Ninja Shoyo

You weren’t willing to find out, that’s for sure. You called your sweet doctor, letting him know to not worry about having to stay late at Akso due to complications with a couple of his patients seeing as you finally had plans with your girls. He was pleased at first with the decision, understanding that it was your closest friend’s birthday and you yourself deserved to let loose- being such a dedicated and hard worker yourself it was rare to have plans with your friends to get so excited for.

It was when the snowman finally broke through the crowd that he found you tucked away with your closest gal pals- drink in one hand while swaying your delectably full hips in hypnotic circles as your excuse of a dress rode up dangerously high- that any contentment in Zayne’s brain immediately disappeared and turned into something darker.

You were unbelievable- he couldn’t deny that much. Ethereal in your most authentic state, you danced like nothing else mattered while your friends circled around you like a true hype squad. Your smile was bright, cheeks pink with a deep flush and your hair just slightly stuck to your warm skin. You looked ravishing to the doctor in a tight, dusty blue and silver sparkling mini dress. What had him reeling though, was the significant dip in the back of the dress, showcasing the beautiful curve of your spine as you moved and grooved to the beat.

That annoying throb in his forehead deepened and quickly shot somewhere down south, and suddenly the club was rising in temperature despite his evol desperately trying to cool him off. This was a sight that he for more than selfish reasons needed to cut short. For the safety of everyone in the tight space- it was time to call it a night.

You were in a trance, loudly singing off tune to the song blasting in the club’s speakers when suddenly two large hands placed themselves on your hips. Your reaction time was slightly delayed, but you managed to swing yourself around as your mouth began to spit vicious threats.

“BACK OFF! DUNNO WHO Y’THINK YOU ARE TOUCHIN’ ME LIKE THAT BUT M’MARRIED! BETTER BACK UP BEFORE I CALL HIM- ohhhhh heyyyyy babyyyyyy!”

Your sweet smile only grew as a fit of laughter overtook you, putting your drink down before wrapping your arms around the taller man and hugging him tight. From this angle, Zayne’s emerald gaze dropped low to land directly on your soft cleavage that was squished right up against his hard torso. He scoffed to himself~ clearly the front of the dress matches the back.

You didn’t notice the clear tension in his dark gaze, or the way his grip was tightening on your hips the longer he processed the outfit choice you’ve been sporting all night. “Married, huh?” He teased, a familiar swell grew in his chest over your absentminded upgrade to your relationship title. You could only bat your lashes up at him with that signature glossy pout you used specifically when you wanted to get your way. “Y’wanna dance with me?” You purred and pawed at his muscular chest, still clad in his work attire minus the white coat- he’d come straight from Akso.

His glasses inched just slightly down the sharp bridge of his nose, and your half lidded eyes caught it- taking the opportunity to trail your manicured fingers up the broad expanse of his chest, nails ghosting over the warm skin of his neck and jaw teasingly before gently pushing them back into place with surprising accuracy. A mischievous smirk pulling at your plump lips.

He swallowed, meeting your eyes before swiftly spinning you out of the way of a couple of guys that were drunkenly stumbling into your little snow globe of space. Your body swung with ease and you squealed in delight, clutching his thick biceps with the movement. “C’monnn Zaynie,” you begged before he firmly shook his head. His annoyance was throbbing deeper, between taking in your devastating appearance and taking in the way the other men on the dance floor were also staring you down like they could see through the little blue and silver number you deemed appropriate for the night- he was determined to get you out of here and to the privacy of his car asap.

“We can dance our hearts out another night, my love. Come on, say goodbye so we can go home.” He nudged you while politely waving a farewell to your group of friends that seemed quite intrigued by the obviously jealous expression plastered on your boyfriend’s typically calm face. Grinning at you like they all knew the end to your fairytale of a night before you’d even made it to the climax, they offered overzealous waves and cheers of having a goooood night.

Every drink you had tonight hit you all at once as your bare back slid against the cool leather of Zayne’s passenger seat. You only then realized how short your dress was, riding up your thick thighs until the tiniest peak of your white thong was visible to not only your eyes but also the dark emeralds that peered down right at the same time as he buckled you in.

He was quick to shut the door on you and take the long way to the driver’s door, leaving you to stew in your own buzzed nerves. He got in and started driving, avoiding looking over at your half lidded gaze while still being painfully aware of your every movement.

There was a warmth buzzing in the thickening air of the car, despite how short of a drive it was to his apartment- you each felt like you were going to suffocate from the charged tension between the two of you. You plucked your heels off while shifting to face the doctor in the driver’s seat, your back pressing against the warm glass of the window as your feet came up and perched on top of the center console. “Mm, Zaynie,” you huff out while chewing on your bottom lip and savoring the faint vanilla flavor from your gloss.

You were taking all of him in- well, not ALL of him, and that was an entirely new issue. Your eyes bounced between the terribly sharp features of his profile and the way the dark fabric of his dress shirt was straining against his biceps. A deeper craving to feel those bare muscles brush against your skin caused your plush thighs to squeeze together firmer. The longer you stared, the better your memory served you. It was good enough to vividly imagine the feeling of his rough, precise hands squishing and squeezing the fat of your ass while the fat head of his cock crammed itself into your needy hole from behind- you needed to relive this memory immediately.

“What is it? Sit properly in your seat, please. Sitting like that can be dangerous.” His voice was stern, and you could tell his patience was thinning. You grinned to yourself, inching your feet closer to his warm lap while he drove. Maybe if you gave him a little push, he’d surely give you what you wanted, right? A certain wave of confidence that came exclusively on nights like tonight crashed over you and you folded your arms around your chest, your elbows subtly pushing your plump tits together and offering the man next to you a more amplified view of your cleavage.

“Somethin’s wrong, Zaynie. Think I need to see a doctor-” you’re growing breathless from your own arousal dominating your senses, but your bait was easily snagged as he finally turned to look at you once the car stopped at the red light. His expression was sexily concerned, eyes jumping around to find the cause of your statement as well as drink in your appearance.

“What do you need a doctor for? I’m right here, what’s wrong?” His voice, laced with concern almost makes you feel guilty for worrying him- but you can’t bring yourself to care when he’s looking at you like that.

“Doctor Zayne, It hurts. ’m so wet it hurts,”

You spread your thighs as you spoke to reveal the white lace of your thong was now basically transparent from how damp they were with your slick. Zayne’s soul caught in his throat as he slightly choked at the sight alone, making out the exact shape of your pretty, puffy lips weeping against the fabric. He grit his teeth when he felt your little feet brush softly against the growing tent in his dress slacks, feeling completely helpless for a moment behind the wheel. To make matters worse, you held your needy gaze on the doctor’s darkening gaze, bringing two of your own fingers down to tease your own slit over your panties.

“Sweetheart-” Zayne was absolutely dumbfounded by your boldness. The bottoms of your feet stroked and caressed his length with fever as you tugged the soaked fabric to the side, exposing your glistening heat with a breathy whine from your chest. “Make it better, please? Always take such good care of me. Wanna feel you inside me~”

You were a little temptress, a succubus just dying to feed on his soul through his cock- and he found himself more turned on than he’s ever been in his life.

Of course the two of you have always had an agreement to take care of each other even in the event of one of you being more inebriated than the other and it’s worked out great so far- you’ve built a strong enough trust amongst each other not only in your relationship, but through the fact you’ve known each other since childhood. Still, a distant pang of guilt tugged in his chest, he never wanted to take advantage of you.

But you were stubborn, and Zayne knew better than anyone that if you were willing to slut yourself out in his passenger seat like this- it was only going to get worse from here if he didn’t stop you now.

Your skin was on fire, your free hand shot to your chest but before you could free one of your breasts his strong hands were gripping you tight. One hand grasping both of your ankles to stop your feet from their assault on his straining cock while the other captured your wrist that was reaching for your chest. His chest was heaving as he leaned slightly towards you, eyes narrowed down angrily at your shocked expression. You gasped at the sudden sharpness of his movements, heart pounding in your throat and between your sticky thighs as you met his glare.

“Misbehaving like this in the car isn’t going to get you anywhere you want to be tonight. I advise you to behave accordingly and sit properly like a good girl for the remainder of the drive.”

You couldn’t suppress the pout that pulled at your lips as he shifted your feet back over to your side of the front once the stoplight turned green again. You folded into yourself at first, seemingly defeated while your boyfriend white knuckled the steering wheel as he drove even faster than he was, set on wherever his mind was.

Then you could feel that defiant urge sparking up in your chest.

After a moment of tense silence, his cold voice ran warm down your spine once you placed your feet up on the dashboard in front of you. “Maybe if you behave tonight, i’ll give you what you want in the morning. You just can not cause such a distraction when i’m trying to drive.” He didn’t want to be so harsh with you, knowing how needy you’ve grown-, especially from the fact that both of your schedules have been too busy to take care of each other’s needs in the last week.

He’s even found himself feeling equally needy even without the drinks, craving the sweet taste of your syrupy slick straight from the source- and the feeling of your thighs squeezing the sides of his head like the softest pair of ear muffs he’s ever worn. He misses that dip in your spine when you arched your plush ass up into the air for him.

The same dip in your spine that everybody in the club was gawking at all night.

Your eyes widened over his words and your heart sank initially, in the morning!? As in, he won’t touch you until MORNING!??! Oh hell no. You made your choice then and there, if he was going to pull this card and leave you as needy as you were, then you would make it the most regretful decision of his life.

“Don’t then,” you pouted out angrily, letting your eyes fall down to where your inner thighs glistened with your never ending arousal. You felt your skin buzz with excitement hearing his confused breath, dragging your nails down to the hem of your dress before slightly pulling the fabric high enough to fully expose yourself.

“Excuse me?” His eyes were so trained on the road he was missing your little ministrations, only when he heard the distinct squelch! did his head snap over to find you knuckle deep in your own little cunt, back arching off the leather like it burned you. You were panting, pushing your smaller fingers as deep as they could go in your pulsing walls, pretty brows pinched together in concentration while you pulled your thighs back to press against your chest for a deeper reach. The lewd sounds of your arousal splashing against your fingers began flooding the car and you ground your hips down to chase the burning friction- giving your boyfriend the sluttiest view of you that he’s ever seen. You needed to cum no matter what it took, you didn’t pay any mind to the glare Zayne’s eyes were burning into you.

“Don’t look then. Since y’don’t wanna fuck me, gonna fuck m’self,” your free hand boldly reached across the front seat to push at Zayne’s burning hot cheek in an attempt to tear his eyes away from you. Your fingers thrusted harder and the most diabolical whine left your throat, harmonizing with the symphony of your juices dripping down your wrist and all over the leather seat. It was quite the thrill, you could get off just from the sight of him watching you with that furious tick in his jaw-, you’ve really done it in for yourself now. Knowing his patience was being pushed to its limits, you grinned to yourself as you pulled your fingers out to gawk at how your skin glistened with your creamy slick.

Proud of yourself, you brought your digits to your waiting tongue and lewdly sucked off your essence like honey- moaning at the sweet taste before dipping back in to drag yourself closer to the edge. Your thighs were throbbing, as was your boyfriend’s length at the sight of you. You were insatiable, on your absolute worst behavior tonight and despite how aggravated he was with your blatant defiance, he couldn’t deny the carnal need to put you back in your place brewing in his gut.

Before you knew it, the car was parked and you were ripped from the passenger seat and thrown over a shoulder with an excessive force that to anybody else would have looked like the beginning of some true crime horror story. The wind was knocked out of your lungs-, but you grinned wickedly to yourself as Zayne stormed up into his apartment, balancing you on one of his bulky shoulders. Anyone else awake at this hour would be so worried seeing this display, but worry is the last emotion to cross your mind-

You’re exactly where you want to be.

“Hah- Where do you think you’re going? Fuck, be a big girl now, you asked for this after all.”

Zayne’s hips were relentless, slamming against your ass from behind with no sign of slowing down despite the two of you having been at this for what’s felt like hours. His thick cock was taking its anger out on your poor cervix, slamming against it with every thrust and it had you biting down on the disheveled sheets below you. Your arms were bound behind your back by a piece of rope saved for special nights when you got yourself into trouble like tonight, wrists tied together tightly enough to feel the material dig into your skin with every movement~ surgeons always did tie the best knots. Your legs felt like jelly, only able to keep your ass up in the air thanks to your boyfriend’s strong grip on the plush of your round hips.

“A-Ah, please, m’sorry, fuuuuckkk~” your attempt at an apology is cut short when one of his large hands moves from your hip to push your spine into a deeper, meaner arch. You were a pathetic mess below him, drool and tears mixing together to soak the sheets even worse than they already were from your multiple orgasms prior. Your gummy walls were sucking him in deeper and deeper despite your pleas for him to slow down- you loved making him so mad he’d treat you like his personal fuck toy, you just couldn’t bring yourself to admit it.

“No you’re fucking not, haah-, you know exactly what you did. Now, stop running.”

To hear Zayne curse like this was a telltale sign he was just as delirious as you, drunk and losing himself in the sight of his fat cock dragging iiiinnnn and oouuttt of your sopping wet hole. The way your ass clapped so loudly with every thrust had your face burning, but the doctor behind you was absolutely enamored with the sight.

“Mnnh, c-can’t, I-I- ohmygooooodddd, s’too much!Zaynie pl-please!!” You wailed out when the hand that had pushed you further down trailed back to your ass, giving it yet another sharp spank that cracked loudly in the room~ you were gonna be so bruised after this. His palm came down once more for another mean spank before reaching for your wrist restraints and tugging you up until your arched spine met the hot, hard muscles of his torso.

You squealed at the new angle that allowed the crown of his cock to grind even deeper against your constricting walls, feeling his labored breath in your ear once he brought his face to the crook of your neck. You peered over at him through your blurry vision, his hair was an unkempt mess, some dark strands sticking to his forehead as his eyes stayed locked in on your fucked out expression.

The hand that had tugged you back to him wrapped around your waist to hold you steady as he continued to rut into you from behind while his free hand reached around to get between your sticky thighs and pinch at your throbbing clit. His fingers were so precise, giving your sensitive bud the friction you didn’t realize it was craving. You trembled below him, a string of sobs heaving from your chest as you turned your head away from him in an attempt to try and escape him somehow.

“You can. Give me this last one and we’ll call it a night. Show me you’re sorry and be my good girl one more time.”

His gentle voice rang gruff in your ears while his fingers kept working your clit to the pace of his thrusts. He leaned back on his heels just the slightest bit to take in the entire sight of you while he fucked you like it was the last time. Taking in the way your shoulders trembled with every sob, the way your ass jiggled and recoiled with every slam! of his hips, the strings of your sticky arousal that absolutely drenched the base of his cock and kept him connected to the back of your thighs. You were thoroughly worn out, he knew this.

Nobody knew your physical limits better than your doctor, after all. But he also knew you still had just enough juice for one last orgasm, he craved the feeling of your tight walls suffocating his length one last time. You could do it, he was sure of it.

Your heart pounded in your chest when you felt the familiar pressure in your lower abdomen flare up suddenly, tensing up before a sudden slap! on your clit paired with his swollen tip grinding against your g-spot for the umpteenth time had you fucking soaking the sheets. Your limbs gave out on impact, dropping like dead weight while squirting all over Zayne’s cock as you came hard.

Zayne, who was still locked in a trance at the sight of you completely debauched below him, felt his abs clench tight as the sweet burn of his own release was finally approaching. “Fuck, that’s r-right. That’s my girl. Take what I- hah- give you, baby.” He crammed himself to the hilt before shooting his thick, hot load deep in your womb, groaning out a string of curses while his fingers dug bruises into your damp skin.

It was euphoric- filling you up with his cum until it dribbled out around his girth, completely overfilling you. You became incoherent, whining a soft, sleepy “thank you” as your teary eyes rolled to the back of your head in a sleepy bliss. His hands quickly dropped in temperature, utilizing his evol to soothe the deep ache in your body as he smoothed over your sore muscles.

There was a deep satisfaction that stirred within him as he gently pulled out of you with a sigh, moving to untie your wrists before stepping away to grab a wash cloth to clean you up with. You rolled over onto your side, completely out of breath but too exhausted to chase it as you waited for him. He cleaned you softly, pressing sweet kisses into your skin as he resumed massaging your tender skin.

“You did so well,” his voice is soft, and warm against your skin and it had you purring like a cat as you snuggled deeper into the fresh blankets he’d brought you. “Mmh, love you, Zaynie,” you just barely make out in a whisper as he pushes himself up to grab you fresh pajamas from his closet.

He let his eyes drift over to your already snoring figure, asleep and stretched across his bed, a small smile forcing its way to tug at his lips. This was a sight that would always feel like the first time all over again, making his heart jump into his throat from how beautiful you were to him.

He knew all along this was where the night would end up, the way you’d grown so bratty tonight was a lesson learned for him as well as it was for you.

A lesson for him that he should definitely start saying no to these late night overtime shifts to preserve and nurture his relationship with you and prevent this much frustration boiling over like this again~

And a lesson for you that you should have girl’s night out more often~

Sylus - Playtime!

It was one of those nights where the aether core in Sylus’s eye was causing quite the trouble to his otherwise peaceful evening. He was at his desk, hunched over a stack of paperwork with his face in his hands, trying to fit off the burning desire that relentlessly grew in his chest. He was hungry, starving even.

And you were nowhere to be found in the base.

He knew you’d had plans, your little coworkers planned some sort of bar crawl as a way to bond and you were excited. He found it to be a waste of time, but refused to overstep- knowing you’d eventually grow bored and come crawling back as you often did whenever you tried to go out of your comfort zone with nights out like this. The fiend always found these little escapades especially irritating on the nights where his soul longed for yours.

His eye throbbed with frustration and he sighed deeply to himself, leaning back in his chair to stare out at the empty space of his office. He contemplated for a moment, would it be so bad to have you come over in the middle of your little “girl’s night”?

Before he finished his own thought his phone pinged with a very specific notification. Then again. And again.

Kitten: miss u

Kitten: cmere

Kitten: *image attachment*

Sylus opened up his phone to find a selfie of you in what looked to be a more underground bar. The lighting was low, his eyes trailed over the way the shadows stretched across your skin, emphasizing the deep flush across your complexion. He grinned to himself, you were definitely drunk right now. You gave the camera a kissy face and he could make out you were wearing his favorite shade of lip gloss, red. With your eyes half lidded, you had the camera tilted just enough for him to gawk at the swell of your chest, cleavage practically spilling out of your black corset top.

Despite how happy he was to have a current photo of you enjoying yourself, and knowing you missed him as well- his eye began to throb with more fervor. His craving for you burned hot enough to set his entire estate ablaze, maybe it would be safer for him to not see you tonight like this. Maybe he should just sleep his desires off, he can’t trust himself to not push you too far if he were to get his hands on you, especially if you’re already drunk.

He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, massaging the skin there while weighing all of his options before typing with his free hand.

Your phone buzzed in your lap as you sat in the smaller booth with your coworkers, listening to them ramble on about their recent dating adventures. These girls were super cool, but something about tonight kept your mind drifting back to those deep red irises that you were sure were waiting for you back at Onychinus. You sent your boyfriend a cute selfie, hoping it would get him to take little break from working and come scoop you up.

Looking down at your phone you see his name pop up and slightly frown at the messages you read.

Sy: my beautiful kitten, you look stunning tonight

Sy: what a shame it is for me to be so far away. I don’t know that it would be a good idea for me to come get you. i’m having a slight inconvenience getting in the way of my evening. do you need a ride home? I can send the boys to come get you

Slight inconvenience?

Your sense of judgement is obviously not in its prime at the moment, but somewhere in your gut you have a feeling he isn’t being exactly truthful. You ponder his response for a bit, meanwhile he’s back in his office staring down at his phone with a sense of guilt tugging at him. He should just be honest with you, to give you an actual choice instead of assuming he’ll be too much for you. But he knows himself, he knows how carried away he gets with you- and with you also being drunk adds in an entirely different layer.

Of course the two of you have had plenty of drunk sex. The two of you go through about 3 bottles of wine alone over most dinners you both share, but he knows how you get as well. You’re a force to be reckoned with when you get drunk, and you forget your own limits. He can’t risk hurting you tonight, he nods his head to himself as if he’s made up his mind- he can’t see you. That’s it. He rubs his large palms over his face in exhaustion before dragging his eyes back to the paperwork in front of him.

Then his phone pings again, as if on queue.

He opens his phone, eyes immediately widening at the messages on his screen.

Kitten: 2 bad. i’m inconvenienced too

Kitten: *image attachment*

Kitten: gonna have to take care of this all by myself :(

Sylus was absolutely shocked, staring at a photo you scandalously took in the bathroom of your pretty pussy from under your leather skirt. Of course you weren’t wearing any panties- your puffy folds glistened with your sweet arousal while two of your smaller fingers spread them open enough to show off your weeping hole. God, your nails were red too- he groaned at the sight of his favorite color adorning your pretty, long nails, his cock throbbing harder than his aether core as he inspected your little photo. You’re so wet- are you able to feel his desire from where you’re at? Do you know how bad he’s suffering? Did you send that to taunt him? Did you want him to suffer even worse?

Without another moment, his fingers were swiping away from the photo and Luke and Kieran were sent an urgent demand to deliver you to the base immediately.

This won’t do, you won’t be getting away with torturing him like this while you enjoy your little night out.

Your phone buzzed as you stepped, more like stumbled, out of the bathroom. The air around you reeked of cheap liquor and only added to the thrill you felt of sending such a bold picture to try and get your boyfriend’s attention. No slight inconvenience will keep him away from your pretty pussy, right? You proudly shuffled towards the booth where all of your coworkers were sat, giggling to each other over some hookup story when you finally looked down at your phone.

Sy: 10 minutes. Be outside.

You couldn’t grin harder if you tried. So beyond proud of yourself for getting the big bad leader of Onychinus to fold so quickly for you. You began to bid farewells and had one last group shot, before stumbling your way out of the little hole in the wall bar you’d spent the last hour in. Your hips swayed a little heavier once the outside air brushed against your skin, your bright and prideful ego immediately deflated once your eyes landed on the twins that stuck their heads out of the familiar black sports car.

What are they doing here? Why isn’t Sylus here to pick you up?

What was once pride sharply turned into fear when Luke helped you get into the backseat and you noticed slight unease across his softer features. Nobody said anything for the first few minutes, it gave the alcohol in your system enough time to amplify your nerves enough to finally make you ask the obvious.

“Ummm, where’s Sy?”

Neither of them looked back at you as Kieran drove, Luke awkwardly scratched at his neck with a nervous chuckle. “So, let’s just say that boss man sent us instead because he isn’t too well tonight.”

Your eyes narrowed, leaning forward in the back seat to grip on the oh-shit handle as you pressed further. “Isn’t well how?” You were on the edge of your seat, literally, as Luke continued scratching at his skin.

“He says his eye has been bugging him all day, he’s kinda been in the worst mood ever because of it.” He muttered, Kieran nodding in agreement from the driver’s seat.

You leaned back in your seat, heart starting to pound between your thighs. His eye- the aether core specifically, you know it only bugs him for one thing. Your brain tracks back to how every time his aether core has acted up you’ve ended up being the one in recovery for at least 2-3 business days. Your brain also tracks back to what you’d last sent him, not knowing what he was dealing with and once your brain puts the equation together of what you were on your way to-

A tiny grin tugged once more at the corners of your lips.

You were so fucked.

Arriving at Onychinus, your black heels clicked semi loudly against the marbled floors as you stumbled through the empty halls towards Sylus’s office. Your stomach was buzzing with nerves, an excitement bubbled in your chest but you wouldn’t let it show as you finally reached the large door to his office. Maybe you could play it cool? Act like you totally didn’t send him a pussy pic to tease him before he sent the boys to come get you. Maybe he won’t be so mad if you make the first move and offer to suck his cock as an apology.

Reality was hitting you that this was quite literally like a deadly dragon’s lair that you were about to let yourself enter, but the liquor in your system saw it more as a game instead of a death sentence for between your thighs.

You pushed the heavy wood open to reveal the man you’d been waiting to see all night, already staring at you with a hunger you immediately clocked. You start with your plan and play it cool, leaning against the doorway in a way that amplified the curves to your silhouette and you noticed the way his jaw ticks at the sight. He took you in like he was examining his last meal- analyzing every little detail of your appearance. The tension is overwhelming to a point, waiting for him to greet you had you almost overthinking the thick stretch of silence. Is he mad? He hasn’t jumped your bones yet- so maybe his aether core isn’t as bad as the boys warned you about.

“Come here.” His deep voice was colder than normal, sharp in its command and you hesitated for a second, nervously reaching for the door knob to enclose yourself in the dragon’s lair before nervously shuffling towards Sylus as he remained seated in the large leather chair behind his desk. You made your way to the opposite side of the desk, his gaze growing in weight that hung heavy on your shoulders and you froze when his eyes narrowed at you. For as sweet and warm as he usually is with you, this side of him comes off as terrifying when you can’t tell what his exact intentions are.

“Not there. Here.” His hand gestures to the open space between his lap and the desk. You swallow your nerves, reminding yourself to think of it as a game, before following his orders and coming around to stand directly in front of him. Your eyes fell to gawk at the giant tent straining against his black slacks, his body was emitting enough heat to burn you alive and you’d gladly let it the longer you took in his own appearance from up close. His hands were firmly gripping the arms of his chair, thick thighs spread wide to emphasize the way his cock was suffocating against the confines of his pants. His eyes were half lidded with his pupils blown out, the right one glowing brightly as it drank you in.

His dress shirt was slightly disheveled, the top buttons undone and his silver hair was a total mess, you could tell he’s been pulling at it or running his hands through it non stop tonight. That fact alone made you smirk, feeling a sense of cockiness knowing he was only this down bad for you and you were proud about it.

“Proud, huh? That’s what you feel about the way you taunted me tonight?” His voice was heavy, rough around the edges and your eyes widened- did you say that out loud? Or did his eye just read you like a fucking book?

“Go on, answer for yourself. Tell me how proud you are of your little picture.” His large hands burned your skin through the leather of your skirt as he manhandled you to sit up on the dark wood in front of him. Your thighs squeezed together shyly as you stared at his angered expression. He’s losing patience fast, but somehow you’re finding it exciting deep down.

“I-I uh, I didn’t know, Sy. M’sorry baby,” your bottom lip jutted out in a pout and you didn’t miss the way his eye glowed brighter when his gaze flicked down to your lips for a moment. He cocked a sharp brow, bringing his hands to grip your soft thighs and pull your ass right to the edge of the desk. Your pulse pounded hard, his thick fingers slipped between your knees before using his strength to force your legs allllll the way open. You gasped at the cold air of his office hitting your exposed heat, feeling like prey to the predator that sat right in front of you.

His eyes dared to roll back at the sight of you alone, and before you could even try to close your legs-, two of his thick fingertips traced your dripping slit from your entrance up to your clit, circling the cute nub as it twitched below his fingers. Your face burned as he brought his fingers to his lips and you watched him lick and savor your taste off of his digits. You were in a trance from the sight, feeling your cunt gush with an arousal that matched the heavy tension that still lingered in the room.

“You didn’t know? Funny, this sweet pussy of yours is telling me she knew all along how cruel it was to send me such a picture even after I said it wasn’t a good idea for me to see you.” His hands were pushing your skirt all the way up to bunch around your waist before pressing his face between your thighs to run his hot tongue up your folds without warning. You cried out, back arching into his face and brought both of your hands to grip at his silver locks as a means to ground yourself. He grunted out, “we’ll have to work on getting your mouth to be as honest as your body.”

It wasn’t long at all before you felt a sharp, heavy grip on your wrists that forced them behind your back as his lips closed around your now swollen clit and sucked!

His hands remained on your inner thighs while your own strained against the force of his evol restraining your wrists to keep them from interfering. He groaned at the raw taste of you, shoving his tongue even deeper inside of you through your cries. Your eyes rolled back, hips twitching to chase his tongue as it fucked into you at a brutal pace. You were delusional from the pleasure alone, looking down to see him completely lost in you, devouring you whole. Your feet rested on each of his knees and you whined out before trailing your heel clad foot up his thigh to nudge the heavy bulge in his pants.

The groan that echoed through his office was the only warning you got before your back hit the hard wood, and your knees were pressed against your chest hard enough to knock the wind out of you. His evol stretched around your thighs to lock you in place, despite how hard you struggled to free your legs once more. The fiend below you was now hovering over your fully exposed cunt, spitting angrily against your clit just to watch it slide all the way down to your quivering hole before shoving his tongue back inside your gummy walls. You were ascending, toes curling against your shoes as the pit in your stomach swelled with a burning hot need for him to fill you all the way up.

“You ran around with your little friends wearing this without anything underneath it- did you know tonight would end this way? Did you know all along i’d devour you like the little treat you are? I hope you’re ready for a long night, kitten,” two of his fingers slid all the way inside of you and curled, the squelch rang loudly in your burning hot ears and you cried out at the stretch. Shaking your head, tears stung at your lashes as you tried to look past the red mist that bound your legs to your chest at him. You couldn’t see the way he was drooling at the sight of your slutty hole sucking his fingers in, curling his fingers again to strum against your g-spot.

“N-No! Thought you’d- AH!”

“Lying doesn’t suit you,” he’s adding a third finger now, the stretch intensifying as he began rocking the digits in and out of your gushing hole. He brought his thumb back to press down against your pulsing clit, listening to your cries of protest with a cruel smile.

You were so close already, thighs tensing against his evol you could taste your own release with the way his fingers worked you straight to it. “Sy-hah-Sylus, I-fuuuuuck, ‘m sorryyy~ m’gonna cum please,” you began to plead with the man, not even sure what for, as you began to tremble against the solid wood of his desk. Your jaw was slack, gasping for air to fill your burning lungs as you craned your neck to watch him bring his tongue back to sloppily lap at your clit.

It was when you felt his fingers twirl inside your throbbing walls and you felt his pinky just barely press against the rim of your empty hole, the semi-foreign feeling shot you straight past the finish line as you writhed against the desk in ecstasy with what sounded more like a howl than a scream. He pressed his pinky in past the first knuckle, stretching you with slight caution. It’s been awhile since he’s played with you there- and he lets out a satisfied hum with how much harder you cum because of it.

Your veins flooded with white hot pleasure, blood pounding loud enough in your ears to completely miss the sound of a drawer opening. That white hot pleasure quickly became sharp overstimulation once Sylus placed the red rose toy against your still swollen clit and turned it on.

You choked on something between a scream and a gasp-, slamming your head back against the desk with a relatively loud thud while your hips thrusted up and sideways to attempt an escape from the vibrations. As much as this man loved to watch you struggle, his desire to make you submit completely overpowers anything else in his mind as he decides to stand from his chair and tower over you. His fingers stayed inside your sobbing cunt and your tight ass and continue working your holes open, as his other hand pressed the rose firmer against your clit. Everything burns as you’re reminded of how much bigger he is than you, trembling under the pressure of his stare along with everything else you’re feeling.

You barely notice the quick look of admiration in his scarlet irises before they darken with a burning hot desire that matched the deep heat in the base of your spine. His chest was heaving from how hard he was holding himself back, refusing to take you exactly how you both wanted before dragging you to your absolute limit. He needed you to feel as desperate as him, to feel the carnal need for his soul like he felt for yours. He needed you delirious, strung out as far as you could take it.

Deciding it was time to crank the heat back up, his thumb nudged the vibration setting on the rose up before using his evol to hold it firmly against your sensitive nub. The hand that had been holding it reached to clasp your throat, cutting off your airflow while he pressed his pinky finger allll the way inside your ass. You screamed at the feeling, thrashing against him once more in hopes that it would get him to slow down- but you knew deep down it was pointless. Without your safe word, you knew he wouldn’t stop- especially with the way his eye was practically illuminating the room with its neon glow.

“C’mon, kitty. Don’t run from it now, you wanted it to be like this,” he purred against the skin on back of your thigh as he leans down before placing a hot kiss to your sensitive skin. His one hand was still gripping your throat and intermittently applying and taking away pressure for you to get just enough oxygen while his kisses turned into bites on the plush skin of your thighs. You sobbed out, still squirming and babbling when he pulled his ring finger from your pussy to join his pinky in stretching your smaller hole out even more.

“You’re really good at running away, sweetie, but it isn’t going to benefit you if you keep trying.” His tongue ran hot against your skin, soothing a deeper bite he’d just left on your inner thigh that was clenching unbearably hard.

Your back arches against his desk as you hiss from the pressure pooling in your abdomen. He was so good with his fingers, knowing exactly how to make overstimulation feel so fucking good- knowing exactly how to make your holes squeeze and suffocate his digits.

This was everything he’d been needing, craving the sight of you completely at his will. He needed to have you writhing from the pleasure he’s forcing on you, corrupting his sweet kitten like this was always what his aether core craved on nights like this.

“Open, sweetie.” Sylus is now face to face with you, leaning over your trembling figure as the hand on your throat let go to trail up your jaw. You were everywhere all at once, so strung out already from the pleasure but you tried your best to focus on him, letting your jaw open and sticking your tongue out obediently.

If the brooding wasn’t already in heaven, this sight of you below him like this absolutely sent him to the pearly gates. He hums in satisfaction before leaning his face down, letting a wad of his spit drop down onto your waiting tongue which you immediately swallowed. Your blurry vision catches the way his grin stretches before he’s slamming his lips against yours.

His fingers curled deeper in each of your holes, rocking his wrist in a way that had you seeing stars. His tongue dragged against yours as you kissed, groaning into you as he’s sharing the sweet taste of your slick. You kiss him back with every ounce of energy that you can muster, feeling your core tighten and burn with another orgasm approaching.

You hear the wet pop! before registering his lips have left yours before you watch him disappear between your legs again. You scream when he replaces the two fingers in your smaller hole with his fat tongue, the groan he lets out vibrates against you in tandem with the rose.

One thing about Sylus, aside from the fact that he is and always has been the messiest eater, is the fact that he is a certified ass man. It was a bit more rare for him to get this down and dirty with you, but the way your little cunt was absolutely drooling the second he started giving your neglected hole a little attention gave him the green light to get on his knees and give into his own desires selfishly.

You cum even harder this time when he fucks your ass with his tongue, still working your cunt with his two fingers and the rose that buzzed torturously against your swollen clit. The satisfied man opens his eyes just in time to catch you squirt right on his face. He’s in complete awe at the sight alone, already ready to force you into a stronger wave of overstimulation when his free hand reaches for the settings button on the poor rose toy.

Yeah, you’re finally starting to regret sending that pussy pic right about now…

The deafening sounds of Sylus’s strong hips slamming into yours were enough to echo throughout the entire base- such obscene squelches rang in your borderline deaf ears as Sylus pounded you from above. You’re practically upside down, upper back against the floor with your ass held up with slight help from his evol as your ankles were pushed past your ears~ your toes were definitely touching the floor and you had no idea you could ever be this flexible, but didn’t have the brain power to even process the fact that you were.

Your back was on fire from rug burn as Sylus pounded into you, each thrust shoving you deeper into the floor as his hands pressed firm bruises into the backs of your thighs to keep them in place. A cute little plug stuffed in your smaller hole adorning a bright red ruby that his heavy balls smacked with every plap! that echoed through his office. You’ve cum so many times you’ve completely lost count- the fiend above you would be lying if he said he hadn’t lost count either.

Your muscles burned, they ached with a deep exhaustion from how many positions your boyfriend has fucked you in, from how many orgasms he’s ripped from you when you thought you didn’t have anything left in you.

Like now, you surely were going to give out at any second, your body endured the force of his hips as he crammed his fat cock as deep as it could go, angrily kissing your cervix as he panted above you.

“You’re going to be the-hah, the death of me, sweetie.” His voice strained with his thrusts, moving one of the hands on your thighs up to brush against your abused clit. You felt so numb, but the way his fingers traced circles against you had you jolting from the stimulation.

“Syyyy- st-stop, g’na-mmph, can’t! I can’t!”

Your voice gargled out a plea, but it went in one of his ears and out the other as he stared down at the creamy mixture of your cum and his seeping out and dripping onto the floor below where you were connected. “You can. And you will.” His voice boomed, landing a sharp smack! on your clit to emphasize the control he had over your body. Your eyes rolled back, sobbing out incoherent pleas as you sunk your nails into the remaining evol that stayed wrapped around your wrists above your head.

He brought his hand down to your face, tracing the skin of your jaw that was damp with sweat before pressing two of his slick covered digits to your swollen lips. You didn’t have the energy to deny him entrance into your mouth, tasting the both of you when your tongue lazily swirled against the pads of his fingers. He groaned like a pornstar at the sight, grinding his hips deep enough to make you feel the tip of his cock kissing your heart through your ribcage.

Plap! Plap! Plap!

The overwhelming fullness had your teeth biting down weakly on his fingers, making him stutter and grip your jaw tighter. “Fuck, bite me harder.” He demanded, voice choppy in your ears and more tears burned down the sides of your face as he pleaded for you. His knees were equally burning from the carpet below, but he couldn’t care less as he pressed his fingers down against your hot tongue. His heart was racing from how close he was to his final orgasm, he knew this would be enough to satiate the aether core as well as his own pent up desires. You were so perfect like this, radiant underneath him as you were completely fucked out and his. If you were maybe a little more coherent, he’d ask you to marry him right here and now. Hell, little did you know he technically did already have a ring ready for you hiding in the bottom drawer of his desk.

You obliged his request, and the second he felt your teeth bite down on his flesh again his own eyes finally rolled to the back of his skull as he fully let go and gave in to his desires for the last time tonight. The air was knocked out of your lungs as he fucked you hard enough to make you see white- the pearly gates themselves began to fizzle into reality in front of you as your cunt strangled his girth one last time while he filled your walls once more with his burning hot seed.

You cried out together before your body went completely limp, you would’ve dropped like a fly had it not been for his careful hands maneuvering you to lay gently on your side as he reluctantly pulled out of you. He watched the way your combined juices slipped out of your hole, and scoffed softly before bringing his fingers down to press them back inside. “Can’t waste a drop, kitten.” His voice purred, but it sounded distant as you slipped in and out of consciousness.

This was prime time to assess the damages as he came down from his own high, letting his gaze trail over your entire body to check for bruising, burns from the carpet below you, and handprints from spanking you relentlessly countless rounds ago.

He sighs to himself, knowing you’re okay but still acknowledging he may have gone a bit overboard- exactly what he predicted.

The two of you stayed as you were on his office floor for a good long while, you had fallen fast asleep to the feeling of his fingertips softly running up and down your side to ground you after such an intense session. A pit in his chest burned at the sight of you sleeping so cozily, how was he supposed to clean you up without waking you? No bother- if you wake he’ll just lull you back to sleep.

Scooping you up in his burly arms, he draped a blanket over your sleeping frame with a small smile. A hot bath sounds nice, he can hold you close and clean the both of you up all at once. He smiles proudly to himself as he takes in the sight of his demolished office space, it reeked with the smell of sex and your vanilla perfume, making him huff a quiet laugh before stepping out and down the hall to run into two seemingly agitated red headed boys.

“Jesus christ. Did you kill her?” Luke gawked at his father figure while Kieran pinched the bridge of his nose angrily. “Thought we were gonna need a body bag, boss-man. Next time boss lady goes out for girl’s night and your aether core starts to act up at LEAST send us out somewhere for the night instead of subjecting us to THAT.”

The silver headed man was typically a proud man. A man that always found embarrassment to be pointless when it came to the noise levels of your “sessions”. But the way his two henchmen were chastising him mixed with the post nut clarity of how hard he really went on you managed to make the tips of his ears burn with a nervousness he’d never felt before. Of course, it was more-so a nervousness for you to wake up and realize the twins had heard you, but still-

“I did not kill her,” he began with his defense, holding the blanket tighter around your naked form as he looked down at the irritated boys before walking past them, calling out, “And to be fair, I don’t think our boss lady will be attending another girl’s night out for a long time.”

And with that, he slammed the door to his bedroom shut- leaving the boys to dwell in their mortification as he began running his sweetest girl a relaxing hot bath to clean you up in.

Caleb - XOXO!

It was a normal weekend back home from university, you’d found out about a group of friends from school were getting together to celebrate finals being right around the corner, and you’re beyond overdue for a break from all the stress of homework and studying. Too bad coming home from Uni always came with a daunting tax, that tax coming in the form of the terribly hot boy you’d grown up next to. Caleb was fucking gorgeous. Tall, built like an absolute unit with brunette hair that shined in the light just like his violet eyes that always seemed to glimmer when he looked your way.

He always seemed to find a way to visit home the same times that you did, and you almost wondered if he was tracking you with how spot on his timing seemed to be.

This visit though, you’d pull one over on him.

If he knew you were going to a girl’s night out, he’d surely pull some overprotective shit to try and keep you from going. Whenever he played the “big brother” role that the universe should have never cursed you with, you grew sick to your stomach. Something in your heart never went back to normal the older you got, only growing more sore as the pulse between your thighs when you saw your Gege grew stronger.

You hid it well though, keeping enough distance from him to prevent any form of suspicion that you’d felt anything inappropriate towards the one person you weren’t supposed to. He was your best friend at the end of the day, that alone should make it easy to drown out any and all attraction towards him.

But fuck, the sound of his voice alone was enough to have you squeeze your aching thighs together.

You shake your head to yourself, doing a once over in the mirror before shooting your friends a text that you were ready to be picked up. Caleb had just left for the gym, and you hadn’t said a word to him about your plans tonight. It wasn’t any of his business anyways, so what did it matter? Still, you nervously adjusted the hem of your strapless lavender mini dress. You never dressed so boldly, but you felt good about the way your curves filled out the soft fabric of this dress, especially where the fabric clung to your ass in a way that emphasized every movement.

Tonight was casual yes, but, you’ve been feeling a bit strung out since you’d last ended things with your ex situation-ship, and you were quite open to meeting someone new- even if it was just for a night.

You stepped into your black kitten heels and threw on your favorite perfume- a warm amber fragrance Caleb had actually gifted you for your birthday last year- before heading downstairs and out the front door to meet your friends that were waiting in the loud ass jeep outside. They all squealed together at your appearance and you squealed with excitement in response, the typical greeting you often gave each other especially when everybody looked so good like tonight.

Thank the lord Caleb isn’t here to chastise you or force you to change.

You’ve been gone for at least two hours by the time Caleb comes home from the gym and a short drive to clear his head. He needed to blow some steam off when he’d “accidentally” caught a glimpse of you in the shower through the crack in the bathroom door. The sight of your silhouette through the steam was enough to have his cock achingly hard, and even though he couldn’t make many of your features out too well, the sounds of you lathering your body in that sweet, apple scented body wash was enough to have him palming his length over his sweatpants.

Fuck, it was so wrong of him to be so turned on by you- he couldn’t help but wonder what you’d do if you’d caught him. If you had caught him any of the countless times he’d jerked his stiff cock to minor glances of you prior to this afternoon.

Would you have screamed and freaked out on him? Or would you have invited him in for a closer look?

He shakes the earlier memory away as he jogs up the staircase of his “grandma’s” house, at least that’s what the woman that took both of you in as kids wanted to be called-, and he found himself frowning when he notices the silence that echoed in the house. Were you sleeping? He knocked softly on your shut door, “Pips? You in there?” He gave it a moment before deciding to crack your door open.

His chest tightened not just by the fact that you were MIA, but the fact that you were MIA and he could faintly sniff out your favorite perfume. The same one he bought for you because he’d never smelled something so pretty in his life, perfect for the prettiest girl he’d ever seen in his life. His eyes narrowed at the context of this smell though, you’d been suspiciously quiet today, and now that you’re gone his mind can’t help but race.

Are you out on a fucking date right now?

Who would you even be out on a date with? Your Caleb had a knack for technology, to a point where he knew all of your passwords and knew you’d recently blown things off with the guy you’d been seeing over the last semester. Caleb couldn’t help but sigh with relief when he’d snooped through your breakup messages, but quickly felt a foreign surge of anger when he read a little deeper to discover how truly unsatisfied you were in your sex life.

The messages you’d sent dogging on his head game after he’d passively dissed your hyper sex drive was enough fuel for his imagination to last a good month or two. His mind immediately wandered to how horny you typically were, and if his own never ending sex drive would be enough to match you. He’d wondered how soft you’d feel against his tongue, if you’d sit on his face to let him chow down on your sweet pussy or if you’d arch that perky ass of yours up to let him eat you from behind.

Who on Earth would you be going on a date with if you haven’t even been texting anyone new!?

From the club you’re at, you feel your phone buzz as you down your third green tea shot of the night. You look down and feel your chest flutter initially as Caleb’s contact showed up in a text notification.

Big Apple: piiips whered u go? thought i could cook one of ur favs 2nite ;(

You don’t fight the blush that spreads across your face and decide to type something back.

Pip Pip! Hooray!: i just went out for a little girls night out with a couple friends! should be back home tn but if something changes i’ll lyk! :P

Caleb can’t shake the knot growing in his stomach as he reads the message plastered on his screen.

Girls night out? With who!? Why the fuck didn’t you say anything to him before?

The man begins to spiral, spitefully opening the drawer in front of him to fish out a pink lacy thong to hold close to his face like a safety blanket. He inhales the fabric, the faintest smell of you mixed with your favorite fabric softener would typically calm his nerves when he’d get worked up about you, but in this case- it only spurred him on in his growing spiral.

