone is smooth.

“Zayne.”

He finally glances at you, those deep hazel eyes gleaming in the dim light, and shrugs with a grin. “You’ve got butter on your lip.”

You swipe at your mouth, frowning. “Where?”

He leans forward, and instead of answering, he presses the briefest, most teasing kiss to the corner of your lips. A peck, nothing more—yet, like every single time, your whole body sets on fire.

You blink.

He leans back, casual, as if he didn’t just make the air unbearably thick.

“That’s cheating.” you accuse softly.

“Cheating?” his brows lift in mock innocence, but his hand hasn’t moved from your leg. In fact, his thumb now traces small circles into your calf.

“Yeah,” you mutter, eyes darting to his lips before you can stop yourself. “You don’t get to do that and pretend it’s nothing.”

Zayne chuckles low, dipping in again—another quick peck, this time right on your lips. It’s longer and firmer.

And before you realize it, you’re chasing his mouth when he pulls away. Zayne meets you halfway, his mouth slanting over you again, this time slower, deliberate, a tease that steaks the air from your lungs.

It starts sweet; lips brushing, catching, but then his teeth graze your bottom lip, and you gasp. He takes the occasion to grab the back of your knee and tugs, dragging you across the couch until your straddling him—the plaid falling onto the floor.

And in only seconds, the kiss turns feral. Your mouths crash and part, tongue sliding, spit stringing when he pulls back just to watch you chase him. You’re breathless, whining softly when he doesn’t give you what you want right away.

“Eager?” his voice’s husky and his fingers are a brand where they drip your thighs, holding you down against the hard line of his lap. “Can’t even sit still.”

You grind once, as if your body wants to prove him right. His groan vibrates straight into your mouth before he smirks. “That’s cute.” He nips your bottom lip again, forcing a whimper out of you, then licks into your mouth.

Your hands find his soft, wild hair. You tug on them, desperate to pull him closer, tipping his head back. And he lets you do as you please—lets you ruin his mouth with sloppy kisses, lets your drool slick his chin.

“We’re only making out—” but you don’t let him finish. You lunge for his mouth, clumsily tripping his lips between yours, and he laughs into the kiss.

You lost all sense of time. His hands move to your ass and drags you down harder onto his lap.

Every kiss is a little more brutal than the last, your mouths moving in frantic rhythm… like both of you want to carve themselves into the other.

Your thighs squeeze around his hips, grounding yourself while his hands wander with no shame. One hand is heavily pressed under your top, keeping you plastered against his chest, as the other is gripping your jaw, tilting your face just so he can lick into your mouth.

You can taste him everywhere. His tongue strokes slow at first, then faster, sliding against yours until your throat tightens, spit spilling over your lips. And each time one of you break the kiss, a strong string of saliva connects you.

Zayne groans each time at the sight, bites it off your mouth, then licks it away like it’s his favorite thing.

“So fuckin’ messy, God—” his voice is raspy, lips bitten red and swollen from the endless kisses. His breath ghosts over your face, hungry, before he lets his tongue fall out between his teeth. 

“Suck.” He orders.

And you don’t even hesitate. 

You seal your lips around his tongue, sucking it into your mouth like that’s a damn lollipop. Your cheeks hollow as you drag it deeper, rolling your tongue around his, slobbering without shame. 

Zayne moans like you’ve undone him, his hips jolting up against you, cock grinding hard under your soaked shorts. His hand cups the back of your head, yanking you off. His pupils are dilated, eyes glued to your glistening lips. “Goin’ dumb on my tongue like it’s my cock…”

Your eyes flutter back, a whimper vibrating and ricocheting onto his cock. All while your body keep rocking on his thick thighs, dragging your clit against him. Your wetness soaks through cotton, leaving a wet spot on his pajama pants.

The couch creaks under the weight of you both, bodies twisting and writhing, plaid and popcorn long forgotten on the floor. His lips trail down your jaw to your throat, sucking messy bruises that make you arch and whine.

