tunnel vision got my eyes on you

han jisung looked absolutely miserable.

and in any other situation you probably would've felt bad for him. you would've given up much sooner, unable to withstand the ridiculous way he looked at you whenever he wanted something.

but after spending the entire afternoon chasing after your attention, after listening to him insist over and over again with that infuriating determination, seeing him reduced to a mess of incoherent begging was far more satisfying than it should've been.

he'd spent the last half hour hiding his face against your neck, clinging to you as if the closeness alone could somehow make up for everything else.

his words blended together between gasps, half-formed apologies, and promises he probably wasn't even thinking through properly anymore thanks to the warm, suffocating sensation of having his cock trapped between your thighs.

“baby, please- i’m so s-sorry...,” he panted, voice cracked and worn down from begging.

you deliberately ignored him. rolled your hips just a little, slow and teasing, feeling his entire body react immediately.

your nails remained dug into his shoulders’ skin, using him for support while you tried to keep a clear head. the warm pressure of his throbbing cock was beginning to affect your own self-control.

his trembling hands remained locked around your hips. it was a constant contradiction: on one hand, he begged you to stop torturing him and give him what he wanted. on the other, he was the one guiding your movements whenever he lost control.

“j-jagi, i swear it would- ah, fuck- it would never happen a-again...” he promised between another embarrassed moan.

he kept insisting with the same exhausting need that had followed you around all afternoon.

if someone had walked into the apartment right then, they probably would've assumed you were punishing him for something terrible.

and maybe, in a way, you were.

and then it happened again.

you felt his entire body tense all at once. his fingers dug into your skin and a completely broken sound escaped his throat.

he buried his face even deeper against you as he came hard between the soft, slick warmth of your thighs. still thrusting weakly and clumsily between your legs, trying to drag his orgasm out for as long as possible.

“oh my god...” he barely whispered before another broken whine followed.

you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, slowly stroking his damp chest.

“there we go...” you murmured, satisfaction slipping into your voice. “such a good boy. so good for me, sweetheart.”

jisung practically melted beneath you. his eyes stayed shut. his breathing remained uneven. mumbling nonsense against your skin while he tried to remember how to think properly again.

but you knew han jisung far too well. you knew perfectly well this wasn't over.

you knew it from the way his hands started roaming your body again almost immediately.

from the way his cock remained hard between your thighs, still rocking into them clumsily. from the way his attention returned to you with the same obsessive intensity as always.

from the way he kept chasing your lips, desperate to feel all of you.

“baby, please...” his voice came out sluggish. “let me in... just for a second...” he begged, squeezing his eyes shut. “i’ll be good. i swear, just- fuck-!”

he seemed genuinely convinced he could still change your mind. because even exhausted, flushed, and completely unraveled, he was still trying to negotiate his way out of the ban.

still looking at you with those huge, shining eyes that rolled back every time the swollen head of his cock pressed deliciously between your soft skin, sliding easily through his own slick and the wetness gathering between your thighs.

“mmmh- so wet...” he gasped, speeding up. “oh shit-”

jisung groaned and panted, feeling the glorious pressure as he buried himself fully between your legs. a shaky moan escaped your lips when he brushed teasingly against your folds.

the head of his cock nudged your warm entrance. his entire body shuddered. he swallowed hard while unconsciously pushing his hips against it.

“jisung, no.” your voice came out firm, final. “you’re banned.”

the sound of protest he made was so pathetic it was impossible to take seriously. your fingers tangled into his hair, forcing him to tilt his head back slightly.

you could feel him trembling beneath you. could hear the pathetic sounds he made whenever your hips started moving up and down in an agonizingly slow rhythm.

“pleasepleaseplease-” he whined, the plea tumbling out all at once. “i’ll behave. i would do anything, but- please... let me fuck you good, jagi...”

it would've sounded much more convincing if he didn't already look seconds away from falling apart.

you leaned closer, trailing wet kisses from his chest all the way up to his ear, brushing your teeth lightly against his earlobe.

“is that what you want, jisung?”

he immediately shivered when your warm breath hit his damp skin.

“y-yes- fuck, yes!” he swallowed. “wanna be inside you so bad...”

the sincerity of his answer was almost funny.

there was no pride left. no strategy. just overwhelming need demanding immediate attention before he completely lost his mind.

his movements had become erratic. his hands kept roaming over you without knowing where to stay. his hair stuck to his forehead. his cheeks were completely red.

every time he looked up, he seemed to forget whatever he had wanted to say. his doe eyes remained locked on yours, pathetically begging while rolling back every time your lips found another patch of warm skin.