He has to be rational- he can’t scare you off but his thumbs start typing again before he can stop himself.

Your phone buzzed once again as you danced with your friends, you spun your way out of the dance circle back to your little section just to check the notification.

Big Apple: girl’s night? why didn’t u tell me before xD i can drive you home tonight, don’t worry about it :)

Your brow furrows down at the screen, how the hell are you gonna tell him that you’re actually looking to hook up with someone tonight and will not be in need of his services?

Well, fuck, you’re so in need of his services- but, you clearly can’t say that either.

You send one last message before finally putting your phone down to re join your friends, your favorite Megan song started booming in the speakers.

Pip Pip! Hooray!: how about we play it by ear gege. i’ll let you know <3

He takes another long whiff of your panties as he reads your message for a second time. You have no idea what calling him that does to him. Having no blood relation, but still referring to him as your big brother, it makes something extremely dark brew in his gut- something dangerous.

He paces your room for a moment, pocketing the lace before stepping out to go in his old bedroom right next to yours. He digs around his nightstand for his backup phone, turning it on and opening instagram to access your account instead of his. He went through your DM’s, scrolling through your conversations to see what kind of trouble you were getting yourself into. He found nothing at first- no new messages, comments, or likes even. No tags as to where you’re at, which makes him huff out in frustration before pulling up your location on his secret tracking app.

You’re downtown, at one of the rowdiest clubs Caleb’s ever been to. He feels his pulse intensify as his phone finally pings with a new notification from your instagram- a story mention.

Bingo.

He expected a group selfie or picture, you somewhere squeezed in with a bunch of other people also tagged. Something of substance to hold him over until he decided to swing by the club himself to pick you up regardless of “playing it by ear.”

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

You were in your zone, dancing with your best friend when another Megan track started blaring in the speakers. The beat was fluid, possessing you to move your body as provocative as possible. You would’ve made your queen proud with the way you swooped down to the floor, balancing on your ankles as you put your knees to work and bounces your ass in a whole ass circle along the beat. Arms in the air, you threw your head back as you hollered the lyrics out and threw your ass back like your life depended on it.

Before you knew it, one of your friends had the flash on you, capturing the way the fat of your ass recoiled with every movement before your best friend crouched down and smacked your ass over your dress that was just barely covering your cheeks as you danced. You glanced back at the camera with your tongue playfully poking out, not shying away as you switched your rhythm up- shooting back up to throw it back some more against your best friend’s torso.

The video only lasted about 13 seconds, your friend proudly announced how hot you looked, how she wouldn’t be able to recite what the color of ANYTHING was before tagging you and posting it to her story. You grinned as you continued dancing, hopeful that maybe your semi pro dancing skills would elicit enough of a reaction to get you fucked tonight.

Elicit a reaction you did.

Fucked you were.

Caleb was rendered speechless as he watched the video on repeat from your account, blood pounding in his ears loud enough to drown the video’s audio out. The logical thing he could get himself to do at first was obviously screen record the video- there was no universe that he’d be able to see content like this of you again unless by miracle you felt the same way about him that he felt about you. Not likely.

A rage burned in his chest as he watched the way you moved, seeing your dress just barely covering your plump ass he almost could peek at what panties you’re wearing in the video when you go to stand. Growing angrier with the fact that if he could make that much out from just a video- he can’t let himself imagine the view that whatever guys are at the club are currently getting of your slutty little dancing.

He was moving like your actual life was on the line, gripping his keys before racing to his truck and speeding towards downtown.

You were dancing your little heart away in the meantime. You determine that shaking ass with your friends should be a weekly requirement- this was the most fun you’ve ever had. Your little video was stacking up views, and your phone was flooding with men showering you in compliments. Some cheesier than others, you’ll admit, but you couldn’t find it in you to care as long as it ended with you getting your pussy devoured like it was somebody’s last meal.

You’d sent a couple flirtatious replies back, one of which was to an old fling from your freshman year. You’d sucked him off once during seven minutes in heaven and the timer ended before he could ever repay the favor, but seemed more than willing. He was actually in town this weekend with some of his own friends, and was on his way to meet up for a drink.

He showed up quicker than you expected, flirtatious as ever as he offers to get you a drink. By the time you make it to the bar and your potential hookup orders your drink, you feel a sudden energy change in the club. Something’s off but you can’t quite place it, shrugging it off you notice your drink is in the guy’s hands, and he’s smirking down at you before a heavy hand is on the small of your back. Your eyes widen, goosebumps prickling your skin from the contact as you look next to you to see none other than Caleb, burning absolute holes into this guy you’re talking to.

What the fuck!?

“That drink isn’t for my Pipsqueak, is it?” His voice was curious, you were too dumbfounded to react beyond your jaw dropping to the floor from the way his hand wrapped around your hip and gripped, pulling you snug into his side. He was warm, and he smelled so comforting, but you felt super nervous about the way he was holding you and how hard you were probably blushing because of it.

“Your what? Sorry man, just buying my old friend a drink so she and I could catch up. Though, you didn’t tell me you had a man.” His tone grew sharp as his eyes shifted from Caleb to now you. He thinks you and Caleb are together!? Although the assumption does something to your stomach you begin shaking your head frantically to try and mend the situation and scold Caleb for being overbearing as usual, but then Caleb opens his mouth again and you’re completely dumbfounded.

“Buying her a drink? Cute. You always roofie drinks you buy for pretty girls? Or just her?”

WHAT. THE. FUCK!?

The guy in front of you pales as though he’s seen a ghost, eyes shooting between my shocked gaze and Caleb’s murderous gaze as he gripped the glass tighter. “I-What!? What are you talking about, man!?” He panicked, but your eyes tracked the drink in his hand. Right on par, you noticed a bit more carbonation than what’s typical for a regular rum and coke- as if something was dissolving in the drink.

No fucking way Caleb just clocked that.

And the way he called you pretty? That wasn’t like how he normally complimented you.

“If I were you, i’d dump that drink and get the fuck out of here. Before I change my mind on being nice.” Caleb sounded angrier than you’d ever heard him, and your stomach pooled with the all too familiar heat you’d always carried for him. Sighing with frustration to yourself, you watched the guy you were previously planning to hook up with scurry off like a scared little mouse.

Well, though you’re eternally grateful for Caleb saving your night, you can’t drown out the disappointment of another potential hookup flushing down the drain.

“As for you,” there goes his voice again, but this time it was right in your ear- quiet yet still much louder than any of the music playing in the club. You shivered, unable to help it from the proximity and the way his violet eyes bored into yours. He was pissed, that much was obvious, you blinked up at him and he almost folded right then and there as he looked down at your flushed expression, his anger completely diffusing.

You really are the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

“Pipsqueak, I-I’m sorry for just barging in on your night, I was just-” it was then that he realized just how close he was holding you. His fingers were splayed across your plush hip, face only mere inches from yours. He was close enough to notice the way your breath hitched as you came to the same realization, the way your pretty lashes fluttered as you tried to process the proximity, the way your gaze flickered for a split second- but that split second felt like forever when you glanced down at his lips.

Wait a second- is he imagining this!? Did you just check him out?

He’d felt bad about barging in without the invitation- but the second he’d notice that shit bag you were with’s wrist flick ever so slightly over your drink while you were staring off in thought made him see red. This is exactly why he doesn’t like you going out without him, what would you have done without him? You always need your Caleb, and he’s more than willing to prove that to you in every way.

He grew lost in your eyes for a moment, the anger- guilt- everything he’d opened his mouth to attempt an apology over and explain himself about, died in his throat as he watched you purse your glossy lips. He found himself wondering if your lipgloss was apple flavored like your body wash. You leaned into his hold with a huff of your breath, breaking eye contact with a saddened expression as you’d mentally accepted your sexless fate- quickly covering with a small smile.

“Thanks, Caleb. Didn’t have to come check on me but man, i’m sure glad y’did.” Your grin feels forced, and your breath catches in your throat when Caleb’s free hand holds your chin and pulls you back to look at him. Your heart is absolutely pounding at the forced contact, you almost whine from his soft touch as he holds you close- “talk to me, pip. What’s happening in your brain?”

You don’t get the chance to answer as a loud squeal echoes in your peripheral. You both snap your faces to find your friend group rushing you with eager expressions. “Excuse me!? Who’s this tall glass of handsome!?” One of your friend inquires, the way she sized Caleb up makes a pang of jealousy strike down your spine.

“Wait a second! This is the guy from your pictures in your dorm!! Wait, oh my god- the photos don’t do this hunk ANY justice! Why the fuck do you never talk about him!? I’ve been wanting to ask who he is to you buuuut, think it’s obvious,” another girl rambled and the group started nodding in agreement, egging each other on to keep commenting on the way you both looked so good together.

Your stomach dropped- fear engulfing you as you nervously looked between Caleb and the girls. You never talked about him for a reason- but kept all of your photos of the two of you in your dorm to look at when you felt down. Not only did you not care to explain your weird relationship, the assumed “makeshift family” vibe always irked you to talk about. But to give any of your friends an inch to gawk at him or even an idea that they’d ever have a shot, had you absolutely fucked up.

Caleb was beside himself internally. Here you are, looking like you got caught with your hand up your dress, cute face beet red and at a loss for words right after your friends basically outed you for hiding your relationship from them. Curiosity piqued his interest, you never told them about him, and they’re openly assuming you’re together- granted, it sure may have looked like it with the way he was just holding you. He couldn’t have cared less about the assumption, honestly preferring it without admitting that fact.

But you- why would you not clarify? Did you want the impression to be that you’re together? He noticed the way you tensed as they complimented him, growing delighted at this new revelation.

Are you jealous?

Do you really feel the same way?

Only one way to find out.

You feel his heavy arm drop around your shoulders, anchoring you back into his toned torso as he leaned his face up even closer to yours, breath fanning your jaw. “C’mon, Pip. Go ahead and tell them what I am to you. Can’t believe you’ve been keepin’ me a secret.” The angle of which he had you up against him gave him the perfect view of your cleavage straining against the thin fabric of your dress, he felt that same familiar heat pool in his spine watching your chest heave as you tried to get your shit together.

This is a pivotal moment in your life happening right now- you’re suddenly on the spot stuck between the sharpest rock and hardest brick wall. The way Caleb was leaning his weight on you posed the most pressure on you rather than your friends. You could always shrug them off and laugh, but Caleb-

He always did everything with intent, so the way he was holding you- held you just earlier- it was different than anything you’d ever felt before in your life. He’d never touched you with such a sense of possessiveness before- could it have been just because he stopped someone in their tracks from harming you? There’s absolutely no way he could be feeling the same way as you- right? No way he’s testing you, because he won’t say it first, right?

You trembled with nerves from the pressure, feeling everyone’s eyes on you as your face burned a deeper crimson. What do you say? The thought of calling Caleb family always felt sour on your tongue and burned your throat like poison. You never once wanted that to be the establishment between the two of you, always dreaming of a universe where you could be honest and give things a shot with the perfect guy you’d grown up with.

To give him a different label than anything he’s ever been used to terrified you, but you couldn’t shake the desire that fluttered deep in your chest. You take a deep breath, turning to face the girls that stared expectingly at you for a response. “H-He’s my Caleb. Mine.” Your abridged response had the brunette grinning even more, you totally feel the same way and you’re bluffing while still trying to stake your claim on him.

How cute of you to think you needed to stake any kind of claim when he was completely yours to begin with.

“Cute,” his voice was warm in your ear before standing up straight and bringing his heavy hand back to hold you by the small of your back. Your eyes slightly widened when his fingers splayed, just slightly grazing the curve of your ass while he spoke. “Anyways, I just came to pick my sweet girl up a little early. Sorry, ladies, there’s an important matter we have to tend to, together~” his voice grew sing-song-y and confusion swells in your already burning chest.

Important matter?

You’re being pulled out of the club faster than your legs can keep up with, being dragged by Caleb’s massive grip on your wrist. “Wait a second! Slow down!” You’re crossing the parking lot to get to the emptier, sketchier end where his truck is parked. You couldn’t make out his expression, but still pressed on the matter. “Wh-What the fuck was that back there!? Caleb!”

“I should ask you the same thing.” He hissed out as he opened the passenger door, gripping your full hips to hoist you up into the passenger seat before shoving the door shut. Everything was getting way too heavy to be able to play anything off as harmless like you always have your entire lives prior. His large frame enters and sits in the driver’s seat and you finally get a good look at him as he shuts the door. You notice how his own chest rises and falls heavier than normal, his pupils are blown out as he looks at you- the inside of his truck feels so much smaller now.

“Tell me,” he’s almost panting, leaning over the center console to invade your bubble. You don’t realize how badly you wanted him back in your space until he was there- “why were you so upset after that piece of shit left? And why were you so nervous when your little friends pressed about me? About us?” His voice left no room to dodge the questions, and you began to panic.

How the fuck are you supposed to tell him how sexually frustrated you are? Or that you wanted nothing more than to relieve yourself on his heavy cock- the one you always catch glimpses of through his grey sweats during every movie night. Or that you wanted to ride his handsome face until your hips gave out?

You swallow when he leans in even closer, lips only a mere inch apart from yours. Your throat was so dry despite your mouth pooling with drool at the warmth emitting off of him. He’s so close- you’re so close to kissing him-

“I-I dunno,” your lip quivers, and his hands move- one bracing his weight against the center console and the other resting on top of your knee. Goosebumps shoot all across your skin at the action and you squeeze your thighs when his eyes drop down just slightly to your lips.

“Don’t lie- I won’t be mad, Pips. I just need to know what’s on your mind. Need to know if you’re thinkin’ what i’m thinkin’.” His hand on your knee spreads open, fingers dancing ever so lightly on your sensitive skin and you inhale sharply at the feeling.

That’s it- you can’t keep this act up any longer.

“I was m-mad because I-I thought he was gonna fuck me b-before he turned out to be a piece of sh-shit. I-I jus haven’t been f-fucked in so long, n’ I just w-wanna cum so bad, Gege~ I d-didn’t want my friends to flirt with you e-either. Want you just for myself, I’m sorry!!! I-I can’t help it!”

His heart jumped in his throat as tears sprung out of your eyes, making his cock stir to life as he processed your words. You turned your face from him in embarrassment, bringing your hands to furiously swipe at your tears before the hand on your knee reached up to grab at your wrists.

“Pipsqueak,” his voice is like warm butter in your ears and you look at him through your tears, heart racing when his thumb brushes over your pulse point to soothe you while he smiles at you. “Why didn’t you just tell your Gege sooner? You know i’ll always take care of you, no matter what.” Your froze in shock as the weight of where the situation was quickly headed hit you, but you can’t find it in you to fight it when he’s finally leaning in and you’re meeting him halfway in a heated kiss.

Lips urgently pressing against his, you’re both in heaven at the first taste of each other. His hand cups your jaw as he kisses you deeper- tongue teasing your bottom lip as he savors the softness of your lips and the sound of your needy whines muffling against him.

He pulls away when he feels your hips shifting restlessly in your seat, keeping his lips a breath away from yours as his fingertips slip down your jaw to dance across the skin of your throat. “Do you want gege to make you cum? Hm? Are you gonna be a good girl for me, baby?”

If your panties weren’t already soaked, they sure the fuck were now. You’re nodding without hesitation, straining your neck to reach for his lips once more before he retreats a little more just to see your cute pout. He glances at his spacious backseat before motioning with his head towards you.

“Go on then. Get that ass up and climb back there and i’ll take care of you.”

Oh? So he wanted to get straight to it? Not even wait until you’re home.

You bit your lip before eagerly hopping up on your knees to do as he said, only when you started to crawl across the center console-, you yelped when his hand came cracking down on the fat of your ass. “You really went out in a little number like this, huh? My meimei’s a naughty girl,”

Jesus fuck, his words are doing wayyy too much to you.

Unfortunately, it was only the beginning.

You were in heaven, you must have actually died on the dance floor and you’re currently in the arms of angels as Caleb has you folded in half in a mating press in the backseat of his truck. You’re both completely stripped minus his dog tag necklace that’s bouncing off his toned pecs with every thrust. You feel the truck shake as his humongous cock stuffs you completely full.

The second he’d gotten you in the backseat he wasted no time diving between your thick thighs and devouring that pretty pussy he’d been dreaming of his entire life until you came all over his face twice. Tasting you from the source was so much better than any of the dirty panties he’d snagged over the years from your laundry basket. He doesn’t know how the fuck he ever survived before without the taste of you saturating his tongue.

Your voice, oh god it was music to his burning hot ears as you moaned like such a fucking slut while he rutted his muscular hips into you.

The air in the truck had grown so hot and thick you were growing completely insane, but you couldn’t get enough of it. You bucked your hips to fuck up against him with every thrust, craving him deeper and deeper now that the seal had been broken. Your glossy eyes flutter up to meet Caleb’s unapologetic stare, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth when the sounds of your slippery pussy sucking up his swollen cock fill the confined space of his backseat.

“Had no idea y’re pussy would be so wet. You’re a nasty girl. Been thinkin’ bout this? Hm?” His voice was rough in your ear and you whimpered, soaking his cock even more when his words went straight to your cunt. “Y-Yes! Yesyesyess!” You’re crying out honestly, you can’t hide it at all anymore. He chuckled breathlessly, leaning down to press another sloppy kiss to your swollen lips as his hips started to grind against yours. He could die just like this and be perfectly content- buried in your warm, tight walls while sucking on your tongue as you both kissed each other like it’s the first and last time altogether.

No way he’d ever let you stray away from him now, you’ll never need anybody else now that he knows what your pussy feels and tastes like.

“Gonna keep you like this forever, y’know,” Caleb was going insane, feeling the pit in his stomach tighten unbearably so, your eyes rolled back- god, he’s such a fucking talker. You loved every bit of it. You nodded, crying out when one of his hands reached between your sweaty bodies to play with your throbbing clit. “Mnh! Fuck! Caleb!” You gasp out when your orgasm grows dangerously close.

The man above you shakes his head with a dark glint in his violet eyes, “nu-uh, baby. You know what my name is,” he reaches his mouth down to close around your nipple, tongue lathering the hardened bud with his warm saliva. Tears blur your vision and you grip his beefy forearm bracing his weight right next to you, nails scraping against his skin, he groans at the delectable sting.

“F-Fuuuuuckk, Gege! C-Can’t!” You’re all but screaming when you feel him scrambling your guts while grinding the thick pad of his thumb into your clit.

He’s flicking his tongue across your nipple and the stimulation is becoming overwhelming, bringing a foreign pressure somewhere low in your tummy. Your brows pinch in worry, moving to grab at his soft brown locks as a means to ground yourself. “G’na cu-uuumm, ha-ahh, feels s’weird, ngh~”

His ears perk up at that- weird? Oh he knows exactly what’s happening here.

“Yeah? You wanna cum on your Gege’s cock? Hah, you’re so nasty, Meimei. What’ll gram say if she finds out? If she hears the way i’m gonna fuck you all over that god damn house when we get home,” His words flutter in your chest and your eyes roll back in relief at the promise of this not being a one time thing. You wail when he shifts his wrist to press his palm down against your lower abdomen, thumb still working fast swipes across your pulsing clit.

The increased pressure has you flailing around underneath him, your orgasm is coming fast, but suddenly you’re feeling the urge to pee and it’s beyond overwhelming.

“C’mon, pipsqueak,” he’s cooing in your ear, the truck is shaking harder as he starts mercilessly pounding your pussy, “squirt all over me, baby. I need it, I need it s’fucking bad.” His words drown out as your release hits you, making your head slam back against the backseat cushion as you spray his abdomen with your clear juices.

He’s definitely in heaven now, whimpering out at the sight that’s been burnt into his memory for forever. You look so perfect like this, absolutely fucked out of your mind as you cum so hard he almost grows concerned for you as he fucks you through it. His own orgasm is coming up fast, and he decides he needs you even closer.

Your breath is stolen from you when you’re hoisted up and into his lap, his massive arms locking around the curve of your waist and he’s pounding up into you like a man possessed. You’ve had no time to recover from your highs, yet your hips are still bucking to meet his thrusts as your teary face buries itself in the crook of his neck.

“Fuck, baby, you did so good. Always such a good girl f’me,” he’s praising you and bringing a hand down to grip the plump fat of your ass. His mind travels back to the video he watched earlier of you-, glancing over your shoulder to watch the same way your ass was bouncing but now on the length of his fat cock was even fucking better that that silly video. Maybe one day he’ll get you to let him record you bounce like this again on his cock for when he’s away.

Your lips attach to his neck and you’re feverishly kissing and sucking on his skin, drunkenly babbling the sweetest words he thinks he’s ever heard.

“Mmh, wan’ you to cum in me, Caleb. Give your Meimei every fuckin’ drop, please~”

He’s seeing white.

All you feel is his grip on your ass tightening before his cock starts knocking against your cervix like it owed him money. “Promise me, fuuuuck- promise you won’t fuck anyone else, baby. L-Let Gege take care of you always, please-“

You’re nodding your head with a cry, biting down on the damp skin of his shoulder. “Only ever wan’ your cock, I promise!!”

Not another second passed before his tip was spurting hot, white cum all over your tightening walls. His hand shot up to your nape to tug your face back to his in a feral kiss, shoving his tongue in your mouth to muffle his own desperate cries as he kept pumping you full with his seed. You’d never felt more full in your life, but god- this was such an addictive feeling.

Your softer hands reach up to cup his face and you kiss him back just as hard, moaning into his mouth. You feel the way he finally slows down and the two of you come down slowly, holding each other in a tight embrace as heavy breaths fill the steamy air of his truck.

You’re both on cloud nine after that, still connected even after a while of just sitting there petting each other. Your head is resting on its side on Caleb’s chest, listening to his slowing heartbeat and you smile to yourself. You’ll talk out all the logistics of whatever the fuck just happened later- all you know now is that you’ve never been so thankful for a girl’s night out in your life.

“You okay, pip? Ready to go home? Need to get you cleaned up,” his lips are brushing your temple warmly and your cheeks are warm again. “M’okay, Caleb. I’m ready.” You hum lazily, feeling an overwhelming exhaustion beginning to hit you and you start to look around for your dress to shimmy it back on.

Your eyes narrow down at the joggers he’d been wearing that were pooled in the floorboard- a familiar bundle of pink lace just barely poking out of the pocket.

Suddenly, you’re not tired anymore, and your head is snapping at the nervous looking man in front of you.

“You mother fucker,” you’re seething, snatching up the panties from his pocket and shoving the cold, hard evidence of his crimes in his face. “IT WAS YOU ALL ALONG, WASN’T IT!? YOU THIEF! DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY FUCKING PANTIES YOU OWE ME!?”

He can only shrink into himself with a nervous smile, reaching for your wrists and pulling them downwards to disarm you. “I- uh- I don’t think I can talk myself out of this one, can I?” He’s sheepishly grinning at your adorably angry expression with only one thought repeating in his mind as he’s watching you huff and puff dramatically above him as if he didn’t just fuck the living daylights out of you.

Thank GOD for Girl’s Night.

Caleb stared at it. For a second, his brain, usually so quick to calculate and react, simply stalled.

He had given you that black card four months ago. He remembers the exact look on your face—the stubborn tilt of your chin, the way you tried to hand it right back, insisting you didn't need his charity. He’d had to press it into your palm, wrapping his larger fingers over yours, telling you it wasn't charity, it was security. It was his. And by extension, yours.

Since then? Nothing. Not a coffee, not a grocery run, not a single cent. Until today.

A low coil of heat unraveled in the pit of his stomach, heavy and sudden. He leaned back in his leather chair, the paperwork completely forgotten as he swiped the notification open to look at the details.

L'Étoile. He knew the place. It wasn't just a boutique, it was an exclusive, high end atelier known for custom evening wear. The kind of dresses that clung like a second skin, made of silk that practically begged to be slid off a woman's shoulders.

The timing wasn't a coincidence. The Skyhaven Gala was this weekend, and he had asked you to be his plus one days ago. You hadn't answered, but this... this was the confirmation he was desperate for.

You were actually going. And you were letting him dress you for it.

Caleb ran a thumb over the edge of his jaw, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The thought of you standing in that boutique, picking out something beautiful, and handing over his card to pay for it sent a rush of addictive adrenaline straight through his veins. You were finally letting him take care of you. You were finally accepting the hold he wanted to have on you.

His mind immediately betrayed him, painting entirely inappropriate pictures for a Thursday morning at his desk. He imagined you in the dressing room, the smooth fabric of a formal gown slipping over your hips. He imagined the deep, plunging back of a dress, exposing the soft skin he wanted to press his mouth against. He imagined walking into that Gala with his hand anchored firmly at the small of your back, letting every elite in Skyhaven know exactly who you belonged to.

The heat in his gut tightened, turning into a restless, demanding hunger. Caleb picked up his personal phone, his fingers moving deliberately across the screen. He couldn't just let this pass. He needed you to know that he saw it.

He deleted his first three drafts. They were too forward, too loud about the possessive grip tightening in his chest. He needed to play it cool. He was a patient man, after all. He had waited months for you to use the card, he could wait a little longer for the rest.

​He typed out a short, simple message.

​Caleb: Just saw a notification from L'Étoile. Good choice. I can't wait to see what you picked out.

🍎 🍏 🍎 🍏 🍎 🍏 🍎 🍏 🍎 🍏 🍎 🍏 🍎 🍏 🍎 🍏

You stood in front of the full length mirror in his bedroom, adjusting the drape of the fabric over your hips.

​The dress was breathtaking. It was the kind of luxury you’d never allow yourself to even look at, let alone wear—heavy, liquid silk that pooled around your feet and clung to every curve.

​When you had first seen it at L'Étoile, you’d stood in front of it for ten minutes, paralyzed. You had your hand in your purse, fingers brushing against the black card he had forced into your hands months ago. “For emergencies,” he’d said “Or for anything you want. Just use it.”

​But you hadn't. You couldn't. You had to be careful.

Using his money felt like crossing a line you couldn't uncross. You were already so deeply, desperately in love with him, a secret you guarded with everything you had. Because Caleb was always the perfect gentleman. He was attentive, protective, and constantly there for you—but sometimes, that care felt dangerously close to the way an older brother might protect a younger sibling. He treated you like something fragile, something to be kept safe.

​You had nearly choked when you read the price, but the thought of Caleb seeing you in it—the foolish hope that maybe, just maybe, this dress would finally make him see you as a woman—had won.

​When you’d sent him a picture of the dress on the hanger, your heart had been in your throat. His reply had come a few minutes later:

​Caleb: Beautiful. You’re going to look perfect.

It was a nice text. A good text. But it was exactly the kind of text a supportive friend or family member would send. It didn't have the heat you were craving. It didn't give away a single hint of what he was actually thinking.

​A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you touched the delicate strap of the dress. Today was huge for him and because of his tight schedule, he had to get ready at work, leaving you to dress at his place alone.

​The sound of the front door’s electronic lock chiming cut through the silence.

​Your breath hitched. He wasn't supposed to be back. He was supposed to meet you there, or send a car.

​A moment later, heavy, familiar footsteps echoed down the hallway, stopping right outside the cracked bedroom door.

​"Hey," Caleb’s deep voice called out "I changed my mind."

​The door was pushed open.

Caleb stood in the threshold, already dressed in his formal gala uniform. The crisp lines of the dark jacket, the sharp tailoring emphasizing the broad span of his shoulders, and the silver accents made him look entirely commanding. Imposing.

​But the moment his eyes landed on you, all of that military discipline vanished.

​He froze. His hand, which had been reaching up to loosen the high, stiff collar of his shirt, dropped slowly to his side.

​The silence stretched between you, thick and suddenly heavy with suffocating tension. Caleb didn't move. He didn't say 'you look nice.' He didn't smile his usual easy, comforting smile. Instead, his dark eyes darkened further, raking over you from the exposed skin of your collarbones, down the sleek, expensive lines of the silk, all the way to the floor, before snapping back up to lock onto your face.

​There was nothing brotherly about the way he was looking at you right now.

Within seconds, he regained his composure, tightening his jaw as the mask slipped back on. "You look beautiful, as always," he said, eyes lingering just a moment too long. "I'll wait for you in the living room."

​There it went again. That agonizing feeling of being kept at a distance. You swallowed the lump in your throat, finished your makeup, and walked out.

​The ride to the gala was quiet. Caleb kept his eyes on the road, answering your attempts at conversation with polite, clipped murmurs, but the moment you stepped out of his car he anchored you to him.

As you walked through the grand, crystal lit ballroom, you could feel the weight of dozens of eyes on you. Other men noticed you immediately. Lingering glances followed you across the marble floor, and Caleb knew every single one of them. Whenever a younger officer or an elite stepped up to talk to you, Caleb’s hand would find the small of your back, his grip tightening just enough to guide you away, his voice smooth and perfectly diplomatic as he excused the two of you.

​An hour into the night, Caleb was pulled into a conversation with a high ranking officer. Seeing him occupied, you quietly murmured that you were going to grab a drink and slipped away toward the grand ice sculpture bar.

​"I was wondering when he’d let you out of his sight," a smooth, unfamiliar voice said beside you.

​You turned to find a young man in an expensive tailored suit, looking at you with an appreciative smile. "I'm Julian. I couldn't help but notice you the second you walked in. Tell me, are you here with Colonel Xia, or—"

​Before Julian could finish, the air pressure seemed to drop.

​Without a single word of warning, a large, warm hand wrapped firmly around your waist, his fingers pressing deep into the silk of your dress. The sudden heat of Caleb’s chest brushed against your bare shoulder.

​"She's with me," Caleb’s voice cut through the air, laced with a quiet authority that made Julian’s confident smile instantly falter.

​"Colonel," Julian stammered, raising his glass defensively. "Just making conversation."

​"We were just leaving for the floor," Caleb replied, his eyes holding a gaze so unyielding it felt like a physical threat. With a seamless sweep of his arm, Caleb turned you around and guided you directly into the center of the crowded ballroom.

​When he pulled you into his arms it wasn't the gentle, respectful distance he usually kept. He pulled you in tight. His right hand clamped against the small of your back, pulling your hips flush against his. He looked incredibly tense, his shoulders rigid, it looked as if this important day for him was not going his way at all.

​"Caleb," you whispered, looking up at him, your breath hitching at the sheer proximity. "Are you okay? Is the event not going well?"

​He didn't answer right away, guiding you through a flawless turn. His eyes dropped back down to yours, the hard line of his mouth softening just a fraction.

​"I'm fine," he murmured, his voice still carrying a rough edge. He looked at you, really looked at you, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to bleed out into a weary, heavy sigh. "You just... you reminded me of something tonight."

​"What?" you asked, tilting your head.

​A faint, nostalgic shadow of a smile touched his lips. "Do you remember your high school prom?"

​You blinked, surprised. "My prom? Yeah, of course."

​"Do you remember that boutique downtown? The one with the emerald green dress in the window that you used to stare at every day after school?"

​A genuine laugh escaped you, the tension breaking. "Oh my god, yes. I wept over that dress. It was way too expensive, and I knew grandma couldn't afford it. I was devastated." you smiled at the memory. "But then, a week before the dance, it just showed up on our porch. I still don't know how Grandma got the money. She always refused to tell me."

Caleb stopped guiding you for a fraction of a second before he resumed the slow, swaying rhythm.

​"She didn't get the money," Caleb said softly.

​You paused, staring up at him. "What do you mean?"

​"Grandma didn't buy that dress, I did."

​Your steps faltered entirely, and Caleb had to catch your weight, anchoring your body firmly against his so you wouldn't stumble on the dance floor. "You? But... you didn't have that kind of money."

​"I picked up extra shifts at the mechanics. Worked some night gigs," he said, his voice dropping into a whisper. "You wanted it. You cried because you couldn't have it. There was no way in hell I was going to let you go to that dance in anything less than what you wanted."

Your breath trapped itself in your throat. The silk of your current dress suddenly felt hot against your skin. The dots connected in your head—the way he had always taken care of you, the way he had worked himself to the bone just to give you what you wanted.

​You looked up at him, your eyes searching his, desperate for him to finally bridge the gap, to say the words you had been dying to hear. The tension between you was vibrating, so thick it felt like the entire ballroom had vanished around you. His thumb traced a deliberate line across your hip, his eyes burning into yours.

​But Caleb just swallowed hard and didn't say another word about how he felt. He just held you, turning you back into the rhythm of the dance, leaving you completely breathless and suspended in the space between what you were and what you desperately wanted to be.

🍏🍎🍏🍎🍏🍎🍏🍎🍏🍎🍏🍎🍏🍎🍏🍎🍏🍎🍏

The front door of his home clicked shut, sealing out the noise of Skyhaven and leaving you both wrapped in a ringing silence. It was late. The adrenaline of the gala was fading, replaced by a heavy exhaustion that only made the unspoken tension between you feel twice as loud.

Caleb slipped off his shoes first, his movements practiced and calm. The moment you leaned down to fumble with the delicate buckle of your own heel, he was already moving.

Before you could even protest, Caleb was down on one knee in front of you.

He didn't say a word. He just tapped his thigh, a commanding gesture for you to rest your foot there so he could help. He had done this a bunch of times over the years but tonight the intimacy of it felt completely different. When his warm fingers brushed against your ankle, carefully working the strap free, your heart hammered violently against your ribs.

The moment the second shoe slipped off, you muttered a breathless thank you, peeled off your coat, and practically fled down the hallway toward the kitchen.

You needed a barrier. You needed a distraction. You grabbed a glass, filled it from the tap, and drank it slowly, staring into the dark marble of the countertop. Your hands were shaking so badly the water rippled. You didn't know what to do with yourself, especially because you could hear his slow, deliberate footsteps following you.

He didn't stay at the doorway. He walked right into the kitchen until he was standing directly behind you.

He didn't say anything at first. He just stood there, watching the tight line of your shoulders, the way your fingers white knuckled the glass, and, most damning of all, the frantic, tiny pulse fluttering under the delicate skin of your neck. It completely betrayed you.

The moment he stepped a fraction closer, he saw your breathing stutter, then change completely, turning shallow and fast.

He could see the effort it was taking for you to pretend to be calm, how your eyes stared straight ahead as if you could somehow ignore him. He noticed the way you pressed your lips together, trying to stay completely silent because you knew—you knew—that a single word, a single sigh broken by his name, would completely ruin this whole innocent act you'd been playing all night.

But you had no idea. You didn't know that was exactly what he liked the most.

The act.

Caleb loved your pretty, stubborn control. He loved your careful face, the way you fought so hard to keep the boundaries up between you, thinking you were hiding it from him. You thought he was blind to it. You thought he didn't notice the way you looked at him when he turned away, or the way you flushed whenever he touched you.

He noticed everything. He had been noticing for years, cataloging every micro expression, every nervous breath, waiting with disciplined patience for the day you would finally break.

"Still thirsty?" Caleb spoke so close to your ear that the warmth of his breath sent a violent shiver straight down your spine. He didn't reach out to touch you yet, but the gravity of his weight behind you felt like a physical hold. "Or are you just hiding from me?"

You had a chance to step away. The kitchen was wide enough. The hallway was right there. You could have turned around, made a joke, laughed it off like you always did to keep the peace.

​But you didn't move an inch.

​And that was your first confession. Not with words, but with silence.

​This was the part that made you dangerous. You liked being read by him. You liked the thrill of him stripping away all your defenses without you having to say a single word. You liked the way his attention felt like a physical hand on you—heavy, warm, and demanding—long before he even actually touched you. And Caleb? He liked watching you try to hold onto the last frayed threads of your innocence while your body practically begged him to tear them down.

His control was the dirtiest part of all.

​It wasn't the hunger. Any man could hunger for you, any man could look at you in that expensive silk dress and want to rip it off your body. But Caleb’s control was entirely different. It was a weapon. Because here he was—a man standing too close, a man fully capable of ruining you right here against the kitchen counter—and he chose patience.

​He was a man who knew exactly how to make you tremble, who knew he had won the moment you refused to step away, but decided to make you wait for it first.

​He let out a slow, quiet breath that hit your neck like gasoline on a fire.

The heavy glide of his palm against your waist was almost a relief, but it brought no release. He wasn't trapping you. He wasn't pinning you against the cold marble of the counter. His hand was just holding the moment still. Holding it exactly where it was, long enough for you to fully understand what you were choosing.

​Because Caleb didn't want fear. He didn't want confusion, or the blurry edge of an impulse you'd regret tomorrow. He didn't want a single thing your body didn't willingly surrender to him. He wanted the absolute truth.

​"Say yes."

​The command is barely a whisper against your ear, but it carries the weight of an ultimatum. He wants to hear it from your mouth. Honest, and stripped of all the careful facades you’d both been hiding behind for years.

​You swallow, your throat dry, your chest heaving against the suffocating weight of his presence. You turn your head just enough, eyes meeting his.

​"Yes," you breathe.

The word had barely left your lips—soft and entirely undone—when the entire room changed. The air got hotter. Hesitation gone. The safe, comfortable boundaries turned to ashes. Now, neither one of you had to pretend you didn't want the fire.

​Slowly he lets his mouth hover just a fraction of an inch away from the sensitive skin of your neck. There is no kiss yet. No pressure of his lips, no sharp nip of his teeth. Just the heat of his breath ghosting over your collarbone.

​It's an agonizing little space—the gap between what you were begging for and what he hadn't given you yet. He is letting your own filthy imagination do the work. He is letting your body ache for the contact, letting your mind picture exactly how his mouth would feel against your skin, forcing you to crave.

When his lips finally touch your skin, it's right against your pulse, making your eyes flutter closed without your permission. It was the kind of kiss that made your entire body said 'Finally' when your mouth was still far too terrified to utter the word.

​Caleb feels the sharp, ragged breath you lose against his cheek, the stiff posture of your back instantly softening against his chest, and the way your fingers leave the marble counter to look for something—for him—to hold onto.

​"There she is," he whispers against your skin.

​This is the version of you he has been starving for. Not the careful woman who smiles politely in public and hides her filthiest cravings behind a quiet face. He wants the one underneath her. He wants the raw, undone version of you that burns just as hot as he does. The one who wants tenderness, but wants it with teeth.

He turns you around slowly until you are forced to face him completely. The front of your silk dress brushes against the crisp fabric of his shirt, making your nipples pebble. He slides his thumb under your jaw, lifting your chin until you can feel the ghost of his breath against your lips.

"Tell me what you want, pretty."

You kind of hate him for asking you that because silence is safer. But Caleb waits. He just watches you, his eyes fixed on your mouth, completely unbothered by the quiet. He can wait. He has been waiting for years, a few more seconds of you squirming under his gaze is nothing to him.

"I want more..." you whisper, the confession torn from your throat.

The way his lips finally meet yours feels like restraint died proud.

It isn't a frantic, clumsy collision. It's slow, deep and enough to make you lean forward, chasing his mouth when he pulls back just a fraction.

Caleb steps into your space, his body pushing yours back until the edge of the marble counter presses into your lower back, making you feel the hard reality of what you do to him. Until you finally understand. His control was never the absence of desire. It was a warning. It was the very last polite thing about him.

And now, it’s gone.

Once his control starts slipping, you feel it everywhere. It’s in the possessive grip of his hands gathering the fabric of your dress, it’s in the demanding rhythm of your shared breath. An intoxicating heat coils deep in your stomach and climbs up your neck, making you feel as if your entire body is blushing from the inside out. He devours your mouth, his tongue tangling with yours with an unchecked hunger that tells you there is no going back.

Every touch feels like a slow burning sin you are committing together, but it's too good to be wrong.

​Because there was no zipper to quickly pull down, your dress had to be worshiped off your body, and the patience required only made his intent feel more dangerous. His hands slid over the expensive silk, tracing the exact lines of your hips, gathering the fabric up with a slow friction that made your skin flush everywhere his hands touched.

​"Look at me"

​You force your eyelids open, vision blurred by the weight of your arousal.

​"You're shaking, baby," he murmurs, his hands sliding to your waist, the bunched fabric resting there as his thumbs move across your ribs "Is it too much?"

​"No," you gasp, pulling him closer. You didn't want him to stop. You needed the friction, needed the weight of him to ground you because your mind was spinning entirely out of control. "Caleb, please..."

​A deeply satisfied smile tugged at his lips at the sound of his name breaking on your tongue. "Please what? Tell me."

​He was doing it again.

​But you couldn't wait anymore. The slow agony of his control was driving you out of your mind. You hooked your arms around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss, your hips tilting forward against his, begging for the relief he was withholding.

In one swift motion, his hands grab the silk at your waist and guide it up and completely over your head. The expensive dress pools onto the floor, leaving you entirely bare under his gaze.

He lifts you effortlessly. Your feet leave the floor as he sets you onto the edge of the marble counter, parting your thighs with his hips.

His mouth comes back down on yours, a demanding possession that tastes like a lifetime of starved patience. He reaches down, shifting the fabric of his trousers out of the way, his breath turning heavy and ragged against your lips.

Then, his hands grip your hips, lifting you slightly to line his hard lenght against your entrance. Your fingers dig frantically into the fabric of his shirt as your whole world narrows down to the heat of him filling the space between you.

He takes you right there on the kitchen counter, his rhythm deep, heavy, and slow. The friction of his trousers against your bare thighs a dizzying reminder of how undone you are compared to him. You can hear the uneven sound of his breathing, the low, masculine groans he can't catch in his throat.

His fingers dig into your hips to tilt you up, forcing you to take every inch of him. A tight, sweet ache coils so deeply in your stomach that it makes your head tilt back, your throat baring to the ceiling as a breathless, fractured sob escapes your lips.

Caleb immediately buries his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing the skin right over your racing pulse as he drives into you harder.

The rhythm he sets is relentless, leaving no room for your mind to catch up with what your body is feeling.

His hands move from your hips, sliding up your ribs to cup your soft breasts. His face is entirely tight, his jaw clenched so hard the muscles jump under his skin.

"I want you looking at me when you break."

Your thighs clamp tightly around his waist, your toes curling in the empty air as you try to pull him even deeper, consumed by the need to reach the edge.

"Cay, baby, ple-ase..."

"I've got you, give it to me."

The coil inside you snaps, a blinding wave of heat crashing over you, making your entire body lock tight. A broken cry leaves your throat as the world spins completely out of focus, leaving you floating in nothing but pure pleasure.

Feeling the pulsing tremors of your release wrapping around him, Caleb loses the very last of his restraint.

His hands lock onto your hips with a bruising grip, lifting you up and driving himself into you one last time as his own body shudders violently against yours.

New York City does not care about your feelings.

This is something you’ve made your peace with over the years — the way it moves around you without slowing down, all noise and glass and cold wind off the Hudson in the early mornings when you’re walking the four blocks from the subway to Linkon Tower, coffee cup in hand, trying to remember if you forwarded that document last night or only dreamed that you did. The city asks nothing of you emotionally. It simply expects you to keep moving.

You are, in this way, well-suited to New York.

What you are less well-suited to — what you have been quietly, privately, catastrophically less well-suited to for approximately three years now — is being in love with your boss.

The elevator opens on the fifty-third floor.

You are fine.

“Good morning.”

His voice reaches you before you’ve fully stepped through the glass doors of the executive suite — low and unhurried, carrying the particular warmth he reserves for very few people, and you are, for reasons that keep you awake sometimes, one of them. Sylus is already at his desk, as he always is, as he has always been every single morning in the three years you’ve worked for him, because the man apparently does not sleep like a normal person. The Manhattan skyline stretches silver and pale behind him through the floor-to-ceiling windows. In the early light, he looks almost painterly — silver hair, dark suit, those red eyes lifting from the document in his hand to find you the moment you walk in, the way they always do, like he has a sense for you specifically.

Like he was waiting.

“Good morning,” you say, and you are very proud of how normal your voice sounds.

“How was the commute?” He asks it with genuine interest, setting his document down, which is one of the things that got you in trouble in the first place. The way he actually listens. The way Sylus, who runs a multi-billion dollar enterprise from this office and commands rooms full of people who are intimidated just by his posture, always has time to ask how your commute was.

“Cold,” you say, unwinding your scarf. “The L train decided this morning was a good time to have an existential crisis.”

“The L train always does that.” He tilts his head slightly. “You should have taken the car.”

“I’m not taking your car to work, Sylus.”

“You could.”

“I know I could. I’m choosing not to.” You drop your bag at your desk and pull out your tablet, already scrolling to his schedule. “It makes me feel like a kept woman.”

The silence that follows is approximately one beat too long.

You look up. Sylus is watching you with an expression you can’t fully decode — something that passed through his eyes too quickly, smoothed back over by the composed, unreadable surface he wears most of the time. The corner of his mouth curves.

“Heaven forbid,” he says mildly, and goes back to his document.

You turn back to your tablet and breathe.

Three years, you remind yourself. You have survived three years of this. You will survive today.

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Here is what three years has taught you about Sylus:

He takes his coffee black, no sugar, too hot for comfort, and he drinks it while standing at the window with Manhattan spread out below him like something he’s quietly fond of. He is pathologically early to everything and has zero patience for people who aren’t, with the single exception of you — for you, he simply comes to find you, appearing at your workspace door with that unhurried patience, as though waiting for you specifically is a different category than waiting in general.