Your shirt is wrinkled, collar pulled down so he can mark you up further, and his hair is a wild mess where your hands keep tugging.

And still—still—it’s only kissing. Only his mouth wrecking yours until your lips are numb, only his tongue ruining you until your thighs ache from holding on so tight.

“Fuck—” you gasp when his teeth nip the sensitive skin below your ear. Your nails rake over his shoulders, clawing through the fabric of his shirt. “Z-Zayne—” 

“Say my name like that again,” he pants, one hand sliding up your shirt to grip your breast. His large and veiny palms cover the soft skin, two fingers pinching the hardened nipple. His hips snap up once, pressing harder his lengthy dick.

Your head falls back with a choked moan.

The sound makes him feral. He buries his face in the crock of your neck, sucking where his mouth reaches, marking you while rutting up into you with brutal rhythm. Each thrust drags your clit over the thick ridge of his cock.

He licks a stripe over the column of your throat, before biting down. His hand slips lower, sneaking under your shorts to cup the heat of your cunt through your soaked panties. He presses with his palm, smearing wetness. “You’re drippin’ through these, you—” he shakes his head, half in awe. His thumb pushes harder, testing how far he can make the mess spread. “Fuck, that’s a lot.”

And even if you wanted to answer, you couldn’t. You can only rut against him, thighs quaking, every nerve ending burning.

He takes your mouth again, biting, swallowing every broken sound you make. His tongue shoves past your lips like he’s trying to crawl inside you, and his fist knots in your hair, yanking you forward until your teeth clack against his. It’s filthy, all spit and desperation, both of you gasping into each other like air doesn’t exist anywhere else. 

“You gonna cum like this, aren’t you?” he circles his hips with maddening precision, making you nearly cry out. His cock grinds into you through too many layers in your opinion. A wet, dark spot is streaking his pants proudly.

“You—” you try, but your voice breaks into a whimper, nails digging so hard onto his back you’re sure he’s going to have the mark later on. 

The coil inside you shreds in an instant, your body snapping into release. Heat gushes into your panties, soaking through to stain his pants, dripping down your thighs as you convulse in his lap.

The sight of it—the feel of it—drags a curse out of him, rough and animal. His hips jerk in ragged thrusts, rutting into your mess. He never lets your mouth go, kissing you through your cries, teeth clashing as his cock pulses violently. He spills hot and thick into his boxers, the fabric darkening between you—long hot shoot of seed flooding the space.

You’re both a mess, clinging and trembling with wet clothes sticking to overheated skin. His lips bite yours one last time before pulling back and playfully smile at you. His hair a wild mess, dropping to his pretty eyes.

“See?” he whispers, voice shredded, lower face glistening with sweat and spit. “Just a make-out.”

𓂃۶ৎ SYLUS

“You be giggling a lot,” Sylus smirks.

Well, you think he smirks. 

Because with the thick blindfold he slipped over your eyes, it was hard to tell. The world was gone—you were drowning in a delicious velvety darkness. The sound of his voice circling you.

“I can’t help Sy’,” you murmur, biting your lower lip as your back arches instinctively off the bed. The leather biting into your wrists as the restraints tug taunt only makes you shiver harder, every nerve alive with anticipation. 

He chuckles, soft and dangerous, the kind of laugh that makes heat pool between your legs. “I can only imagine, my love,”

Your body squirms, but there’s nowhere to go, not with his knots holding you down firm, not with the slightbrush of his fingertips ghosting along your naked hip. The restrain, the blindfold, the not-knowing… none of it scares you. 

If anything, it winds you tighter, excitement burning through every vein.

You hear a faint rustle. Something delicate, whisper-light, tracing the air.

Then—

“Oh god—” you whisper, the faintest tickle of the hollow of your throat. 

A feather.