“wanna come inside me?” you murmured against his skin.

and that question completely destroyed him.

you watched him squeeze his eyes shut and cling to you with almost inhuman desperation. heard the moan he tried to hide against your neck.

he nodded far too quickly. desperate, needy.

his thrusts speeding up every time his cock slid through the wetness coating your thighs. his trembling fingers tracing along your legs slowly, almost reverently.

“you're so needy.” your laugh came out soft. “how embarrassing.”

“n-not fair...” he protested weakly before the sentence died. “please...”

“you got yourself into this mess, jisung.

his eyes closed when you kissed him. and for a few seconds, he seemed to forget how breathing worked altogether.

every time you leaned in again, he sighed into your lips like he was chasing something impossible to reach. his chest rose and fell unevenly. his hands seemed incapable of staying still.

when you pulled back just enough to look at him, another wave of heat swept through your body and settled deep in your stomach.

because he was completely gone.

his lips hung slightly open. his tongue peeking out shyly whenever his breathing became too shaky. his eyes unfocused. as if every ounce of his attention belonged entirely to you.

“are you gonna give up?” you murmured against his skin. “be a good boy and come for me, jisung.”

the words seemed to pass straight through him.

a violent shiver traveled from head to toe. his toes curled. his fingers dug into your skin hard enough to leave marks.

“b-baby...” his voice barely existed. “m’so close...” he panted desperately. “just the tip, please- you feel so good right now, i need it...”

you slowly shook your head and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

and somehow that only made everything worse.

your hips started moving in small circles, using the throbbing head of his cock for friction. the sounds escaping him blended together: tiny gasps, muffled moans, and pleas that weren't even attempting to form complete sentences anymore.

he was completely undone. and the harder he tried to recover, the more obvious it became that he'd lost the battle a long time ago.

you closed your eyes, feeling your own breathing begin to quicken. you were close. he was fucking your thighs so well.

and the tighter you squeezed them together the closer you got, the more pleasure tore through his entire body.

you trembled above him, a shiver running through your body before settling deliciously between your legs, pulling a muffled moan from your throat against his neck.

soon you felt his cock beginning to pulse between your thighs. felt his abdomen tense. felt him start trembling all over. he was close. he was going to fall apart all over again.

and you weren't doing much better.

the constant stimulation against your swollen, wet folds was making you lose your mind. jisung was pumping his hips with desperate rhythm. the overwhelming sensation of sliding so easily through the mess he'd already made was completely breaking him apart.

it was so hot and slick that if he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend it was your cunt taking him perfectly. every tiny miscalculation that made him brush your entrance pulled an audible whine from him.

“mmmh-! babe, i-i’m gonna-!”

and just like before, jisung came unexpectedly. without grace, without dignity. without any way of hiding how much he'd enjoyed it.

his cock contracted rapidly, spilling in several desperate bursts, soaking the already ruined sheets beneath you and sliding hot and sticky between your legs.

“i-it’s okay, sung. you did so good... f-fuck-” you dragged the words out. “so good for me- shit... m’so close...” you whined against his shoulder.

your back arched as your entire body tightened and trembled.

you could feel your own wetness gathering and slowly sliding down your thighs. your body felt completely overstimulated. completely lost.

and for the next few seconds, the only thing that existed was the sound of both of you trying to breathe normally again.

and for the first time all afternoon, han jisung stopped negotiating.

stopped insisting. stopped searching for impossible arguments and desperate promises. he simply held you in his arms, resting his face against your shoulder while his fingers absentmindedly traced your waist.

“jagi...” he murmured, voice rough and exhausted.

you kept your eyes closed a little longer, enjoying the warm weight of him against you.

“what...?”

jisung didn't answer immediately.

when you lifted your head enough to look at him, you found something unexpected. his eyes hesitated. his cheeks remained faintly pink. a shy smile threatening to appear at the corner of his lips.

“are you not mad at me anymore?”

you blinked.

the question was so ridiculously sincere that a laugh escaped before you could stop it.

jisung immediately frowned.

“i’m serious!”

“i know, i know.”

his expression turned slightly accusatory.

“i thought you were gonna keep the punishment going for months...”

you snorted out a laugh. watching him hide his face deeper into your neck while waiting for a proper answer.

as if his entire afternoon had revolved around that one concern.

your hand moved into his hair, brushing away a few damp strands stuck to his forehead.

“as long as you learned your lesson...” you began. “i don't see why the punishment should continue.”

jisung immediately pushed himself upright onto his knees, staring at you with bright, hopeful eyes.