He reads physical documents even though everything could be digital because he thinks better with paper in his hands. He keeps the office two degrees warmer than the building standard because he noticed, in your first winter working for him, that you were always cold. He has never once mentioned this to you directly. You figured it out yourself, six months in, when you checked the building’s climate control records out of sheer curiosity, and you had to sit with that knowledge quietly for a long time afterward.

He is privately, genuinely funny — not the performative wit he turns on in meetings, but something dryer and warmer that surfaces only in the quiet moments, usually aimed at you. He reads in at least four languages. He grew up far from here, far from any of this, and there are moments when something in his expression goes distant and careful and you sense the geography of everything he’s built between himself and whatever came before.

He has never raised his voice at you. Not once. In three years of high-pressure deadlines and impossible situations and the particular chaos that seems to follow a man of his ambition, he has never directed anything at you that wasn’t measured, and considered, and — underneath its careful composure — surprisingly kind.

He is also tall — unreasonably, almost absurdly tall, the kind of tall that means the rest of the world simply exists lower than him — broad-shouldered, white-haired, and red-eyed, and standing next to him, which requires you to tilt your head back at an angle you’ve gotten quietly used to, makes you feel both very small and, inexplicably, very safe.

This is the problem.

This is the entire problem.

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡

“You have the Meridian Capital call at nine,” you say, following him into his office with your tablet. This is another part of the choreography — the morning briefing, where you trail after him and he listens without looking at you directly, which you have learned means he’s paying the most attention. “Board review at eleven. You have a lunch block—”

“Clear it.”

You glance up. “You specifically asked for that block last week.”

“I know what I asked for last week.” He settles into his chair, leaning back in that easy way of his, long legs stretched under the desk. Even seated, the man is an unfair amount of presence. “Book somewhere for lunch instead. Somewhere quiet — not the Meridian district, I’ll have been on a call with those people for an hour and I’ll want a change of air.” His eyes come to you, and they’re soft in the way they sometimes are when it’s just the two of you and the morning is still early. “Somewhere you’d like. You choose.”

You pause. “You want me to choose.”

“Is that not what I said?”

“You’re very particular about restaurants, Sylus.”

“I’m particular in general,” he concedes. “But I trust your taste.” A brief pause. The softness in his expression doesn’t waver. “Lunch for two, somewhere you’d like. That’s all.”

You look at him for a moment too long — which you do sometimes, which you’ve been doing for three years, and he always holds the look, always lets you, like he has nothing to hide and all the time in the world, which is terrifying because it makes you feel seen — and then you nod and look back at your tablet.

“I’ll find somewhere,” you say.

“I know you will.” He picks up his pen. “You always do.”

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡

The Meridian call runs long, as you predicted, and you have reorganized two schedules and soothed one very anxious junior analyst by the time it wraps. Sylus emerges from his office at eleven-oh-three, jacket on, expression still and composed from the professional armor he wears in those spaces, and crosses directly to your desk.

He sets a cup of tea down at your elbow.

Your tea — your specific order, the one you’d mentioned offhandedly to him eight months ago and apparently never needed to mention again — brewed at the temperature you like, with the little paper sleeve because the cup gets hot.

“Your eleven o’clock moved to eleven-fifteen,” you tell him, not trusting yourself to acknowledge the tea directly, “which means you have twelve minutes, and also I found a restaurant — it’s on the Upper West Side, French-American, supposed to be very quiet on weekdays—”

“Perfect.” He’s reading something on his phone, already walking, and he pauses at the edge of your workspace and glances back.

“You barely ate this morning.”

You blink. “I ate some cereal. How could you possibly—”

“You have the look,” he says, simply, like this is a perfectly reasonable thing to say. “The one that means you ate something that technically qualified as food and decided it counted.” The faintest curve of his mouth. “It doesn’t count.”

“It absolutely—”

“Book a table for twelve-thirty.” He’s already moving again, unhurried, like the conversation is entirely settled. “I’m not signing a single thing until I know you’ve had a real meal.”

Then he’s gone, moving down the hallway toward the boardroom, and you’re left staring at the empty doorway with your mouth still open and the faint, traitorous warmth of being known so precisely by someone spreading all the way up to your ears.

You close your mouth.

You book the table and then pick up your tea.

It is perfect.

You are in so much trouble.

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡

The restaurant he lets you choose is a small place tucked between a bookshop and a dry cleaner on West 74th — French in its bones but soft around the edges, the kind of room that smells like butter and old wood and feels completely removed from the city outside. You’re not sure how it stays so quiet in Manhattan. Maybe it exists slightly outside of time.

Sylus ducks slightly to come through the door.

He does this — accommodates the world’s architectures with a patient, practiced ease, as though he accepted a long time ago that most spaces weren’t built for him and has made his peace with it. You notice this more than you should. You notice the way he instinctively adjusts when he’s close to you too — angles himself, shortens his step, never makes you feel like the difference in your heights is anything other than simply the way things are.

The host seats you at a corner table. The light is golden and low.

“This is nice,” Sylus says, and he means it. You’ve gotten good at knowing when he means things.

“I thought you’d like it.” You unfold your menu. “It feels like somewhere you’d eat if you didn’t have to perform anything.”

He goes still for just a moment. Then, quietly: “That’s a very accurate read.”

“Three years,” you say simply.

Something in his expression moves — warm and careful at once, like he’s handling something he doesn’t want to drop. He looks at you across the small table, and in the golden light of this room outside of time he looks different than he does in the office. Younger, almost. Softer. Like the thing he usually holds back with both hands is closer to the surface.

“You’re distracted this week,” he says eventually. Not an accusation — an observation, offered gently, the way he offers you most things. “You hide it well. But I know your face.”

Your heart catches.

I know your face. Said like it’s simply a fact, something true and uncontested, filed away somewhere in him.

“I found something,” you say, because you can never not tell him things, in the end. He does something to your defenses — doesn’t dismantle them, exactly, just makes you feel like they’re not necessary with him, which might be worse. “An apartment. A loft.” You look at your water glass. “I’ve been dreaming about my own place for years. You know how New York is — I’ve been in the same sublet since I moved here, and it’s fine, it’s always been fine, but it’s not mine. Nothing in it is mine.” You smile, self-deprecating. “I walked past a listing last weekend. A loft in the West Village — high ceilings, big windows, exposed brick. There’s a little terrace that looks out over the rooftops and I just — I stood on the sidewalk and looked at it for a long time.”

Sylus is watching you with his full attention — the specific quality of stillness he gets when you’re saying something he wants to remember. His hands are folded on the table. He’s not eating. He’s just listening.

“It needs renovation,” you continue, quieter now. “A lot of it, still. Which is part of why the price is—” You exhale. “The price is a lot. More than a lot. My savings are good, I’ve been careful, but between the listing and the renovation costs it’s just—” You shake your head. “It’s not realistic right now.”

A long pause.

“Tell me about it,” Sylus says.

You blink. “I just—”

“Not the numbers.” His voice is gentle. “The place. Tell me about the loft.”

Oh.

Oh.

You look at him. He looks back, patient and entirely serious, and something in your chest aches in a way you don’t have good language for.

And so you tell him — the arched windows and the way the afternoon light would fall across the floors, the exposed brick that runs the whole length of the far wall, the little wrought-iron terrace barely big enough for two chairs and a plant but somehow perfect, the ceiling height, the bones of it. The way you’d stood on that sidewalk and seen, with a clarity that surprised you, exactly what it could become. What it could be. You tell him all of it, more than you meant to, more than is probably professional over a two-person lunch that you’re already trying not to read too much into.

Sylus listens to every word.

When you finish, he’s quiet for a moment. There’s something in his expression that’s gone a little careful.

“What’s the address?” he says.

You study him. “Why?”

“Because you’ve just described the place you want most in the world,” he says, very simply, “and I’m interested in things that matter to you.”

The ache in your chest deepens. You look at him for a long moment — this man who runs a company from the fifty-third floor of a Midtown tower, who is a decade older than you and a foot taller than you and should by any reasonable accounting be the most intimidating person in your life, and who instead feels, in moments like this, like the safest one.

You give him the address.

You don’t know what he’ll do with it.

You just know, the way you know most things about Sylus, that he’ll do something.

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡

The afternoon passes the way good afternoons in the office do — with a steady rhythm of tasks and small exchanges, the comfortable back-and-forth that you’ve built between you over three years like a language that only the two of you speak fluently. He stops by your desk at three to ask if you want anything from the coffee cart downstairs, which he would never do for anyone else, and brings you back a hot chocolate without commenting on it. You catch him at five-forty-five standing in the doorway of his office watching you finish up for the day with an expression you aren’t supposed to have seen — unguarded, quiet, something in it that sits low and warm in your stomach for the whole subway ride home.

It doesn’t mean what you want it to mean, you tell yourself, earbuds in, Manhattan rushing past outside the windows.

He’s just kind. He’s kind to you because you work for him and you’ve earned it and that’s all it is.

Forty-three blocks uptown, Sylus stands at his office window with your address on a notepad in his hand and thinks, for a very long time.

Then he sits down at his desk.

Opens his laptop.

And begins to type.

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡

read the rest on ao3 <3

"Tired already, sweetie?" His voice dripped with mock concern that made your blood boil. You weren't tired—you were a hunter, for fuck's sake. You'd faced down Wanderers and survived. This shouldn't be so damn difficult.

But you didn't know what you didn't know, and every movement felt awkward, wrong. Your face must have been making that clear because he kept looking at you with those knowing crimson eyes and that infuriating smirk.

The nerve of him. The absolute nerve.

You wanted to prove him wrong. But your body wasn't cooperating, you were too tense, too focused on not hurting yourself, too caught up in the humiliation of not knowing what you were doing.

You couldt get it out of your head. You had to do this right. So what do you do? You watch every video, read every magazine article, practice with your toy until your thighs burned and your mind was full of possibilities.

But when you try again? Same mess. Wrong angle, wrong movements, wrong everything.

"You are doing good, Miss hunter, but apparently you still need some... instruction."

So he did what Sylus always did when you were too stubborn, too proud to ask for help. He took over.

He flipped you onto your back, positioned himself between your thighs, and fucked you properly. He didn't stop until you were boneless and passed out on his bed, too tired to even try again.

A whole week later, you think about it again. Again. But then something adds to the whole thing—this nagging insecurity about your body. About how you'd look naked and bouncing on him. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all. So you forget it and try to focus on other things. Anything to keep your mind off it.

Until that night.

When you both get home from a particularly grueling mission, exhausted and covered in grime. Sylus pours you both drinks—his way of celebrating surviving another day—and you find yourself sitting on his lap in his office, his hands on your waist, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs something about how good you look even when you're filthy.

The alcohol hits different when you're already tired. Makes your head fuzzy, your inhibitions lower. Makes you brave.

Before you can think better of it, you're straddling his lap, your hands on his shoulders, his mouth on your neck.

Something about his words, about the way he looks at you like you're the only thing that matters, about the liquid courage warming your veins—it all adds up.

You're not thinking about your body anymore. You're not thinking about anything except this.

You take off your shirt and your shoulders loosen, the tension melting away as cool air hits your bare skin. Your breath leaves in slow, willing sighs, and you notice how his hand has taken one of your wrists, thumb stroking the racing vein there. It feels like his mark, like he's claiming you even in this small way.

The skirt you're wearing bunches up when you widen your legs, you take his hand on your wrist and the other one in your hands and push them behind his chair.

"Use your evol."

He understands immediately, and you see his eyes widen for a second before that infuriating smirk shows itself again. "Are you...?"

"I'm sure. If you touch me, I'll stop."

He obeys—of course he does. But that stupid smirk is still there, even as you lower his zipper and let his cock spring free into your hand. Even when you wrap your hand around it and stroke it a few times, feeling the heat of him, the weight of him. Even when you pull your panties to the side with one hand and the other lines him up at your entrance.

Until you start to sink down. Slowly. Very slowly, and you watch as his expression shifts—lips parting, that smirk completely gone, replaced by something raw and hungry as he stares at his cock disappearing between your folds.

You notice it now, what the problem was. His hands were always too tense, gripping you like he was afraid he'd hurt you, making you as rigid and uncertain as he was. But now, when you finally start to move, when his cock slides in and out without hurting, opening you up to pleasure—finally it feels right.

He tries to move his hands—forgetting completely that they're bound by his own evol—and groans in response to your chuckle, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest.

"Such a cruel little thing," he breathes, eyes squeezing shut for just a moment before opening again to meet yours. "You're... you're enjoying this, aren't you? Is this what you wanted?"

His hips buck involuntarily, a small, desperate thrust that pushes deeper inside you.

The movement makes you moan, and on his next thrust you sink lower until your ass meets his skin, both of you throwing your heads back. The feeling of his cock hitting so deep is intoxicating, something that feels different from anything you've experienced before.

It's no secret to Sylus that you can only cum with clit stimulation, so his next words don't come as a surprise "Let me help you, it will feel so much better."

But you shake your head, a sharp denial that's more instinct than thought. Your hips keep moving, keep bouncing on him like you're a machine programmed to chase this feeling. The wet sounds of skin slapping against skin fill the room, mixing with your breathy moans.

You don't care that your breasts are bouncing right in front of his face, that he can see everything. You don't care about the rhythm you've fallen into, just the building pressure in your core, the way his cock hits so deep it feels like he's rearranging your insides.

Your vision starts to white out at the edges, pleasure building to an unbearable peak. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, nails leaving marks, and you rock harder, faster, chasing that edge where pleasure becomes something else entirely.

You feel it the moment your clit brushes against the coarse hair on top of his cock—that weird, urgent pressure like you might actually pee if you don't stop and it makes you slow down. Before you can give up sgain his voice cracks through the haze: "Please don't stop, not now, sweetie keep going."

He sounds shattered. Broken. Needy. Like you own every piece of him.

Giving in to his plea you start again, but something shifts between you—this time since you started sleeping together, Sylus breaks first. The veins in his neck look strained, his groan so loud you actually worry the twins might hear it. But you keep going, taking him to overstimulation like he always does to you, and for the first time you understand why it drives him so wild to see you like this.

When you stick your fingers in his mouth to soak them in his saliva before bringing them down to your clit, his eyes go half-lidded with pleasure and pride. It only takes three circles around it before you cum—hard. Squirting all over his lap so much his eyes widen in surprise, the noises you make so raw and beautiful it almost makes him cum sgain.

You had a great day. You slept at his place. He made breakfast, brought it to bed shirtless, with fresh droplets of water on him from his morning shower. You went shopping, needed groceries for the next week, planning to get off work for the following days and have dinners together. He pushed the cart, put everything into it that you laid eyes on, or touched, and already told you what he's gonna make for dinner. Worked out annoyingly loudly and suggestively, then made dinner in a fucking apron, spoon feeding you to test out his new pasta sauce.

All damn day was a torture, as you think of it. And you just met with the consequences. There were moments you thought you caught a glimpse of the same thing in his eyes when his lingered longer. The same thing your mind is plagued for a while now, body demanding more than hugs and pecks on your forehead, and you are certain you'll blow up from the need. You consider it. To just make a move and see what happens. To take action, but this little voice speaks with the haze of lust and your whole entirety of relationship can't hang by that tiny voice alone.

He is content, happy and joyful. You haven't had quality time in ages, you just have to enjoy this. You have self control, right? Right.

Yeah, no. You need to get up, and shake the nerves out of your limbs, go and get rid of that awfully insistent heat in your core, spreading from your bellybutton.

All the snacks are gone from the coffee table, soda cans empty. An escape route to the kitchen presenting itself to you.

You almost jump up, all too sudden making your head dizzy, and Caleb's eyes snap instantly up to your form from the tv screen, searching your face for any indication on why the sudden move.

"You okay Pips?" It's cute. He is concerned, voice he only uses with you. Harmless, caring, talking to you like you are the softest and most fragile thing in the world.

"Yeah, just want more snacks." Breath damnit. Voice shaky and lighter than normal, making Caleb's brows furrow. "Want something?"

You are strangely casual. Acting weird, awkward even, and you cringe internally. Avoiding his gaze at all cost, fumbling with the cans and candy wrappers, hoping for a scenario where you don't drop anything on your way to the trash bin. The embarrassment is so heavy on you that you momentarily forget what made you red in the face in the fist place.

"Hold on, sit back down, I will handle this Pipsqueak." No fucking way, you need a breather, and if you stay on that couch you might just spontaneously self combust.

"It's okay, I need to go to the restroom anyway." Caleb has no time to sit your right back down, you are already in the kitchen, fleeing as if your ass is on fire, trashing everything and practically running to the bathroom. You left him there dumbfounded, looking after you like a confused puppy.

You would dip your head into an iced filled bucket, in an attempt to freeze your trail of thought, images that hunted you all damn day like a poltergeist, always reminding you about those naughty things in the most inconvenient moments. But for now, the splash of cold water from the faucet will do. Or at least that's the idea, the coldness sharpens your mind, but the dampness between your thighs wont just evaporate on command, and your spine still sends those shivers up and down when you think about him. And you think about his nonstop, it's hard not to when he's right next to you, in arm's reach.. You want to groan, to pull on your hair, punch something, or just take care of the desire quickly before going back out and face him again.

Fuck this. If you don't emerge from this bathroom in a couple of seconds, he'll know something is up with you. Just go out, grab some food, drinks and continue the night. Easy.

You flush the toilet, let the faucet run for a little before heading for the door, somewhat pulled together to face the rest of the night like a normal person who definitely didn't soaked her panties just from thoughts in her head.

You can behave.

You stop in your tracks when you are met with a wall. A wall of Caleb who is completely blocking the door, leaning heavily against the doorframe with one hand, eyes tight, suspicious purple devouring your newfound blush on your face. He still smells faintly of his cologne he put on before going out this morning, mixing with the sweet grape soda and the unique scent only he carries. The unmistakable, personal drug that is his body scent.

"What's wrong?" Even the faint idea of him not catching onto the slightest mood change is hilarious, a funny joke. He knows something is up. It's not a question of if there's something wrong, the question is what made you like this.

"I'm okay." What else can you say? How can you throw him off, and make him believe that there's nothing going on when there's actually a wildfire burning inside your veins. "Really."

His arm is flexing on the doorframe, besides that the only movement he makes is a slight head tilt, as if he could read you better that way. He looks at you deep, only satisfied when you finally hold his gaze for more than a second, then he makes room for you to leave the bathroom, still hot on your heel. He is now a hound that caught a sniff of his prey and he won't be letting it go now. He is attuned to your every move, his attention baring you completely, mind going blank, forgetting how to function.

This is absolute hell. Literally because the cold water simmered off your skin, fever dominating your body head to toe. This is just great.

You can sense him right at your back, blending with your shadow, becoming it even. He opens the fridge before you could touch it and shuts it after you grab two grape sodas. You mindlessly press one can to your neck, welcoming the chilly sensation, rolling it on any available surface that can be cooled down until the can starts to feel just as warm as your insides.

"Are you sick? You look more flushed than usual." He takes the drinks out of your hands, snatching the bag of chips you were already reaching out for on the counter. "Maybe you should lie down Pip, we can finish the movie tomorrow."

"I'm alright, Caleb. I want to watch it." Flashing a smile at him, hopeful to get him off your case at last.

You drop back down on the couch, aiming for the end of it, hopeful for some distance between your bodies.

Until Caleb closes that distance by sitting right next to you. He opens up both cans, fingers working fast, and hands the beverage out to your trembling hands. Long fingers with nicely cut, manicured nails, veins visible even in the dimly lit living room. You make sure to not touch his skin when accepting the drink, just to be safe. Clicking the cans together, Caleb resumes the movie where you left off. Or more precisely where he left off, 'cuz your head was in the gutter at least for the last 30 minutes of it.

You take careful sips, just a placeholder for an action before the inevitable comes and has to do something with your hands for the remaining time of the night. You knees pulled up to your chest, forming a closed ball at the edge of the couch, clasping onto that grape soda you don't even want anymore.

As if he read your mind, he slips out the can from your grasp, places it on the table with his own, and leans back on the plush pillows you warmed up previously. "Now come here."

The next second your are flush against his chest, limbs all over him as he hauled you into a tight cuddle, just as any other regular day before. You might yelped in the process, muscles rigid, eyes blown wide open until his fingers start to trace an evenly pressured, soothing circles on your forearm. You melt into him like ice cream, left hand resting on his abdomen, left leg planted over his thighs. You can hear his heartbeat under your ear, his chin resting atop your head like puzzle pieces put together. He starts the movie, and relaxes under you as if this didn't altered your brain chemistry completely, gasoline on fire, fueling back everything that you tried to get rid off up until now. Now he is not just a thought against you, but warm flesh and soft kisses on your forehead and tickling fingers up and down on your arm, and you might just loose your fucking mind.

This goes on for far too long, you are not even sure you could go this far but here you are, wrapped in his hands, somehow closer and closer with each passing minute, and it's innocent. So innocent on his part. He's not teasing, or suggesting anything at all. He genuinely listens to what's happening on the screen, laughs and murmurs, commenting on the happenings and you just hum back, completely lost in the friction of his hips and abs twitching with each laugh and word he utters. The position he placed you in pushed his hipbone right between your thighs where you are oh so deliciously hot and damp, making it worse with his voice resonating through his body, and you keep opening up. Legs slowly widening on his thick thighs, putting almost all of your weight on him, but he gives no indication whether if it's bothering him or realizes it.

He laughs again, vibrating in his whole body, his abs tightening, a quiver shooting hotness through your clit that's scraping his hipbone. A moan almost escapes you, you merely let it get past your throat, but his deep voice brings you back for a sober moment. What did he say? You couldn't tell, because you hip moves on it's own accord, brushing yourself against him slightly, not too much, just as if you were positioning yourself into something more comfortable. If he questions it, you can say your leg got numb.

But he doesn't, and you do it again. And it makes you frustrated. It's not enough friction, not enough warmth, and you feel ashamed. This isn't right, but fuck it feels so tempting to do it again and again until you feel this hotness not only in your clit for a broken millisecond, but in your belly too, then your whole body. You want to groan, to let out this excessive bubbly aggravation. His attention is on the movie which is too loud and too bright, and it's distracting not only him, but you too, disrupting the desire coiling between your legs. His attention should be on you.

Fuck this. Fuck all of this. You have to do something about this or you will explode right on the spot.

With a quick fleeting idea, you reach over him for the remote, leg thrown over his spread, your chest pressed against him as you clutch onto the object, messily maneuvering yourself right into his lap. Right where you wanted to be.

"Woah, Pip..." The most beautiful sight greets you when you look back at him.

He's red like a tomato, eyes wide, lips hanged open in surprise. His hands linger on your waist not sure what to do with them, hold onto you, or retreat back in case he crosses a line. A line you crossed this evening multiple times without him knowing.

His body is rigid under you, muscles tight from the nerves, the same ones your body is high on, gnawing on you with desire.

You hover over his lap, knees holding you on each side of his thighs, a little more and you will be sitting down on him fully, in his lap, a seat made for you. Your tongue snakes out to wet your lips, and his eyes drop to the scene, his breath hitching. You hear it clearly, realizing you mindlessly muted the tv, the remote still in your hand, the pad of your finger firmly pressed on the volume down button. Holy shit.

Self awareness crashes down on you like an ice bucket thrown over your head followed by a wave of heat. What the hell are you doing? Your brain switching from clarity to complete haze in matter of seconds, back and forth.

"I just.." You start, words dying on your lips when you feel his hands gently setting on either side of your hips.

"You could have told me that it was loud..." He whispers in a low painful tone, failing miserably to act naturally. God he is so flushed and flustered, but beneath that you see his hooded violet eyes flash with something. Something deep and oppressed.

He waits, his fingers barely touching you in case you decide to move and get off of him. He is ready for anything. To hold you right there or to let you go safely back into his side. But he isn't unaffected. You couldn't deny that even if you tried.

Without a second thought, before you have a chance to chicken out of your decision, you lower yourself slowly, electricity cursing through you as you take a seat, molding perfectly to him, both of you releasing a whiny moan at the contact.

He is rock hard against your clothed opening, and you wonder if he felt the tension in you all this time while your suffered from it.

Half lidded you peek at him, his head dropped back at the couch, mouth open, chest rapidly moving up and down. Neither of you move, you just savior the feel of him so close, in a way you didn't dare to dream of for so long. Until today, because today you were shameless with your daydreams, and you let your body lead the way, and it lead you here, atop of him, pressed neatly against his bulge, spiraling. What now? There is no going back now. No way you can go reverse out of this and act like it never happened. Act like you didn't get a taste of absolute paradise.

You are just getting started.

"Caleb?" What kind of bravery possessed you, you have no idea, but courage is coursing through your system like a powerful drug.

He looks up, dazed, his eyes slowly coming into focus on you, as if he's realizing that he's not dreaming and his hands clasp on you with such a force that makes you tremble.

"Hmmm?" His tone raspy and low, with a hint of his usual teasing, scanning your body starting from your face down to where you connect and his gaze sticks to it as if he's seeing something magical happening.

"Is this okay?" So breathless and high, makes you wonder if you sound as desperate as you feel yourself to be. His ears turn red, only his eyes snapping back at you under his lashes and you see the Colonel peeking through, desire erupting in your belly.

"Yeah" Yes yes yes.

Looking deep into his darkened eyes, you grind your hips, barely, testing the sensation. Various fabrics between you causing sweet friction, and you feel yourself fall. There is no way you will stop after this. His mouth hangs open wider, fighting for the ability to keep his eyes from rolling back into his head. He watches as you slowly rub your clothed pussy over his length, up and down torturously, dragging his sweatpants with the motion. He lets you do it, his hands only resting on your hips, fingers finding their way under your shirt to massage the skin softly. It's all you, your own playground to set the rhythm, the pressure and the angle.

You switch to long lines, hoping to measure all of his length in the process, but the pressure detours your brain from any cohesive thought.

You moan and whine quietly, letting out more and more sound as you get lost. Between your sounds, his own grunts break through the fog. Various rumbling and trembling grunts escape him, sometimes more guttural, deep from his chest, other times he's close to whimpering and it's sounds absolutely blissful. You want that sound, you want to turn him into a whimpering mess under you, falling apart because of you.

The lazy strokes turn into deep, intrusive grinding, alternating between fast and lighter rubs to a slower but harder pressure on his cock and it makes him loose his mind. His head falls back, then it's up again to watch the mess you create on the light fabric, your juices starting to dampening his sweats, near the waistband his precum already forming a dark spot for you. You imagine the grey color deepening with his cum, causing you to stutter against him, spikes of pleasure shooting up your clit. You feel your orgasm coiling deep, threatening to pool your belly with white hotness.

You hold back a little, slowing down your movements, going back to the starting point with small rubs and light pressure, easing yourself into a comfortable tempo. Your ass falls into his thighs, filling the space and he adjusts immediately, attuned to your every move, however he looks frustrated, riled up to a point he might just take matter into his own hands. His hips buck up chasing the sweet friction you provide for him, and when you stop, just so see his reaction, he whines, actually, loudly whines. Painfully, like you've caused him great ache when you denied him the next stroke.

"Pipsqueak, why did you stop? Please don't stop." Heavens. He's pleading sweetly, with his hips circling to guide you back where he wants you. Right back on his cock. "Please."

You were never good with giving the cold-shoulder. A knowing smile and his inviting regretful voice took all of your will away, forgetting the reason you were upset with him in the first place. You never lasted, and you won't start now. You can't resist when he's asking so nicely.

"Please what?" Oh you are testing his limits. His eyes bore into yours, a smug smile taking over your face, enjoying his very visible anguish.

You wait. Will he beg, or is he done with your teasing? You can never know where is the point where he is no longer indulging in your games, and turns it all against you.

"Please come back." Begging it is.

You slide back, feeling him up before ramming your hips, ready to chase that high that almost tippled you over before. He's making sounds that will forever be etched into your brain, moaning your name in between sweet whimpers.

You move with a purpose, chasing that specific friction on that specific spot that gives you the perfect pressure, orgasm building up to a point you know it will shatter you completely. You ride him like your life is depending on it, sweatpants coated with your slick, your shorts ruined and it's the most beautiful sight.

It's hot madness, nothing exist outside of this bubble. You practically pinned Caleb down, supporting your wild strokes on his shoulder, and he lets you do anything.

You feel it strengthen in your lower belly, clit so sensitive it makes you tremble in your whole being. You know it's coming, but the orgasm hits you like lightning. Body twitches, seizing up and locking him up between your thighs, his hands grabbing into you in an instant. You shake ferally, body ascending to another dimension. Eyes rolling back with sounds coming out of your hanged jaw that would wake up all the neighbors if he would've any. It's stinging your spine on the way and soothes out with the after waves, body going limp.

"Oh I'm not finished with you yet, Pips."

His hand digs into your hips and starts a violent pace dragging you against his hardness with a brutal rhythm, causing you to claw on his shoulder. You are upright, only because he's doing all the work keeping you in place. Overstimulated, your body jerks with the remains of your last orgasm and builds the next one rapidly. And you thought you have the upper hand?

He is ravenous. You have taken what you wanted and now he commands more. Under you half-lidded eyes you see a frantic and wild gaze watching your cunt grinding on him, and smiling cockily when he sees you watching. Bastard.

He drags out a second orgasm out of you, for this time, making you scream, breaking the rhythm when cums just after you with raspy groan. You are forcing yourself to look at the mess he's making in his sweatpants with broken rolls of his hips, hands firmly keeping you on him. His cum soaks his sweatpants, the material darkening with the spurts of it, creating big spots where your juices dampened the clothing already.

You fall into him seconds later, sweaty, heaving. His hands clasp around you instantly, senses coming back slowly from the high. You feel immense amount of relief, the all day tension oozing out of your pores. You could fall asleep right then and there, plastered on his chest sticking to him, but he starts to plant sweet kisses on your head, chuckling. You want to ask him what's so funny, but no words come out, lips unable to form them.

"Don't tell me you already fallen asleep?" He teasing you, both with his words and roaming hands on your back. You shake your head a little, refusing to move. "Won't talk to me?"

"Come on, give me those eyes." Uh-oh. His voice rumbles, suggestive but soft, no longer pleading, but ordering.

Slowly lifting yourself up, hands groping his chest in the process, you give him a shy smile, avoiding his eyes like the plague. Like you didn't just dry humped him violently.

He guides you gaze at him with a lift of your chin, a playful and reassuring smile on his lips. He leans in and pecks the corner of your lips, your chin, your cheeks before settling on your soft lips, kissing you gently. You give him access instantly, letting his tongue slip in.

KENMA 🕸 x scary black cat

one negative aspect of having a professional gamer boyfriend is that on the rare occasion you want to go out to celebrate a fun holiday, he's busy streaming and can't come with you.

most of the time when he doesn't want to go out with you, after enough pleading and begging and doe-eyes, because he's whipped he'll eventually come around and the two of you actually end up having a nice time together. however, on this occasion he is shockingly firm in his notion that he cannot go out to celebrate with you, because he's already scheduled a halloween livestream for his fans.

which is annoying, but you don't worry about it too much because you know there is one tactic that you have yet to try that will undoubtably work and cause him to cancel his stream to spend time with you instead. and that is:

ragebait.

for your 'halloween costume', you didn't even need to buy anything new for it because all it consisted of was a black bra, a black miniskirt (which you cut even shorter), a cat ears headband and a clip-on cat tail, all of which you already own (unsurprisingly). then, you would draw whiskers on your face with eyeliner.

of course, this wasn't your true costume. but merely a decoy costume that you would use to elicit a reaction out of him. your plan was that, once kenma saw that you were going out in something so egregiously revealing, his protective boyfried instincts would kick in and he would insist that he comes with you to the party.

or at least, that's what you thought would happen.

in reality, when you appearing in the doorway on his bedroom, twirling and making all sorts of fuss over your 'amazing' costume, all kenma did was spare you the briefest glance and mutter, "you look nice. have fun tonight."

the doorway wasn't in view of his camera, which is why you felt comfortable doing another twirl, and trying to show off your outfit (or lack thereof) again. "i don't think you got a proper look at it the first time, kenma." you urge. surely if he wasn't freaking out by now, it was probably because he didn't see it right. "c'mon, take another look."

he sighs, and mutes his mic. this time he turns fully towards you, giving you his undivided attention and getting an unobstructed view of your skimpy costume. though, he still didn't seem bothered.

"you're a black cat, that's cute. i like your tail." he points at it, and you can't help but swoosh it around a little. "i hope you have fun tonight. sorry that i couldn't come with you." just as he is about to turn back to his stream, you interject,

"can you at least kiss me goodbye?"

he smiles warmly at you, and nods. "yeah. there's a break coming up in five minutes. i'll meet you at the door."

"okay." you murmur, defeatedly leaving the room and kicking the air as you do so. you can't believe your masterplan didn't work, and that, more importantly, he doesn't seem disturbed at all that you're going out in virtually nothing.

well, you're obviously not really going out in this; even on halloween, you'd just arrested for public indecency. but you can't let him think you were bluffing (even though you were), so you'll probably just sit in your car for a while and watch something on your phone, maybe go to a drive-thru and get a bite to eat. something like that.

dejectedly, you pad to the foyer and put your heels on. and as promised, a couple minutes later kenma joins you. he strolls up to you and pulls you in for long hug, which you reciprocate, even allowing yourself to melt into his embrace slightly. which you immediately regret when you move to give him a kiss and he jerks away.

"huh?" you splutter, staring at him with wide-eyes; a crazed expression like someone who had just been shot. "my goodbye kiss?"

kenma snickers, and nods again. "here." he says. and you're not quite sure what he means, until he gets on his knees in front of you and wraps his hands around your thighs, shuffling closer towards you so his head was right between your legs.

your thighs instinctually press shut and a flustered heat rises to your cheeks in response to his unexpected actions, "what about your stream?"

"paused it. i told them that i needed to give my girlfriend a kiss goodbye. so, let me give you a kiss." his thumbs dig into your thighs, and despite your initial confusion, you soon allow him to part your legs and duck under your skirt, where he's met with a peculiar sight.

"no panties?" he mutters while pressing kisses on the inside of your thigh. "that's risky considering how short your skirt is."

"i just— i forgot to put them on." you splutter, as if that was any more belieable than you choosing not to wear them for aesthetic purposes. regardless, that only makes it easier for his tongue to make contact with your sweet folds.

he licks and sucks at your cunt, lapping at it like a parched man until your entire pussy is glistening with a mix of his saliva and your juices. he pays special attention to your clit, nipping at it to tease you and and fiercely sucking it between his teeth, causing your knees to tremble at his attack on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

he spits on your hole to moisten it , yet it feels so affectionate. he does this repeatedly to prep you, and uses two fingers to push the it inside you, to ensure it fully lubricates you. yet, there's still strings of arousal and spit hanging from your hang and spilling down your thighs.

"ready, kitty?" he asks hoarsely, with his mouth still connected to your cunt, so you feel when his lips creep into a smirk at the silly nickname. "want it?"

"yeah.." you whine, feebly grasping at the edge of your skirt for an inch of solace.

"how bad? tell me how bad you want it, princess." he says, pulling his head back, out from under your skirt so he can glare at you. however, this doesn't work out in his favour, because when he sees you're glossy lip trembling and your angelic eyes gazing down at him innocently, he immediately folds.

"you're lucky you look cute as a cat. i can't make you beg for it when look so sweet." he huffs, diving back under your skirt, only so he can lick one final stripe across your cunt before plunging his tongue into your sopping hole.

you recoil at this forceful action, but he holds you firmly in place. "stay still." he commands, speaking more into your pussy than he was to you. "let me take care of you." your pussy drips around his tongue while he loses himself inside you. thrusting in and out at an erratic pace and curling in all different directions in deperate attempt to locate your gspot.

his hands caress the back of your thighs while his tongue slams into your cunt over and over, with such force that it almost splashes back in his face. "so tight.." he groans, the vibrations tickling your clit just right and ripping a shriek-like moan from you that echoed through the whole foyer. his tongue wormed around your insides, while his lips still worked on slurped up your excess and stimulating the rest of your pussy. "mpph, fuck, you taste like heaven, kitten."

you're unsure how long this went on for, but by the end of it, the coil in your stomach had been wound so tight by kenma's unabating and expert tongue abusing your gspot and his lips destroying your clit, that you were sent into the most mind-numbingly intense orgasm. your walls were spasming and your moans were so loud that they wrapped back around and bacame largely silent. and you're knees buckled under you, and kenma had to grip your waist and slowly lower you down.

"shit.." you curse, laying on the floor and staring at the ceiling as you struggle to catch your breath.

"hope you're satisfied with your goodbye kiss." kenma smirks, finally getting up from knees and heading back to his room where he was streaming, but not before giving you a peck on the cheek first.

you didn't even have the energy to leave the house after that. which upon greater consideration, you realise may have been apart of kenma's plan all along. hmph.

TSUKISHIMA 🕸 x pirate

wrapped up in your fitted corset and pirate costume, you're stood in front of the mirror, adding the finishing touches to your makeup before you're ready to head out.

just as you're adding a final dash of blood to the fake wound on your face, you can feel his unwell presense as he enters your room, without even looking away from the mirror. partially due to the frequent sniffling. although, before he fully comes in, he lingers in the doorway for a moment, crossing his arms as he gives your costume a once-over. "a pirate?" he scoffs.

"yup." you hum, refusing to pay him any attention and staying concentrated on completing your sfx makeup.

and despite noticing your deliberate attempts at ignoring him, he contiues, "not historically accurate at all." he scowls, eyes glued to your body. but that was perhaps in part due to the fact you were wearing a flowy white blouse that barely covered your ass, ripped tights and a cinched corset. of course you had other accessories too like a prop sword and a hat, but the bodice alone was enough to elicit complaints from your boyfriend. "why would swashbucklers wear corsets and heeled boots?"

very opinionated for a man burdened with the flu. you could tell he was just trying to get a reaction out of you, and your suspicion is only confirmed when you turn around and see a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. hence, you sigh and collect your stuff, preparing to leave for the party, "thanks, tsukki. i'll keep that in mind for next years costume." that amount of sarcasm was enough to amuse even tsukishima.

"hey. i just don't want you to go to that party, and everyone starts making fun of you for having a historically inaccurate costume." he places his hand on the side of your head and lovingly strokes your head with his thumb, "you don't deserve that." there was a shocking amount of sincerity in his voice for a man who was clearly joking. but for some reason this display of pity had you inwardly swooning and melting into his stupid, illness-infected hand.

"thank you, kei. but i think i'm willing to take that risk."

"suit yourself." he shrugs, shifting his hand behind your head and pushing it so he can pull you in for a hug. as you wrap your arms around each other, he says in a nasal tone, "have a good time tonight. sorry i can't come with you." then, you feel his spare hand snake down your back, until it's resting on the curve of your thigh, at the very edge of your blouse. "i'll be here when you get home."

at first you think it's sweet that you're usually standoffish boyfriend is being so affectionate. that is, until you think the hug is over but he pulls you in again. okay, maybe he just wants it extra long because you're going to be out all night, that's fair. but then after an additional thirty seconds, you try to pull away again and he just squeezes you even tighter.

that's when you realise. "you don't want me to go, do you?"

"why is your dress so short?"

"oh my god, kei!" you groan, yanking yourself away from his crossing your arms over your chest, affronted. "stop being so overbearing. you're not my parent!"

"fine. go to your stupid party." he grumbles, looking away awkwardly, "don't yell at me. i'm sick, remember?" he fake coughs twice.

such a drama queen, how do you put up with him? you ask yourself. "okay. thanks. goodbye, tsukishima." you sigh, collecting your stuff and heading towards the door. until, he interrupts one last time by calling out after you:

"wait. at least let me give you something before you go."

famous last words. now, he had you bend over the bed, with your dress hiked up and your panties pushed to side while you rammed into you from behind. his fat cock splitting your cunt open repeatedly, while your face was half-pressed into the sheets, surely smudging your makeup in the process, but were far too lost to care.

you're hole quivered around his length and you're knuckles were painted white with how hard you gripped the duvet beneath you. it was frightening how much stamina he had for someone who has been virtually bed-ridden with illness all day. it's like he managed to shake all the unwellness off himself in an instant, and is now back to drilling into you at his typical furious pace.

your walls squelched at each thrust, and your juices leaked out of your pussy, which he used as lubricant as he rubs his fingers over your clit. "oh, fuck, kei.." you groan, legs tensing as the wet friction causes electric jolts through your core. and despite this stimulation, his fierce drilling into your tight cunt never ceased for even a moment. he's adamant on keeping you stuffed. "mmph— ts— tsukki!"

"can't dress like slut and expect me not to fuck you like one." he grits, keeping an iron grip on your waist while letting his other hand freely roam your back. it would wander up and give you teasing tugs on your hair, forcing you to look up at the wall in front of you. then it would retreat downwards to grab and squeeze at fistfuls of your ass, like he owns it. "you think just cos i'm sick that i'm not gonna fill you up? please." his point is underscored by the sniff he does halfway through, due to his blocked nose.

due to his hips constantly slamming down against yours and his dick fighting against the restrictions of your tight hole, it wasn't long before he lost himself in your heat and finished inside you — no rubber so his seed was left to conjest your walls and paint your cervix.

audibly breathless, he pulls out, and you can feel the mix of liquids he left behind him drool out of your cunt. though he hastily sorts that out by fixing your panties and adjusting the fabric so it's snug against your pussy again. pleased with his work, he gives you a quick pat before collapsing down next you on the bed. you've never seen him so worn out after sex before, but you figure it's expected considering he's poorly today.

"have fun on your night out, sweetie." he snickers. if it wasn't made clear he was being condescending by your shivering, fucked-out figure on the bed, that is in no state to be going out clubbing. then, the fact he called you 'sweetie' is a dead giveaway — he typically only calls you petnames when he's being patronising.

"and sorry for messing up your makeup. but considering your costume, you'll be glad i gave you something to keep warm."

BOKUTO 🕸 x fluffy bunny

his strong arms snake around your waist as soon as you pause for one second, just to touch up your mascara in the mirror. you try to pay him little attention, as you're already in a rush, but that becomes difficult when he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck and you can feel him grin against you.

"aren't you just the cutest little bunny ever?" he laughs, hugging you from behind, so close that you can feel his muscled chest against your back and it's a little distracting. he continues to press open-mouthed kisses onto your neck, and for a moment you wonder whether he's already drunk from the pregame, or if he's being his normal lovey-dovey sickeningly-sweet self.

"thank you, kou. but we need to hurry." after placing your mascara back in your purse, you march straight towards the door. however, bokuto doesn't let go of your waist for some reason and ends up stumbling along behind you. "we're already running late."

bokuto finally drops the hug, but only so he can stand up and admire the sight of your ass almost peeking out of your short dress while you're bent over, scrambling to put your shoes on. he's especially excited by your fuzzy little pompom tail that was sewn onto the dress, just under the small of your back. in fact, you're whole outfit was just so cute, he could hardly bear it. those floppy rabbit ears, the sparkly makeup that makes your face glow, even the fluffy bracelets you wore.

naturally, he couldn't help but give in to his lesser urges, and reach forward to squeeze your pompom tail. it was only sewn onto your clothes so you didn't even notice, until his other hand followed suit and grabbed a fistful of your ass.

which automatically caused you perk up and gasp, "kou!" you stand up straight and instantly whip around to face him, only to be met with a his wobbly smile and prominent redish flush. yeah, he's definitely tipsy.

"c'mon! look at that tail! it's too adorable not to grab." he chuckles, making the motion with one hand, while the other trails down your leg, kneeding your thigh. "such a sweet bunny. can't believe you're all mine."

his head flops onto your shoulder but you're quick to push it upright again, so he can look you in the eyes as you declare, "thanks. but there's no time. we're already super late, bokuto, so we need to hurry. do you understand me?"

"ughh." he tosses his head back dramatically and groans, "why do you we need to go? why can't we stay home and so i can fuck my little bunny's brains out all night?" he pouts, glossy-eyed and seeming genuinely disheartened.

"do you not want to go?"

"no." he states firmly, shaking his head, and almost losing balance in the process. "i want to spend tonight with you, baby. hang and fuck like rabbits— hah, get it?"

"i do." you grimace, quickly pivoting, "but you promised kuroo that you would go to his costume dinner and you said you've been looking forward to th—"

"fuck kuroo and his costume dinner!" he yells definitively, before pulling you in my the cheeks for a dramatic yet sloppy kiss. at first you're astounded and try to say something, but then you realise there's no point in arguing with him since he seems to have made up his mind. all you can do now is enjoy your night.

your lips crash against each other, and you can feel his erection as he flagrantly grinds it against your thigh. your stomach flipped at the sensation and the reminder of just how big he was; your panties slickened in preparation to take him.

you eagerly hike up your dress and try to further close the distance between you and bokuto, but you drunkenly forgot that you were in middle of putting your heels on, so you lose balance and stumble forward in his arms. however, he ends up faling backward as a result, which you landing on top of him. thankfully he braced himself so neither of you were hurt. now you were strandling his thigh, while he's laid on his back.

after a couple of moments frantic 'you okay?'s back and forth, followed by some hearty laughter, he pulls you down to resume kissing passionately. his large hands roam your body, possessively rubbing every dip and curve, and further hiking up your skirt to reveal your dampened panties.