You jolt, breath catching, but Sylus’ hand comes down on your stomach to keep you pinned. “Easy,” he drawls, the grin in his voice unmistakable.

The feather drags slow—agonizingly slow. It traces over the curve of your throat, down to your collarbone. Your skin prickles, every nerve raw and screaming within seconds.

“Sensitive?” his voice is mock-sweet. 

It skims over your breast, circling lazily around your nipple without quite giving it the contact you crave. You arch into it, but the bonds snap taut, denying you even that little victory.

Sylus laughs under his breath but say nothing else. He dips the feather, trail over your ribs, down your side, stopping just above your hipbone. The pause is unbearable, your entire body trembling, waiting.

Then he flicks the feather right across your clothed mound. A cruel, fleeting brush that makes your whole body jerk. 

“Mm. there it is,” he murmurs to himself, so low your clouded mind almost misses it. And he does it again, this time slower, circling, teasing, pressing barely enough for you to feel. And far not enough to satisfy.

Your thighs clench, straining against nothing, a broken noise slipping past your lips. 

“You sound pretty when you’re frustrated,” he teases, stroking the feather along the inside of your thigh, just shy of where you need it most. “Makes me want to keep this up all night.”

The feather returns to your core, skimming the center of your pubic bone.

Sylus hums low, pleased, leaning close so his words ghost across your ear. “You’re gonna lose your mind, sweetheart. And I’m gonna be right here, listening to every little sound you make for me.” His voice drips rough, reverent. “God, I love this. Love you like this.”

The feather moves upward, trailing over your belly, teasing circles around your navel before drifting higher—your chest rising in anticipation. 

“Oh? You want it here, don’t you?” He lets the plume trace your breast, circling wide and slow until your nipple stiffens. He grins against your cheek when you pant is quick breaths. “That desperate already? You’re even cuter like this. Makes me want to ruin you.”

He flicks the feather over your nipple, sharp and light, over and over. Your back arches, wrists straining in the ropes, your mouth parting in a silent O. 

But suddenly…

Everything stops.

The absence makes you whimper, mind reeling. Until you feel it. Something cold. Wet. Unexpected. Dabbed right onto your nipple, the chill biting through your heat.

“Sylus, what is—”

He cuts you off with a sinful laugh. “Couldn’t resist.” There’s a pause before he adds, “You’re too perfect not to taste.” 

His tongue laps up in a slow circle before he sucks your nipple into his mouth with a deep groan. Your hips buck uselessly— his mouth worships one breast, the plume teases the other, drawing lazy lines over the untouched tit.

“Whipped cream is extra-delicious on you, my love.” His voice is sticky-sweet.

And when he shifts lower, feather following his movement across the slope of your stomach, you freeze.

More cream, squirted directly across your belly, a sinful line that makes you gasp. Sylus hums, pleased, smearing it with the tip of the feather. He drips his head and licks. His tongue is hot, contrasting with the chill cream.

He moans into your skin, the sound vibrating through you. His taste bulb follows the trail, messy, greedy, lapping until you’re sticky, wet, marked by him. Then he blows a teasing breath over the wet skin, making you squirm harder.

“Think I should paint you with this?” his little laugh is… hungry. “Every inch… so I get to lick you clean.”

“what’s wrong, darling? you have nothing to say?” he asks gently, but there’s nothing gentle about the way his hips slam into you, ass clapping against his pelvis in a steady pace that sends your head reeling. he’s got one hand pushing between your shoulder blades, pressing your face hard into the mattress as the other holds you in a slutty arch.

“use your voice, hm? it’s the least you could do after teasing me while i was on the phone.”

“fuuck- i‘m sorry, zayne- jus’ missed you so bad,” you’re whining and whimpering, tears are starting to gather at the corner of your eyes after cumming twice already. “but i can’t cum anymore- can’t-“

he gives a harsh slap across your ass before soothing it with his palm. “you should be prepared to face the consequences when you misbehave, my love. you’re not done.”