"shit, you're so perfect, baby." he moans, but with such an anguished undertone, it almosts sounds like he's in pain. "i need you so fucking bad. my sweet girl." while one hand tenderly cups your face, the other reaches down to free his cock, which he haphazardly manoeuvres it until the tip is rubbing against your clothed cunt.

you whine into his mouth, then clumsily tug your panites aside, relishing in how his shaft drags along your wet cunt. the friction alone drives you insane, and you let out a deep sigh of relief once he finally slips himself inside your hole and you get that lewd stretch you've been waiting for.

your knees are planted on the ground on either side of him, yet you're far too involved in the heated make-out session to bother ride him. even when you briefly tried, the alcohol immediately started to hit, making it virtually impossible to stay coordinated without fumbling or getting dizzy. thus, while you kissed, bokuto planted both hands on your ass and utilised this grip to slowly drag you up and down on his cock.

emphasis on slowly. inch by fucking inch, it drove you crazy. you'd never gone this slow with him before, usually he pounds into you like a madman but not he was letting you feel him and fully experience the friction of his dick against your walls. giving you time to get familiar with every last vein and curve.

"you comfortable, bunny?" he holds your head with both his arms, hugging you to his chest in a comforting manner, as you struggle and whine while taking his whole length. "cos i think we're going to be here all night."

ATSUMU 🕸 x cheerleader

"are you ready to g—"

atsumu barges into your room, and notices you stood in front of the mirror, fixing up your hair. you even turn to flash him a smile, yet he still looks utterly dumbfounded. then, he quickly bows his head and retreats, muttering, "sorry, i thought you were done changing."

"wait!" you call out after him, and he freezes in his tracks. confused, you clarify, "what are you talking about? i'm already dressed. plus, even if i was in the middle of changing, when has that ever stopped you in the past?"

you giggle, and you expect him to laugh at your joke too, but instead he just turns to you, wearing the most horrified expression you've ever seen. "your dressed?"

"yes."

he motions to what you're wearing. a top that was so cropped it resembled a bra, with the word 'cheer!' written across it. and a matching glittery microskirt. atsumu felt light-headed just looking at it. "that's your whole outfit?"

you tut, crossing your arms over your chest and rolling your eyes. "no, of course not."

atsumu huffs the biggest sigh of relief, practically hunching over as he does so. "good, that's what i thought. so what are you missing? a jacket? leggings? the rest of your shirt?" he throws the suggestions at you, but you think it's better if you just show him.

you shuffle over to your bed and pick up the two cheerleading pom-poms you bought, and excitedly shake them around. "these!"

atsumu's face abruptly drops into a frown. "that's it?"

"yup." you nod happily. but there's a beat of silence, during which atsumu's unusual lack of commentary — ironically — tells you everything you need to know. "what? you don't like it?"

he grimaces, opening his mouth to say something before realising that there's probably a better way he could approach this situation. "don't you think you're going to get cold in that?"

"no." you shake your head, and pout. from his demeanour alone you can tell that the problem is, you're hasty to whine, "you just don't like my costume!"

"huh? i didn't say that." he furrows his brows, cautiously edging towards you with an arms outstretched, as though he was trying to offer his scent to a volatile cat. however, in this case, he lets his fingers tap at the exposed skin of your waist, and despite your gloomy attitude, you let out the slightest 'hmph' of approval, which he takes as permission to wrap his arms fully around you.

holding you in his ridiculously warm and loving embrace, he hums, "i love your costume. wish you'd dress like this when you come and watch my matches with the jackals. looking in the audience and seeing you wearing this," he steps back and admires your outfit, squeezing your waist as he does so, "would give me some real motivation."

"the wrong kind of motivation." you tease, nudging his crotch where you can feel his length stiffening against your thigh.

he litters kisses from your collarbone up to your ear, where you can then hear him growl, "n' that's your fault for having your whole ass out." he puntuates his point by delivering a harsh slap on your cheek, and chuckling when you yelp and bounce in his arms at the impact.

there's a momentary lull, as his hand drags from your thigh, up between your legs until the pad of his finger is grazing your labia through your panties. the subtle yet perverted touch is enough to send shockwaves up your spine, and mixes with the arousal in your abdomen that was also caused by his gruff voice in your ear, "it's a shame we didn't meet in high school."

"y—you think?" is all your able to stammer out, as your panties are tugged aside and his fingers shamelessly delve between your damp folds.

"yeah. i would've loved a hot cheerleader dancing for me at all my matches." you can feel his lips pull into a smile as his daring fingerwork causes you to squirm in his arms. his middle finger would prod at your clit before two would slip into your soaked hole. they'd remain relatively stagnant at first, allowing you to adjust to it before they started to move.

"we had a cheerteam but they weren't anything like you." his hot breath burned your neck; he was so near to you, and there was no where you could go to escape. by now his fingers were rapidly pumping into your pussy, while his chest was pressed against yours and his arms are wrapped around you. even his face is slotted into the curve of your neck. you were as close as close could be.

"fuck, if you were there cheering for me though.. in this slutty little outfit." he chuckles at the comment, though his heart races at the mere thought of you as a real cheerleader for him. his eyes drifted shut and he let himself get lost in the fantasy. "god, i don't know what i'd do. probably try to get my hands on you first."

"yeah, yeah, you'd be mine. then i'd bend you over under the bleachers the first chance i got and fuck your lights out." you don't know if he realises it but the longer the rambles on, the rougher he gets with you. his fingers drill repeatedly into your wet hole like a machine, until you're emitting squelching noises with each thrust. he's got such a stern grip on you, his knuckles are white and his nails are virtually digging into your thigh. while his other hand is wrapped around the back of you, with his index and middle finger feverishly abusing your pussy while his thumb presses against your asshole, just to keep you in place.

"shit, you don't know that you're stupid costume is doing to me.." his breath his heavy, and so is yours. but in your case, it's due to the fact that his fingers are curled in such a way that he's repeatedly hitting your sweet spot, and white spots are beginning to cloud your vision as you eventually submit to your orgasm. a climax that leaves you a whiny, shivering mess in your man's arms.

"tsu—atsumu!" you cry out, being partially muffled by his chest. your hole feebly flutters around his unrelenting digits, and he shifts his spare hand up to cradle the back of your head. he kisses your earlobe and whispers, "that's it, baby. ride it out. c'mon."

once the molten grit in your stomach dies down, atsumu slides his finger out of you and you're able to catch your breath. although the orgasmic lust still lingered in your mind, it was usurped by the remaining desire to go out and party on halloween, so you find the strength to utter groggily to him, "aren't we going to go out?"

atsumu laughs and affectionately tucks a strand of your costume-wig hair behind your ear. while making eye-contact, he states bluntly, "no."

"why not?" you immediately whine in protest.

in a shockingly gentle manner, he explains, "honey, you can go out half-naked any other day of the year. but this is the only night i can fuck a cheerleader under the bleachers."

before you're able to even question what he means, he rummages around in the pocket of his jacket and pulls out his car keys. flashing you a smile, he offers you his jacket, and then his hand, "hm?"

“Linkon City Apartments, how can we help you?”

When you hear the clipped, low-energy tone, you brace yourself. The person on the other end is your least favorite front desk employee, and you just know you're about to feel really stupid in a minute.

“Um, hi - I’m having an issue with my… eh - my electricity? Could I maybe speak to someone from maintenance?”

The slight, almost inaudible groan from the other end is unmistakable. 

“Name and apartment number?”

You rattle the information off, and there’s a pause, like a little moment of recognition. She definitely knows who you are and how many times you have called for trivial things. You’re beginning to think this is a bad idea.

“I won’t ask you what the issue is directly, as we’re very busy, but I’ll transfer you to the maintenance team.”

You feel a weight off your shoulders and do a little shimmy in the silent victory of not having to belabor the conversation between yourself and the ‘mean front desk lady.’ You hear the extension numbers, followed by a ringing sound confirming your connection. It only takes a moment for someone to answer you.

“Gideon, Maintenance Staff. Is this the call regarding apartment 314?”

“Yes, that’s me. I hate to bother you with something so small, but I seem to be having an issue with a lightbulb. I’ve gone to the hardware store multiple times, and I’ve looked at the sizes and wattages, so I know I have the correct ones, but it still isn’t lighting up, and it’s in kind of a big part of my kitchen.”

“A… lightbulb?” Gideon asks, clearly a little confused as to why you’re calling about something so small.

“Yeah, I know it’s kind of a strange thing to ask about, but I really wouldn’t be calling if I had anyone to help me figure it out. I live alone and don’t have family close, so I’m sort of learning all of this stuff for the first time.”

“Okay, yeah, it’s fine, that’s what we’re here for. I can’t promise we’ll get to it today, but I’ll submit a work ticket, and after the higher-priority items have been resolved, one of us will come help you out. It’s just the one lightbulb, right? You’ve still got electricity, and you can still go about your day with little to no issues?”

“Yeah,” You feel yourself cringing, worried that you sound like an incapable idiot. “Just the one.”

The sounds of a keyboard clacking fill the silence, along with the pleasant sound of hums from Gideon’s low, gravelly voice. It’s almost soothing and helps alleviate the anxiety you feel about being a nuisance.

“Great, ticket submitted. It’ll probably be Caleb or me, so just expect us to be there either a little later today or tomorrow. If you’re going to be out of the apartment, that’s fine. We have a key to get inside. If you’re hoarding any illegal pets or somethin’, though…”

You realize he’s joking with you, and you let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding, along with a small laugh.

“Right, well, I’m not just saying this, but it’s really just me in here. Thank you so much for your help, Gideon.”

“Of course, 314! Bye, now.”

The fact that Gideon doesn’t make you feel bad for calling about something as trivial as a lightbulb takes a huge weight off your chest, and you’re able to move on with your day without anxiety.

You don’t expect the maintenance staff to be there right away, especially since Gideon mentioned some higher-priority tickets, so you keep your teddy-bear-patterned pajamas on and decide to use the rest of your day off for something fun as a little treat to yourself. After all, you did take the steps to solve a problem - you deserve it!

Halfway through a crime documentary you’ve been itching to watch, your doorbell rings. You’re confused at first, wondering who would be visiting you, but when you look out of the peephole and see one of the most handsome men you’ve ever laid eyes on in a dark blue jumpsuit carrying a rather large toolbox, you blanch.

After a horrified glance at your state of dress and realizing you don’t have time to change, you curse yourself, deciding this is your karma for not being able to change a lightbulb yourself. This is your divine retribution. You take a deep breath and open the door to be hit immediately with Cupid’s arrows as you take in the unobstructed sight of the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

He’s tall and leanly muscled, his jumpsuit tight enough to display a physique you’ve never seen on someone in real life. His arms bulge, straining the sleeves slightly, and the fabric tapers at his trim waist. He’s got the most beautiful, warm eyes; violet flecked with warm amber like flower petals on fire. When he speaks, you feel every thought in your brain disappear as if disintegrating, words reduced to dust in the countenance of what you can only assume an angel looks like.

“Hey, got a lightbulb that needs fixin’?” He asks warmly, and you know immediately by the sound of his voice that this isn’t the Gideon guy you spoke to on the phone.

It takes you a few moments to speak, and you begin to panic a bit when he tilts his head in confusion, like he might have accidentally gotten the wrong apartment when you don’t answer.

“Y-yes,” You stammer, rushing the words. “I - that’s me. It’s - um… not turning on.”

“Alright, mind if I come in to take a look?” He asks. “Name’s Caleb, by the way.”

“Of course, yes, so sorry,” You trip over your words, stepping to the side so he can come in.

The height difference between the two of you becomes way more apparent as he steps inside, towering over you as he surveys your place.

“The ticket said it was the kitchen lightbulb, right?” He asks as he walks toward the kitchen, clearly knowing the layout of every apartment like the back of his hand.

“Yeah,” You follow him like a puppy, fighting the urge to explain yourself. “It’s been out for about a week. I’ve tried everything from different kinds of lightbulbs to different wattages. I know it’s the correct size, though, here …”

You trail off as you move to the cabinet where you store all of your extra lightbulbs, which is currently overflowing with the bulbs you’re starting to think you’ve wasted money on.

“Here,” you gesture to the cabinet with a sheepish smile. “I went overboard. I was explaining this to your coworker on the phone, but I’m really clueless when it comes to this kind of thing, so I understand what a ridiculous ticket request this is. Once I learn what the issue is, I promise you’ll never have to deal with me again.”

“We don’t mind,” Caleb laughs, the sound comforting and warm like a cup of rich coffee. “That’s what we’re here for. Besides, we have the ticket system, so we know what takes precedence. It’s not a big deal - ‘s all I’m saying.”

Caleb squats to look, and his eyes widen when he sees the sheer number of lightbulbs you have.

“Wow, yeah, I mean, if anything, your overstock tells me that you definitely tried to resolve the issue on your own. I don’t think buying multiples of the same kind was necessary, but I guess it never hurts to have a supply. Do you know where the lightbulb that went out initially is?”

“Oh, yeah,” you confirm, open the drawer right above the cabinet, and present it to him.

You try not to focus on how small it looks in his hand compared to yours.

“Okay, let’s try this one again and see what we’re working with.”

It’s hard not to stare. You try your best to be respectful, but you can’t help yourself. Every bit of him is beautiful, from the soft-looking warm brown hair to the prominent veins in his muscular arms. He’s so tall that he doesn’t even have to reach to unscrew the new lightbulb you’ve personally installed to replace it with the old, like it’s nothing for him.

“Alright, can you please do me a favor?”

“Anything,” you say, and you’re embarrassed to find that you truly mean anything.

“The switch is off, right? Turn it on for me?”

For me.

You do as asked, and like before, nothing happens. 

“Right, okay. Turn it back off, and I’ll get this one unscrewed,” he instructs.

Again, you do as asked, and Caleb removes the busted bulb. He takes the new one he took out to test the old and screws it back in. 

“I’m sorry, but don’t you want me to get another one for you, seeing as that one didn’t work?”

Caleb grins at you, and you feel your heart rate increase.

“No, I think we should try this one more time,” he says with a hint of delight that makes you feel like you’re missing something.

He screws the bulb in and nods to you. You flip the switch, and by some miracle, the kitchen is flooded with light. You stand there, finger still on the switch, blinking rapidly. 

“Wait, but -”

“So, you did the right thing by turning the switch off when you were screwing in the new one,” Caleb explains, walking towards you with an amused look on his face. “The problem is,”

He stands directly beside you, so closely you can smell his cologne, and flips the switch off, then on.

“You’ve gotta turn the switch back on after you put the bulb in.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Huh,” you say, dumbfounded. “I - I guess that would …  be … smart…”

Caleb laughs, and the sound makes you want to smash the old lightbulb over your head - partially because you know you amuse him and it makes you happy, but partially because you’ve made yourself sound like a dumbass in front of him.

“D-Do you have to write a report or anything for the tickets you fix?”

“Huh? Not really anything too detailed. It’s just a brief description of the issue and how I resolved it," Caleb explains, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Why?”

“Could you please not include the part about me being a train wreck? Maybe make something up and say it was the circuit breaker or something?”

Caleb leans against your wall, laughs again, and you feel a little dead inside.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be vague. But really, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. If anything, you should be proud of the fact that you didn’t electrocute yourself by turning the switch off. Trust me, I’ve seen that happen plenty of times.”

“Okay, well, that does make me feel slightly better, but I feel like you’re being a little too nice to me.” You sigh, crossing your arms over your chest and still trying to process the fact that you forgot to turn the light back on.

“It should. We’d really rather you call us for things you’re not sure about. This is our job, okay? You don’t have to feel bad for needing help, ‘cause it’s what I get paid to do.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “You guys would probably be the only staff at this place that don’t make me feel like an idiot, so thanks.”

“The front desk people are assholes,” he says bluntly. “They sit around and act like they fix things when all they do is take forever to relay stuff to the rest of us. Believe me, they talk to everyone like they’re dumb, including us. It’s like an unspoken rule for them to be like that, so don’t take it to heart.”

“Wow, I didn’t realize you guys got the bad end of it, too.”

“Daily,” Caleb pushes himself off the wall to stand straight again, towering over you yet again, and laughs derisively. “We get our fair share of condescension. Oh, I do have one piece of advice for you, though.”

“Oh,” you brace yourself. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing major,” Caleb assures, eyes twinkling. “Just - I know we have your name and your apartment number and all that good stuff, but when you’re on the phone with people you don’t know, try not to mention the fact that you live alone and that you don’t have family close by.”

“H-Huh?”

“Yeah, I know it may not seem like a big deal, but the less information you give, the better. Like I said, we already have your information and all of that, but especially if you’re new to the area and you don’t have people close by. Just be careful, alright?”

“Yeah,”  You feel a little silly. “No, you’re right. Um, thank you for everything you’ve done today. I’m sorry, I basically wasted your time.”

Caleb shakes his head, squirts some of your dish soap in his hands, and washes them in the sink. 

“Really, no worries. We didn’t have a lot to get through, and as I said, we always do high priority first, so it’s not like I was swimming with work today. That’s how I was able to get over here pretty quickly. Seriously, I get paid for this. Call as much as you want, okay?”

You try not to abuse the offer, you really do, but as your shitty luck would have it, your refrigerator goes out a short two days after your first meeting with Caleb. Calling the front desk is, as always, a miserable experience, and you’re greeted by the same woman who’s done nothing but make you feel about as big as an ant every time you speak with her.

“Josephine speaking, how may I help you?”

“Uh, hi - it’s apartment number 314 again -”

You’re cut off by a very obvious, very annoyed sigh.

“Was this regarding your previous maintenance request? If that’s the case, you’ll need to -”

“No,” you interrupt, regretting it immediately, but push on. “It’s actually something else. My refrigerator isn’t running, and I’ve done everything I can, but it’s been several hours and -”

“I’m transferring you to maintenance; hold, please.”

Well. 

Better to speak to them than her.  

It’s not long until you’re met with the voice that your thoughts have been consumed by for the last two days.

“Caleb speaking, is this apartment 314?” Caleb seems amused, and you try to tell yourself that the excitement in his voice is likely normal for your self-preservation. “Don’t tell me you blew up another lightbulb.”

“Okay, first off, I didn’t blow up the last one; it stopped working.” You counter, feeling a little indignant.

“Yeah, yeah,” Caleb teases. “What’s going on, though?”

“Well, Josephine is a massive grouch.”

“The sky is blue, water is wet. What’s the actual problem?”

“The refrigerator seems to think that keeping my perishables cold is optional. Hasn’t been running since I don’t know when, because I woke up and the light was off and everything was … warm and moist.”

“Wow, that’s pretty gross.”

“You’re telling me. So, how high priority would this ticket be, just out of curiosity?”

“That depends. Is anything in the fridge cold at all?” Caleb asks. “If you’ve kept the door shut, it should have preserved a bit of that chill to keep your food okay for at least another hour or two.”

“Oh. Well, what would be the case if I’ve actually had the door open for the last hour trying to look at what’s going on?”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Caleb says quickly. “You’ll prooooobably have to throw out a good chunk of your stuff, but I’ll let you know when I get there.”

You hear someone in the background that sounds like Gideon saying something to Caleb, to which he responds,

“I know, I know. Can’t you take that one? I’ve got a situation in 314.”

Within half an hour, Caleb is at your door, mostly intact but out of breath; it’s like he ran to get to you. Like before, he throws you a devastating smile, then gets to work.

If the lightbulb issue isn’t humbling enough, watching Caleb simply plug your refrigerator cord back into the wall is enough to send you into psychosis. You stare blankly, speechless for probably the first time in your life.

“You gotta plug it in,” Caleb helplessly offers the advice with a small smile, clearly trying his hardest not to laugh.

Over the next month, you end up calling the maintenance team a handful of times. The frequency isn't enough to raise flags yet, and you’ve only contacted them once each week. Despite your best efforts not to call on ‘busy’ days (the fact that you’ve called enough to know which days are busy is something you’ll reckon with some other time), they never seem too busy to pick up the phone. If they have other requests, they simply let you know. Your issues range from small ones, like a slightly obnoxious dripping sink, to trivial things that don’t really need fixing, and you can probably handle on your own.

Caleb shows up for every single request.

The reservations you’ve had about watching Caleb while he works dwindle the more comfortable you get with him, and it seems like he’s more than happy to talk. He frequently fills in the silences when you're hesitant to speak, ensuring you feel at ease every time. After your initial trepidation about the lightbulb issue and Caleb's assurance that you could call anytime, it never crossed your mind that you might be inconveniencing him.

In fact, you get so comfortable that Caleb’s presence and willingness to help almost embolden you.

“Thank you so much, Caleb. I really appreciate it.” You say this gratefully, a coy smile playing on your lips as you watch him crouch to take a look at your toilet tank.

“No worries, I’m happy to do it,” he says. “Just out of curiosity, though - didn’t I just fix this for you a week ago?”

“Yeah, about that,” You bite your lip as he fixes his gaze on you, nervous you’ll give yourself away. “I just wanted you to check up on it if you had the time. I heard some strange sounds, and I wasn’t really sure what the reason for it was.”

“Oh, it just means it’s working properly! Are they more like a whooshing or a groaning?”

“Wooshing,” you say, tips of your ears burning, but Caleb simply smiles. 

“Yeah, that just means it’s working. Anything else you want me to take a look at?”

“Well, I don’t want to keep you from anything …”

“No worries, you’re my last ticket for the day,” Caleb assures you. “Maybe it’d be better if you just make me a list since your apartment seems to have the most issues. I don’t think I’ve ever had to visit another apartment as many times as I have yours. Guess you drew the short end of the stick with the luck here.”

Caleb’s tone is teasing, and you know he’s likely just negging you, but in all honesty, you do feel awful. You feel awful that you’re always asking for him, even though you know that the maintenance team has some say in which tickets they take. You feel awful that you know not only Caleb but also Gideon and the rest of the team by their first names. You feel awful that they all immediately hand the phone over to Caleb as soon as they hear your voice on the other end. Despite all of that guilt, you chase the euphoric joy of seeing his face and hearing his voice, so much so that you begin sabotaging things. 

“Hey, when’s the last time you looked at this smoke detector? Caleb asks, eyeing it wearily.

“Um, I’m not too sure. Why?" Does that need to be changed, too?"

You do know. You took the batteries out of it right before he came over, just in case he saw through your toilet tank ploy. 

“No reason,” Caleb assures you, almost like he’s trying to avoid hurting your feelings because he knows you simply don’t know any better.

“Just make sure it’s got batteries, okay? Has it been making any kind of noises lately?”

“Oh, now that you mention it, is that annoying, persistent beeping something that I need to be concerned about?” You wonder, biting your fingertip.

You watch as Caleb goes through the five stages of grief all at once, his expressions filtering from horrified to a reserved and calm kind of peace.

“Yeah, the beeping would be an indicator that it needs to be looked at. No worries, I’ll get you some fresh batteries for this bad boy after I finish with your washer and dryer. Now, what did you say was going on?”

“Not sure,” You peer over his shoulder as he fiddles with the dials. “Just… isn’t … uh -”

“Draining properly?” Caleb supplies helpfully.

“Yes! That! The barrel of it is full of water every time I try to  - oh, look at that.”

You’re interrupted by Caleb pressing a few buttons, and the water in your washer drains instantly.

“Wow, who could have imagined it was that easy?” You manage, dumbfounded.

“Yeah, you kind of have to turn it on … you know, so it cycles through,” Caleb says kindly.

This time, you have to pretend to be embarrassed, because you know.

You’re the one who turned it off mid-cycle.

Your calls to the maintenance team have become an almost daily occurrence. It’s not that you’re trying to make their lives more difficult, but the smooth and teasing cadence of Caleb’s voice is like a drug for you, and after all, he did say to call him ‘anytime.’ Seeing a couple of fruit flies orbiting your drain is a good enough reason to call this time, right?

You and Josephine have reached an understanding: you no longer have to explain yourself to her; the second she hears your voice, she transfers you. Usually, Caleb is the first person to pick up the phone, and it’s typically within a matter of moments, but occasionally, you get Gideon. 

“Apartment 314, we can’t keep meeting like this,” Gideon deadpans. “You’re taking one of my best and brightest from me, you know that?”

“Shit, I mean - damn,” you stumble over the words, trying to censor yourself in the face of discomfort, making it worse. “Shoot? I’m sorry. I can wait if -”

“Is that 314?” you hear Caleb call in the background. 

“Can you fuck off and go check 621’s garbage disposal like I asked you to do ten minutes ago?” Gideon barks, clearly irritated. “Sorry about that, 314. Continue.”

“Um… it sounds a little dumb when I say it out loud, but I’ve been getting these fruit flies, and -”

“Circling your drains? Kitchen and bathroom?” Gideon interrupts, a no-nonsense tone commanding his voice.

“Kitchen.”

“Pour boiling water down the drain and see where that gets you. If that doesn’t work, try using apple cider vinegar traps. You’ll be able to find them at any hardware store, but if you have dish soap and apple cider vinegar on hand, try mixing them with some warm water in a container you don’t mind losing and poking some holes in the top. That should resolve your issue. Was that all?”

“Yeah,” you say, deflating. “That was it. Thanks.

Gideon pauses for a moment before speaking, and the slight tinge of annoyance in his voice begins to fade. 

“You do know that you’re allowed to ask for his number, right?”

He was waiting for Caleb to leave.

“Wh-What?”

“Caleb. You can ask for his number. Legally, I’m not allowed to give it to you directly, but I promise he wants it. You know he’s been practically beating the shit out of the rest of the team to get to the phone. Chomping at the bit just hoping it’s you.”

“I don’t know what you -”

“Don’t play dumb,” Gideon sounds a little disappointed and annoyed, but not angry. “I’ve seen the reports. I believed you about the light bulb thing, ‘cause that’s an honest mistake, but taking the batteries out of a smoke detector is pretty fucking dangerous.”

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly, and Gideon laughs. “It won’t happen again.”

“Have a wonderful day, 314. I hope not to hear from you anytime soon.”

You deserve that. Gideon’s advice swims in your mind, and you wonder how you’ll even go about it. Calling the maintenance team again seems like overkill, and you know Caleb is helping another tenant, so you push the idea to the side, slightly embarrassed at how crazy it’s been making you act. Resigned, you turn your electric kettle on to boil the water and dump it down the drain. To your chagrin, the flies begin to dwindle. 

Hours after your call, you’re sitting in your favorite chair and half-watching some trashy reality dating show while you work on a puzzle. The sudden ring of your doorbell surprises you. You’re not expecting a package or anything. You wait a moment on the chance that it’s an unwelcome solicitor, but the ringing persists, so you drag yourself to your feet to answer the door.

“Caleb!”

Your favorite handyman stands there sporting a giant grin on his slightly soiled face and holds out his hands to present four or five little apple-shaped objects.

“Fruit flies?” He asks in lieu of a greeting. 

“Y-yeah, how did -”

“I heard you on the phone with Gideon,” he explains. “Mind if I come in? I’m not technically on the clock, but I wanted to help ya out.”

You feel a fluttering sensation in your stomach, and Gideon’s assurance that Caleb would want your number starts to feel less like pity.

“It’s okay,” you say quickly. “Gideon told me how to fix it on the phone. I’m really sorry to have even called about it. I’ve been monopolizing your time, and I know that. I just -”

“Nah, you’re not,” Caleb assures you. “You know, I did just say that I’m off from work.”

Caleb’s familiarity and comfort in your home make your chest ache as you follow him to your kitchen. He knows his way around, and every apartment likely has more or less the same layout, but it still makes you giddy.

“Gideon told you to pour the hot water down the drain?” Caleb asks as he tears the plastic off the little apple objects.

“Yeah, I did, and I’m noticing a bit of a difference, but what are those?”

Caleb brings one to his lips and tears the remaining plastic off with his teeth. The sight makes your knees weak. Caleb lifts his hand to spit the plastic into it, then tosses it into your garbage can. 

“Traps. You can usually make your own. Gideon prooooobably told you how to. I just had some of these handy, and they usually work better than homemade, anyway. You just pour the liquid it comes with in like this,” Caleb lifts the trap so you can see with one hand, then fishes for a little plastic vial to open with the other.

“It’s apple cider vinegar? Gideon told me to mix it with dish soap.”

“Yeah, the smell and the sugar attract the flies. See these little holes at the top? They’re shaped so the flies can get in, but they have a hard time getting out. The vinegar also has some sticky stuff in it, which is usually what the dish soap does when you make it yourself, and it traps them inside.”

Caleb fills the trap and puts it next to your kitchen sink, then fills another two and motions for you to follow him to the bathroom. He strategically places the first in your shower just out of the water’s reach, then puts the other right next to the bathroom sink, as he did in the kitchen.

“I know you said it was just your kitchen, but these little guys like to hang out around any drains. Just to cover all your bases, you know?”

You could listen to him talk about cement, and you’d still be captivated.

“Yeah, definitely.” You look up to see Caleb beaming at you. “Thanks, Caleb.”

“Anytime,” He murmurs. “I’m gonna take a look at your kitchen sink really quickly, too. I know it’s been leakin’ on ya.”

Oh, you know. You were careful to leave the handle positioned so the faucet was only just turned on. It does make you feel a little slimy, but seeing as it’s the last time you’ll be making an unnecessary maintenance call and Caleb is there of his own accord, you decide to exercise your Miranda rights. 

You trail after Caleb to the kitchen and lean against the counter as he fiddles with the faucet. He hums so gently to himself as he works that you almost ask what the buzzing noise is. It’s so maddeningly cute you want to scream.

“Seems like it’s workin’ okay,” Caleb confirms what you already know, then turns to face you. “Guess I did a pretty good job of fixing it up the last time.”

“Thanks, by the way.”

“Anytime…” Caleb trails off, though his gaze is unwavering. 

“Listen, I … might not have been completely honest with you,” you blabber, unable to take the weight of his stare with your incredibly guilty conscience. 

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Ugh, try not to judge me. Too much, okay? I just… haven’t really been needing as much help as I’ve been letting on.”

Caleb’s head tilts to the side, and he reminds you of a confused puppy. It makes you feel even worse.

“I’ve been lying about having issues around my apartment,” you confess. “The lightbulb thing was real, and the refrigerator was unfortunately also true, but the sink and the toilet - all of that other stuff were just excuses.”

“Excuses for what?” Caleb asks, though the confusion is gone, and he’s grinning at you like he already knows what you’re going to say; he just wants to hear it. 

“Excuses to get you here. I think you’re really fun to be around, and I also happen to think you’re really, really attractive, and it’s fun watching you work. I’m sorry, okay? I told Gideon I wouldn’t waste your time anymore.”

“So thaaaaaaaaat’s it,” Caleb drawls as he walks over to stand in front of you and close the distance between the two of you. “I’m just eye candy to you, huh?”

He’s never been this close to you. He practically radiates heat, all-encompassing and inviting as he invades your space, and the soothing scent of apples and musk fans across your face.

“You’ve got…” You trail off, but lift your thumb to his cheek to wipe the questionable marks away. 

Caleb covers your hand with his own to hold it there, carefully prying it open so he can weave his fingers within yours.

“Thanks, just a little bit of residue.” He leans forward, and his hot breath fans across your face, sweet and almost spicy as if he’s been chewing cinnamon-flavored gum. “Do I have any anywhere else?”

“The other side,” you murmur.

Without breaking eye contact, Caleb takes your hand and brings it to the other side of his face to gently wipe, not really caring about the fact that all he’s doing is smearing the mark. 

“Anywhere …else?” 

“No,” you swallow thickly. “I think I got it for you.”

“Well, thanks for cleanin’ me up.” Caleb reaches down to bring your other hand to his face. “I think I’ve still got a little bit of work to do, though.”

“I don’t want to take up your time -”

“Off the clock,” Caleb drags your hands across his face, then to his throat. “This is a different, more important job.”

He lifts your arms so they dangle over his shoulders, then lightly trails his fingertips down to your waist when his hands are free. He stops at your hips, spreading his large hands over them and gripping tightly enough to indicate intention, yet still allowing you to move if you’re not interested.

“I hope I’m not reading this the wrong way,” Caleb starts slowly, his voice thick with a need he’s only letting show now that his job isn’t tethering him to decency. “I think… You might like me a little?”

You nod quickly to leave no room for misinterpretation and tug the back of his neck so he’s standing between your legs and pressed against you.

“A lot,” you correct. 

“Good, ‘cause I’ve been thinking about kissing you ever since you opened the door that first time,” Caleb groans, then lifts you by the hips to stand on the tops of his feet to make closing the distance between your lips easier.

His lips stifle your whine, so hot and eager to taste you that his kiss lacks any precision. Caleb presses you against the counter, his tongue prying your lips apart. His impatience is addicting, and even though you find it difficult to keep up, there’s something electric about him being so turned on, he can’t help but ravage you like this. 

“Up,” Caleb rasps when he finally pulls away for breath, gripping the back of your thighs to lift you onto the counter. 

He pushes himself further between your legs to press against you, his lips descending on yours once more when he is sure you are positioned safely to avoid falling. Caleb isn’t shy as he kisses you, all hunger and desperation as he chases the very same bliss you’ve been after since you first laid eyes on him. He nips your bottom lip and tugs, a shudder raking through his large body as he envelops you. You gasp for breath as he pulls away, so wet and messy that when you part, a thin strand of saliva connects your lips.

“I need to know this is okay.” Caleb pants as he releases the tight grip on your hips to soothingly stroke your thighs with his fingertips

“Fuck yes, this is okay,” you say firmly. “I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of the situation, and -”

“Thank you,” Caleb groans and captures your lips to silence whatever unnecessary rambling you’re about to do, and he sighs into your mouth. 

Now that you know he’s just as stupid for you as you are for him, you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him as close as physically possible to roll your hips against his. Caleb gasps and goes slack-jawed, but you don’t mind the fact that he isn’t kissing you when you see that look of utter reverence and pleasure on his face. His eyebrows draw together, and soft puffs of hot air fan across your face as you grind into him.

“Oh, y-yeah?” He manages shakily. “It’s like that?”

“Mmm, it’s been like that,” you manage between breaths. “Thought it was time I did something about it.”

“Ohhh, no, no, no,” Caleb chides. “Nuh-uh, it took you long enough, and I had to make the move, so I’m the one that’s gonna be doing somethin’ about it. Have you done this before?”

“Fucked a maintenance man? No,” you lean forward to take his earlobe between your teeth before murmuring into his ear, “But there’s a first time for everything.”

“I’m not fucking you today,” Caleb hisses as you lick the shell of his ear. 

“What?” You protest.

“Wow, how bratty. Guess you’re used to getting what you want, huh?” Caleb goads.

“Thought you liked me,” you pout.

“I do, ‘s why we’re going on at least one date before we get there, although…”

Caleb pulls back, leaving a few inches of space between the two of you. 

“Can I do something else?” 

“You can do anything you want to me,” you say without thinking, and Caleb laughs. 

“Do you have kitchen bleach?”

“I’ve got surface cleaner; is that any different from regular bleach?”

“That works,” Caleb shrugs, then sinks to his knees in front of you. “Do me a favor and thread your fingers through my hair so you’ve got a bit of a grip - I don’t mind if you pull.”

You blink.

“Oh, lift up for me, please?” He asks sweetly, and when you obey, he tugs your sweats and panties down until they reach your knees, then impatiently yanks them off. “Oh, fuck.”

“I - I haven’t showered today, and -”

Caleb inhales deeply and fucking shudders.

“Shit, I was gonna start slow, but I need to taste you now - will you let me? Please, can I use my mouth?”

Caleb looks up at you from between your thighs, his eyes filled with a wet, desperate kind of need that makes you clench around nothing.

“Y-yes, please.”

Your invitation is all Caleb needs to dive in. He flattens his tongue against you, no preamble or teasing, and flicks his tongue after he’s collected all of your arousal that he can. Caleb’s jaw works as he swallows and moans, the sound low and intense. He wastes no time between licks and attacks your cunt with drawn-out French kisses, all saliva and primal need that outweighs his normal polite disposition. 

Caleb is insatiable, and this is a side of him you never thought you’d see. It’s becoming clearer and clearer that you might be a freak for submitting those fake requests just to see him, but he’s matched and raised you. You wonder if you’re dealing with something beyond your scope of capabilities when you tug his hair hard enough to bring tears to his eyes, and he whimpers. Caleb pulls back, and you can’t tell where your fluids start and his saliva ends. He doesn’t bother to wipe his face when he looks up at you with a plea.

“Pull harder and fuck my face, okay?” 

His eyes are desperate and innocent, but his question makes you shiver. Caleb allows you no recovery time before he’s back at it, flattening his tongue against you to grind against. Your grip in his hair tightens, but you’re still terrified of hurting him. Sensing your hesitation, Caleb flicks his tongue up to your clit, then sucks it into his mouth as he finds your hands in his hair and makes you yank it. His groans are muffled but unmistakable, and the rumbling vibrates against you, wrenching a sharp, high-pitched cry from your throat. 

Satisfied that you’re pulling his hair hard enough, Caleb pulls his hand away from yours to sneak between your legs. Without prelude, he slips his index finger inside of you and grunts when he feels how tight you are. You’re so wet that a second finger glides inside of you with ease as Caleb swirls his tongue around your swollen clit.

“Yes, ‘s it,” Caleb slurs against you. “Take what y’need, sweetheart.”

It’s been a while since you’ve had any kind of stimulation, and Caleb is so intoxicating that he’s able to bring you so close to the edge your thighs are quaking around his head. Caleb is observant and senses how close you are without you having to say anything. You doubt you’d be able to voice it, anyway. You cry out, a half-whimper, half-sob, as Caleb thrusts his fingers deep inside of you, so long that he reaches a place you’ve never felt before. 

He flicks his tongue rapidly against your clit, jaw working and tongue aching to get you where he wants you as fluid drips onto your kitchen floor in front of him. Your lips part on a silent scream, and Caleb scissors his fingers inside of you as he works you through your orgasm. Your body surges forward with the intensity of it all, and Caleb steadies you with his free hand. You tremble in the aftershocks of your bliss, and worried that you’ll fall without something to hold on to, Caleb stands to hold you there while you recover.

“Good girl,” Caleb soothes. “You did so well for me. Can you stand?”

“I - I don’t know,” you answer honestly. 

“That’s okay, just wrap your arms around my neck, okay - and hang on tight for me?” Caleb speaks so gently, the difference is almost jarring.

Caleb wraps your legs around his waist, seemingly not caring that you’re staining the front of his shirt, and walks you to your bedroom. He lays you down on your bed to give you a moment to breathe, then leaves the room. You almost call to ask him where he’s going, but he returns within seconds with a damp cloth.

“Spread your legs for me?” Caleb instructs, and you mindlessly obey, thoughts still trying to find their way back into your head after they’ve been tongue-fucked out of it.

Caleb wipes your thighs first, then gently drags the cloth between your legs to clean you up as best he can. 

“Wow, you’re good at everything,” you manage after a few moments. 

Caleb snickers.

“I don’t wanna brag, buuuuuuut.”

“Mm, hey, while I’ve got you here,” you trail off, unable to fight a smile at your own amusement.

“Hm?”

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."

And you really need some ease. These last few weeks at work have somehow felt even more grueling than when you first started. You made it through this latest hunting season okay, not the worst on your team, for sure, but not quite the best either. Your Evol helps, but you know it can only take you so far.

Maybe that's why you ditch Linkon for Skyhaven, to get some space from your usual environment. You bring along your favorite plushies to make up for the fact that Caleb can't join you. He's needed on base, overseeing some project that requires all hands, even the top brass. You're disappointed but understanding, and he still calls you almost every day. It'll have to do because it's all you have.

It only makes sense then that you need to make up for his absence by sleeping in his room. All of your things for the next two weeks are put away in your dresser, but after the sun goes down and your pajamas (one of Caleb's old t-shirts) are on, bedtime means being snuggled in Caleb's comforter, inhaling his smell and sighing peacefully. Being near his things, putting your head where he rests his when he's home, it could almost trick you into thinking he'll be back any minute. Maybe you throw on one of his old jackets too, if it's extra cold and you want to stay up reading. Sometimes you stay up really late...

Like tonight.

Sometimes things get weird when you stay up late in Caleb's room. Your body starts to feel... odd. You writhe under the blankets, wishing he was here, not only in his home, but in his bed. With you.

During the day, these feelings can be explained away as just missing him a lot, as long as you don't look too closely, but at night there's nowhere else to look.

Visions of Caleb's eyes staring into yours float through your mind, flashes of that striking purple with a sunset glow. A cupid's bow mouth turns into a sweet, captivating smile and a voice that sounds like heaven when it calls you. An expansive, chiseled chest tans in the sun and those hands, so much larger and rougher now than yours, they're still gentle and guiding. Just imagine if they were holding you right now. Touching you. Everywhere.

You bite your bottom lip, pressing your thighs together tightly. It burns, but in a way that feels uncommonly good.

You never completely give into these feelings. Admittedly, you're not sure how to. You know some things from observation and gossip and a little conservative web searching, but when the only person who has ever aroused you is someone you aren't meant to think of in that way, you more or less write off these urges as simple curiosities or, in this case, lapses in restraint.

Alone in the dark, you pull Caleb's jacket over your nose and breathe deeply. Your nipples tingle and harden and you give into the temptation to give one the lightest brush.

A voice in your head reminds you again that you shouldn't be thinking of Caleb like this, but you forgive yourself because what's the harm? A tiny little indulgence in the dead of night? No one will ever find out. Besides, it's only been a couple years that you've had this more sensual kind of longing for him... well, maybe more than a couple, but it's bound to pass sooner or later.

Satisfied with your reasoning, you wrap your whole arm around his jacket now. You don't quite dare reach down to touch your most sensitive spot, but you cup your breasts through your shirt and toy with yourself that way. Just a small treat before bedtime. You'll fall asleep eventually.

Lost in your little "exercise," you don't hear the front door open.

---

Caleb has been planning for weeks to surprise you. He traded duties around like game cards, called in favors, pulled a decent chunk of overtime, and finally he made it work. He's on his way to make sure you won't be spending your much-needed vacation alone.

He's been hearing it in your voice, how hard the last few weeks have been on you. That far away, distracted tone you've been using too often with him lately, like you sometimes did during your college years, makes his heart sink. Either you're pulling away or you don't feel like you can tell him everything anymore, or worse, maybe both.

Caleb will be the first to admit that he needs this visit as much as you do, maybe more. Even if he did it to keep you safe, he still mourns the year he spent without you. Sometimes he needs you to lean on him, just to know you're still there. Truthfully he needs even more than that, wants things he knows he isn't supposed to want, but this visit is something it's okay to have, so he focuses on that as he walks into his dark house.

The front door closes almost silently after he steps inside. The moon is full and streaming a pale light through the large windows, enough for him to see his way around. He removes his coat and boots before he takes a another step.

It's late. Very late. You've probably been asleep for hours. His plan is simple. Sneak to his room without waking you, nap for few short hours to recharge, wake up early to have breakfast ready for you, and then etch the ecstatic look on your face into his mind to hold him together when he's back on base and it feels like he'll fall apart if he can't see you.

It's a good plan. Straightforward. Not everything he wants, but it'll have to do. Right now, it's all he has.

Caleb sneaks down the hall (you'll sense his Evol if he tries to use it to float to stay silent) and past your door, hearing only silence inside. He smiles when he makes it to his door without hearing so much as a rustle from your room, but then he stops, listening closer.

There are no sounds coming from your room, but there are sounds coming from his. They're soft and he can't make out what they are, but it must be you. His heart leaps at the thought that you miss him enough to be in his room while he's gone. But what are you doing in there?

Not one for idle speculation, Caleb opens the door and flicks on the light.

"Pipsqueak?"

You're so startled that you nearly fall off the bed.

"Caleb?!"

You snatch your hand away from your chest at once and sit up, scrambling back on the bed like he's an intruder.

Caleb stands with his hand still on the light switch, a strange half-frozen smile on his face. Your heart starts hammering, and not just from the interruption.

"Caleb, what are you doing here?!"

You're elated. You're furious.

You're wondering how much he saw.

Caleb doesn't answer you right away. You follow his gaze as it falls on his old jacket, still gripped in your fist from when you were holding it to your face.

You toss the jacket aside.

Caleb looks at your bare legs.

You grab it back to cover them.

Finally, his hand drops away from the light switch. His eyes bore into you in a way eerily reminiscent of your earlier visions.

"I was trying to surprise you," he says, attempting nonchalance through his shock. "Buuut maybe you should tell me what you're doing here, pipsqueak."

Caleb watches you frantically trying to calculate what will no doubt be a preposterously bad lie. His brain, the one that had stopped working as soon as the lamplight showed him his room, slowly begins to come back online. What he saw was only for a second, but his senses are keen and he remembers.

You were holding his jacket up to your face with your eyes closed, but you weren't asleep. Your other hand was grasping the front of your shirt (which he now sees is actually his shirt) doing... something, and your thighs were rubbing together, like you couldn't sit still.

His room smells enough like you to tell him that you've been in here for a while, but he also catches the scent of something else, something damp and enticing. A scent that sends a blush over his face and a surge of heat coursing through his groin.

You were doing that. In here. With his things.

Caleb almost sways on his feet like a drunk, suddenly light-headed. In your flustering, you don't notice.

"I was just... I was..." You clear your throat. "I was reading."

Caleb collects himself. He makes a show of looking around the room and then back to you. He tilts his head to the side.

"So where's the book?"

You whip your head around in a panic, tussling the covers while Caleb stares at his jacket covering your lower body, trying not to think about running over and shoving his face into it.

The book appears when you lift one of the pillows and you hold it up like a scavenger hunt prize.

"Right here."

Caleb just smiles and shakes his head, hoping it disguises how hard his heart is beating. The vibes in the room are sensitive. You look like you might bolt for the door at any second and he can't abide that. He never expected to find you this way and he won't let this chance slip away from him.

But he can't resist teasing you either.

"Reading a book that's under a pillow? Does your Evol give you x-ray vision now?"

Caleb steps the rest of the way into the room and closes the door behind him. The click of the catch sounds abnormally loud to your ears.

You lower the book.

"I fell asleep," you lie.

"You weren't asleep," he truths.

Silence. Each of you stare the other down. You curse him for always trying to get you to own up when you've been caught. Someone else might let it slide, let you sheepishly slink out of their room, but no, not Caleb.

Still hot between the legs, you observe him, looking for a way to get the upper hand.

He looks casual, he must have changed into his civvies before leaving work. His face is calm but slightly pink. His arms are crossed, hip cocked to the side into his duffle bag that's slung over his shoulder, but his chest is heaving a little, like he's trying not to breathe too hard. A tiny smirk is creeping across his face, but his eyes are a little too wide, pupils dilated.

So he's embarrassed too, you think, and he just wants to make you more embarrassed than him? Well, it won't work. You won't be interrupted and disarmed on what's supposed to be YOUR vacation.

"Alright," you concede, tossing the book onto the nightstand. "You tell me then, Caleb. What was I doing?"

There's a challenge in your eyes, but also (without your intention or even your awareness) the hint of an invitation.

Caleb's whole body freezes, his smirk falling, transforming into incredulity. He doesn't say anything at first. He lets the bag slide off his shoulder and studies you for a long moment.

Are you seriously calling his bluff while wearing his shirt? Holding his jacket over your naked thighs? In his BED?

He huffs out a small, disbelieving laugh.

You are something else.

The part of him that's lorded his older-and-wiser status over you in years past grins wolfishly inside him and he wants to bite back, to teach you a lesson, naughty brat that you are.

However, that ploy won't help him right now. You're still too tense. You might backpedal. You might try to get away. He won't allow that.

"You don't want to tell me?" Caleb asks, gentle this time.

You gulp.

"Well, you're talking like you already know, so..." You fidget a little, but still you lift your chin. "So go ahead. You first."

Caleb pauses, staring with those beautiful wide eyes, and then he raises both hands in surrender.

"Fine. You win, pipsqueak."

You feel triumph... and a whisper of disappointment.

Caleb watches your body relax, unclenching the fist that was holding his jacket.

Good. That was close. He underestimated you. He won't do it again.

You watch him as he walks over to his dresser, sitting the duffel bag beside it. He unzips it and starts putting his clothes away. You forget your determination not to be disarmed by him.

"That's it?" You ask, cautiously.

Caleb glances at you, but doesn't stop what he's doing.

"Yep," he replies, "that's it. If you say you were sleeping, then you were sleeping."

You both fall silent again, the only sound is Caleb using the dresser drawers. You nervously run your hand over the rumpled bedclothes, but can't bring yourself to break the silence.

The bedroom door is right there. Every sensible thought tells you to go say goodnight and go back to your room. You'll see him in the morning. You'll have a proper reunion. You'll forget any of this every happened, except...

Except Caleb was the one who closed the door. This is his room, it's after midnight, and yet he hasn't asked you to leave.

Caleb puts the last item of clothing away. He shuts the drawer and stands still for a moment, as if debating something.

Then he removes his shirt.

Several things happen to you at once. One, you turn your head away so suddenly that you almost twinge your neck. Two, you gasp audibly, despite the fact that you know Caleb sleeps without a shirt on and despite the fact that you've seen him shirtless countless times. Three, your face flushes hotter than a fever and you feel something stirring, confusing you, alarming you... and exciting you. An out of control sensation that makes you believe that this must be some kind of punishment.

You look down at your lap, legs still warm under his jacket.

"I'm already embarrassed enough," you mutter. "You don't have to make fun of me."

Caleb turns away from the dresser to look at you. Your upset face is like a magnet, compelling his instinct to be near you, to take whatever is hurting you away.

He takes a step towards you.

"Is that what you think I'm doing?"

You cut your sulking eyes at him, but they don't stick. They slide down his sculpted chest and arms, to the v diving below his waistband. You catch that the top button of his jeans is undone before snatching your gaze back up with a quick inhale, but you don't answer him.

Caleb takes another step. One more and he'll be between you and the door again and you both know that he won't let you push past him once he's there. He hesitates despite himself, giving you a moment to decide.

Your body tenses, and then calms. Instead of looking at the door, you look at him, your eyes angry and pouting and pleading all at once.

Caleb has a blush that easily rivals yours as he takes those final steps and leans over you, putting his arms on either side of your hips, bringing his face right in front of yours. His voice is tender and not mocking in the slightest when he speaks.

"I thought we didn't have any secrets, pipsqueak. You used to trust me. Remember?"

"I still trust you, ge," you whisper, your throat suddenly dry.

"Then tell me the truth," he coaxes. "Do I really look like I'm teasing you right now? Is that really what you think?"

His face is mere inches from yours and you can feel the heat coming off of his broad chest. You're falling headfirst into those eyes that you've always loved in more ways than you'll admit.

"No," you shake your head, "I don't think you're teasing me."

"Good," Caleb reassures you, "Because I'm not. Now, will you trust me just a bit little more?"

You nod and bite your lip. If you looked down again, you'd see the growing hard-on in Caleb's jeans beginning to push his zipper down as it tries to free itself.

Caleb rocks forward and puts his lips right by your ear so you feel the desperation dripping from him when he asks:

"... What were you doing in here when I walked in, pipsqueak?"

His breath travels down your neck and a great serpent of desire uncoils in your belly. Your confession that was bound there releases.

"I was... I was thinking about you... touching me."

"Touching you where?"

"Everywhere."

Caleb lets out a deep, shaking sigh, crumpling the bedsheets up into his fists.

"Do you want me to touch you now?"

You can hardly breathe when you answer him.

"Yes."

He pulls back again to look at you. His eyes dart to your lips and then all around your face before coming back to hold your gaze again. Your noses are practically touching.

"What do you want me to do?"

"... Kiss me." You put a finger to your lips. "Here."

Caleb slowly takes your hand away from your face. He presses his lips to each one of your knuckles, one at a time, in relief, in gratitude.

And then he kisses you on the mouth.

Your body steams instantly in response, radiating waves of heat orders of magnitude greater than your "little indulgence."

Immediately, Caleb presses forward, leaning you back into the mattress, drawing your lips apart with his own, letting his tongue flick and glide between them, tasting, exploring.

He tries to go slow at first, to savor you and the moment, but his heart is beating out of his chest from the need to fall completely into you, to press as much of his body onto yours as he can because it's you, it's finally you. Not a dream or a fantasy, but your true heat, your smooth skin, your breath, your fullness, all of you, finally his.

Caleb rips the jacket away from your lap and your skin electrifies where he grabs your thigh, grasping and stroking with his long fingers and wide palm. A breathy moan escapes you and Caleb presses further, kissing you deeper, answering you with high, hungry moans of his own.

As the space between your bodies begins to disappear, your hands wander up his arms, fondling the steely muscle beneath his sweet-smelling skin, over the rippling plain of his strong back and then slowly moving down. His jeans have drifted lower, down to the tops of his thighs now. Your fingertips graze the elastic of his underwear before beginning to slide underneath it, urging him closer.

Caleb responds and moves in, almost fully on top of you when his cock, unspeakably hard and already leaking precum through the fabric of his boxer briefs, caresses your inner thigh. He grunts at suddenly touching you there and his teeth catch on your bottom lip.

"Pipsqueak," he growls. He tries to pull himself back, but his body disobeys and instead he rubs his shaft on that extra soft skin a second time, gasping.

"What's wrong?"

You move one hand off of his back to massage his neck. You try to clear your head, but you're enjoying him too much. You end up squeezing him with your knees, making him jolt and gasp again.

He looks so perfect between your legs. Like he's right where he belongs.

"I..." Caleb pants heavily, struggling for coherence. "We should take it slow or I might..."

He gives you a meaningful look, but unfortunately, the meaning-making part of your brain shut off some time ago.

"Might what?"

Thwarted, Caleb lets out a small laugh. Should he describe how he's dying to move his cock on you, to rub it along the soft insides of your parted legs over and over? That doing that alone would have him on his knees in less than a minute, the front of his boxers drenched?

"I might come soon," he says finally, gripping your leg, trying to at least hold you still since he can't seem to pull away.

"Oh," is your suspiciously noncommittal reply. "... Is that bad?"

"Not exactly, but if I do... you know, it might take a minute before I can..." Caleb trails off as he finally notices your shy but puzzled smile.

You have no idea what he's talking about.

"Pipsqueak," he begins in a delicate voice, "when you think about me touching you, do you... do anything else?"

"Ugh, Caleb!" You bury your face in the crook of his neck. "I thought you weren't teasing me."

"I'm not!" he insists, but he can't keep the smile out of his voice at your reaction.

"Meanie," you accuse, but your tone says otherwise and Caleb chuckles.

You smile back and fiddle with his dog tag, trying not to sound too embarrassed.

"I just think about you," you reply, "that's all. I don't..." You hesitate, but there's no other way to say it. "I don't touch myself or anything. Not there, anyway."

"Never?"

"Maybe once or twice. Not for long."

Caleb tries to cool himself down while he processes this. In the forbidden corners of his mind, he always hoped you'd be each other's firsts, but he never thought he'd be the one with more knowledge, if not experience. Now he's grateful for every awkward question he floated towards Gideon and Patrick after their girlfriends stayed overnight. Those moments of enduring their amused looks at the most desired figure on campus being a virgin, plus his time spent running and then erasing incredibly detailed and highly suspect web searches, it wasn't in vain after all.

He can see to it that from now on, you'll only be able to think of him when you come... because he'll be the first one to help you do it.

However, he still remembers your defiance of him earlier. You're acting cute now, but you'll put him on the spot without any reservations if he doesn't play this right. He's almost always been putty in your hands, but this time has to be different.

This time you must to do as he says.

"I know what happens," you inform Caleb, guessing the general direction of his thoughts and snapping him out of his reverie, "when you keep going. I've just never..."

You reach down and brush your hand over Caleb's abs, sighing. You notice the damp mark that the tip of his very significant cock is leaving in his boxer briefs and your inner muscles clench around nothing. Caleb shivers and closes his eyes at your touch.

You know what happens, alright. Or at least you know enough.

"That's okay," Caleb says softly, when he finally opens his eyes again. "Don't worry. Lie back."

It only arouses the slightest bit of suspicion that he doesn't question your knowledge or lack thereof, but you chalk it up to the fact that most of his blood is now in that intimidating member straining below his waist.

You do as you're told and Caleb scoops underneath you, turning you lengthwise on the bed. You accept his positioning with no argument, relaxing completely in his arms. He resists the urge to praise you with a "good girl." It's not the right moment. Not yet.

Your breath quickens again as Caleb strips off his jeans and socks and climbs into bed with you. Turning on his side, he creates a large, warm wall of muscle between you and the rest of the room, penning you in, keeping you safe. His cock, even hotter than the rest of him, presses along your side, but this time he masters himself.

"Will you tell me... where you want me to touch next?" Caleb asks, propping himself up on his elbow.

With his free hand, he reaches for you, tangling your fingers in his.

You give him a playful grin.

"You're the one who caught me. Guess."

Caleb smirks back. He glances briefly at your chest.

"Okay then. Let me see... here?"

He puts his finger on your nose.

You roll your eyes. He laughs and keeps going.

"Here?"

Your bellybutton.

"Close. Maybe later," you grant.

"Noted. What aboouut..."

You're prepared for another silly answer, so Caleb is rewarded with your surprised moan when he lightly squeezes one of your breasts with his hand, brushing his thumb across your still-hard nipple.

"Oh, I see. Here."

He moves his thumb back and forth, half-pleasing, half-teasing, but his smile fades to a slack-mouthed hunger as your eyes close and your body starts to arch and twist next to him.

Your small fingers whispering over the firm nubs earlier felt like nothing compared to what Caleb is doing. His hand is large enough to cover one breast completely, encircling it in heat, while the pressure of his thumb swirling and tweaking creates an electrifying tingle that feels too big to be concentrated in that one small spot. Even with the fabric of the shirt in the way, it drives every other thought from your mind.

And your reaction drives every other thought from Caleb's.

He lets go for a moment and you give an involuntary whine of protest that turns to a relieved sigh when he slides his hand under your shirt. You look like you could cry in gratitude and Caleb exhales shakily at his first direct contact with this long-imagined part of you, the warm fullness settling in his hand.

It isn't long before his mouth is on you, tongues entwining yet again. You moan helplessly into his kisses while he massages the round flesh underneath your (his) shirt, and the more you moan for him, the more he bears down on you, needing to be closer, needing to be all over you.

Caleb releases your lips and and goes for your neck. Your sounds become even more exquisite as dives in, exploring every way his mouth can bring pleasure your skin. He hears you yip as he loses control and leaves a mark on you, a blooming patch of dark red that will soon turn blue and purple. (He'll see it the next day and think, "that's mine" before bending you over the kitchen table.)

His body now fully on top of yours and unable to hold back any longer, he pulls your shirt up to your neck and there they are, your plump breasts, areolas pulled tight by your nipples hard as pencil erasers.

In the cool air, small bumps of gooseflesh begin to rise all over the smooth skin. Caleb whimpers with need and looks at you, asking with his eyes because he's not sure he can speak.

You grab the back of his neck and pull his face to your chest. When his mouth latches onto you, your eyes pop and then roll back in your head.

"Ah! Caleb!"

He groans with happiness when he hears you and his cock twitches hard underneath him. He'll remember it always as the first time he made you scream his name but far, far from the last.

The suction is incredible, the moist cavern of his mouth, the weight of his body on yours, the chill of his necklace against your stomach. You've never been drunk, but you imagine this must be similar, your body buzzing and your head swimming.

With your breast still filling in his mouth, Caleb grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head and holding them down with one massive hand while the other plays rough with your other tit. He can feel the heat from that dark triangle between your legs against his torso. So can you.

Caleb works his mouth over your tender, excited nipple with increasing urgency, not just sucking, but circling it with his tongue, kissing it, pulling on it, grazing it with his teeth. He starts to rut between your legs, against the mattress like a dog, forgetting his goal, forgetting everything except wanting to make you say his name over and over.

Overstimulated for the first time in your life, it's you who pulls both of you back from the brink.

"Stop!"

Caleb stops, forcing his head up like a rearing horse. He stills his hips even though his balls are screaming and his dick completely rigid and you look at each other.

You attempt to form a sentence through heavy breaths.

"I think you said... Like before... We could... slow down."

"Yeah..." Caleb nods, breathing just as hard. "Yeah, you're right."

But it's so, so difficult. He rests his head between your breasts and loosens his grip on your wrists, but he can't help but gently kiss you in various places across your chest. His urge to suckle and bite doesn't dissipate, but he holds it in check for now and as the seconds pass, conscious thoughts begin to return to him. Thoughts he was having before he opened his bedroom door and everything changed.

"I've missed you so much, pipsqueak."

He says it like it's a confession and not something he says every time you see each other. You wriggle your wrists free so you can run your fingers through his hair that's still as fine and silky as when he was a boy.

"I've missed you too."

You kiss the top of his head and he sighs.

"Even when you were busy with work?"

"Of course. Why?"

Caleb nuzzles into your chest, more afraid of this truth than any other.

"It's just that sometimes you sound... distant when we talk," he admits, "Like part of you is somewhere else."

It's not what he intended to say, but what little control he had over his feelings for you leaves him more and more the longer he stays here, with his body on yours and almost nothing between you. It's how he's always wanted it to be.

"I'm sorry," you murmur into his hair. "I didn't want to make you worry. You're so busy, you have a life-"

"You're my life, pipsqueak," he interrupts, looking up at you. "Everything that I do, it's always for you. To keep you safe. To make you proud of me."

You feel yourself smiling at him, a calm descending on your spirit, surrounding you. It's that feeling that being near him always gives you, why you stay in his room while he's away, why you wear his clothes sometimes and eat his favorite snacks, why the very thought of him can keep you going through the worst trials life gives you.

He's your home.

"I'm always proud of you, ge," you tell him, "and I trust you with my life, my secrets, everything. I just wanted to take some of the weight off of you, to help take care of you like you take care of me."

"If it's your weight, then I want to bear it," he says. "I love taking care of you in so many ways. I want to take care of you now..."

He plants a kiss between your breasts, and then another one lower than that, just above your navel, and then, after a moment, he kisses that too.

"Will you let me take care of you? Please?" He asks, looking up at you with soulful, wounded puppy eyes.

"Yeah. I will."

Like you were ever going to say anything else.

"Can I... like this?"

Caleb places a hand over your pelvis, covering it completely. He presses his thumb into the soaked cotton of your ruined underwear, pushing slightly into your sensitive entrance on the other side.

You whimper and your hips twitch. You nod.

"Promise?" He asks.

"Yes."

"Good," he sighs, kissing below your navel this time, igniting a hot streak in that spot deep inside you.

When he speaks again, his voice is slightly different.

"You have to promise too that if it feels bad or hurts, you'll tell me right away."

You nod, your excitement stirring to greater heights as you sense something happening between you, the balance shifting. There's a weightiness emerging in Caleb's voice, an aura of command.

"But," he continues, "if you don't say those exact words, 'it feels bad' or 'it hurts,' then I'll keep going... And I won't stop."

When he meets your eyes again, you see the puppy is gone. This is that side of Caleb that you don't see as often these days, but that you know never left. The Caleb that could scare curious boys away from you with one look, who intimidated even your teachers when they were mean to you. The Caleb who would make you sit still if he had to, and you would if you knew what was good for you. He certainly did.

"You hear me, pipsqueak? I won't stop. No matter what. Do you understand?"

He asks with authority but allowance as well. He's walked you up to the threshold and you can see that he yearns with every inch of him to carry you over. He's done everything he can to invite you, but he won't force you.

You can step back. Or you can let him have you.

"Yes, ge. I understand."

---

It's dark in Caleb's bedroom now and so quiet in the house that you could hear a pin drop, only there are no pins. There's only the heavy breathing of Caleb's hulking body pressed against yours, blended with his high-pitched moans of ecstasy, as if your fingers were inside him and not the other way around.

You're in wild, unknown territory, heart pounding, shirt still pulled up above your exposed breasts, spitted on Caleb's hand as it works you in places you knew existed but never dreamed could feel like this. A storm of heat and joy rages between your legs as Caleb strokes your dripping slit, two large and long fingers pushing in and out, his thumb winding over your swollen clit.

You're his now, and he isn't about to let you go.

Along with Caleb's panting and whining, you hear your hiccuping breaths and desperate whispers. You tighten your grip on his arm.

"Caleb, please. Please."

He kisses the top of your head and sighs, listening to you beg as though it were divine music.

"Such a good girl," he responds, "all perfect and wet for me. So hot inside."

He's already stretching you with just two fingers, but he begins to work in a third, stealing your breath from you again.

"W-wait. Caleb," you try, but you can hardly speak, "Don't..."

"Mmmh," Caleb's voice thrums and he lets out a perfect "oh" as you take in his third finger like it was his very own cock, the same one that has escaped the split of his briefs and is now rock hard and seeping its thin, salty liquid all over your hip.

You cry out for him again, but your voice is weak, your head foggy and your body ablaze.

"Oh Caleb... Please, don't."

"It's okay," he whispers, working his wrist to pump even more.

You want to weep, but not from discomfort or pain. It doesn't feel bad, simply impossible to endure. The strength of his arm and the way he's touching you, both urgent and patient, controlling and loving, powerful and consistent. Aren't his arm and fingers tired? Can't he let you go?

But Caleb shows no sign of stopping, his body heat surging so high that he's sweating just from the sheer erotic pleasure of fingering you.

Between your breaths, there's the sound of his penetration of you, soaked digits squishing into your slickness. His reach is so long, you imagine you can feel him tickling your bellybutton from the inside.

"Oh," Caleb murmurs, savoring the easy slide of his fingers into you, the tender stretch as he spreads you apart. He bites his lip at the feel of your arousal coating his hand, covering your thighs.

"Ahh, there you go." He curls his fingers up slightly to press into your quaking walls and an involuntary tremor shoots through your legs. "Right there, yeah?"

You make an animal sound of lust, guttural and desperate.

His strokes get faster. Your body gets tighter.

"Ge... please. I can't!"

You attempt to shove his arm away.

Caleb cradles you with his other arm and kisses your eyelids, your forehead, your temple, resisting your shoves as though he can't even feel them.

"It's okay, pipsqueak," he promises with dark, heavy breaths. "You're okay. You take it so well."

You whine in distress. Caleb pulls you closer.

"Feels too good," you rasp.

"I know," Caleb's sweet voice croons, "I know it does. You like me inside."

It's not a question, but a statement of fact.

"No, no," you reply, but your denial is undercut by your grip. You're not trying to shove him anymore but clinging so hard your fingernails are leaving marks.

Caleb shushes you again. He nudges your chin up to capture your lips with his, attempting comfort but with an undercurrent of raw need. The kiss only makes you more delirious.

"I'm here," he swears, "I'll take care of you. You said you would let me. You promised."

"It feels weird, ge. It's hot. It's hot everywhere. Caleb, please."

But your protest seems to have the opposite effect. Caleb's crooning moans drift into your ear again, louder this time, and his cock twitches. He begins to move it up and down against your side and your whole body starts to rock gently with the motion.

"But you like it, don't you? Mmm, yeah. I've always wanted to feel the inside of you like this. You're incredible. God, I wanna fill every inch of you. Look at you. My good girl, being so bad for me."

You sob a little. Your heart is racing so hard it hurts. You want to try to push Caleb away again, but instead your hips start to buck instinctively into his thrusting fingers. He grunts and pulls you closer.

"That's it, pipsqueak. Use me. Let me make you feel even better."

"Caleb..."

"Damn," he spits, the sudden curse both vulgar and tender, "you're squeezin' me so tight. You're almost there, aren't you?"

You don't know. You don't know where you are. It feels like reality is disappearing around you, the fabric of your consciousness tearing at the seams.

"Caleb!"

Now the intensity is frightening. You turn your head towards Caleb's chest, away from the sight of his glistening hand ruining you, and bite his shoulder. He kisses your temple again, more fervently.

"Feel how deep I am inside you?" he whispers. "It's 'cause you're pulling me in. Mmh, I can't believe how wet you are. Just keep holdin' onto me, pipsqueak. Just like this."

The house is no longer quiet as the sounds emanating from Caleb's bedroom echo down the hallway. The bed-springs creak and groan as you rise and fall on the mattress. Your throat opens up with deep, halting cries and Caleb's hot breath cascades down your face as he whispers, encouraging you, beckoning you, but you can no longer make sense of his words.

Your hips push and you clench around Caleb's fingers, your clit throbbing against the pressure of his thumb that circles and strokes and never stops for a moment, never lets you breathe, never relinquishes its hold over your body and mind for a single second.

"Caleb, wait! Pl-please! Ah! Don't!"

Caleb's presses his lips to your ear, nipping the lobe, and all your thoughts cease, your wider perception breaking and falling apart. The entire world transforms into just Caleb: his tongue in your ear, his groans and panting leaving beads of moisture on your skin. The wall of heat that is him presses into you, his arm flexing along the length of your body, as his hand continues to pump furiously and inexorably between your thighs, making you burn so deep you could turn to ash.

Caleb looks down at your face contorting in a pleasure that looks impossible to bear. His lips part as his weeping cock starts stuttering and pulsing on your side.

He etches the look on your face into his mind forever. Your first orgasm.

"Yeah. Just like this, pipsqueak. You're gonna come for me. Be a good girl. Come."

You scream. And obey.

Clawing at Caleb, you sob, drool flying from your mouth as you cry out uncontrollably, grinding over and over into his still stroking hand.

"Caleb pleeease no it's so good ge I can't I love it please oh God Caleb please no it's too hot gege, it's hooott!"

Your pussy flutters and constricts hard around his fingers and Caleb can't hold back. He responds to you with his own deluge of want as he feels you reach your climax, his cock sliding around in the slick patch of sweat and precum he's made against your skin.

"Oh that's my perfect girl, god I feel you coming on me so wet so tight on me pipsqueak coming hard for me like a good girl, fuck fuck fuck!"

You're still sobbing and grinding your hips when Caleb's cock spasms and then pulsates powerfully, sending thick, warm jets of cum splattering across your waist and belly.

"Unh! Caleb! Ge-..."

Whining and crying, tears falling, you turn towards Caleb, throw your leg over his hip, and wrap your arms around his neck, sliding your aching clit along his shaft as his drenched hand finally withdraws from your twitching cunt. How you can want more is beyond you, but your body moves on its own anyway, wanting to draw out the last few drops of bliss.

With his newly free hand, Caleb sinks his fingers deep into the flesh of your ass, gripping hard. The sticky mess between you both smears all over your abdomens as Caleb rides out his last few thrusts, pushing into the tight friction of your bodies.

His voice sounds just as lost as yours, delirious with satisfaction.

"Oh, pipsqueak. Ahhh. Yeah."

You let out a final soft whine and your motions cease, awareness slowly returning to your sore, trembling body. The sensations of reaching that devastating peak begin to ebb as you come down the other side of it.

For a while, the room is quiet except for the sound of your hard breaths. You hold each other, locked in that sweat-soaked embrace, Caleb's cum oozing between you as your body gradually stops shaking.

Soon after, you start to feel kisses falling on the top of your head. You pull back and see Caleb's stunned and stunning eyes, adoring this shivering, euphoric creature you've become, cleaved to him and covered in his scent. Your eyes are ethereal, almost black from your wide pupils, and he kisses the tears from your cheeks.

Not quite able to speak yet, you kiss him back, his usually dry lips moist from your sweat. Too exhausted to crane your neck up for very long, you eventually sigh and push your face into his collarbone, pressing your lips there instead, listening to his heartbeat and the contented hums rumbling in his chest.

Another minute or so passes before you notice the continued heat and pressure of Caleb's cock between you and you look down. It's still mostly hard, softening imperceptibly slowly.

You reach between your bodies, covering your hand in the stickiness, and Caleb whimpers when you touch the sloppy, swollen head.

"Caleb," you whisper, "you made a mess."

He laughs, his voice a little shaky.

"Sorry, I'll clean up in a moment. It's not the first time I've made a mess in here because of you, pipsqueak. Trust me."

You snicker, but you're still fixated on the hot, fleshy knob under your fingers. Caleb moans lightly and pushes it a little into your hand.

"Don't," he says, echoing your earlier words. "Don't tease me."

"I'm not," you breathe.

Caleb gives you a sly look, as if he doesn't quite believe you, and slides a finger into your mouth. You look back up into his eyes, tasting yourself.

He exhales slowly, hungrily, the feeling of you sucking stirring him again.

"Then what are you doing, hmm? What's going on in that little noggin of yours?"

You swallow and Caleb's finger slips from your mouth as you move your lips to his ear.

"I'm thinking... that I want ge to make another mess."

Caleb laughs again.

"Okay, give me a min-"

"Inside me."

You had no idea you were going to say it, but once you do, the desire surges up in you again so strongly that it's staggering. It's as if the only satisfaction you'll know in this lifetime is the feel of Caleb's firm, red cock buried deep in your pussy, jerking and pumping as it fills you with hot, thick loads of his cum, all while his hips pin you down and he screams your name and you scream his.

Suddenly it's the only thing you've ever wanted in your life.

Caleb's mouth falls open.

"I..."

You feel his dick twitch against you, no longer deflating at its snail's pace. Your wicked grin says you've definitely secured the upper hand this time.

-

On day 2, he woke up early. This time, earlier than you. And the only way he hoped to win you back was to make you your favorite breakfast. You had to cave in, righ—

“Mm.. it’s- yeah it’s good! what did you put in this?…” your voice was not convincing at all, there was a hint of feigned delight sliding off your tongue as you slowly chewed the food, and Sylus just sighed.

“Just a mix of whatever’s in the pantry, do you like it?”

“It’s good. But if this is to cut the time shor-”

Sylus laughed and shook his head, “don’t worry, I can last five more days.” He picked up the spoon you were fiddling with, scooped up a good amount of food before directing it to your mouth.

But for some reason, Sylus’ eyes flared in an emotion he didn’t want to feel. The way your lips parted ever so slightly, puckering the slightest before you chomp! down on the spoon, quickly chewing on the bite. Oh he totally lost it. He wanted to kiss you. Now.

He took a deep breath and put the spoon down, turning away so he doesn’t stare at your lips any longer.

“I’ll be back.”

-

On day 3, he was getting more restless. You had to be doing whatever you were doing on purpose. Seriously, you make one move and Sylus feels like an idiot in heat.

Anytime you’d walk past him without touching him like you always do, Sylus just shuts his eyes and prays for the hours to go by faster. But for some reason; the week was going by way too slow.

You walked past him wearing shorts again. Short shorts that hiked up your thighs at every step you took, and Sylus tried to look away, tried to forget the sight of your skin he hadn't touched in three days, but when he mistakenly glanced for just a second. He almost lost it.

When you sat down, Sylus didn’t bother inching closer to you. He left at least a millimeter of space between the two of you, but when you kept scooting away, Sylus grimaced in annoyance.

“What’s the point of the ban again?”

You glance at him for a moment then advert your gaze back to your phone, shrugging. “Don’t know, seems like you’re holding up well though, right?”

“Mhm. Definitely.”

He wasn’t.

-

‘Cause day 4 was when he broke just one.. well, maybe all of the rules.

No touching?

The moment he saw you in the bathroom, brushing your teeth, he didn’t waste a second before wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you in a warm embrace. He missed your scent so bad.

He didn’t care if you were telling him about the rules while the foam of toothpaste in your mouth was muffling your words. Sylus just rested his head on your shoulder, sucking in a deep breath before his lips made contact with your exposed back.

He lightly planted his rough lips along your skin, trailing to your shoulder, then to your neck, and finally, your face.

No kissing on the lips?

The moment his lips were on your face, he couldn’t stop them from moving. He peppered you with hundreds of kisses, not on your lips; everywhere but your lips. But eventually, after a few more kisses, his lips stopped at the corner of your mouth before he stared into the mirror.

His eyes were practically begging for you to let him kiss you. The toothpaste was still stuck in the corner of your mouth because you were too shocked at what was happening.

“You seriously can’t handle three more days?”

“Don’t ask such obvious questions.”

No sex?

He already had you pinned against the bed at nine in the morning. His aching cock was practically starving for your touch. By the time his lips made contact with yours, he already had half of your clothes discarded, and it didn’t take him much time before he threw you on the bed using his evol.

“This ban…” he pressed his tip against your entrance, teasing the hole before sliding in at ease. “I-is- ngh- useless.”

He continued to rock his hips back and forth, feeding you every inch he wants you to take. He seriously felt like a weight lifted off his shoulder after he finally got to touch you.

If he was on a work trip, he wouldn’t complain. But if you were the one challenging him to not touch, kiss, or have sex with you while you’re in his presence, it was way too hard for him to resist.

Sylus’ fingers press on your clit as he stretched on the nub, watching his cock sink deeper and deeper in you, stretching you out like you’re made for him—he missed this sight.

“Sylus- you had t-three more days!” You whine, throwing your head back as you moan incoherent sentences he couldn’t bother deciphering.

“Uh-huh, three days is way too long.”

“You’re- ngh- banned for a month!”

Sylus only chuckled and cradled his arms around your head, pulling you in an embrace before his lips made contact with your temple, giving you light, sweet kisses.

“I missed you, sweetie.” He pulled away, staring at you with genuine love filled in his eyes. “Don’t do that again.”

“You’re still banned for a month.”

Your heart raced, not just from the rush but from anticipation of what Sylus might have planned for this deal of yours.

Five minutes now.

You grabbed your keys, bag, and slipped your feet into boots without bothering to tie them properly. The hallway stretched before you like a runway to freedom, to the night air, to him.

You took three hurried steps forward—and then your world tilted as you collided with something solid and warm, something that smelled of sandalwood and gunmetal.

Not something. Someone.

"In a hurry?"

Caleb's voice was velvet-smooth but laced with steel as his hands steadied you, gripping your upper arms with a pressure that wasn't quite painful but wasn't gentle either. His violet eyes bore into yours, reflecting the hallway light with an unsettling intensity.

Your stomach dropped. Caleb wasn't supposed to be home.

He was supposed to be in Skyhaven at some military function, something that would keep him occupied well into the early hours. His mechanical right arm whirred almost imperceptibly as his fingers tightened around your bicep.

"I—yes, I'm actually late for something," you managed, trying to slide past him, but he shifted, blocking your path. The wall was at your back, Caleb at your front, and the clock ticking mercilessly in your head.

Four minutes.

"Late for what?" His head tilted, the movement smooth but predatory. "Or should I ask, late for whom?"

The way his voice dropped on that last word made your skin prickle. There was something dangerous in his tone, something possessive that sent conflicting signals of warning and warmth through your body.

"Just meeting a friend." The lie slipped out easily, practiced as it was. "Nothing important, but I promised I'd be there."

"A friend." His lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Interesting. You've been sneaking out a lot lately to meet these 'friends' of yours."

The mechanical fingers of his right hand released your arm only to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, the cool metal making you shiver. "Where exactly have you been going? These little excursions of yours are becoming quite frequent."

Three minutes.

Panic fluttered in your chest like a trapped bird. Sylus wasn't known for his patience, and the thought of him showing up here, with Caleb home, made your mouth go dry.

"Look, I'm really late," you said, trying again to move past him. "We can talk when I get back, okay?"

His human hand caught your wrist as you tried to slip by, the grip firm enough to stop you in your tracks.

"That's how it is? That's how you welcome your sweet brother home?" The hurt in his voice sounded genuine, but the gleam in his eyes told a different story. "After everything I've been through, after fighting my way back to you, you can't spare even ten minutes?"

The guilt hit you like a physical blow.

It was unfair of him to use that against you—the months of believing he was dead, the grief that had nearly destroyed you, the shock of his return with a mechanical arm and scars that went far deeper than skin.

But fair or not, it worked.

You felt yourself softening, the urgent need to escape beginning to dissolve under the weight of his gaze.

"Caleb, I—"

"I thought about you every day," he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Every single day. When I was in that hellhole, when they were cutting into me, replacing parts of me, do you know what kept me alive?"

You swallowed hard, knowing the answer but unable to stop yourself from asking, "What?"

"You." His forehead pressed against yours, the familiar scent of him enveloping you. "The thought of coming home to you. And now I'm here, and you can't wait to run off to someone else."

Two minutes.

But it didn't seem to matter anymore. The urgency that had propelled you toward the door was fading, replaced by a different kind of heat.

Caleb's proximity, the intensity of his gaze, the way his thumb traced circles on the inside of your wrist—it was a different kind of danger, one that called to something deep and primal within you.

"I'm not running to someone else," you said, the words half-truth, half-lie. Sylus wasn't Caleb's replacement; he was something else entirely. Something you needed in a different way.

Caleb studied your face, his eyes tracking every microexpression, every flicker of your gaze. Then, slowly, his lips curved into a knowing smile—not warm, not cold, but satisfied.

"There you are," he murmured. "There's my girl."

And you knew he had you. The way your body responded to him—the slight lean toward his warmth, the unconscious parting of your lips, the flutter of your pulse beneath his fingers—gave you away completely.

One minute remained of Sylus's ultimatum, but in that moment, with Caleb's violet eyes holding you captive, ten minutes or ten hours seemed equally distant.

Caleb had always been able to read you like this, even before whatever had happened to him during those missing months. But now there was something new in the way he watched you—something calculated and possessive that should have frightened you but instead sent a shameful thrill down your spine.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. Sylus, no doubt, his patience exhausted. But Caleb's hand was already sliding down to interlace his fingers with yours, tugging you gently back toward the living room, away from the door, away from your escape.

"Stay with me," he said, and it wasn't a request. "Whatever—or whoever—is out there can wait."

Zero minutes.

Time was up.

But as Caleb led you deeper into the apartment, his mechanical fingers warm against your skin, you found yourself following, the urgency of your planned meeting with Sylus fading against the more immediate gravity of Caleb's presence.

Caleb guided you to the couch with a gentle but insistent pressure, his mechanical arm sliding around your waist as he settled beside you.

No, not quite beside—he positioned himself around you, one leg bent on the cushion to cage you between his body and the back of the couch.

The leather creaked as he leaned in, his larger frame creating a human fortress that both sheltered and trapped you. His eyes, those impossible violet irises, searched your face with a hunger that made your breath catch.

"Do you have any idea," he whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear, "how empty the apartment feels when you're not here?"

His human hand curled around your jaw, thumb tracing your lower lip with featherlight pressure. "I promised myself I'd be home for Christmas, but that's not enough. I need to be with you now, every day until then."

Your throat tightened and your chest ached with a hollowness that somehow filled you completely, like the moment before tears when you can't tell if you're about to cry from happiness or pain.

You knew what he was doing—manipulating your emotions, leveraging your shared history—but knowing didn't make you immune.

Not when his scent surrounded you, a complex blend of military-issued soap and pine needles that transported you back to Christmas mornings in his arms, before he deployed.

"I've missed you," he continued, pressing his forehead against yours. "Missed this."

His lips found yours with devastating precision, soft at first, then gradually more insistent. He kissed like a man savoring a last meal, thoroughly and with single-minded focus.

His mechanical hand slid up your back, supporting you as he deepened the kiss, while his human fingers traced a burning path from your jaw down your neck, then lower, skimming along your collarbone.

You gasped into his mouth as his hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, his touch warm against your bare skin. He swallowed the sound, then broke away to trail kisses down your throat, lingering at the pulse point where your heartbeat betrayed your growing arousal.

"So responsive," he murmured against your skin. "Always so perfect for me."

The contrast between his words and actions made your head spin.

Sweet praise delivered with such possessive intent, gentle touches that somehow managed to control your every movement. His teeth grazed your neck, not hard enough to mark but deliberate enough to make you shiver.

"Mine," he whispered against your pulse, the word barely audible yet somehow filling the entire room. His mechanical fingers tightened fractionally at your hip, the pressure calibrated to the exact threshold between pleasure and pain.

He shifted, pulling you more firmly against him, and you became acutely aware of just how much larger he was than you.

His military training had sculpted his body into something formidable, broad shoulders and firm muscle that dwarfed your frame. The mechanical arm whirred softly as he cradled you, its enhanced strength evident in how effortlessly he maneuvered you exactly where he wanted.

You felt engulfed by him, surrounded on all sides, and the sensation sent a forbidden thrill through your body.

"You fit against me just right," he said, as if reading your thoughts. His hips shifted subtly, and there was no mistaking the hard ridge pressing against your heated core. "Feel what you do to me? How much I want you?"

The heat of his erection radiated through the layers of clothing separating you. He moved again, more deliberately this time, grinding himself against you with a barely restrained groan that vibrated through your body. His mechanical hand splayed wrapped around your hips, holding you in place as he continued the slow, torturous motion.

"Touch me," he whispered, an edge of desperation creeping into his voice. "Please, I've thought about your hands on me for so long."

The plea in his voice shattered something inside you.

This was Caleb—your Caleb. Your hand trembled slightly as you reached for him, fingers fumbling with his belt before slipping beneath the waistband of his pants.

"Fuck," he breathed as your fingertips brushed against him. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, breath hot against your neck. "Just like that."

You wrapped your hand around him, feeling the velvet hardness, the heat that seemed to pulse beneath your touch. Caleb's hips bucked involuntarily, pushing himself further into your grip as a broken sound escaped his throat. His lips found your neck again, kissing and nipping as you began to stroke him slowly.

"You're so good to me," he murmured between kisses, the praise sending a rush of warmth through your core. "So perfect."

Without warning, his hands gripped your waist, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. He repositioned you on his lap, your back to his chest, legs splayed outside of his. The new position pressed your ass directly against his erection while exposing you to the room—vulnerable, on display.

"Let me show you how much I've missed you," he said, his voice deeper now, roughened by desire.

His hands guided your hips, establishing a rhythm that had you grinding against him in slow, deliberate circles. The friction sent sparks of pleasure up your spine, made more intense by how completely he controlled the motion.

His mechanical arm wrapped around your middle, holding you steady while his human hand began a leisurely exploration of your body.

Starting at your throat, his fingers traced a path downward, pausing to squeeze your breast through your shirt. He kneaded the soft flesh, thumb circling your nipple until it hardened to a sensitive peak. Your head fell back against his shoulder as he continued his exploration, mapping your body like territory he was reclaiming.

"So beautiful," he murmured, his hand sliding down to your stomach, fingers splayed wide as if measuring how small you were compared to him. "All mine."

The possessive edge in his voice should have alarmed you, but instead, it sent a flood of heat between your thighs. His hand continued its downward journey, tracing the waistband of your pants before dipping lower, cupping you through the fabric.

A soft gasp escaped your lips as his fingers pressed against your center, finding the exact spot that made your hips jerk involuntarily. Even through your clothes, his touch was electric, precise, as if he'd memorized every detail of your body.

"Already so wet for me," he observed, his voice a mixture of smugness and wonder. "I can feel you through your pants."

His teeth grazed your earlobe as his fingers increased their pressure, circling your clothed clit with maddening precision. All the while, his hands guided your hips in that slow grind against him.

Your breath caught with each rotation—forward: pressure against your clit, backward: the hard ridge of him pressing exactly where you needed it. Your head lolled back, mouth falling open, eyelids fluttering. The room tilted. His name formed on your lips but dissolved into a whimper before you could speak it.

"Caleb," you breathed, your voice barely recognizable to your own ears.

"I'm here," he answered, his mechanical arm tightening around your waist as his human hand finally, mercifully slipped beneath your waistband. "I'll always be here for you."

His fingers found your bare skin, sliding lower until they encountered the slick evidence of your arousal. The touch was electric, sending a jolt through your body that had you arching against him, pressing yourself more firmly into his hand.

"That's it," he encouraged, his breath hot against your neck. "Show me how much you've missed me too."

"Please," you whimpered, your hips bucking against his teasing fingers. "Touch me more, Caleb."

The need in your voice was raw, unfiltered, all pretense of resistance long abandoned. His mechanical hand tightened slightly around your waist, the whir of its internal mechanisms matching the pounding of your heart as he pressed his lips to the nape of your neck, his breath hot against your sensitive skin.

"Anything for you," he murmured, the words vibrating against your pulse point. "I love when you beg."

His fingers retreated from your heat, but only long enough to work at the button of your pants, deftly unfastening it with practiced ease. The zipper followed, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet apartment.

Caleb hooked his thumbs into the waistband and tugged, sliding the fabric down your thighs. You lifted your hips to assist him, your body responding to his silent commands as if choreographed.

The cool air hit your exposed skin, raising goosebumps that Caleb traced with his warm human hand, a delicious contrast that made you shiver. His touch was reverent as he explored the newly bared flesh, trailing up from your knee, across your inner thigh, and back to where you ached for him.

"So beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "So perfect for me."

His mechanical arm shifted, adjusting your position on his lap to open you further while his human fingers found your center again, this time with no barriers between you. The first touch against your slick folds drew a gasp from your lips, your body arching involuntarily.

Caleb circled your entrance teasingly before dipping one finger inside, so slowly it bordered on torturous.

Your inner walls clenched around the intrusion, greedy for more, and he rewarded your eagerness with a second finger, stretching you in a way that burned so sweetly you couldn't help but moan.

"That's it," he encouraged, curling his fingers to find that spot inside you that made your vision blur. "Let me hear you."

As his fingers established a rhythm—in and out, curling on each withdrawal to hit that perfect spot—his mechanical hand slid up your body.

Metal digits, warmed by your skin, traced the column of your throat before wrapping around it with deliberate pressure. Not enough to restrict your breathing, but enough to remind you of his strength, of how completely he controlled the situation.

"Do you feel that?" he asked, his voice a dark caress in your ear as his grip tightened fractionally. "How perfectly you fit in my hands? How your body was made for me to pleasure?"

The pressure at your throat combined with the skillful movement of his fingers inside you created a heady cocktail of sensations that had your mind spinning.

Your chest rose and fell in tiny movements against the cool metal of his hand, lungs burning for more air than he allowed, while between your legs, your hips jerked helplessly with each curl of his fingers inside you—your body no longer your own to command.

"No one else knows your body like I do," Caleb continued, his words punctuated by the wet sounds of his fingers working inside you. "No one else can make you feel this good." His thumb found your clit, circling the sensitive bud with maddening precision. "You'll always need me, won't you? Always come back to me."

It wasn't a question, not really, but you found yourself nodding anyway, desperate agreement spilling from your lips as the pressure built inside you. His mechanical fingers flexed around your throat, the subtle reminder of his control pushing you closer to the edge.

"That's right," he purred, increasing the pace of his fingers. "I'll always be here for you. Always take care of you. No one else matters."

The dual sensations overwhelmed your senses—his warm human fingers curling inside you, stroking that perfect spot that made your vision blur, while the cool metal of his other hand pressed against your throat just firmly enough to make each shallow breath a delicious struggle.

Your pulse hammered wildly against his mechanical grip as pressure built low in your belly, a molten heat spreading outward until your thighs trembled and your toes curled, the precipice of release looming tantalizingly close. Your hips bucked erratically against his hand, chasing the building pleasure with single-minded focus.

"Let go for me," Caleb commanded, his voice tight with his own restraint. "Come on my fingers, show me how good I make you feel."

The dam broke. Pleasure crashed over you in overwhelming waves, your body seizing as your inner walls clamped down on his fingers. Your eyes rolled back, lids fluttering as you surrendered completely to the sensation.

Caleb's name tore from your throat, a desperate prayer as you rode out the intense orgasm, your body jerking with aftershocks as he continued to work you through it.

"Beautiful," he murmured, pressing kisses to your shoulder, your neck, anywhere his lips could reach as you came down from the high. "So perfect for me."

"So this is why you’ve been late, kitten."

The unfamiliar voice—no, not unfamiliar, horrifyingly familiar—sliced through your post-orgasmic haze like a knife.

Your eyes snapped open to find Sylus standing before you, his tall frame silhouetted against the dim light of the hallway. His crimson eyes gleamed with an emotion you couldn't immediately identify, his platinum hair falling in artful disarray as he tilted his head, taking in the scene before him.

Mortification washed over you in an icy wave. You tried to close your legs, to cover yourself, but Caleb's grip remained firm, his mechanical arm still wrapped around your waist, his human hand still between your thighs.

Worse, you realized with growing horror, he was deliberately spreading his fingers, keeping you open and exposed to Sylus's penetrating gaze.

"Caleb, please," you whispered, tugging futilely at his wrist.

But Caleb merely chuckled, the sound vibrating against your back. You couldn't see his face, but you could feel his satisfaction radiating from him in waves. He was enjoying this—enjoying Sylus seeing you like this, vulnerable and claimed.

"Why would she be with you," Caleb said, his voice a lazy drawl as he addressed Sylus directly, "when she has me?"

The casual possessiveness in his tone made your cheeks burn with shame and something else—something you didn't want to examine too closely. His fingers curled slightly inside you, sending a shiver up your spine that made your breath catch.

The weight of his palm pressed against your thigh, holding you open, exposed. When you tried to shift away, his knuckles flexed deliberately, a silent reminder that made your inner walls clench involuntarily around him.

Sylus's expression shifted, the initial surprise giving way to something darker, more calculating. His crimson eyes narrowed as they traveled from your flushed face down to where Caleb's fingers disappeared inside you, then back up again. A slow smile spread across his face, predatory and promising.

"We'll see about that," he said simply, stepping further into the room, each movement deliberate as a jungle cat stalking its prey.

The air in the apartment seemed to crackle with tension as the two men locked eyes, you caught literally in the middle, your heart hammering in your chest.

This wasn't how you'd imagined your evening going—but as Sylus approached, his intent clear in every line of his body, you realized with a mixture of dread and shameful excitement that your night was far from over.

The space around you shrank to nothing as Sylus advanced, his powerful presence filling the room like smoke. Suddenly you were sandwiched between two formidable men—Caleb still beneath you, his hardness pressing insistently against you, and now Sylus before you, caging you in with arms braced on either side of your head.

The leather couch creaked under the added weight as Sylus leaned in, his crimson eyes locked on yours with an intensity that stole your breath. Trapped between them, you felt small, desired, and dangerously out of control.

Caleb's fingers resumed their movement inside you, a deliberate provocation that drew a gasp from your lips. The sound was swallowed immediately by Sylus, who captured your mouth in a kiss that was nothing like Caleb's measured exploration.

This was possession, pure and raw, his tongue sweeping past your lips to claim every inch of you. He tasted of expensive whiskey and danger, his hands gripping your face to hold you steady for his assault.

Behind you, Caleb growled low in his throat, his mechanical arm tightening around your waist. His fingers curled inside you with renewed purpose, as if determined not to be forgotten in the wake of Sylus's arrival.

Sylus's tongue invaded your mouth as Caleb's fingers pumped into your dripping cunt, the dual assault making your pussy clench and your thighs quiver. Your nipples hardened to aching points, your body a live wire of raw need as you whimpered and writhed between them like the desperate little slut they were turning you into.

Sylus broke the kiss, leaving you gasping for air, only to trace a burning path down your jaw to your neck. At the same time, Caleb's lips found the opposite side of your throat, both men marking you with open-mouthed kisses that would surely leave evidence of this encounter.

The contrast between them was stark—Sylus's kisses were demanding, almost bruising, while Caleb's held a gentleness that belied the possessive grip of his mechanical arm.

"She's so wet," Caleb murmured against your skin, his fingers still working inside you. "Has been since I touched her. She doesn't need you here."

Sylus chuckled, the sound vibrating against your pulse point. "Yet she was rushing to meet me when you intercepted her." His hand slid down to cup your breast, thumb circling your nipple through your shirt. "I wonder what she wanted from me that you couldn't provide?"

"I give her everything she needs," Caleb countered, his voice hardening as his fingers thrust deeper, drawing a moan from you. "Look at how she responds to me."

"To you?" Sylus laughed, the sound dark and rich. "I've barely started touching her, and she's trembling beneath my hands. Imagine what she'll do when I really put effort into it."

Their voices washed over you, their argument about your pleasure as if you weren't present, as if you were merely a prize to be won through superior technique.

It should have been dehumanizing, but instead, heat pooled between your thighs at their words. There was something undeniably arousing about being the center of such focused attention, about being the battlefield for their competing desires.

You reached out, one hand gripping Caleb's thigh behind you, the other fisting in Sylus's shirt, a wordless attempt to silence them, to redirect their attention back to the task at hand rather than their competition.

But the men were too engrossed in their power play to heed your silent request.

So focused were you on their words, on Sylus's hands exploring your body, that you didn't notice Caleb's subtle repositioning, the shift of his hips, the withdrawal of his fingers—until something much larger pressed against your entrance. Your body, slick from arousal and his earlier attention, offered only token resistance as Caleb eased himself inside you with one smooth thrust.

The sudden fullness tore a shocked gasp from your throat, cutting off whatever you'd been about to say to chastise them. Your inner walls clenched around his intrusion, adjusting to his size as he seated himself fully inside you.

"Fuck," Caleb moaned against your ear, his hips grinding upward, pushing himself impossibly deeper. "So perfect for me. You fit me like you were made for this, for taking me inside you."

The praise washed over you in a wave of heat as your body surrendered to the sensation. Sylus pulled back slightly, his crimson eyes narrowing as he observed the change in your expression, the flush spreading across your chest, the way your lips parted on each shallow breath. Understanding dawned on his face, followed by a predatory smile.

"Sneaky," he commented to Caleb, but there was appreciation in his tone rather than anger. His hands moved to your shirt, deftly unbuttoning it to expose more of your skin to his hungry gaze. "But two can play at that game."

Sylus lowered his head, trailing kisses down your newly exposed skin. His lips were cool against your heated flesh, raising goosebumps in their wake.

He worked methodically, removing each piece of remaining clothing with practiced ease while his mouth mapped every inch of you. His hands gripped you everywhere—your shoulders, your waist, your breasts—leaving temporary imprints that branded you as claimed.

All the while, Caleb maintained a steady rhythm beneath you, his mechanical hand guiding your hips in small circles that had him hitting spots inside you that made your vision blur.

Caleb's cock dragged against that perfect spot deep inside you with each measured thrust, while Sylus's cool lips left fiery trails across your collarbone.

Your thighs quivered uncontrollably, caught between Caleb's mechanical grip and Sylus's wandering hands, your breath coming in stuttered gasps that neither man seemed to notice—or perhaps they simply enjoyed the way you struggled to remain conscious as pleasure short-circuited your brain.

Sylus left a trail of hickeys down your stomach, marking his territory as he descended. His strong hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wider, exposing you fully to his gaze. The position folded you nearly in half, your knees pushed toward your chest, leaving you completely vulnerable to both men's attentions.

"Beautiful," Sylus murmured, his breath hot against your most sensitive flesh. His eyes flicked up, meeting yours with wicked intent before his mouth descended, tongue flattening against your clit in a broad stroke that had your back arching off Caleb's chest.

The first touch of Sylus's tongue against your core sent a shock wave through your system. Combined with Caleb's continued thrusts, it created an overwhelming circuit of pleasure that short-circuited your brain. Sylus worked with expert precision, sucking and licking at your clit while Caleb filled you from below, their rhythms somehow complementary despite their competition.

"Fuck, look at her," Caleb groaned, his pace increasing as he watched Sylus pleasure you. "She's gonna cum again."

"She is," Sylus agreed, his voice vibrating against your sensitive flesh. "All over my tongue, while you watch."

The tension built inside you like a spring wound too tight, pleasure coiling at the base of your spine, radiating outward with each thrust of Caleb's hips, each flick of Sylus's tongue.

When it finally broke, it was with an intensity that bordered on pain. Your body convulsed between them, inner walls clenching rhythmically around Caleb as a flood of release gushed from you.

The force of your orgasm was so strong it pushed Caleb out of you, your body's contractions expelling him as you squirted across Sylus's face.

Rather than pull away, Sylus moaned against you, drinking in your release as Caleb's mechanical hand moved to the back of his head, holding him firmly in place against your pulsing core.

"That's it," Caleb encouraged, his voice strained as he watched you come undone. "Give it all to him. Show him who you really belong to."

Sylus groaned against you, the vibration prolonging your pleasure as he lapped at your release, his crimson eyes locked on yours with an intensity that promised retribution for this momentary submission.

"My turn," Sylus growled, the sound vibrating through your still-trembling body.

His crimson eyes, darkened to the color of spilled blood, held a predatory gleam as he maintained his grip on your thighs. Rather than releasing you after your intense orgasm, he pressed your legs further back, keeping them folded until your knees nearly touched your shoulders. Your body, still sensitive and buzzing from release, offered no resistance as he positioned you exactly how he wanted.

Suddenly, the pressure of Sylus's hands disappeared, yet your legs remained suspended in their folded position. The air around your limbs seemed to thicken, an invisible force holding you in place.

Caleb's mechanical arm whirred softly as he extended it past you, his gravity Evol creating an unseen harness that kept you displayed and vulnerable.

"Let me help with that," Caleb murmured, his voice a dark velvet against your ear. "I want to see everything he does to you."

The casual demonstration of his power sent a fresh wave of heat through your core. With your legs suspended by Caleb's Evol, you were exposed even more obscenely than before, your glistening cunt on full display for Sylus's hungry gaze.

Sylus stood at the edge of the couch, his eyes never leaving your body as he began to undress. There was something performative in his movements, a deliberate slowness as he unbuttoned his shirt to reveal the lean muscle beneath. His platinum hair caught the dim light as he shrugged the fabric from his shoulders, letting it fall forgotten to the floor.

All the while, Caleb's human hand returned to your sensitized flesh, fingers circling your clit with feather-light touches that had you squirming in his invisible bonds. Each time you bucked against his hand, more of your arousal spilled from you, evidence of your continued desire despite your recent release.

"Look how wet she still is," Caleb observed, his tone smug as he gathered your slickness on his fingers. "No one makes her this way but me."

Sylus's only response was a knowing smirk as he unfastened his belt, the leather sliding through the loops with a soft hiss. His pants and underwear followed, revealing his impressive erection, already fully hard and curving slightly toward his stomach. He wrapped a hand around himself, stroking slowly as he watched Caleb play with your oversensitive flesh.

"She's responsive, I'll give you that," Sylus finally said, his voice a low purr as he stepped up onto the couch, his powerful thighs bracketing your shoulders. "But let's see how she responds to me."

Without warning, he pressed the head of his cock against your lips, his intention unmistakable. Your mouth opened instinctively, allowing him entry as he cupped the back of your head with one large hand.

"That's it, kitten," he praised, his crimson eyes locked on yours as he fed more of himself into your mouth. "Take all of me."

The angle was awkward but effective, allowing Sylus to control the depth of his thrusts as he began to move. His grip on your hair tightened, not painfully but with enough pressure to remind you of his dominance. His hips worked in short, controlled movements at first, letting you adjust to his size before he began to push deeper.

"Fuck, your mouth is perfect," Sylus groaned, his composure slipping as you hollowed your cheeks around him. "Hot and wet, just like that pretty cunt of yours."

Behind you, Caleb continued his ministrations while removing his clothes, his fingers now pressing inside you again, curling to find that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.

Sylus's thick shaft stretched your lips wide as Caleb's fingers curled inside your dripping heat, both men claiming you at once. Each time Sylus pushed deeper into your throat, Caleb's digits pressed against that swollen spot inside you, creating a pulsing rhythm of fullness that had you whimpering and sucking harder, your body caught in a delicious feedback loop of being taken, used, and worshipped simultaneously.

"She likes that," Caleb observed, his voice tight with restraint. "The vibrations when she moans around your cock."

Sylus's rhythm faltered for a moment, his eyes closing briefly in pleasure before he regained control. When his gaze met yours again, there was a new intensity there, a determination that sent a thrill of anticipation down your spine.

"I made her squirt," Caleb said suddenly, the smug pride in his voice unmistakable. "Did you see how she gushed all over your face? Never done that before, have you, pipsqueak?"

Your answer was impossible, muffled by Sylus's cock as he continued to thrust between your lips. But Sylus didn't need your confirmation; his eyes narrowed at Caleb's claim, a competitive fire igniting in their crimson depths.

"You think you made her squirt?" Sylus laughed, the sound dark and challenging. "Your cock wasn't even inside her anymore. It was my mouth that pushed her over the edge."

"My fingers were still working her," Caleb countered, demonstrating with a particularly deep thrust that had you arching against him. "I know exactly how to touch her to make her come undone."

The argument continued over your head, their voices growing more heated as they debated who deserved credit for your explosive orgasm.

It was surreal, being discussed so clinically while both men were actively pleasuring you, but there was something undeniably arousing about being the prize in their competitive game.

"Enough talk," Sylus finally said, withdrawing from your mouth with a wet sound that would have embarrassed you under other circumstances. "I'll show you who can make her squirt."

He moved with fluid grace, repositioning himself between your suspended legs. His hands gripped your thighs, taking over from Caleb's gravity manipulation as he lined himself up with your entrance.

"Watch and learn," Sylus directed at Caleb, then thrust forward in one smooth movement that seated him fully inside you.

The sudden stretch drew a shocked cry from your lips, your body arching off the couch at the intrusion. Sylus was larger than Caleb, filling you in a way that bordered on too much but somehow remained on the pleasurable side of pain.

"Fuck, she's tight," Sylus groaned, his composure slipping as your inner walls clenched around him. "Still so wet from coming on my tongue."

Before you could adjust to the feeling of fullness, Caleb shifted beneath you. His mechanical hand gripped your hip, lifting you slightly as he positioned himself at your other entrance.

"Don't forget about me," he murmured, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your ass. The earlier wetness had provided some lubrication, easing the way as he pushed inside with careful precision.

The sensation of both men filling you simultaneously was overwhelming—too much and yet somehow not enough.

Your body stretched to accommodate them, nerve endings firing with pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. Sylus used his Evol on your legs, folding them further until they were practically beside your head, the position opening you completely to his penetration.

"Like an animal in heat," Sylus observed, his voice rough as he began to move, setting a brutal pace that had the couch creaking beneath you. Each thrust drove him deeper, his cock hitting spots inside you that sent waves of pleasure crashing through your system.

Caleb, by contrast, remained largely still, allowing Sylus's movements to drive you back onto his length. Sylus drove into you like a jackhammer, each thrust jolting your body forward, only for Caleb to catch you with his steady presence behind, holding you in place as you slid back onto him.

Your eyes rolled back, mouth falling open in a silent scream as lightning shot up your spine, your fingers curling into claws against the couch cushions, unable to remember your own name.

"Look at her," Sylus growled to Caleb, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs. "Taking both of us so well."

"She was made for this," Caleb agreed, his mechanical arm whirring as he adjusted his grip on your hip. "Made for us."

Their voices mingled in your ears, competitive moans and groans that seemed to increase in volume with each thrust, each withdrawal. They were performing for each other as much as for you, each trying to prove their dominance through the sounds of pleasure they could draw from you.

Caught between them, filled beyond capacity and drowning in sensation, you surrendered completely to the experience, your body no longer your own but a conduit for their pleasure and competition.

The pressure built inside you again, a tidal wave gathering force as both men worked your body with skilled precision.

Your muscles tensed, thighs trembling in Sylus's Evol as the familiar tightness coiled at the base of your spine.

When it broke, it was with a violence that surprised even you—fluid gushed from your core, soaking Sylus's abdomen and thighs as your inner walls clamped down rhythmically around him. The force of your orgasm was so strong it nearly pushed him out, just as it had done to Caleb earlier.

"Fuck," Sylus hissed, his crimson eyes widening as he witnessed your release. Unlike Caleb, however, he seemed prepared for this reaction. Rather than allowing himself to be expelled, he drove forward with renewed determination, fighting against the contractions of your body to maintain his position deep inside you.

"That's it, sweetie," he growled, his platinum hair falling forward as he leaned in, maintaining the pressure. "Give me everything."

Behind you, Caleb's mechanical hand tightened on your hip, his human arm wrapping around your waist to hold you steady against the force of your own orgasm. He'd learned from his earlier experience, adjusting his grip to prevent being pushed out of your body again.

"See that?" Sylus directed at Caleb, his voice strained but triumphant as your release continued to coat him. "This is what happens when you know what you're doing."

Caleb's response was to pull your hips more firmly against him, seating himself impossibly deeper in your ass. The sensation of being so completely filled, even as you were still riding the waves of your orgasm, drew a broken sob from your throat.

"Fuck, do it again," Caleb demanded, but it wasn't clear if he was speaking to you or to Sylus. His breath came in hot pants against your neck, his own control clearly slipping. "Make her squirt again."

Sylus's eyes flashed at the challenge, a predatory smile spreading across his face. "With pleasure," he replied, adjusting his grip on your thighs to spread you even wider.

The two men began to move in tandem, finding a rhythm that had them alternating their thrusts—Sylus pushing in as Caleb withdrew, then Caleb driving forward as Sylus pulled back.

Your vision blurred at the edges, mouth falling open in a silent "oh" as your fingers clawed at nothing. The room spun, dissolved, disappeared entirely. There was only the push-pull rhythm of their bodies, only lightning crackling up your spine, only the wet heat where they filled you completely.

Caleb's human hand slipped between your bodies, finding your clit with unerring accuracy. His fingers circled the sensitive bud, adding yet another layer to the overwhelming stimulation. At the same time, Sylus dug his fingertips into the soft flesh of your thighs, using his grip to control the angle and depth of his penetration.

Their eyes met over your body, a silent communication passing between them. For all their verbal sparring and competition, there was something almost collaborative in the way they worked your body now, each reading the other's movements to maximize your pleasure—and by extension, their own triumph.

Caleb flicked your clit with practiced skill, his gaze never leaving Sylus's face as he deliberately pushed you toward another peak. The challenge was clear in his violet eyes: match this.

Sylus responded by adjusting his angle, the head of his cock dragging against that perfect spot inside you with each thrust. Caleb's finger circled your clit in tight, knowing spirals while Sylus angled his hips just so, the ridge of his cock dragging against that spot inside that made your vision blur at the edges.

Your thighs began to tremble uncontrollably, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as your hips bucked between them of their own accord, chasing a pleasure your mind couldn't comprehend but your body somehow still craved.

As the pleasure built, you watched Sylus's face transform. His usual composed expression gave way to something rawer, more primal. His lips parted, his breathing grew ragged, and a fine sheen of sweat made his skin glow in the dim light. The sight of him losing control was nearly as arousing as the physical sensations rocking your body.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," Sylus groaned, his rhythm faltering slightly as his own pleasure mounted. "So tight, so wet for me."

A drop of saliva escaped his parted lips, falling onto your chest and sliding between your breasts. The sight of it—this physical evidence of his loss of control—sent a fresh surge of arousal through you.

Sylus noticed your reaction, a knowing gleam entering his crimson eyes as he deliberately let more drool slip from his mouth, a filthy display that had you clenching around him involuntarily.

"You like that?" he asked, voice rough with desire. "Like seeing what you do to me?"

Before you could answer, he leaned down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was all consuming heat and desperation. His tongue invaded your mouth, mimicking the actions of his cock below, claiming every part of you he could reach. The taste of him—whiskey and something darker, more primal—flooded your senses as he devoured you.

When he finally broke the kiss, you were left gasping for air, your lips swollen and sensitive from his attention. "More," you pleaded, surprising yourself with the neediness in your voice. "Kiss me again, Sylus."

A smug smile curved his lips at your request, satisfaction evident in every line of his face. "Gladly, kitten," he purred, leaning in to claim your mouth once more.

Behind you, Caleb stiffened, a low growl rumbling in his chest at the exchange. His mechanical hand moved from your hip to your throat, applying gentle pressure as he turned your head toward him, breaking your kiss with Sylus.

"Don't forget who had you first," Caleb murmured, his violet eyes dark with jealousy and arousal. He crushed his lips against yours, the kiss more possessive than passionate as he stared challengingly at Sylus over your shoulder.

Unlike his usual measured approach, this kiss was messy, almost desperate. His tongue pushed past your lips without preamble, reclaiming territory that Sylus had just explored. The taste of him was different—cleaner, with hints of mint and something metallic that reminded you of his mechanical arm.

You were caught in the crossfire of their competitive desire, your body the battlefield and your pleasure the prize. Caleb's hand remained on your throat as he kissed you, the pressure just enough to remind you of his strength without restricting your breathing.

Sylus, not to be outdone, leaned in again, his lips finding the corner of your mouth. Caleb's tongue pushed past your teeth, claiming every inch it could reach while Sylus hovered at the edge of your mouth, his breath hot against your skin.

The tip of his tongue darted out, catching the corner where your lips met Caleb's. Your body jerked. Again—a quick, wet flick that made your toes curl. Caleb growled into your mouth. A thin thread of saliva broke from your bottom lip, sliding cool down your chin as your vision blurred at the edges.

Then, with a boldness that shocked you, Sylus pushed forward, his tongue slipping into the kiss alongside Caleb's. The sensation was foreign, exhilarating—two tongues exploring your mouth simultaneously, sometimes tangling with each other in a display that was as much about their competition as it was about pleasuring you.

The sight and sensation of the two men kissing around and through you, their tongues meeting in your mouth, pushed Caleb over the edge. His rhythm faltered, his grip on your throat tightening fractionally as he groaned into the three-way kiss. You felt the hot pulse of his release inside you, filling you as his hips jerked erratically against your back.

The sound of Caleb's pleasure, the feeling of his orgasm, and the continued pressure of both tongues in your mouth triggered Sylus's release as well. He broke the kiss with a guttural moan, his head falling back as he drove himself deep one final time, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself inside you.

"Fuck," he breathed, his voice wrecked as the aftershocks of his orgasm rippled through him. "God damn."

The three of you remained locked together for several heartbeats, a tangle of limbs and shared breath as the intensity of the moment slowly ebbed. Then, with careful movements that betrayed how overstimulated you all were, Caleb and Sylus withdrew from your body, leaving you feeling strangely empty after being so completely filled.

Your limbs felt weighted with satisfaction, body humming with aftershocks as Caleb gently maneuvered you. His mechanical arm whirred softly as he lifted you with effortless strength, repositioning you so you were sitting properly on the couch, your back against the cushions.

Your legs fell open naturally, still trembling slightly from exertion as Caleb arranged himself on the floor before you. A moment later, Sylus joined him, both men kneeling between your spread thighs like supplicants before an altar, their eyes dark with renewed hunger despite their recent release.

"Look at this mess we've made," Caleb murmured, his violet eyes taking in the sight of your well-used body, glistening with a mixture of your arousal and their release. His human hand traced the inside of your thigh, collecting a droplet of combined fluids on his fingertip. "We should clean her up, don't you think?"

Sylus's crimson gaze moved from your face down to your core, his expression shifting from satisfied to predatory once more. "I was thinking the same thing," he agreed, his voice a rough purr that sent fresh shivers down your spine.

Without further discussion, both men leaned forward, their intentions unmistakable. The first touch of their tongues against your sensitive flesh—Caleb on the right, Sylus on the left—drew a startled gasp from your lips.

You were oversensitive from the multiple orgasms they'd already wrung from your body, but instead of backing away, they adjusted their approach, their touches becoming gentler, more deliberate.

Caleb's tongue traced along your outer folds, gathering the evidence of your shared pleasure with meticulous care. Sylus, meanwhile, focused on the crease where your thigh met your sex, cleaning away the trails of fluid that had escaped there. The sight of their heads between your thighs, working in tandem to taste and clean you, was almost as arousing as the physical sensation of their tongues.

"You taste like us," Sylus murmured against your skin, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. "So fucking good."

Caleb hummed in agreement, the vibration sending a jolt through your overstimulated nerves. His mechanical hand curled around your thigh, holding you open as his tongue dipped inside you, collecting more of the mingled essences there. When he withdrew, his lips and chin glistened with moisture.

Caleb's tongue stilled against you. His violet eyes flicked sideways, locking onto Sylus. The corner of his mouth lifted—just barely—as he slowly turned his head.

A single glistening thread of fluid stretched from his bottom lip to your inner thigh, catching the light before breaking. Sylus met him halfway, their mouths coming together in a kiss that was as much about sharing your taste as it was about their own pleasure.

The sight was mesmerizing—Caleb's dark hair contrasting with Sylus's platinum locks as they kissed deeply between your spread legs. Their tongues visibly tangled in the space between their parted lips, slick and pink, exchanging glistening threads of pearlescent fluid that caught the light before breaking and reforming.

Caleb's tongue curled possessively around Sylus's, both men's eyes half-lidded as they shared the mingled taste of you and themselves in an obscene, hypnotic dance that had your breath catching in your throat, your pulse hammering in your ears.

Caleb's hand moved to the back of Sylus's neck, holding him in place as he deepened the kiss, while Sylus's fingers gripped Caleb's shoulder, nails digging into the skin there.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily, lips swollen and wet with shared saliva and the evidence of their earlier activities. The look that passed between them was charged with something beyond competition now—a mutual appreciation, perhaps, or a shared understanding of the pleasure they could create together.

"More," Caleb demanded, his voice rough with renewed desire. He dipped his head back to your core, gathering another taste before turning back to Sylus, who eagerly accepted the offering.

This time, their kiss was even more aggressive, almost violent in its intensity. Sylus fisted his hand in Caleb's hair, tugging sharply as their tongues battled for dominance.

The wet sounds of their kissing filled the room, punctuated by occasional groans that vibrated through your thighs where they pressed against you.

Caleb's throat worked as he swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing, while Sylus's fingers dug crescents into his rival's shoulder. Their mouths crashed together again, a wet, hungry sound filling the room as Sylus's platinum hair fell across Caleb's dark brow.

The muscles in their jaws flexed and released with each desperate movement, neither yielding, both consuming. Your pulse quickened as Caleb's fingers tightened in Sylus's hair, their lips no longer battling for dominance over yours, but hungrily seeking each other.

The wet sound of their kiss sent a fresh wave of heat between your thighs, and you couldn't tear your eyes away from the place where Sylus's tongue slipped between Caleb's parted lips—the same lips that had just been pressed against your most intimate places.

Heat pooled between your thighs again, your body responding to the visual stimulus despite how thoroughly you'd been satisfied already.

Without conscious thought, your hand drifted down your body, fingers finding your still-sensitive clit. The first touch sent a jolt through your system, but you didn't withdraw, instead beginning to circle the swollen bud with light, teasing strokes.

Neither men seemed to notice at first, too engrossed in their passionate exchange to register your movement. This gave you the freedom to watch them unobserved, to take in the play of muscles beneath skin, the way Sylus's pale hair fell forward as Caleb pulled him closer, the contrast of Caleb's mechanical hand against Sylus's very human flesh.

Your fingers moved faster as their kiss deepened, your arousal building with each flick of their tongues, each muffled groan that escaped their joined mouths. There was something forbidden about touching yourself while watching them, as if you were spying on an intimate moment rather than participating in it.

The thought sent a fresh surge of heat through your core, your fingers growing slicker as you worked yourself toward another peak. Your breathing quickened, soft pants that gradually drew the attention of both men. Their kiss broke as they turned toward you, eyes widening as they took in the sight of your hand between your legs.

"Look at her," Sylus murmured, his voice thick with appreciation. "Getting herself off watching us."

"Fucking beautiful," Caleb agreed, his violet eyes darkening as he tracked the movement of your fingers. "Don't stop, pips. Show us how you like it."

Their attention only heightened your arousal, your fingers moving faster, pressing harder as they watched with hungry eyes. The way they looked at you—like you were something precious and desirable, something to be devoured—pushed you closer to the edge. When Sylus and Caleb leaned in to kiss again, their eyes still fixed on your working hand, the combined visual stimuli sent you hurtling over the precipice.

Your orgasm crashed through you with unexpected force, your back arching off the couch as pleasure radiated outward from your core. Fluid gushed from you in a powerful stream, catching both men by surprise as it sprayed across their faces and chests. Instead of pulling away, they moved closer, positioning themselves directly in the path of your release.

"Fuck, yes," Caleb groaned, tilting his head back, mouth open to catch the spray. Beside him, Sylus did the same, his crimson eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure as your release splashed across his lips and tongue.

The sight of them willingly accepting your squirt, eagerly drinking it down, prolonged your orgasm, each pulse of pleasure accompanied by another gush of fluid that they greedily consumed.

When the last aftershock had rippled through you, both men were soaked, their hair plastered to their foreheads, their skin glistening with your release.

Without hesitation, they turned to each other again, sharing another deep kiss that mixed your essence between them. Then, as if by unspoken agreement, they both leaned forward, bringing their mouths to your oversensitive sex.

Your spine arched off the couch as their tongues traced different patterns against you—Caleb's slow circles contrasting with Sylus's quick flicks. Your fingers found platinum strands on one side, dark waves on the other, twisting and gripping as electricity shot from your core to your fingertips, your toes curling against the cushions.

They took turns licking into you, sometimes with individual strokes, sometimes with their tongues working in tandem, occasionally breaking away to kiss each other with your taste fresh on their lips.

"Perfect," Sylus murmured against your sensitive flesh, the word more felt than heard. "So fucking perfect."

Caleb hummed in agreement, the vibration sending fresh sparks of pleasure through your system as they continued their tender ministrations, cleaning away every trace of your shared pleasure with devoted attention.

Your body felt deliciously spent, limbs heavy with satisfaction as both men finally pulled away from between your thighs.

Caleb was the first to move upward, pressing gentle kisses along your stomach, between your breasts, up your neck, until he reached your lips. His kiss was tender now, without the earlier desperation, as his human hand cupped your cheek with surprising softness. When he pulled back, Sylus took his place, his lips equally gentle against yours, his crimson eyes searching your face.

"Are you okay?" Sylus murmured, his thumb brushing away a strand of hair that had stuck to your damp forehead. The concern in his voice was genuine, a stark contrast to his earlier predatory intensity. "We weren't too rough?"

Caleb's mechanical hand rested on your shoulder, the metal warmed from contact with your skin. "Tell us if we hurt you," he added, violet eyes scanning your body as if checking for injuries. "We got carried away."

The shift in their demeanor was striking—two men who moments ago had been locked in fierce competition over your pleasure, now united in their concern for your wellbeing.

You stretched slightly, taking inventory of your body. You were sore, certainly, in places that would remind you of this encounter with every movement tomorrow, but it was a pleasant ache, a souvenir of pleasure rather than pain.

"I'm perfect," you assured them, your voice slightly hoarse from moaning. "Just... extremely sticky."

A smile tugged at Sylus's lips as he glanced down at your sweat-slicked skin, marked with evidence of your shared activities. "That can be remedied," he said, rising to his feet with fluid grace despite having spent the last hour in various strenuous positions. Without warning, he bent down and scooped you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly against his chest. "A bath is in order, I think."

Your head fell naturally against his shoulder as he carried you, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear oddly comforting. Behind you, Caleb followed, his footsteps quiet on the carpeted floor as you made your way to the bathroom.

The apartment's bathroom was spacious, with a large sunken tub that could easily accommodate all three of you.

Caleb moved past Sylus, turning his attention to the bath. His mechanical arm whirred softly as he adjusted the taps, testing the water temperature with his human hand before adding bath salts that filled the room with the scent of lavender and sandalwood.

"Not too hot," he instructed Sylus, who still held you partially supported against his chest. "She's sensitive right now."

Sylus rolled his eyes but didn't contradict him, instead pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. "I think she knows what temperature she likes," he countered, though there was less bite in his words than before. "Don't you, kitten?"

The familiar pattern was emerging again—their subtle competition for authority, for who knew you better, for who could take better care of you.

It might have been annoying if it weren't so endearing, this strange dynamic where they fought over you while simultaneously working together to ensure your comfort.

Steam began to fill the bathroom as the tub filled, creating a misty atmosphere that softened the edges of everything. Caleb tested the water again, adding cold until he was satisfied with the temperature, then turned to face you both.

"Perfect," he declared, extending his hand toward you. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's get you cleaned up."

Sylus made a soft sound of disagreement in his throat. "I'll help her in," he said, his arms tightening slightly around you. "You've had her to yourself enough times."

"I'm her brother," Caleb replied, the word carrying a weight of history and complicated emotions that belied its simple meaning. "I should be the one taking care of her."

"Brother," Sylus repeated with a raised eyebrow, his tone making it clear what he thought of that particular designation after what had just transpired in the living room. "Is that what we're calling it now? Because siblings don't usually—"

"Don't start," Caleb cut him off, his violet eyes narrowing. "You know what I mean. I've known her longer. I understand what she needs."

"And yet she was rushing to meet me tonight," Sylus pointed out, a smug smile playing around his lips. "Must be something I provide that you don't."

"That was—"

"Stop," you interjected, your voice stronger than you expected given how exhausted your body felt. "Both of you. I'm sitting right here."

They had the grace to look momentarily abashed, though neither fully relented in their stance. Sylus's arms remained protectively around you, while Caleb's hand stayed extended, waiting for you to take it. The tension in the steam-filled bathroom was palpable, their earlier collaboration giving way once again to rivalry.

"I need you both to shut up," you continued, fixing each with a pointed look. "Or I swear to god, I will call Gideon—" Caleb's expression shifted to alarm at the mention of his friend "—and tell him exactly how you lost No Nut November."

Caleb's extended hand dropped immediately to his side, his eyes widening in something akin to horror. "You wouldn't."

"And Luke and Kieran," you added, turning your gaze to Sylus, whose smug smile had frozen on his face. "I'm sure they'd be fascinated to hear all about their boss's... activities tonight."

The reaction was immediate and deeply satisfying. Sylus's arms loosened around you as he straightened, clearing his throat. "That's... unnecessary," he said carefully, all trace of smugness vanished.

"Completely unnecessary," Caleb agreed quickly, suddenly finding the pattern of the bathroom tiles intensely interesting. "We were just... discussing options."

"No, you were measuring dicks again," you corrected, unable to suppress a smile at their discomfort. "And while that was entertaining earlier, now I just want to soak in that bath without listening to you two argue about who made me feel better or who gets to spend more time with me."

The silence that followed was broken only by the soft lapping of water against the sides of the tub. Then, surprisingly, Sylus chuckled, the sound genuine and warm.

"Fair enough," he conceded, helping you slide down from the counter. "Truce, Caleb?"

Caleb hesitated only briefly before nodding, his mechanical arm extending to help steady you as you moved toward the bath. "Truce. For now."

Wanna nut?

You knocked once before hearing his low, composed come in.

Sylus looked up from the papers spread before him. Morning light caught in his silver hair, brightening the edges until they gleamed white. His suit — black, tailored, immaculate — moved like a shadow when he gestured for you to approach.

For a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

The light softened him in a way you weren’t used to seeing. Usually he seemed carved from precision — sharp lines, measured words, everything about him honed for efficiency. But the sunlight turned the edges gentle, painting him in a golden warmth that almost didn’t belong here, in this cold glass office. It made him look less like a man and more like something meant to be admired — some impossible mix of strength and serenity.

“Good morning,” he greeted, voice smooth enough to belong to someone born in boardrooms and symphonies. “I have a few documents that need to be reviewed before the client meeting. I trust you can handle the adjustments?”

You nodded, hoping he couldn’t see the flicker of distraction in your eyes. He was… too composed. Too perfect. You’d always thought so, though you never would have admitted it aloud. There was something magnetic about him that no one ever commented on directly, but surely everyone felt.

You wondered — briefly, foolishly — what he was like outside these walls. Did he ever laugh too loudly? Lose his temper? Drink cheap wine and forget the time? It was hard to imagine him anywhere but here, behind that desk, sunlight making his hair glow like a halo.

You forced the thought away, stepping closer as he passed you a file. Your fingers brushed his for half a second — just long enough to feel the warmth of his skin — and you told yourself you were imagining how your stomach flipped. He smiled faintly, the kind of polite curve that didn’t quite reach his eyes, yet never felt unfriendly.

He leaned back slightly in his chair, attention on you rather than the papers. “You’ve been doing excellent work lately,” he said, tone professional but carrying that calm weight that always seemed to linger in the air around him.

Your heart skipped. Compliments from him were rare, deliberate things. “I—thank you, sir.”

He nodded once, returning to the document — but your gaze lingered longer than it should. The clean line of his jaw. The way his lips parted slightly as he read, murmuring something under his breath. You wondered what it would sound like if he said your name that way.

You caught yourself staring and looked away quickly, heat prickling up your neck. When you dared glance back, he was watching you — not directly, just enough that you saw the faintest flicker of amusement ghost across his expression.

“Something on your mind?” he asked softly, the words almost playful beneath the even tone.

You shook your head too fast. “No, sir. I’ll get right on these.”

“Good.” The corner of his mouth curved, subtle and knowing. “I’ll look forward to seeing your notes.”

You turned, the sound of your heels swallowed by the thrum of your own heartbeat, but you could feel his gaze following you until the door closed behind you.

You returned to your desk with the faint hum of adrenaline still thrumming beneath your ribs. You tried to steady your hands by focusing on the work — flipping through the pages he’d given you, scanning each paragraph for errors, making neat notes in the margins. The more you lost yourself in the rhythm of editing, the easier it was to pretend your pulse wasn’t still reacting to the sound of his voice.

By late morning, the rest of the office had settled into its usual background noise. You’d just finished compiling the corrected file when a shadow fell across your desk.

“Efficient as always,” Sylus said.

Your head snapped up before you could school your expression. He stood there, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the strong line of his forearms, jacket unbuttoned in casual confidence. It was unusual for him to circulate through departments, let alone collect paperwork himself. You felt every pair of eyes in the room subtly pivot toward the two of you.

You rose quickly, offering the folder with both hands. “Here you go, sir. All the adjustments are noted in the margins.”

He accepted it, fingers brushing yours in the exchange. The briefest spark of warmth lingered where his skin had touched yours.

“Perfect,” he said, smiling — real, this time, easy and genuine. “Thank you for the quick turnaround.”

Then he was gone, striding toward the conference rooms with that effortless poise that seemed to quiet a space even after he left it. The low murmur of the office returned a heartbeat later, along with the unmistakable sound of a chair squeaking as someone turned toward you.

“Okay,” your coworker hissed, sliding over from the next desk, eyes wide. “What was that?”

You blinked. “What was what?”

She gave you a look like you were pretending not to notice a fire. “The CEO himself dropping by personally to pick up your notes? He could’ve sent any of the assistants, or hell, emailed you. Does he do that often?”

You felt the heat creep up your neck. “It’s not a big deal. He needed the file before the meeting, that’s all.”

“Not a big deal?” She leaned in, grinning. “He smiled at you. Like, actually smiled. Do you have any idea how many people would kill for that?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the small, helpless curl of a smile threatening your own lips. “You’re making it sound so dramatic. I’m sure he smiles at other employees.”

“Sure, but he doesn’t look at everyone like that.”

“Like what?”

She just laughed, spinning back toward her monitor. “Forget it. Some of us are just lucky, I guess.”

You shook your head, pretending to refocus on your screen. But your mind wandered back to the way he’d looked in the sunlight earlier — the faint glow at the edges of his hair, the warmth of his voice — and you hated that the thought made your stomach twist.

The office had thinned to quiet by the time you finished your last round of reports. The sun was already dipping behind the skyline, leaving streaks of amber and violet on the windows. Most of the staff had gone home; only the low hum of the ventilation and the rhythmic tick of the wall clock kept you company.

You stacked the completed client lists neatly in your hands, glancing toward the light still glowing behind Sylus’s office door. He was in a meeting, according to the schedule, probably running late again. You hesitated for a moment, then smiled to yourself. He’d appreciate having these ready for the morning. It would save him a few minutes.

The corridor stretched quiet as you crossed it, your heels striking the marble in a steady rhythm that echoed like a heartbeat through the empty hall. Inside his office, the light was softer than usual, shadows stretching long across the glass table. You placed the paperwork carefully in the center of his desk, smoothing the edges as if presentation alone might please him.

You were just about to turn when the door opened behind you.

“Sneaking around after hours?”

His voice — warm, a little rougher than usual — sent a shiver straight through you.

You turned too quickly, nearly bumping into him. He stood in the doorway, jacket slung over one arm, hair slightly mussed as if he’d run a hand through it one too many times. His tie was loosened, top button undone, and the exhaustion softening his usual polish made him look… human, in a way that stole your breath.

“Oh—Mr. Qin, I was just—”

He smiled at your startled expression, an edge of amusement curving his lips. “What? Did I catch you stealing company secrets?”

“No!” you blurted, heat rising to your cheeks. “I was just dropping off the client lists. I thought you might need them tomorrow morning.”

“Relax, sweetie.” The word landed low, unexpected, making your pulse skip. “I was kidding.” He set his jacket down on the side table, still watching you. “Besides, you don’t have it in you to steal from me.”

That teasing lilt made you straighten, half-defensive, half-flustered. “Hey! I could if I wanted to.”

He chuckled softly and moved a little closer — nothing overt, just a few steps that closed the air between you until it felt denser, warmer. “Oh? So you’re holding back—just for me?”

His tone was light, but something beneath it pulled at you. The scent of his cologne — something dark and clean — hung faintly in the air.

“Or…maybe there’s another reason,” He didn’t seem to be doing anything unusual, and yet you could feel the awareness of him in your bloodstream: the shift of his shoulders, the slow lift of his brow as he waited for your answer.

You tried for composure. “Maybe I just value my job,” you said, aiming for playful, though your voice came out thinner than intended.

He hummed, the sound deep enough to vibrate somewhere behind your ribs. “You are my most hardworking employee,” he said, each word measured. Another half-step closer. “You clearly wouldn’t do anything to risk your…position.”

For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the space between you. You could see the faint stubble on his jaw, the way the lamplight rippled along the silver of his hair, how his eyes — usually cool, detached — seemed darker now, unreadable.

“…Right,” you managed, the single word barely a breath.

The tension coiled tight. You could almost hear the tick of the clock again, painfully slow.

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to glance toward the door. “I was just about to leave for the night, unless you need anything else.”

Sylus studied you for a moment longer before the smile returned — easy, untroubled, like nothing had passed between you at all. He leaned back slightly, giving you space.

“No, you’re free to go,” he said, voice low and composed. “Get some rest.”

He paused, as if considering something, eyes tracing your face with quiet intent. The silence stretched just long enough to make your pulse stumble. Then — softly, almost as an afterthought:

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Qin.” You nodded quickly, gathering your things, but as you stepped past him you could feel the weight of his gaze at your back. It followed you out into the hallway, warm and unblinking, until the elevator doors closed and you were alone with the echo of your own heartbeat.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The apartment was quiet when you returned — too quiet, the kind that makes the sound of keys dropping into a bowl feel like a thunderclap. You slipped off your shoes, shrugged out of your coat, and wandered to the kitchen with the dazed rhythm of exhaustion. The faint hum of the refrigerator was the only sign of life. You poured yourself a glass of water, staring at your own reflection in the window as you drank. Your thoughts drifted to Sylus — his parting smile, that easy tone, “Get some rest.” The pause that followed. The faint curl of his lips before he added, almost too gently, “I’ll see you soon.”

You told yourself it was nothing. Just a phrase. Still, it lingered.

You went through your routine on autopilot — washed your face, brushed your teeth, dimmed the lights — but every shadow in your apartment felt a shade too deep, every creak in the floorboards a fraction too deliberate. When you finally slipped beneath your covers, you turned on your side, watching the soft neon glow of the city leak through your blinds. The hum of traffic lulled you, thoughts fading one by one until sleep claimed you whole.

When you opened your eyes, you were sitting upright at your desk.

The monitor’s glow painted your hands in sterile blue, half-written reports scattered across the surface. The clock on your desk blinked 3:33 a.m. in faint red numerals. For a moment, you simply stared at it, confusion tightening around your ribs.

You were home a second ago. Weren’t you?

The air felt thick here — unnaturally still, as though the entire office were holding its breath. You glanced around; the place looked exactly as it always did. Except… quieter. The hum of the lights was gone. The faint whir of the ventilation too. There was only silence, deep and almost liquid.

Then you heard it.

A voice — soft, distant, slipping through the stillness like a ripple across dark water — called your name.

It was faint, barely audible, but the timbre was unmistakable. Sylus.

You turned toward the sound, heart stuttering. “Hello?”

No answer.

You stood, the legs of your chair scraping quietly against the floor. The voice came again, closer now. Not loud, but intimate, like someone murmuring into your ear from just behind you.

“Come here.”

Your pulse kicked up. You stepped into the hallway. It stretched ahead, sterile and flickering, but at the far end, an elevator door stood open, waiting. The golden light spilling from inside looked almost… inviting.

You hesitated. Then your name drifted through the stillness again, low and coaxing.

You moved.

The click of your heels echoed unnaturally loud as you crossed the empty hall. The elevator doors remained open, patient. The moment you stepped inside, they slid shut — too fast. The sound was sharp enough to make you flinch.

“Jesus,” you muttered under your breath.

The elevator shuddered to life, humming as it began to climb — or fall. You couldn’t tell. The floor indicator above the doors flickered erratically: 7, 18, 4, 33, 9. Numbers skipping like a heartbeat out of rhythm.

“What the hell…” you whispered, pressing a button — any button — but none responded.

The hum deepened into a low, vibrating groan. Then, with a jarring lurch, the elevator stopped. The lights flickered once, twice, before stabilizing.

You exhaled slowly and looked up as the doors parted.

Not the office.

The corridor before you was narrow, walls washed in a bruised kind of darkness. The marble was gone, replaced by gleaming black tile that caught faint reflections of light you couldn’t locate. But at the very end of the hall, far away, you saw it — a door you knew instantly.

Sylus’s office.

A chill feathered over your skin.

“Come to me,” the voice said again. It was clear this time — familiar, unhurried, threaded with that calm command he always carried.

You stepped forward.

Each click of your heels echoed for too long, swallowed by silence and then returned in distorted fragments. The corridor didn’t feel fixed — with every step, the walls seemed to breathe, the floor stretching beneath you like it wanted to keep you from getting closer.

You frowned. The door wasn’t any nearer.

Something prickled at the back of your neck. That animal instinct — being watched.

You turned sharply. The elevator was gone. The hallway behind you was pitch black, endless. Nothing there. And yet… the feeling persisted. Like something just beyond the dark was waiting.

You swallowed hard and faced forward again.

“Stay focused, sweetie.”

The voice came from right beside your ear this time, and you froze. It wasn’t distant anymore — it was intimate, warm breath grazing the shell of your ear.

“Come here.”

Your stomach twisted. You started walking faster, then running, the tiles slick under your shoes, the sound of your steps echoing into infinity. The corridor stretched with you, the air heavy with something that felt like static — alive, pulsing.

Your name again, a whisper and a caress all at once.

You didn’t stop until, all at once, you did.

The door was right there.

You hadn’t seen it approach — you’d simply blinked, and suddenly, it was an inch from your face. The brass handle gleamed, cool and familiar. The carved plaque that bore his name glowed faintly in the dark.

You reached for it, breath trembling.

You wrapped your fingers around the brass handle and turned it.

The door creaked open on a breath of cold air. But it wasn’t Sylus’s office that waited beyond.

You froze.

A dim, silvery mist enveloped you. A hedge maze stretched out before you, immense and ancient, its walls towering higher than the office ceiling ever could have allowed. The air smelled of rain and soil, thick and heavy, and far above, the sky hung colorless — a sheet of pewter with no visible sun.

You took a step forward. Your heel sank into damp earth. Behind you, the door slammed shut with a sound that echoed through the fog like thunder. When you spun, the door was gone. Only more hedges.

A shiver rippled down your spine.

The maze was silent but not still. Leaves whispered faintly though no wind touched them. Statues lined the path — angels, but not the serene kind. Their wings were cracked, faces buried in their hands or turned skyward in anguish. One clutched its own heart in its palm. Another had tears carved down its cheeks, stained darker by moss.

You swallowed hard, throat dry.

Then, from somewhere deep within the maze, you heard it.

“Keep walking.”

You stiffened, lips parting. “Sylus?”

“I’m here.” The voice carried easily through the mist, like it lived inside the air itself. “You’re safe. Just keep moving. I’ll help you out of the maze.”

Relief mingled with confusion. Your pulse slowed, if only slightly. “Where are you?”

“Not far. Go left.”

You hesitated, then obeyed. The path curled between high hedges that seemed to close in as you walked, their branches brushing your shoulders. The damp air clung to your skin, cold enough to raise goosebumps.

“Good,” came his voice again, smoother this time. “Now right. You’re doing well.”

Each turn brought you deeper. The statues grew stranger — one missing its eyes, another reaching for you as you passed. You kept glancing over your shoulder, half expecting to see movement where there was none.

“Almost there,” Sylus murmured. “You trust me, don’t you?”

You exhaled shakily. “I think so.”

“Good girl.”

Something in the way he said it — low, almost tender — made heat unfurl in your chest despite the chill. You took another turn. Another. The maze swallowed you whole.

Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. Time had dissolved into the endless rustle of leaves and the quiet cadence of his voice guiding you.

Then the realization hit you.

You’d seen that statue before — the one with its hand over its heart. And that broken fountain, its water still as glass. You’d passed it earlier. You were sure of it.

You stopped walking. “Wait.”

Silence.

“Sylus?” you called, scanning the walls of green. “I’ve been here before. You said you were helping me, but I’ve been walking in circles.”

The air didn’t answer. The mist hung still, too heavy, too quiet.

“Sylus.” Your tone sharpened. “Are you—are you messing with me?”

For a heartbeat, nothing.

Then a sound — a low, rolling laugh — bloomed through the maze. It started faint, then swelled, deep and unhurried, resonating through the air like distant thunder.

You froze.

It was his voice. But not quite. There was something darker threaded through it, something wild and amused that you’d never heard from him before.

It wasn’t the laugh of the man you knew. It was something ancient. Unrestrained.

The sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once — above you, behind you, inside the hedges themselves. It reverberated in your bones, curling around your spine until your body didn’t know whether to tremble or lean into it.

Your heartbeat stuttered. The sound unnerved you, made the air feel charged, alive with something that wanted to touch you, consume you. And yet…

You wanted to hear it again.

Your lips parted as you whispered, almost to yourself, “That can’t be you.”

The laughter softened into a hum — low, drawn out, teasing.

“Isn’t it?”

The voice brushed the back of your neck, warm against your skin.

You spun around, but there was only mist. The hedge loomed silent and green, the statues watching with eyeless faces. The air pulsed with something unseen, some presence that was everywhere at once.

Your pulse raced, breath shallow. You could feel it — him — somewhere near, watching. Waiting. Amused.

The maze seemed to breathe with you, each inhale making its walls pulse closer, each exhale carrying faint laughter that danced around you like smoke.

You swallowed, every instinct telling you to run.

And yet, your body leaned forward.

Because if that voice truly belonged to Sylus — whatever he had become inside this dream — you weren’t sure you wanted to wake up.

You took another hesitant step forward. The sound of your shoes brushing against the damp ground seemed to echo unnaturally loud in the quiet maze. Somewhere ahead, the mist stirred — and with it, that voice again.

“That’s it,” Sylus murmured, low and silken. “That’s right, sweetie. Keep following my voice.”

The words slipped through the fog like velvet, coaxing you forward.

“Where are you?” you asked again, voice breaking slightly with the strain of uncertainty.

A pause, and then: “Closer than you think.” The tone was indulgent, the kind someone might use with a skittish animal — warm enough to lure, firm enough to command.

You kept walking, drawn by it. Each twist of the path made the air heavier, like the maze itself was alive, its hedges whispering secrets in a language you almost understood. Your pulse thudded between your ribs.

“Good,” he crooned. “Just like that. You’re getting closer now…” His voice dipped into something that wasn’t just guidance — it was hunger. “I can almost taste you.”

A breath caught in your throat. The way he said it — soft, savoring — should have made your blood run cold. Instead, warmth bloomed low in your stomach.

Your steps quickened despite yourself. You could feel it now: a pressure in the air, a presence that lingered just beyond sight. It was as though his body were waiting at the next corner, tall and sure and watching.

The thought sent a tremor through you. You didn’t know if it was fear or anticipation that carried you forward.

“Come on,” Sylus whispered. The sound of your name — barely audible, wrapped in static and breath — slipped through the fog. “You’re so close. I’m right here.”

The path curved. You could feel him now, almost see him in your mind’s eye — the gleam of his eyes, the faint curl of a smile that always seemed to promise more than it should. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears as you rounded the last turn—

—and a shrill, piercing sound split through the air.

You flinched violently. The world shattered around you.

For a second, everything was white noise and vertigo.

Then you blinked, and the maze was gone.

Your ceiling stared back at you, familiar and unyielding. The room was gray with dawn light filtering through the curtains, the faint chill of morning biting at your skin.

Your alarm clock blared beside you, a steady, merciless beep.

Your chest rose and fell too fast. You reached out with trembling fingers, turning it off. Silence reclaimed the room in an instant, but it wasn’t comforting. Your pulse was still racing, your skin clammy, your lips dry.

You sat up slowly, the bedsheet tangled around your legs. For a long moment, you just stared at nothing. The remnants of the dream clung to you like smoke — Sylus’s voice, that endless maze, the feeling of being hunted and wanted all at once.

It was ridiculous. You told yourself that. Just a dream. Just your brain’s way of sorting through the day.

But you could still feel his breath against your ear, still hear the way he’d said sweetie — so close, so indulgent, it sent another shiver through you.

You dragged a hand down your face, trying to shake the thought off. You didn’t have time for this. You had work. Real life. A boss who looked like a god but acted like he was made of marble.

You swung your legs out of bed, feet finding the cool floorboards. The room felt too quiet, too ordinary after what you’d just seen. You dressed quickly, moving through your morning routine on autopilot — coffee, shower, makeup, clothes — yet every sound seemed distant, muffled by the lingering echo of that voice.

By the time you grabbed your bag and headed out the door, the dream was still gnawing at the edge of your thoughts — unsettling, yes, but threaded with something else.

Something like anticipation.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, spilling the pale light of early morning into the hallway. You stepped out, balancing your coffee in one hand and your bag in the other, still feeling the dull ache of sleep behind your eyes. The dream clung to you like fog — every detail blurred but vivid, as if it had left fingerprints on your mind.

You exhaled slowly and told yourself to focus. Just another workday. The sharp scent of roasted beans and printer ink grounded you, the familiar hum of conversation and clicking keyboards wrapping around you like white noise.

Your heels clicked briskly across the polished floor as you rounded the corner toward your desk — and collided with someone solid.

The impact sent your heart leaping into your throat. Your coffee wobbled dangerously, but a hand caught your wrist before you could spill it.

“Careful,” came a smooth, low voice.

You looked up — and the world stilled.

Sylus.

He stood close enough that you could see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, the soft light glinting in his crimson eyes. His suit, perfectly cut as always, looked almost sinfully sharp this close — the fabric catching the light like liquid midnight. His tie was still knotted tight, but there was an ease to his stance that made the whole moment feel strangely intimate.

You froze, pulse fluttering at the base of your throat.

“I-I’m so sorry, Mr. Qin,” you stammered, stepping back quickly. “I wasn’t looking where I was going—”

He smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips that made something in your stomach tighten. “It’s alright,” he said, voice threaded with quiet amusement. “No harm done.”

He studied your face for a moment, eyes dark but lit with something faintly teasing. “Are you alright? You look like a lost kitten.”

The heat that climbed into your cheeks was mortifying. “I’m fine. Just…tired.”

“Bad dream?” he asked lightly — as if it were an idle question, but his gaze lingered a second too long.

You blinked, startled by how close he’d come to the truth. “Something like that,” you admitted.

He chuckled softly, the sound rich enough to curl through your chest. “I see.”

Then, before you could step away, he reached out — fingertips brushing against the edge of your collar where it had folded inward. He smoothed the fabric back into place, the gesture casual, professional — but the heat of his touch seeped straight through the thin material.

You stood utterly still. His cologne reached you then: cedarwood and smoke, grounded by something faintly sweet you couldn’t place. The air between you felt too thick.

“There,” he murmured, withdrawing his hand. “Much better.”

Your voice didn’t seem to want to work for a moment. “Thank you, Mr. Qin.”

He gave a small nod, then held out a slim black folder. “I’d like you to sit in on a meeting with me later today. These are the client details. Review them when you have a moment.”

You took the folder carefully, fingers brushing his for the briefest second. The contact was electric — soft skin, calloused at the fingertips, far too real.

“Of course,” you said quickly.

“I’ll come find you after lunch.”

And then, with that same unhurried grace, he moved past you, the scent of his cologne and the echo of his voice following after him.

You stayed frozen for a few seconds, staring at the place he’d been. Your heartbeat refused to slow.

By the time you reached your desk, your thoughts were a mess. You set the coffee down and sank into your chair, trying to breathe normally.

He was your boss — calm, collected, intimidating in his perfection. There was no reason his touch should still feel branded on your skin. No reason you should still hear that faint trace of laughter in your head when he’d said bad dream?

You flipped open the folder, trying to focus on the words, the numbers, anything. But as you scanned the first page, your gaze went out of focus again. All you could think of was the warmth of his hand and the weight of his eyes — dark and steady and just a little too knowing.

You swallowed hard, shaking the thought away. “Get a grip,” you whispered under your breath.

But as you turned back to your work, your pulse refused to settle — each beat heavy, restless, and threaded with a faint, impossible echo of his voice.

By the time you finish reviewing the notes, the clock in the corner of your monitor reads just past twelve. The morning has vanished in a blur of documents and second-guessing. Your untouched coffee has long gone cold, and the lines of text on your screen swim together no matter how many times you reread them. You rest your chin in your hand, brow furrowed as you scroll through the project brief one more time.

It’s a major client — one whose name carries weight even outside your industry. And Sylus himself is leading the meeting this afternoon. You still can’t quite wrap your head around that part. Out of every employee, why you? He hadn’t offered an explanation, just told you to prepare and to be ready after lunch.

You inhale slowly, trying to ease the tension crawling up your neck. Maybe he just wants another set of eyes on the proposal. Maybe he’s testing you. Whatever the reason, you refuse to look unprepared. You skim through the figures again, tracing the graphs with your fingertip as if doing so might commit them to memory. The faint ache behind your eyes deepens, but you ignore it.

The soft murmur of conversation drifts from somewhere down the hall, echoing against glass and marble. The office is quiet now — most people have already gone to lunch — but the air carries that crisp chill particular to high-rise buildings.

Your reflection stares back at you from the dark surface of your monitor — tired, tense, a little dull. You sigh and finally close the laptop with a soft click. The screen goes black, and the quiet hum of the floor fills the space it leaves behind.

You smooth your skirt, run a hand through your hair, and gather your phone. Your pulse is still elevated, mind replaying snippets of your earlier interaction with Sylus — his tone, the way he’d looked at you when he told you to be ready. You’d nodded too quickly, you think now. Too eager.

You shake the thought away as you step out into the corridor.

Light pours through the tall windows lining the hallway, the kind that stretch from floor to ceiling, flooding the polished stone floors with a muted golden sheen. The air feels cooler out here, carrying the faint scent of citrus from the planters placed between the doors. You blink a few times, your eyes adjusting after hours of staring at the blue glow of your monitor.

As you walk toward the elevators, your thoughts slip despite yourself — to the dream, the voice that had called to you in the dark. You push it back down almost immediately. Not now. You have a meeting to prepare for, a reputation to maintain. Whatever that dream was, it can wait.

You square your shoulders, trying to shake off the unease curling low in your chest, and press the button for the lobby café. Lunch first — then back to studying the files until you can quote them line for line.

You’ll be ready when Sylus comes to find you.

By the time you step into the cafeteria, the familiar hum of conversation and the aroma of coffee and warm bread wash over you. A few people wave in passing, and you spot your coworker — gesturing for you to join her.

“Hey,” she says as you slide into the seat across from her. “You look like you barely made it through the morning.”

You huff a quiet laugh, unwrapping your sandwich. She studies you while stirring sugar into her coffee, brow furrowing just a little. “You seem kind of off today. Everything okay?”

You hesitate, then nod. “Yeah…just tired. I had this weird dream last night.”

That gets her attention instantly. Her eyes brighten. “Ooh, tell me about it. Maybe I can interpret it for you. I’ve been on a dream-analysis kick lately.”

You snort softly. “You and your hobbies.”

“Don’t mock my process,” she says, half-serious, half-smiling. “Come on, spill it.”

You sigh, giving in. “Alright. I was in the office—but it wasn’t normal. It was dark and completely empty. Then I heard this voice calling for me. I followed it, and somehow the place kept changing until I ended up in this maze. I kept walking toward whoever was calling me, and right when I thought I was close…” You pause, shaking your head slightly. “I woke up.”

Her fork pauses halfway to her mouth as she processes that. “The office and the maze…maybe you feel trapped. Or lost. Like you want a change but don’t know where to go?”

You shake your head immediately. “I like it here, though. I can’t picture myself doing anything else.”

She hums thoughtfully, still chewing. “Hmm. Someone calling out to you, though…that could be something deeper.” Her eyes gleam playfully. “Maybe it’s a demon.”

You give her a flat look. “Oh, come on. Are you trying to give me more nightmares?”

“I’m serious!” she insists, laughing but pretending to sound grave. “Voices guiding you in dreams, strange places, waking up disoriented—total demon behavior. You should put a crystal under your pillow or something.”

You snicker. “What crystal is supposed to protect me from a demon?”

“Amethyst,” she says without hesitation. “Or obsidian. Good for energy shielding.”

That makes you laugh harder, shaking your head. “You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious,” she replies, though her grin betrays her amusement. “You’ll thank me when you stop having creepy dreams.”

You roll your eyes but smile all the same. The easy rhythm between you returns — talk of weekend plans, a new café opening downtown, gossip about someone in accounting who keeps stealing mugs from the breakroom.

But even as you laugh and sip your coffee, you can’t quite shake it. The faint echo of that voice lingers somewhere in the back of your mind.

That’s right, sweetie. Keep following my voice.

You feel the memory of it vibrate low in your chest, disturbingly intimate.

You force yourself to look up, to focus on your coworker’s bright chatter, but the warmth of the cafeteria suddenly feels a little stifling.

It was just a dream, you tell yourself. Just a dream.

And yet, beneath the buzz of conversation, you swear you can still hear him — Sylus — calling to you from somewhere far, far too close.

You head back toward your desk, the chatter of the cafeteria still humming faintly in your ears, though your mind feels elsewhere — caught somewhere between waking and that echoing voice from the maze. When you round the corner, you nearly stop short.

Sylus is standing beside your desk, one hand resting lightly on the edge, the other tucked into his pocket. His presence, as always, fills the space too easily — silver hair catching the soft afternoon light, posture effortless but commanding. The usual stir of activity in the office seems to have quieted around him, as if everyone knows instinctively to lower their voices when he’s near.

“Ah,” he says, glancing up as if he’d been expecting you. “Perfect timing. Ready for the meeting?”

Your pulse skips. “Yes—of course, Mr. Qin.”

He gestures toward the hallway with a faint smile. “Let’s go, then.”

You fall into step beside him, your heels clicking in tandem with his measured stride. The walk feels longer than it should. You can smell the faint hint of his cologne, and it’s unfair how it unsettles you. You try to focus on the folders in your hands instead, flipping them open to glance over the notes you’d reviewed earlier.

The client they’re meeting today is an investor, someone with a reputation for being meticulous and difficult to sway. You’re not even sure why you’re going — staff at your level don’t get invited into meetings like this. The thought makes your palms a little damp, and you have to steady your grip on the folder.

Sylus notices. His voice is calm, smooth as a cello note. “Nervous?”

You give a small laugh that sounds thinner than you’d like. “Maybe a little. I was just wondering why you wanted me there. I’m sure there are others who—well, who have more experience with this sort of thing.”

He casts a sideways glance at you, the corner of his mouth curving. “Relax, sweetie. You can handle it.”

You nearly stumble at the quiet endearment but manage to recover. “Right,” you murmur, keeping your eyes on the floor ahead.

When you reach the glass-walled conference room, the city skyline spreads behind it — steel and light glittering against the afternoon haze. Sylus opens the door for you, his hand brushing lightly against your back as he guides you inside. The gesture is simple, polite, but your skin prickles all the same.

He pulls out your chair before taking his seat beside you, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. The other attendees exchange polite greetings and then the meeting begins — discussions of figures, projections, potential partnerships. Sylus’s voice commands the room; every word is crisp, persuasive, threaded with an easy confidence that makes people lean in to listen. You can’t help glancing at him from time to time, the way he rests his hand against his chin as he listens, the faint gleam of his watch when he gestures.

You almost forget yourself — until his tone changes.

“And what do you think?”

You blink, realizing too late that his eyes are on you. So are everyone else’s.

“I—me?” you manage, straightening in your seat. “Ah, well…” You fumble for words, flipping through the notes before settling on a thought. You give your honest assessment — something about sustainability, long-term growth, and how the proposed changes could appeal to the client’s interest in emerging markets.

When you finish, there’s a brief silence. Then, Sylus’s lips curve — not in mockery, but in approval. “Exactly my thoughts,” he says, leaning back slightly. “Well put.”

The client nods, murmuring something about an interesting perspective. You can only nod faintly, warmth creeping up your neck. Sylus returns to his calm composure, continuing the discussion as if it were nothing — but when his gaze drifts your way again, there’s a glint there you can’t quite read.

You focus on the sound of your pen scratching notes, doing everything you can to steady your breathing. The dream, the voice, the maze — it all feels like it’s pressing against the edges of this moment. And when Sylus speaks again, low and measured beside you, you swear you can still hear that echo:

Come to me.

The meeting dragged on long past its natural end, the air in the glass-walled room thick with the scent of coffee gone cold and the faint hum of the city below. Papers rustled, pens tapped, and every time Sylus spoke, the cadence of his voice cut cleanly through the noise — steady, deliberate, in command. By the time the final agreement was reached, the sun had already begun to slip below the skyline, staining the horizon with streaks of amber and rose-gold.

You blinked against the glow reflecting off the table’s polished surface, trying to ignore how the fatigue behind your eyes had started to thrum. The clients exchanged their final handshakes, their laughter echoing faintly as they exited. You rose with the others, tucking your notes into a folder and following Sylus out into the corridor.

He slowed his pace slightly so you could fall into step beside him. “You did well,” he said, his tone low but sincere.

You gave a small, almost embarrassed laugh. “You’re the one who secured the deal, Mr. Qin. I just sat there and tried not to get in the way.”

He glanced down at you, the corner of his mouth curving faintly. “Don’t discredit yourself. You belonged in that room just as much as I did.”

The words caught you off guard. No one had ever said something like that to you before — not from someone like him, whose approval could shape an entire career.

“Thank you,” you murmured, a bit quieter than intended.

He nodded once, then said, “Follow me to my office.”

You hesitated for the briefest moment before doing as he asked. The hallway was quiet now, emptied of most employees. The fading sunlight poured through the tall windows, pooling in molten patterns on the marble floors. You could hear the click of your heels beside his, a steady rhythm that seemed to echo too loudly in the silence.

Every few steps, you found yourself glancing at him — the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hand slid effortlessly into his pocket, the faint looseness to his posture that only appeared once business was concluded. He carried exhaustion like he carried everything else: gracefully. You wondered if he ever really let himself rest.

When you realized your gaze had lingered too long, you snapped your eyes forward, heat crawling up your neck.

Inside his office, the light had turned honey-soft, spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows and catching on the decanters arranged neatly atop a glass cabinet. Sylus crossed to them without a word, shrugging off his suit jacket and rolling his sleeves to his forearms — precise movements, practiced and elegant.

You tried not to stare.

“Did you need something else from me, sir?” you asked, setting your folder down on the edge of his desk.

He turned, a bottle of gin in hand, the faintest smile on his lips. “We just secured a deal with one of the most difficult clients in the industry,” he said. “That calls for a celebration, don’t you think?”

You blinked. “Oh—I…I’m not sure that’s appropriate.”

His expression didn’t waver. “It’s just a drink,” he said, voice smooth, coaxing. “Afraid you’ll let your guard down?”

Your breath hitched. “No, of course not. It’s just—”

“You drive home, I know.” He began pouring two measures of clear liquid into crystal tumblers, the sound of it a clean, crisp pour. “My driver can take you home afterward. Indulge me, won’t you?”

You hesitated, the word indulge catching and rolling through your mind like smoke. The air in the room felt warmer than before, and not just from the sunset.

“…Alright,” you said finally, your voice a whisper of its usual confidence.

He gave a quiet hum of approval, adding a measure of lemon and tonic before stirring the drink with a slow turn of his wrist. When he handed you your glass, your fingers brushed his — an accidental touch, but enough to send a faint spark through your nerves.

The gin fizz was light, fragrant with citrus and something floral. You took a tentative sip, the chill of it sharp against your tongue. Sylus leaned against the edge of his desk, glass in hand, looking entirely at ease.

“To successful partnerships,” he said.

You managed a small smile, lifting your glass to his. “To partnerships.”

The crystal chimed softly as they met, the sound lingering in the quiet office. The last streaks of sunlight filtered through the office blinds, staining the room in shades of blood-orange. The air felt heavy now — still, except for the soft hum of the city beyond the windows. You stood near one end of his desk, glass in hand, your pulse steady but far too noticeable in your throat. 

Sylus leaned against the opposite edge, his posture careless yet deliberate, one arm braced against the desk while the other raised his drink to his lips. The slow tilt of the glass, the movement of his throat as he swallowed — it shouldn’t have been so distracting, and yet it was.

He glanced at you through the lashes that caught the light, a quiet calculation in his eyes. “Why do you hold yourself back?”

You blinked, caught entirely off guard. “I’m sorry?”

He tilted his head, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. “You underestimate your abilities,” he said, tone smooth but edged with something that felt like challenge. “Someone like you belongs in a much higher position. Yet you act content where you are.”

You let out a small, nervous laugh, eyes darting down to your drink. “Well, I am content. I like my job. My position.”

He made a low sound, almost a chuckle, and set his glass down with a soft clink. “I can tell,” he said, the words laced with something amused, maybe even indulgent. His gaze lingered on you — too steady, too intent. “But…” He paused, his voice dropping into something softer, heavier. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a little more…power, around here? You could even take my place one day.”

You laughed lightly, though your heart was beginning to beat faster. “What makes you think I could do your job?”

For the first time, his expression changed — serious now, his crimson eyes catching the light like coals. “Because it would come naturally to you,” he said quietly. “You and I…we’re more alike than you realize.”

The air between you shifted. You tilted your head, feigning composure even as your pulse betrayed you. You took a slow sip of your drink to ground yourself, feeling the cool fizz of gin on your tongue. “And how can you be so sure?” you asked, watching him over the rim of your glass.

He chuckled, low and quiet. “Call it a gut feeling.”

Then he moved. A few steps closer — just enough to close the comfortable distance you’d kept. You felt the warmth of him before you registered how close he’d gotten. He reached out, almost casually, and brushed a strand of hair from your cheek. His fingertips barely touched your skin, but the contact lit a spark beneath your ribs, spreading warmth through your stomach.

“When you want something,” he murmured, voice low, smooth, and deliberate, “you have to go for it. I didn’t get here by letting others take the lead.”

Your breath caught. The room seemed to shrink, filled with the hum of something unspoken. You managed a small, flustered laugh, your words stumbling slightly. “I’ll…remember that. Thank you, Mr. Qin.”

He smiled then, slow and disarming. “You can call me Sylus,” he said softly. “After all…it’s just us.”

Your heartbeat stuttered. You nodded once, forcing a small smile as you took a step back, trying to reclaim your breath. “Right,” you said, your voice a little too light. “Thank you, Sylus.”

His eyes stayed fixed on you, their intensity softened only by the curve of amusement at his lips. He didn’t speak again right away, and in that silence, you felt every detail of the moment sharpen — the cool glass in your hand, the faint hum of the city lights flickering to life outside, the residual heat of his touch still ghosting across your cheek.

You lingered there for a moment longer, still feeling the faint heat where his fingers had brushed your skin. The tension in the room pulsed — slow, steady, unbearable. Then, in a small act of self-preservation, you lifted the glass and downed the rest of your drink in one swallow. The gin fizz hit your tongue with a soft sting, cool and sharp, but it did nothing to quiet the storm building in your chest.

You set the empty glass on the edge of his desk, its faint clink sounding much too loud in the silence. Get it together, you told yourself. He was your boss. Your very composed, very untouchable boss — and you had absolutely no business feeling the way you did just now.

You smoothed your skirt, trying to ignore the quickened rhythm of your pulse. “I should… probably get going,” you said, forcing your voice into something even, professional.

Sylus didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered on you, unreadable behind that faint half-smile he wore — the one that never quite reached his eyes. “Very well,” he said at last, voice quiet but threaded with that effortless authority that always made you stand straighter. “I’ll call the driver. He’ll be waiting for you out front.”

You nodded, grateful for the reprieve, though part of you hated how reluctant you were to step away. “Thank you,” you murmured.

You turned toward the door, trying to make your exit as smooth as possible, when his voice stopped you again.

“Sweet dreams, sweetie.”

You froze, the words hitting you with a confusing mix of warmth and unease. You turned halfway, your hand still on the door handle. “What?”

He smiled then — slow, knowing. “You said you had a bad dream last night,” he said easily, as if this were the most natural thing in the world to recall. “I hope they’re more…enjoyable tonight.”

The pause before that last word did something to you — sent a flicker of heat straight to your core, so quick you almost missed it. You swallowed, hard, searching for your voice. “Right,” you said finally, your tone a little too soft. “Thanks.”

He didn’t move, didn’t say another word — just watched you, that same faint smile lingering at the corner of his mouth.

You turned back to the door, every nerve in your body taut as you forced your steps to remain calm and even. But the moment you stepped into the corridor, the air felt thinner, cooler — as if you’d surfaced from something deeper than you’d meant to sink into.

Your heart was still pounding. You couldn’t decide if you wanted to see him again tomorrow — or if you should pray you didn’t.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The night air hit you as soon as you stepped out of the car — cool, a little damp, a welcome contrast to the heat that still lingered beneath your skin. The ride home had felt longer than it should have, every minute spent in that enclosed space filled with the faint scent of Sylus still clinging to the leather seats. It was subtle — sandalwood, smoke, something darker underneath — and the more you tried to ignore it, the more it seemed to surround you, sink into your thoughts.

You’d rolled the window down halfway, hoping the wind would help clear your head. It didn’t. The alcohol had left a slow burn behind your ribs, soft but insistent, and by the time the car pulled up in front of your apartment, you weren’t sure if it was the gin or something else that made the world feel a little unsteady.

You thanked the driver quietly and stepped out, heels clicking against the pavement. The city was calm now, the streets washed in golden light from the passing cars. Everything looked hazy — like a painting just before it dries.

Inside, you barely remembered kicking off your shoes by the door. Your bag landed on the counter, forgotten. You tugged the pins from your hair, letting them scatter across the vanity as you passed. Each breath felt too shallow, too aware.

Sylus. The way his eyes had lingered. The way his voice had wrapped around that single word — sweetie — like a touch.

You exhaled sharply, as if you could push the thought out of your chest, but it stayed there, pulsing, low and heavy. You shouldn’t be thinking of him like this. Not your boss. Not the man whose name carried weight in every boardroom, who could unsettle you with a glance.

You crossed the room and fell onto the bed without bothering to change. The sheets were cool against your skin, grounding you for a moment. You pressed your face into the pillow, breathing in the faint scent of fabric softener and something familiar that reminded you of the office — of him.

“God,” you muttered into the pillow, your voice muffled, half-laughing at yourself. You felt the buzz of the gin still in your veins, blurring the edges of everything — your thoughts, your restraint, your logic.

The ceiling swam a little when you rolled onto your back. You stared at it, tracing shapes in the shadows that weren’t there. All you wanted was to forget the tension in his office, the way his fingers had brushed your cheek, how his voice had followed you home even now.

You turned on your side, pulling the blanket up to your chin, eyes growing heavy.

Sweet dreams, sweetie.

His voice echoed faintly again, softer this time, almost gentle.

Your lips parted on a sigh, half-conscious, and for once you didn’t fight it — the thought of him, the weight of his gaze, the warmth that had followed you all evening.

Maybe if you were lucky, your dreams would be kinder tonight.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The first thing you notice is the silence. Vast, cathedral-deep, as though the whole world has stopped breathing. Candles line the walls in high iron sconces, their flames throwing halos of gold across endless marble. The light multiplies a thousandfold through the mirrors that stretch from floor to vaulted ceiling, trapping you inside a labyrinth of reflections.

The air is thick — heavy with the scent of melting wax, smoke, and something faintly metallic, like blood just beginning to cool. You taste it when you swallow.

You take a cautious step forward. The sharp click of your heel ricochets through the chamber, splintering into a thousand echoes that come back to you too fast, too many. It sounds like other footsteps walking with you — chasing you — just out of sync. You freeze. The echoes stop a second too late.

Your reflection stares back from every surface: tense, eyes wide and unsteady. Each version of yourself looks subtly wrong — a fraction out of rhythm, as if they’re all breathing a moment slower than you are.

Then — movement. A flicker at the edge of your vision. Something darker than shadow sliding across the far wall. You whirl toward it, heart seizing, but there’s nothing. Just candles. Just glass.

You tell yourself you imagined it. You try to steady your breath, but the air feels wrong, as if the whole room is exhaling around you.

Another sound — a soft scrape, heel against marble. Not yours. You whip your head toward it. Empty space. But when you look back at the mirrors, one of your reflections lags behind, blinking slower, her lips parting as if to speak. You take a step closer — she mirrors you perfectly again.

Your skin prickles. The silence stretches, taut as wire.

Something brushes past your shoulder — not air, not sound, something. The faintest shift in temperature, the whisper of a presence that leaves goosebumps in its wake.

You spin. Nothing. Just you, and you, and you, reflected in all directions.

The stillness is unbearable. It presses down on your chest until you can hardly breathe. You want to call out, but the fear of hearing your voice come back wrong keeps your lips sealed.

Then the mirrors begin to hum — a faint vibration, like the low note of a cello played somewhere deep within the glass. The sound rises, trembles through your bones, then fades into silence again, leaving your pulse roaring in your ears.

You can’t stand it anymore. Your voice cracks when you finally speak. “…Sylus? Are you there?”

For a heartbeat, nothing answers. Only the echo of your own voice, hollow, multiplied. Then, softly — a sound.

Laughter.

It slips through the room like smoke, low and velvety, threading between reflections until you can’t tell where it comes from. It feels close enough to touch, yet impossibly far. The sound ripples through you, vibrating beneath your skin, and every candle flame wavers as though the walls themselves are laughing too.

A shiver crawls down your spine. You know that voice. You feel it before you truly hear it — dark warmth pooling low in your stomach even as your pulse spikes with fear.

You take a step back, eyes darting between a hundred reflections that all stare too still, too quiet. “Stop it,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “What is this? Where am I?”

The laughter fades, slow and deliberate, until the only sound is your breathing — shallow, quick, the whisper of fabric against your skin as you turn in place, waiting for an answer that feels inevitable.

The laughter fades into a murmur, words curling through the air — low, almost tender — close enough that you feel the breath of them against your ear.

“Somewhere the truth can no longer hide.”

You freeze, heart hammering. The voice isn’t behind you, not exactly — it’s everywhere. It coils around your spine, stroking along the edges of the mirrors until it seems to seep right out of the glass. You can’t tell if it’s an illusion or if something in this place is alive and breathing with you.

“I don’t understand,” you whisper, but the sound feels fragile, swallowed by the dark.

A pause. Then, softly, a purr that vibrates through the air — through you.

“But your body does, kitten.”

The words slide under your skin like heat. You flinch when warmth ghosts over the curve of your neck, though nothing is there. Still, you can feel him. The presence — vast, electric — seems to move around you, closer each time you turn. The air thickens, charged, your pulse loud enough to drown your thoughts.

Something brushes your arm — not quite touch, but enough to send a shock straight to your spine. You stumble a step back, breath quick, the silence breaking on the soft tremor of your heels against marble.

“Don’t run from it,”

The warning comes a heartbeat before he’s suddenly there. You back into something warm, solid — impossibly real. A chest. A body. His body.

You gasp, and his hand comes up, steadying you by the waist. The heat of him seeps straight through the thin fabric of your gown, his breath grazing your ear.

“Careful, kitten,” he murmurs.

Your gaze flickers to the mirror ahead, and the breath catches in your throat.

He stands there — not the Sylus you know, but something older. Something inhuman. Horns curve back through his silver hair, now longer, wilder. His eyes glow a molten red, irises shifting like embers caught in wind. Wings, faintly translucent and scaled at the edges, unfurl behind him — too large for the space, yet somehow fitting. A thin, pointed tail trails in lazy motion, catching the candlelight in a wicked shimmer.

Your pulse stutters. Fear trembles at the edges of your ribs — but tangled in it, rising just as strong, is something else. Fascination. Drawn despite yourself, your eyes trace the shape of him, the dark perfection of the monster he’s become.

When you try to turn toward him, his hand slides up, gentle but certain, fingers catching your jaw.

“Eyes on the mirror, sweetie,” he whispers. 

Your reflection meets his — and the moment your eyes lock, his mouth curves into a slow, knowing smile. He leans close, the tip of his nose brushing your temple, his next words low enough to feel rather than hear.

“Are you scared?”

Your throat works as you whisper, “No.”

A low laugh vibrates against your back. “Such a brave little thing.”

He inhales, slow and deliberate, right against your neck. The sound alone makes your knees weaken, a deep, rumbling pull that echoes through the candlelit room like a predator savoring its prey. 

Shadows dance across the walls, flickering from the flames that cast everything in a warm, deceptive glow — the mirror opposite reflecting it all in distorted fragments of light and dark. Then the heat of his tongue traces up the line of your throat in one smooth, lingering stroke, wet and insistent, leaving a trail that burns even after it passes. You shiver, caught between shock and want, your body betraying you with a flush that creeps up your skin.

“Mmm…” His hum rolls through your bones, vibrating against your spine where he's pressed so close, his chest a solid wall of heat and muscle. “Your desire…I can taste it.” His voice is a low growl, laced with something ancient and hungry, the kind that makes the air feel thicker, heavier, like it's closing in around you. 

His breath catches, voice thick with pleasure. “It would be even sweeter if you stopped denying it.” The words slither into your ear, warm and coaxing, but there's an edge to them — a sharpness that sends a thrill of unease twisting in your gut, mingling with the ache building low in your belly.

You manage a small, shaking sound — half protest, half breathless surrender. “I don’t—” But the words die on your lips as his hands slide down, tracing the path of your heartbeat, fingers splaying wide over your ribs, pressing just hard enough to remind you of his strength. His shush is almost tender, a soft hush that brushes your skin like silk, yet it carries the weight of command.

“Don’t fight it,” he whispers, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Just feel me.” 

The warmth of his touch trails fire along your body, igniting nerves you didn't know were so alive. The scent of smoke and metal floods your senses, sharp and intoxicating, clinging to him like a second skin. The heavy thrum of his presence pressed flush to your back makes your pulse race, every inhale syncing with yours in a rhythm that's both intimate and overwhelming.

In the mirror, the reflection wavers in the candlelight — a god, a demon, a man — and you, trembling in his grasp, can’t tell which one you want him to be. His eyes meet yours over your shoulder, dark and piercing, holding you captive even through the glass. That's when you feel it: the subtle shift at your side. His tail, sleek and sinuous, uncoils from where it had been draped loosely against his leg. 

It snakes around your thigh with deliberate slowness, the scaled length warm and smooth, wrapping higher, tighter, until the tip brushes the sensitive skin just below your hip. Heat blooms from the contact, radiating inward, pooling hot and insistent in your core, making your breath hitch.

“Look at yourself,” he murmurs, his voice a command that vibrates against your neck. “Watch how your body responds to me.” His gaze flicks to the reflection, urging you to follow, and you do, unable to resist. There you are — cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes wide with a mix of fear and longing. Your chest rises and falls too quickly, the thin fabric of your dress clinging where sweat has begun to gather. His tail tightens just a fraction, sending another wave of that unnatural warmth spiraling through you, and you see it: the way your thighs press together instinctively, the subtle arch of your back.

His hands continue their descent, trailing down your body with agonizing slowness. Fingers skim over the curve of your waist, dipping into the hollows of your hips, then lower still, mapping every inch with a touch that's both reverent and possessive. Fire follows in their wake, a scorching path that makes your skin prickle and your muscles tense. It's seductive, this deliberate exploration, but there's a undercurrent of danger — the way his grip could turn bruising in an instant, the predatory glint in his eyes that promises he could devour you whole.

He leans in closer, his mouth finding the curve of your neck again. Kisses trail there, soft at first, then firmer — lips pressing, teeth grazing just enough to tease the edge of pain. Each one pulls a gasp from you, the sensation building until a soft moan slips out, unbidden, raw and vulnerable in the quiet room. The sound echoes faintly off the stone walls, mingling with the crackle of candles.

He laughs then, a low, throaty sound that rumbles against your skin, sending fresh shivers down your spine. “There it is,” he says, satisfaction dripping from every syllable, his breath hot and ragged.

“What?” you whisper, voice trembling, your eyes still locked on the mirror where his tail coils possessively, his hands now resting low on your abdomen, thumbs circling in lazy patterns that stoke the fire higher.

“The truth,” he replies, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze in the reflection. His eyes burn with intensity, dark pools that draw you in, making the room feel smaller, the air charged with unspoken threats and temptations. “It's right there, spilling out of you.”

He shifts, his lips brushing your earlobe as he whispers, the words intimate, insistent. “You can't hide from it anymore, kitten.” The endearment is laced with mockery and affection, a coaxing purr that wraps around your resolve like his tail around your leg. “These wants you've buried so deep—they're clawing their way out. Feel them. Admit them. Let me show you how good it can be when you stop pretending.”

It was like his desire pressed up against yours, invisible but electric, coaxing sensations from your skin that you’d never thought possible. Every word he murmured, every twist of his tail and burning look, seemed to stroke some hidden place inside you. The need in his eyes reached into you, unraveled you, until the pleasure crested and broke without warning, summoned forth by nothing more than the force of his will.

Your climax was a high-pitched, desperate shudder that rippled through you even without his touch. It was shamefully violent, pulling a sob from your throat. Your legs felt weak, slick, and your mind swam, unable to separate the monster from the measured CEO.

He lowered his mouth to your shoulder — laughing, fangs gently grazing your skin, not breaking it, but leaving a chilling promise behind. “You will say my name, sweetie. You will beg for this. But, I won’t give it to you, not yet.”

He inhaled sharply, deeply, a possessive sound that seemed to draw the very essence of your desire into his lungs. Then, with brutal abruptness, he released you.

The monster was gone.

You stumbled forward, your reflection suddenly standing alone in the silent, mirrored room, your chest heaving, the air cold where his body had been. You whirled around — only to face the pristine marble wall, silent, empty.

You stood there, trembling, one hand instinctively covering your heart, the other clutching your thigh where his tail had coiled.

The sound of your own soft gasps was the last thing you heard before the world tilted, and you woke up, gasping, in the cold light of your own room.

You lie there for a long moment, the sheets tangled around your legs, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. The shadows in the room are long, drawn by the morning light spilling through the blinds, and for a brief second, you half-expect him to emerge from them. 

The lingering sensation of his touch — warm, insistent, impossible to ignore — curls low in your stomach. It’s almost maddening, the way your skin remembers it before your mind does, the ghost of heat and breath teasing every nerve.

You shake your head sharply, trying to banish the memory. It was just a dream. Just a dream. You repeat it over and over, willing the pulse of your desire, the shiver along your spine, the heat that seems to have settled low in your belly, to fade.

Then the thought hits you like a weight pressing down on your chest: you have to see him today. In the office. You have to look him in the eye. The thought alone makes your cheeks heat, your palms go clammy. You picture the crisp lines of his suit, the calm, practiced tilt of his head, that smile that has always unraveled you even on normal days — and now, after that, it feels like a threat, a temptation you have no defense against.

You close your eyes, pressing a hand to your forehead, trying to slow your racing heart. You imagine every possible strategy: stay busy, avoid him, keep interactions brief and professional. If he needs anything from you, someone else can fill in. You’re not that important — a minor cog in the machine, and a CEO like him wouldn’t question it. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Your body doesn’t listen. Every small noise — the creak of the floorboards, the hiss of the radiator — makes your pulse stutter. Every shadow seems too deep, every shift of light a reminder of the dream. The memory of his breath, the heat of his hands, the way his presence pressed into you, curls stubbornly in your mind. You try to steel yourself, to tell your mind it’s just nerves, that you’ll get through the day, but even as you repeat it, the ache between your thighs, the lingering warmth in your chest, reminds you that your body refuses to cooperate with reason.

You throw off the blankets, forcing yourself upright. Your stomach twists as you swing your legs over the side of the bed, feet landing on the cold floor. You dress mechanically, every movement precise, trying not to think of how your reflection in the mirror might betray the faint flush of desire still lingering in your cheeks. You style your hair quickly, smooth your blouse down, and stare at yourself for a moment. The reflection doesn’t lie — your eyes are wide, your lips slightly parted, your pulse visible in the hollow of your throat. You take a deep breath, willing yourself to look nothing like the person who woke from that dream.

As you gather your things, the reality settles on your shoulders like a physical weight: today, you cannot avoid him entirely. He will be there. He will notice. And in the quiet moments — a glance, a passing by, a brush of papers — you’ll feel it all over again: the magnetic pull, the lingering heat, the reminder that your body remembers things your mind is desperate to ignore.

You try to convince yourself once more as you step out the door, keys clutched tight in your hand, shoulders squared. It’s just a normal day. You repeat it like a mantra. Just a normal day. He’s your boss. Nothing more. Just a normal day.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, spilling you into the familiar hum of the office. For a moment, relief floods you — no sign of him. No perfectly tailored suit, no glint of red eyes in some impossibly sharp gaze waiting just around the corner. Just the usual morning chaos: phones ringing, printers whirring, the scent of strong coffee drifting from the break area. You take a cautious breath, trying to ground yourself, willing your pulse to slow.

Your steps feel heavier than usual as you make your way to your desk, each footfall echoing in your own head. You brush past colleagues, nodding distractedly, focusing on the carpet under your shoes, anything to avoid thinking about him.

“Hey,” a familiar voice calls. You startle, almost dropping your bag. Your coworker is already at your side, eyes wide. “You alright? You look…like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You swallow, trying to steady your voice. “I…yeah, just another strange dream last night.”

She frowns, concern knitting her brow. “Again? Was it…like the other one?”

You hesitate, the memory of him so vivid it makes your stomach twist. “Sort of…” You trail off, unwilling to admit who had been at the center of it.

She doesn’t push further, but her lips purse and she mutters under her breath, almost to herself, “Maybe it really is a demon…” Her eyes snap to you suddenly, sharper. “Here.”

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a delicate necklace. A small amethyst pendant catches the light, shimmering faintly even in the harsh fluorescent overheads. “Wear it,” she says, holding it toward you.

You tilt your head, blinking at her. “What’s this? You think this is going to get rid of my demon?” You let out a soft laugh, but it’s half-nervous.

“I’m serious!” She insists, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “It wards off bad energy. Bad vibes. Whatever’s messing with you in your sleep.”

You roll your eyes but take it anyway, letting the cool chain slide around your neck, the amethyst settling against your collarbone. There’s something grounding about it, almost reassuring. “Even if it doesn’t work,” She adds, “at least it makes your eyes pop.”

You can’t help but laugh, a little more naturally this time, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “Thanks,” you murmur, giving her a quick smile.

She pats your arm and steps back, leaving you at your desk. You adjust the necklace reflexively, letting your fingers brush the smooth stone, and finally turn to your computer. Fingers hover over the keyboard as you pull up your tasks for the day.

Please, let him be busy, you think, heart thumping a little faster despite the morning distractions. Please don’t need anything from me today.

The amethyst rests warm against your skin, a small comfort in the middle of the lingering unease. For the first time since waking, you allow yourself a fraction of hope — that maybe, just maybe, you can survive the day without being drawn back into the pull of that impossible, intoxicating presence.

The day passes in a blur of meetings, presentations, and polite chatter. For once, the constant motion feels like mercy. You don’t have time to think, to feel, to dwell on the lingering heat that dream left beneath your skin. You throw yourself into every task, grateful for the noise and the people and the blessed absence of him.

By late afternoon, the sky outside has already begun to turn gold. You step out of your last meeting, exhaustion weighing on your shoulders but relief blooming quietly in your chest. You did it — made it through an entire day without a single encounter. Maybe it really was just a dream.

As you walk down the hallway, your reflection flickers across the glass panels that line the walls. When you pass a mirror, you pause, habit taking over. You smooth your hair, straighten your blouse, check for smudged lipstick. The simple routine is grounding. Ordinary.

Then—

“There you are.”

The voice is soft, deep, and unmistakable.

Your heart stutters. You freeze, eyes snapping up to the mirror. He’s there — Sylus, standing just behind you, reflected in the glass like some apparition conjured from the edges of sleep.

He moves closer. You don’t hear his footsteps, but you feel him — the heat radiating from his body, the faint scent of smoke and something darker curling through the air.

“I haven’t seen you all day,” he murmurs. His tone is smooth, casual, but there’s a weight beneath it that coils low in your stomach.

You swallow hard, forcing the words out. “I’ve been in meetings all day.”

“I see.” He hums, a low, amused sound that vibrates through the space between you. His reflection tilts its head, eyes tracing over you in a way that feels far too familiar. “For a moment, I thought someone was avoiding me.”

Your breath catches. “Of course not! Why would I—”

He laughs softly, the sound curling around you like velvet. “Relax. I’m just teasing you.”

You try to smile, but it falters when his gaze dips lower. His hand lifts, brushing the collar of your shirt aside with disarming ease. “What’s this?” he asks, his voice low. “On your neck.”

You blink, confused, and turn your head toward the mirror. That’s when you see it — a faint mark just below your jawline. Not a bruise exactly, but small, circular, red. Like a bite.

Your pulse spikes. Your mind flashes back to the dream — to the heat of his breath, the scrape of his teeth, the way your body had responded before you even understood what was happening.

No. It couldn’t be. It was just a dream. 

“I…must have gotten lipstick on my neck this morning,” you manage, voice trembling slightly. “I was in a rush.”

He studies you in the reflection, his eyes unreadable, and then his fingers brush the mark. The touch is light, almost lazy, but it sends a shiver straight down your spine.

“Lipstick?” he echoes, his tone laced with mock disbelief. “Who would believe that?”

Your breath catches as he lets the collar fall back into place, the ghost of his touch lingering on your skin.

He meets your eyes in the mirror. The corner of his mouth curves. “Tell me,” he murmurs, “were your dreams better last night?”

The world seems to narrow around you — just the two of you, the mirror, the echo of his question. You can’t look away. You can’t breathe. Because deep down, in the pulse that jumps beneath your skin, you already know the answer.

Your throat feels dry, your pulse wild against your skin. His question still hangs in the air between you, vibrating through the silence like a struck note.

You swallow hard, trying to find your voice. “They were…fine.”

Sylus’s reflection tilts its head, a slow, knowing smirk curving his lips. “Is that so?” he murmurs, the words smooth as silk. “You sound unsure.”

“I’m just—” you start, fumbling for an excuse that won’t sound like a confession.

“Nervous?” he finishes for you, his tone dipping lower, threading through you like heat.

You shake your head quickly, but the protest dies before it reaches your lips. “No, I–I’m not…”

The air feels heavier suddenly. The ambient hum of the office — the faint chatter, the tapping of keyboards, the distant ring of phones — it’s gone. The quiet hits you all at once, suffocating, unnatural. You glance around, but the hall is empty. It’s as if the whole building has fallen away, leaving only this moment. Only him.

All you can hear now is the soft cadence of his breathing. You feel it, too — close enough that the air seems to warm around you with each exhale. The scent of him — smoke and something faintly metallic — wraps around you like a memory refusing to fade.

You look back at the mirror, and his eyes are already on you. There’s something almost predatory in the way he studies you, slow and deliberate, his gaze sliding from your reflection’s face down the length of your body.

“You’re trembling,” he says quietly. The words are not quite a question, not quite an accusation. “Tell me, is it fear…or excitement?”

You want to deny it, but the truth betrays you. The subtle quiver of your breath, the flush rising beneath your collar, the tiny hitch in your throat when he steps closer — it’s all there in the reflection.

His hand lifts, fingers brushing the edge of your collar again. You stiffen, but don’t pull away. That same gentle pressure — firm, sure — slides down the side of your neck until it finds the faint mark just below your jaw. He traces it with deliberate slowness, and your breath catches.

The touch is light, but it ignites something deep within you, something that pulses in time with your heartbeat. A soft, shaky sound slips past your lips — barely audible, but enough to make his eyes darken with satisfaction.

Your head tips back, almost without your permission. The world narrows to the point of contact — his touch, the heat of his body, the mirrored image of him just behind you. You close your eyes, trying to anchor yourself, but when you open them again—

He’s changed.

The reflection staring back at you isn’t the composed CEO anymore. It’s him — the other him — the one from your dream. Horns curve through long silver hair that glints like starlight, his eyes burn a fiery red, his mouth curved into that same knowing smile that haunted you through the night. Wings shadow the mirror’s edge, too large, too impossible to exist in the world you know.

You gasp, stumbling back a step — but his hand steadies you at once, solid and warm against your waist. The contact sends a jolt through you, part terror, part need.

He laughs softly. The sound is unmistakable — the same low, velvet laugh that wrapped around your name in the dream. Hearing it here, in the waking world, is almost unbearable.

Your pulse pounds in your ears. You can’t tell if the sound is from fear or from something far more dangerous — that aching pull that always draws you toward him no matter how hard you try to resist.

Your voice trembles as you whisper his name. “Sylus…”

The mirror fogs faintly at the corners, the air too thick, too warm. His reflection leans in until his mouth is right by your ear, though you can still feel him standing perfectly still behind you. His breath grazes your skin, and when he speaks, it’s barely more than a whisper.

“I’ll see you tonight, sweetie.”

And then — he’s gone.

The heat disappears, the sound, the weight of his presence. The mirror shows only you now — wide-eyed, flushed, your collar slightly askew, fingers still hovering near your throat as if trying to prove he’d ever been there.

The hall is silent again, but not empty. Not really. You can still feel him — in the pulse at your throat, in the echo of his laughter, in the faint shimmer of heat that clings to your skin long after he’s vanished.

You told yourself to breathe, to think, to anchor. But how could you, when everything you’d seen — the shift in his eyes, his appearance — felt too real to dismiss as a hallucination? You pressed your palms to your temples, willing logic to cut through the daze. It had to be exhaustion, stress, a trick of adrenaline. And yet… you could still hear the echo of his laugh in your mind. That same low, amused sound from your dreams.

The world outside the mirror came back into focus in fragments: the dim hum of lights, the sterile air, the ticking clock on the far wall. You forced yourself upright, every step unsteady as you crossed the corridor back to your desk. The office felt eerily hollow, emptied of life — as though everyone had vanished when he had. You gathered your things with shaking fingers, not daring to glance at the reflection in the glass door on your way out.

The drive home blurred into pieces you couldn’t quite recall — headlights smearing across the windshield, the red glow of traffic lights staining your vision. Your thoughts looped endlessly, each question heavier than the last. What is he? The memory of his voice — soft, teasing, devastatingly intimate — ran through you like a current. Why me? You’d been nothing but professional before that night in the dream, and yet he spoke as though you belonged to him. What does he want?

A shiver crept down your spine, and you gripped the steering wheel tighter. Every answer your mind supplied only led to more fear, more intrigue. You should have wanted it to stop — to banish these encounters back to the realm of imagination — but now… the thought of ending this cat and mouse game filled you with something perilously close to loss.

By the time you reached your apartment, your pulse hadn’t steadied. The keys nearly slipped from your hands as you locked the door behind you. The silence of your home felt wrong, too still, as though waiting. You dropped your bag on the couch, barely noticing the sound it made, and stood there in the dark for a long moment.

You should call someone. Tell someone. But who could you possibly tell that your boss was some demon seducing you through dreams?

No. There was only one thing left to do.

You moved toward your bedroom, the faintest tremor in your breath as you pulled the curtains shut. The sheets felt cold when you slipped beneath them, though your skin still burned faintly where his fingers had been. You closed your eyes and let the darkness take you — because if the dreams were real, then he would be waiting. And you needed to see him again.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The world came into focus slowly — not with a start, but with a pull.

You were standing in a corridor you didn’t recognize. Shadows stretched along paneled walls, each lit by the flicker of a few dying candles. The air was thick with something rich and strange — the scent of smoke, spice, and old wood. The floor beneath your bare feet was warm, humming faintly, as though the whole mansion breathed beneath you.

You knew this wasn’t real. Or maybe, you thought as your pulse began to steady, it was more real than the life you left behind when you closed your eyes.

You didn’t call out for him right away — not because you were afraid, but because you were bracing for the sound you knew would come.

And then it did.

“Finally,” came Sylus’s voice, low and dark, echoing off the distant walls. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me.”

Your chest tightened. His tone — playful, edged, certain — rippled through you like the aftershock of a promise. You turned, scanning the corridor, but the hall stretched endlessly in both directions.

“Sylus,” you breathed.

A pause, soft laughter, close enough to feel along the back of your neck though there was no one there. “Say it again.”

You swallowed, the sound of your own voice trembling in the vastness. “Sylus.”

“Good,” he murmured, his voice shifting now — lower, rougher, intimate. “Now come find me.”

You didn’t hesitate this time.

The hall seemed to change with every step — portraits on the walls flickered, shifting expressions as though following your movements. Heavy velvet drapes stirred despite the still air. Somewhere deeper in the mansion, you heard faint music — piano notes drawn out and slow, a haunting melody that wrapped itself around the rhythm of your heart.

Every door you passed was slightly ajar, each room revealing glimpses of him: his gloves on a desk, his coat draped across a chair, a glass of wine still half full and shimmering with the reflection of candlelight. His presence lingered in everything, seductive and omnipresent, and you could feel him watching.

“Don’t stop now,” his voice whispered again, echoing closer this time. “You want answers, don't you?”

Your breath came shallow. “Yes,” you managed.

“And what will you do,” he drawled, “when you finally have to face them?”

Something in his tone — dark amusement laced with something far hungrier — made your pulse race. You pressed forward, drawn by the voice, the warmth that grew stronger with every step.

It wasn’t fear that moved you anymore.

It was certainty.

Every part of you knew what waited at the end of this hallway — the culmination of every dream, every look, every word he’d left hanging between you. The air itself felt alive with anticipation, crackling against your skin like static before a storm.

You reached the final door — tall, carved, its handle cool beneath your trembling fingers.

And from the other side, his voice — closer than ever now, silk over steel — said softly,

“Come in, sweetie.”

You stepped through the door, and the room welcomed you like the embrace of a long-held secret — lush and low-lit, every surface touched by the flicker of candlelight and the slow, molten glow of a fire crackling in the hearth. Shadows danced across velvet curtains and dark-paneled walls, stretching long and twisting across the floor. Blood-red moonlight spilled in through towering windows, washing the bed — massive, canopied, draped in black silk — in an otherworldly sheen.

And he was there. No tricks of reflection. No distant voice. Sylus stood before you in his full, impossible form.

His silver hair cascaded down his back like poured mercury, glowing faintly in the light. The horns curved from his crown — sharp, regal, demonic — framing his face like a twisted halo. His eyes burned crimson, pupils slit and molten with knowing hunger. Wings, vast and translucent, half-folded behind him, twitched once with anticipation, stirring the air like storm-winds. His chest was bare, carved like marble, the ridges of his abdomen catching firelight as he took a single, measured step toward you.

You barely managed a breath. “Where are we this time?”

His voice slid through the air like a caress. “Inside the only place that matters,” he said, his eyes never leaving yours. “Your own desire.”

Another step. Then another. Until your back met the wall with a soft, helpless sound and he was before you, taller, broader, shadowing you completely. You could feel the heat coming off him in waves — furnace-hot, edged with something elemental. His palm lifted to rest flat against the wall beside your head, caging you in.

He leaned in close — so close his breath stirred your hair, teasing the shell of your ear.

“Tell me,” he whispered, velvet-dark, “will you run from it this time?”

You shook your head slowly, hand lifting to his bare chest, fingers splaying over skin that radiated raw, unnatural heat.

“No,” you said, and the word left your lips like a vow.

“Good.”

His mouth was on yours a moment later — hot, hungry, claiming. His lips parted yours like he’d been waiting for this moment across lifetimes. His tongue slid against yours with a teasing stroke, coaxing, deepening the kiss until it wasn’t just a kiss — it was submission, surrender, awakening.

And even then — he wasn’t finished.

You felt the first brush of it at your calf. Smooth. Warm. Agile.

His tail.

It curled around your leg like a serpent, slow and sinuous, caressing the sensitive skin behind your knee, sliding upward. Your breath hitched, hips twitching toward him instinctively.

The sharp tip of it grazed the hem of your dress — then higher — drawing a line of tingling pressure along your thigh.

With one precise flick, the fabric split, and the silk slipped from your body like water, pooling at your feet.

You gasped, but Sylus didn’t give you the chance to feel shy.

The smooth underside of his tail brushed over your nipple, teasing, slow, and a moan escaped before you could even think to hold it back.

He pulled back slightly to look at you — completely bare, flushed, eyes wide. His smile was devastating.

“Finally,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a low current of hunger and control.

But this time, instead of diving back in, he pulled away just enough to look at you — to really look. His crimson eyes glowed in the low light, but one of them, his right, began to burn brighter. A sudden, eerie shift, like a flame catching behind glass.

“Let’s see what’s running through that mind of yours, kitten,” he said, his thumb brushing your lower lip.

Before you could react, the glow from his eye pulsed — and your breath caught as something unseen swept through you, warm and electric, as if your thoughts were being peeled back layer by layer. You felt naked in a way no body ever could be. Exposed.

And then… you saw it.

Visions flared behind your eyes — not of this moment, but of all the ones you’d imagined, suppressed, ached for.

His hands between your thighs beneath the desk in his office, Sylus pressing you up against the glass of those floor-to-ceiling windows, one hand around your throat, the other lifting your leg higher. Sylus behind his desk, leaning back while you straddled him, your lips parted in a moan as he whispered your name like a curse, and the shameless ache of longing that had kept you up so many nights before. Every fantasy, every forbidden daydream you’d tried to bury — all of them bared, helpless, before him.

Sylus’s smile only grew. His eye dimmed as the visions faded, and a low, delighted laugh rumbled from his chest — a sound thick with wicked pleasure. 

“My,” he drawled, licking his bottom lip. “What an active imagination you have, sweetie.” You flushed, heat blooming along your cheekbones, and started to turn away. But he caught your chin, coaxing your face back to his, his touch unexpectedly gentle.

“Don’t be shy,” he whispered, lips ghosting over yours, “Soon, I’ll make these little daydreams of yours come true.”

He didn’t give you time to recover. His mouth found your neck, trailing kisses down the line of your throat — soft at first, then rougher, his teeth scraping lightly before his tongue soothed the sting. Each nip sent a fresh wave of want flooding through you, arching your back, making you cling to his shoulders for balance.

He kept going, lower and lower, his lips charting a worshipful path down your body. He knelt before you — a devil at your altar — hands steady at your hips. His wings flared, casting you both in flickering shadow as he pressed a final kiss between your breasts, then let his mouth travel farther, reverent and unhurried.

You felt his tail again, velvet-smooth as it slid up your thighs, parting them gently, holding you open for him. He glanced up once, eyes molten, and then he was on you — his tongue tracing your folds, slow at first, teasing, savoring. The first stroke drew a shuddering gasp from your lips; the next, a helpless moan.

Your hands flew to his horns without thinking — not to push him away, but to anchor yourself. They were smooth and warm beneath your fingers, curling back from his temples like some ancient crown, and the second your hands gripped them—

He groaned.

Low. Deep. Possessive.

That sound went straight through you. Encouraged, you tightened your grip, using the curve of his horns to anchor yourself as your hips rolled into the rhythm of his mouth. His tongue worked you relentlessly, coaxing you higher, every flick perfectly tuned to your need.

His tail tightened around your thigh as you fell apart in his hands, voice breaking on his name, pleasure cresting in waves that left you trembling and breathless. Sylus didn’t stop, not until you were pleading, not until your entire body ached for him — horns and fangs and the impossible heat of his mouth, all yours at last.

That sinful mouth curved into a smirk as he leaned in to press one last kiss to the inside of your trembling thigh, then stood to his full, imposing height. You saw the promise in his gaze: every dream you’d ever had, he was going to make real — one after another, until you’d forgotten where your fantasies ended and his reality began.

Without a word, he swept you up into his arms — effortless, like you weighed nothing. The heat of his skin burned against yours as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, the thick length of him pressed firmly between you, already hard and hot and barely restrained.

You buried your face in his throat, breath stuttering against his collarbone. The scent of him filled you — smoke and spice and something dark, elemental, like the crackle before a lightning strike. His wings stretched behind him as he walked, each step a slow, deliberate promise, until you reached the towering bed. He set you down gently, letting you sink into the cool black silk that pooled like liquid beneath your bare skin.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

You just looked at him — at all of him. The impossible beauty of him, the way his body glowed faintly under the flickering candlelight. You reached up, hand trembling slightly, and traced your fingertip under the curve of his right eye. That eye — ancient, molten — had seen every secret you’d tried to keep. You touched it anyway.

“Sylus,” you whispered, barely able to breathe. “What…are you?”

He laughed softly, curling his fingers around your wrist and bringing your hand to his mouth. He kissed the center of your palm — slow, reverent — before lowering it back beside your head and pinning it there, fingers lacing with yours against the pillow.

“You can think of me as a demon,” he murmured. “One who feeds on desire.”

You searched his face, overwhelmed by the hunger in his gaze, the power of him braced above you.

“Is that why I’m here?” you asked, your voice small, uncertain. “Just so you can feed on mine?”

A wicked sound rumbled from his chest — a dark, delighted laugh that sent a shiver racing down your spine. He leaned down, lips brushing your throat as he spoke between kisses, his voice low and devastating.

“Sweetie,” he said, dragging his tongue over your pulse, “aren’t you here to feed on mine?”

Your breath caught as his mouth worked lower, kissing down the center of your chest, leaving a trail of heat that made your spine arch. His other hand slid along your thigh, calloused fingertips grazing the sensitive inside of your knee, then trailing up and up until he gripped your hip and pulled you to the edge of the bed.

“These desires of yours…” He kissed the underside of your breast, then the curve of your waist. “You’re insatiable.”

You whimpered, your free hand threading into his hair, needing something to hold onto as his body molded against yours.

He looked up at you from beneath thick lashes, lips brushing the swell of your breast. “Just like me.”

And then he was above you again, slotting perfectly between your thighs, the hard length of him grinding slow and deep against your core. The friction pulled a broken moan from your throat, your hips rolling up to meet his. You were already soaked, already desperate, and he knew it. He could feel it.

He whispered against your lips, voice thick with heat and ruin.

“You and I…” He kissed you, deep and breath-stealing. “We’ll indulge each other until the end of time.”

He began to move again, hips rolling in a rhythm that made your head fall back, your body chase every touch. His free hand cupped your jaw, turning your face back to his. You were burning, melting beneath him, but he didn’t want you to look away. He needed you to see him.

“Eyes on me, sweetie,” he growled. “This is only the beginning.”

Sylus hovered over you, his body a cage of muscle and shadow, mouth brushing your jaw with every shaky exhale you gave. His hips rolled lazily against your own, thick and insistent but never quite giving you what you needed, his cock brushing against your entrance, sliding slick along your folds, never pressing in.

You arched into him, breathless, every nerve ending strung tight, desperate for more. “Sylus, please, stop teasing—”

He only laughed, low and velvet-dark, a wicked edge curling the sound. “Beg me, then,” he purred, lips hovering just above yours, his thumb tracing slow circles over your inner thigh. “Beg for my help, kitten.”

You squeezed his biceps, nails digging in, feeling his strength tense beneath your touch. “Please, Sy- please, need you—”

He grinned, sharp and triumphant, and in one swift, devastating thrust, he sheathed himself inside you — deep, all at once, stretching you open, filling you perfectly. Your moan echoed off the high ceiling, and he groaned right along with you, his voice catching rough in his throat as he bottomed out.

He didn’t move right away — just held himself there, buried to the hilt, savoring the feel of you, letting your body flutter and clamp around him. His hand found yours, fingers lacing together, pinning them above your head. His thumb circled your sensitive nub, already swollen and tender from his mouth, drawing another helpless shiver from your body.

You writhed under him, hips bucking, but when you tried to pull his hand away, you managed a half-broken gasp, “Wait—Sylus, I’m sen—”

He grinned, fangs gleaming as he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. “What’s wrong, kitten?” he whispered, voice all dark heat and smoke. “Already cumming again?”

You could only manage a cry as your body betrayed you, clenching tight around him, shuddering in fresh waves. He laughed, a sound that vibrated all the way through your chest, and his pace picked up — a relentless, predatory rhythm. Each thrust sent sparks dancing up your spine, each snap of his hips bruising and perfect, the head of him catching on that spot inside you that made your vision go white at the edges.

“God, you’re so mean,” you managed to choke out, hips rolling to meet him, desperate and overstimulated.

He leaned in closer, pressing you deeper into the mattress, his voice nothing but a sinful promise at your lips. “I could be even meaner,” he purred, his hands sliding down to the backs of your thighs. He pried them open, spreading you wider, angling his hips with deliberate, merciless precision — brushing against your sweetest spot again and again until you could barely breathe, barely think, all you could do was feel.

His tail curled up from behind, stroking along your calf, wrapping around your thigh, holding you open for him as he drove deeper, relentless and unyielding. His wings rustled, shadows rippling over the sheets, the air thick with the scent of him and the heat of your shared need.

“Look at you,” he murmured, eyes glowing, voice gone rough with delight. “Falling apart for me—just a little more, sweetie—don’t hold back, let me see every last bit of you.”

You met his gaze, drowning in the crimson fire of his eyes, the whole world narrowing to the wicked, breathtaking promise of Sylus above you, inside you, consuming you.

The moment you shattered around him again, Sylus’s control finally broke. He followed you over the edge, spilling inside you with a deep, guttural groan — heat flooding you, filling you, his hips pressed hard against yours. He stilled, breath stuttering, every muscle trembling with the force of it.

Before you could even catch your breath, he was licking a slow, possessive stripe up your neck, tongue warm and deliberate. You shivered, eyelids fluttering, still lost in the aftershocks. He pressed a kiss just beneath your ear, lips soft and mocking, his voice a low, sinful purr. “Tired already, sweetie?”

You barely managed a sound — half whimper, half laugh — but he kissed your neck, then your cheek, then the corner of your jaw, relentless in his affection and his torment. “We’re not done yet,” he whispered, words dancing hot against your skin.

You barely had time to register the shift before he pulled out, his hands coaxing you onto your stomach, guiding you with that impossible strength. He pressed his body to your back, the heat of him searing along your spine, and leaned in, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “You can take me one more time, can’t you?” he murmured, voice silk and steel, teeth nipping lightly at your earlobe as his kisses trailed down your shoulder blades.

You couldn’t even summon a protest — not when he was already pressing inside you again, slow at first, stretching you open all over, deeper somehow this time. Each thrust sent sparks of pleasure skittering down your legs, your body clenching helplessly around him, greedier with every push.

He didn’t let you collapse; his tail slithered up your back, curling delicately around your neck — a gentle, guiding pressure, holding you upright, tethered to him. He hauled you up, arching your spine, pressing you flush against his chest. His arm circled your waist, holding you tight, and you could feel every ripple of his muscles, every ragged breath, every pulse of his heart in time with yours.

His free hand found your breast, fingers deft and merciless, rolling your nipple between calloused fingertips, pulling another gasp from your lips. His mouth hovered at your ear, breath hot and heavy, words curling inside your skull. “Don’t tell me you’re already satisfied,” he taunted, nipping your earlobe, voice gone rough with delight. “Not when you’ve still got so much left to give.”

The tip of his tail slid down, slick and smooth, tracing circles over your clit — so sensitive now you nearly jolted from the touch. But he only tightened his grip, pinning you harder against him, hips grinding up into you with ruthless, unyielding precision. Every movement was designed to wring every last sound from your throat, every last ounce of pleasure from your body.

Your hands flew to his wrists, holding on for dear life as you rocked against him, his tail never letting up, every stroke sending fresh sparks through your nerves until you could hardly breathe, could hardly think, everything dissolving into white-hot sensation.

“Sylus—” you gasped, voice already cracking, your body wound so tight you could feel yourself unraveling.

His lips brushed your temple, fangs grazing your skin in warning and promise. “Give it to me, kitten. Let me see you break for me—just one more time.”

That was all it took. You shattered again, your body clamping down around him, every muscle trembling as your orgasm crashed through you. He followed with a groan, hips driving deep, spilling into you again, heat searing and endless. His tail tightened possessively at your waist, his arms locked around you, his name a sin on your lips as you came down, slow and shuddering, lost in the fire and darkness of him.

You collapsed back against his chest, breath ragged, his heart thundering in time with yours. Sylus held you there, cocooned in his arms and wings, trailing slow kisses over your shoulder and jaw, his voice a dark, exhausted promise.

“We’re far from finished, sweetie,” he whispered, mouth brushing your ear. “But you’re mine now—every last piece of you. And I’ll never let you go.”

The afterglow settles between you like velvet — warm, languid, tangled up in black silk sheets that smell faintly of smoke and the heat of your bodies. Sylus’s arms are a heavy, possessive cage around you, one wing curled protectively across your back. The candles burn lower now, shadows thick and soft, and you’re tucked against his chest, your leg thrown over his waist, your cheek pressed to the thrum of his heartbeat.

You turn your head up, still breathless, your smile sly as you catch his molten red gaze. “So,” you tease, voice still a little hoarse, “are you full now?”

He huffs a low laugh, and his fingers start to trace idle, lazy patterns along your bare arm — swirls and shapes that make you shiver, even now. “Hmm,” he muses, feigning contemplation, “for now.” His thumb brushes over the inside of your wrist, and he leans down to press a long, unhurried kiss to your lips. It’s softer this time, the kind of kiss that’s all warmth and promise, a wordless vow that this — whatever this is — won’t end with the sunrise.

As he pulls away, his grin returns, sharper, wolfish. “Tomorrow, we’ll continue in my office.”

You gasp, scandalized and delighted, slapping a hand to his chest. “Sylus! You’ll get me fired.”

His smirk is utterly unrepentant, his voice purring with satisfaction. “Kitten, I’m the only one who could fire you.”

You snort, laughter bubbling up as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, feeling his chest shake with his own amusement. For a moment, there’s nothing but the hush of the fire, your laughter mingling with his, his tail curled around your thigh like a velvet promise.

He pulls you tighter, lips brushing your temple, his voice suddenly quieter, almost reverent. “Rest, sweetie. I won’t disappear this time.”

You close your eyes, letting yourself drift, warmth curling in your chest, knowing that when you wake — whether in his bed or your own — the line between dream and desire will never truly matter again.

The last thing you hear is his soft, inhuman purr, deep in his chest and meant only for you, as you finally let sleep take you.

Work is done, the city still, and your body aches for something that only one voice can soothe. The dull glow of the lamp softens the edges of your usually shared bedroom, the distinct scent of Sylus's cologne lingering in the air wraps you in comfort. But his absence defines your space; the absence of his arms, his lips, the low lull of his voice against your throat.

Freshly showered, your skin is warm, faintly damp in some places. You pull Sylus's shirt on slowly, beneath it, there are only your lace panties (one of his favourites) clinging to your skin. 

You settle onto your bed, your heart already picking up its rhythm as your thumb hovers over the familiar contact in your phone screen. There is a momentary hesitation, not because of nerves, but because of the delicious anticipation that seems to swirl in your stomach. Though the feeling reaches its peak once you finally dare to press call.

The phone vibrates once, twice, and Sylus doesn't even look at the name. Every molecule in his body responds to it instinctively—he is out of his seat before the phone can vibrate for a third time, standing tall and moving with purpose as he makes his way towards the set of double doors.

"Continue without me." His voice is clipped, emotionless as ever, as he instructs the rest of the room. The doors close behind him with finality and only when he has made it halfway down the corridor does he finally bring the phone to his ear.

"Kitten." And just like that, your whole being reacts. You don't speak at first, you can't because the emotions in your chest swell with too much want, too much heat. "I'm glad you called," Sylus says surprisingly soft, relief bleeding into every syllable. "Good girl."

Your lips curl into a soft smile, satisfaction bleeding deep upon the praise that follows so willingly. "Well, you told me to…" 

Sylus hums in response, a smile tugging at his lips due to the innocence that seems to hide the real intentions of this call. But he's got a mission, he has to make up for what he put you through hours earlier.

"Are you in our bed?" He asks, and his tone already dips an octave lower, guiding you into relaxation as you lean against the headboard. "Mhm... just got out of the shower."

A smirk tugs at the corners of Sylus's mouth at the image of your damp skin, when the scent of your body wash still clings to your body. He drags a chair back with one hand and sinks into it while loosening the collar of his shirt with the other.

"Tell me what you're wearing, my love." 

You hesitate for a moment and the silence stretches between you, heavy like the air before a storm. "I'm wearing your button-up. The dark red one… and some panties," you admit with a hushed tone as your hand traces light patterns on your thigh.

You can hear a low, breathy curse whispered into the microphone upon the mental image you paint in Sylus's mind. His free hand flexes uselessly at his thigh, already itching to palm the aching weight beginning to press against his trousers. 

"You're cruel," he murmurs next, more audible than the curse. "You know what that does to me. The thought of your body in my clothes… do you want me to lose my mind, kitten?"

You let out a soft giggle at his dramatics, sounding a little breathless already. "Maybe."

You can hear the smile he's biting back, and the conversation finally flows freely. "Picture it. I've just walked out of a room full of suits, and now you're telling me you're in my clothes, your skin still damp from the shower, with nothing underneath but a scrap of lace…" He groans for you, just for you, as his head falls back.

"I couldn't help it," you admit, "it smells so much like you." You let your hand drift lower, your fingertips grazing your inner thigh. "And it's so soft on my skin… almost the same way as when you touch me."

"You're going to ruin me," Sylus murmurs in response while dragging his hand down his face as he tries to catch his mind, to find a way to reign in control over this situation. 

"Can you lie down for me?" He commands with almost too much fondness in his tone and waits patiently for the telltale sound of shuffling once you obey.

All you can muster up is a hum of agreement as the dominant aura of Sylus makes your core tighten. It's a familiar sensation, welcomed and treasured, whenever he allows you to just feel and stop thinking.

So, you shift until your back meets the mattress, the soft sheets welcoming your warm figure.

The dress shirt you're wearing rides up until you can catch a glimpse of your underwear. But your hand is busy skimming lightly over your breasts, and the sigh you exhale in response lets Sylus know just where exactly you are already touching yourself.

"You sound so pretty," he praises softly as his own hand smooths along the taut fabric of his slacks. "You're always so sensitive there. Are your nipples hard already?"

"They are," you whisper almost shyly now as you realise how well this man knows you and your body.

"Undo the buttons. Just enough for your hand to slip underneath," Sylus instructs next. He waits for you to obey, for you to part the buttons of his shirt and slip your hand in. Your fingertips brush over your breast, and the contrast of warm skin against cool air makes you shiver.

Sylus hums as he listens attentively to those quiet sounds of pleasure before he continues. "Tell me… how do you feel right now, princess?"

"I feel warm," you admit, "and a bit desperate." You huff a little laughter over your honesty, at the fact that you easily allow Sylus to know how much you crave him.

"I know that tone," he replies, and once again that softness laces his words, the one that always coaxes you to relax further. "You've been thinking about me all day, haven't you?"

You nod, only to remember that he can't even see you before speaking. "How could I not after the stunt you pulled?" You bite back, though Sylus only offers another one of his amused chuckles in return.

His voice comes through the phone again, more breath than words: "Good girl," he says. "I love to be your constant thought, to haunt your mind…" A beat of silence follows his dramatic words, leading you to realise just how much you truly cling on to every word Sylus says.

"I want you to slide that hand lower now," Sylus murmurs. "Over your stomach, down the waistband of those cute lace panties."

You move just the way he says with gentle hands, teasing even. And when your fingers finally brush against your panties, Sylus doesn't miss the gasp that leaves you.

"O-over the lace?" you ask rather coy then.

"No," his voice is suddenly firmer, his jaw tight around the word. "Under. I want to know if you're as wet as I imagine. Start slow," he instructs. "Tell me you how you feel, what you need… I want your fingers to glide over your thighs, up to where you're soaked for me—don't rush."

Once you finally brush over your clit, the sensation nearly overwhelmes you. Your whole body arches into the touch and a breath catches upon your parting lips.

"Tell me what it feels like," Sylus coaxes. "Be honest, don't hide from me." You let out a breathy little sound in reply before obliging. "Warm… sensitive. I've been thinking about you since we hung up."

"You really do miss me, don't you?"  He sounds amused, all around too proud and terribly satisfied because he knows you miss him as much as he missed you.

You can't even answer right away; too busy curling into yourself, hips rising slightly off the mattress with your thighs pressing inward to chase more friction.

"Sweetie," Sylus reprimands—he can practically feel your desperation. "Pay attention to me. I told you to go slow. Soft circles. Just the way I do it when I've got my tongue inside you. When I'm taking my time, tasting every little gasp you give me."

You let out a soft cry at the mental image, your fingers working gently in slow spirals, but your mind is spinning into memory. You can feel him, almost feel the way Sylus would part your legs with steady hands, the heat of his mouth between your thighs, the infuriating patience that always brongs you to the edge before he lets you fall.

"I can hear it. You're so wet, aren't you?" 

A soft moan escapes you in response to how much Sylus is getting you now.

 "Keep your other hand on your breasts, pinch your nipple. I know how sensitive you get when I suck them." His tone doesn't falter, it stays smooth and sultry as he guides you. "Imagine me," Sylus whispers next, "on my knees, shirt undone, tie still on because you love how that looks on me when I go down on you. My tongue is slow at first, mh… my mouth is sucking right where you're touching now."

Your hips buck involuntarily. The ache builds so quickly, it's embarrassing. But you can't help it. Not when it's his voice guiding you. Not when your body has memorised the feeling of his hands, his mouth, the hunger in his eyes as he watches you fall apart.

"God, Sylus…" you gasp, "Sylus, please…"

"There, there, so desperate for me." His voice breaks just a little, controlled, but breathier now. You know he's touching himself too, even if he doesn't admit it. "You're so sensitive tonight, aren't you?"

You whimper, your fingers down pressing harder against your pearl before dipping into your hole time and time again to tease yourself with the slight stretch.

"Do you know what I've been thinking about?" His voice is calm, but only just. "Every time I closed my eyes in that meeting, all I could see was this—your hand between your thighs, your chest heaving from breathless pants, whispering my name like the sweetest prayer.

For a moment he lets you work, lets you catch a breather. "Rub slow circles over your clit, baby," Sylus resumes, "I want you to tease yourself just like I would."

And you do; you follow his voice, his instructions, and the careful pace he keeps you at, and the thought of Sylus holding you like this—commanding you with nothing but words—has your toes curling.

"Imagine me there," he continues. "Pushing that shirt up so I can see the mess you've made. My hands on your thighs to hold you open while I lick you slowly, slow enough to make you cry."

"I… I need more," you moan out louder uninhibited.

"Then give it to yourself," are Sylus's encouraging words, his voice rough with desire. "Slip a finger in. No, two. You know how good you can take it, sweetheart."

So, you add a finger, then another, just like Sylus told you to, to relish the satisfying stretch. The wet sounds are nasty in the quiet of the room, accompanied by the moans that create a most sinful symphony. 

"Mhm, you sound so good," he groans. "I wish I could see you, I wish I could feel you clench around my fingers instead of your own. You always grip me so well when you're close."

You whimper again, your movements growing frantic. "I'm… tight."

"Of course you are. You always are for me, my perfect girl, always aching to be filled." You can almost feel Sylus here with you, his breath on your neck, his mouth against your shoulder.

Your breathing hitches in return, your fingers moving faster now, curling just enough to make your thighs shudder. Your orgasm hovers—taunting, near, just there.

"I need you," you whispered. "I need you inside me, I—"

By now, Sylus has turned breathless himself at the mental image you spoil him with. "Imagine my fingers instead. Deeper. Thicker. I'd curl them just like that, until you can't take it. Until you beg me to fuck you with something bigger."

You moan, a sound most helpless and raw, as your hips cant up against your hand. "I—, Sylus, I c-can't…"

"Yes, you can." His voice turns to a murmur, the kind he only uses when you're close, gentle but commanding. "You're doing so well for me. My good girl. My perfect, desperate girl."

The wet sounds are shameless now, filling the quiet between your gasps and the occasional sigh of his name. 

"I can hear it. That shaky breath, those needy little sounds. Let me help you," he coaxes.

"Please," you whisper. "I want to come. Need to, Sylus…" A sharp moan tears from your throat as your body tenses, chasing that high, that pleasure which is swirling at the base of your spine.

His hips lift from the chair without Sylus meaning to. The image of you with those slick inner thighs, your back arching as your fingers mimic everything he's ever done to you… it tortures him.

"Then listen to me." Sylus's voice is low and intoxicating like the finest wine. "Think about the way I fuck you. How deep I go. How I hold your wrists above your head and tell you you're mine. Feel me there, stretching you, praising you, whispering how beautiful you are when you fall apart."

When only higher-pitched moans follow, Sylus knows he's got you hooked So he orchestrates your climax as he continues: "I'm going to count down," his breath hitches due to the way his hand works faster along his throbbing cock. "And when I get to one, I want you to come for me. I want you to fall apart knowing I'm losing my mind on the other end of this line. Are you ready?"

"Yes," you moan in agreement, so utterly desperate and broken.

"Three… imagine my tongue. Two… feel me stretch you open. One. Come for me, kitten, now. Let go."

Your climax hits hard. It rips through you, and has your mouth going lax in a silent scream before your body collapses into the mattress. Your thighs clamp together, your fingers still buried inside as aftershocks pulse deep in your belly.

Sylus strokes himself through the sound of your pleasure, eyes screwed shut and jaw clenched so tightly it aches in order to swallow any moans that could be heard on the other side of the room. The heat coils in his belly and tightens a miment beford he comes hard, thick ropes of cum spilling over his fist as he groans low and long into the receiver.

Silence falls again when neither of you dares to speak right away. You just listen to another as the aftershocks slowly subside.

"That's it," Sylus murmurs eventually. "You were perfect for me. I wish I was there to feel how warm you are now… how wet. I'd never stop."

You smile to yourself; a slow, blissful curve of your lips as your fingers relax against your thigh. Then, a soft hum follows, you're spent, satiated to the point your eyes flutter close.

"I hope your meeting wasn't important," you tease weakly.

He chuckles a sound that is nothing but warm and rich. "Nothing is more important than you."

Your heart skips a beat at that and a moment of tranquility passes. "I miss you," barely more than a whisper because you hate to make him feel guilty for his absence.

But Sylus is quick to surprise you with his own admission. "I miss you more than I know how to say. But at least I can make you feel like this—even from miles away."

The warmth in your chest blooms brighter than the heat between your thighs.

"I still wish you were here," you confess almost sheepishly then, which makes it impossible for Sylus to not chuckle.

"Always so greedy, kitten. I'll be there soon," he promises warm and steady. "And next time… it won't be just my voice. I'll make it up to you the moment I land."

Sylus can practically hear your smile through the call; it causes his lips to curve slightly in return as he listenes to your whispered request.

"Stay on the line?"

"Of course."  He doesn't even hesitate. "Now lie back, sweetie. I'll stay on the line until you fall asleep."

You blushed a little at his crude words but couldn't deny them. "Do you not wanna...?"

He shook his head, yawning against your hair before pulling you closer and beginning to roll his hips. “Oh, I wanna,” he drawled on his words with a lazy smirk. The thick head of his cock catching at your entrance with every roll, making your thighs quiver with every catch. You bit down on your plump bottom lip, trying to quieten any whimpers.

“Don’t hide them… let me hear how much this pussy missed my dick from the last time we had sex,” he chuckled softly against your hair, before pressing a gentle kiss on your head. His hands rubbing soothing circles on your thighs.

“The last time being… how long ago kitten?” You grumbled at his playful question. “Oh. Right. Just last night.”

His breath became unsteady when he began to roll his hips more purposefully now, and fully slotted the head of his cock against your puffy little entrance. You whined, digging your nails into his shoulders. He only cooed and shushed you in response, slowly pushing inside.

You felt your eyes roll a little when he popped the first few inches inside. His thickness stretching you out again. You never seemed to get used to just how big and girth he was, no matter how many times you both had made love.

“..S-sylus…” you moaned softly, clinging onto him with greater intensity when he began to slowly thrust the full length of his member inside.

“Shhh.. just take it…” he mumbled softly against your hair, rubbing circles into your back when he hugged you closer again, your thighs fully spread for him. He looooooved the frontal spooning position. It only came second to the lotus position… oh, he was already twitching inside you from wanting to try the lotus position next. He’s have to wait though, you needed a little pick-me-up first.

Sylus began to huff into your hair, slowly thrusting his cock in and out of your wet pussy. You tightened around him so much with every roll. The blunt head of his length pressing against your cervix gently, but just enough to make you gasp a little into his chest.

When you got close to an orgasm, Sylus only sped up his thrusts. Cooing into your hair and whispering soft confessions of love, his own eyes clenched closed from holding back. “…c-coming…” you drawled against his chest, drooling down your chin a little when your pussy spasamed and you finally felt the release you had been needing. Finally felt so full and warm with Sylus inside you.

Sylus held you close for a few minutes, just slowly rolling his hips against yours, keeping his still-hard dick inside you. Before pressing a soft kiss to your messy bed head and asking,

“Do you wanna try the lotus position now, kitten?”