“wait- does that mean i’m not sex banned anymore?!”

you just stared at him.

“that's the conclusion you got from all of this.”

“s-sorry...” he mumbled, though the smile on his face completely betrayed him. “so... yes or no?”

you rolled your eyes. he really could be an adorable dork when he wanted to be.

you ran a hand through his still-messy hair and nodded.

“you're not sex banned anymore.”

jisung's only response was immediately pulling you into another hug, completely pleased with himself.

and watching him smile like that, as if he'd just won the lottery instead of simply regaining privileges he'd lost himself, you couldn't help thinking that maybe this really had turned into one of the best days of his life.

What is meant to be his living room lies a single chair displayed in front of the large window that faces the front of your home. On the occasion of movement, J might bring his binoculars to his eyes and gulp, aching to see more of you. He sits there for hours at a time, hyperfocusing, waiting for signs of you. 

Jisung has been watching you long enough to know your daily routine. He’s watched you from directly outside of your bedroom window. He knows the time you wake up; that it takes you approximately fifteen minutes to fully awaken from your precious slumber. He knows that after you awaken, you move directly to the bathroom for a good five to seven minutes or an hour depending on the day. And once you exit, you make your way to the kitchen—but your breakfast choices vary on the day. Sometimes you treat yourself with a big, balanced breakfast. Other days, especially if you’re in a rush due to sleeping in late, you have fruit, cereal, or you skip the meal altogether. 

By 6:23 AM this morning, Jisung makes his way over to your home. A short stroll, as he’s not worried about being seen. Jisung follows his normal path to the left of your home, making his way to the far back to peer into your bedroom window. You’re stirring in your sleep. Probably plagued by a vivid dream, Jisung thinks. The hour flies by, and he remains unfazed, eyes fixed on your sleeping form. 

Jisung remains in his same position for the next two hours; his watch reads fifteen til nine. You’re sleeping in today, unwilling to release yourself from the clutches of your bed. A brief moment goes by where you lift your head to check your phone; tossing it aside to snuggle into your comforter. For a second, Jisung imagines that you see him staring at you through your window. He feels as though he knows you enough to gauge your reaction—craves to watch your eyes widen in terror, mouth agape, all color drained from your face the moment you notice him. Then you would run. That’s no use, though, Jisung knows the layout of your home as if it were his. There aren’t many places you can hide. 

You wake up slowly. Unable to fully shake the sleep from your eyes, you stare up towards the ceiling. Another day you’ve woken up feeling sick, uneasy even. It’s a struggle to get out of bed, the room is hot, and despite being tangled into your comforter, you feel sticky. Jisung watches as you slowly peel yourself from your bed, walking out of the door. 

You’re going into your bathroom, Jisung knows that. Judging by the expression on your face, he assumes you’re going to take a moderately long shower. You’ll probably be spending most of the time thinking, Jisung assumes. And from the shower, you return to your room to get dressed. Initially, Jisung would leave whenever you’re naked—he wanted to give you privacy. Yet things change, progressing over time, and Jisung has been interested in every single aspect of you for a long time.

He watches as you slip the towel off, walking around your room; from your closet to your dresser and back, trying to find a suitable outfit for the day. You pick out an outfit, aligning the shirt up against the pair of pants you’ve picked. Jisung shakes his head. Soon after, as do you. He knows you. Judging by your progress this morning, it’s likely you’ll pick an all black ensemble. He’s right, of course, after an additional eight minutes you choose a black t-shirt and leggings.

You check the time on your phone. Late as usual, Jisung thinks, he can’t help but laugh at how common it is for you to be running late. Even when things are within your control, somehow even when you’re on time, you’re late. Jisung watches how you nearly trip over yourself in effort to collect all your things and rush out of the door. 

You return home later than usual, around 5:34 PM. Jisung has long since returned to his home, following his off-hour routine in preparation of your return. While his day has been mediocre at best, stressful must be the word that describes your day. You’re holding your bag in your hand, unusual as it’s typically strung over your shoulder. You seem tense, shoulders slightly raised, fidgeting with your keys for a few seconds too long. 

Jisung sets his coffee mug down beside him. He stretches, throwing his sweatshirt over his head. Without another thought, Jisung is heading to his front door, one foot in front of the other. He stops in his tracks, making sure to grab something important. Like this morning, Jisung is back with a sly stroll to your home. He’s got tunnel vision, making no effort to see if any neighbors are around; Jisung finds that, if you don’t notice them, often, they don’t notice you. He slips into your backyard undetected. 

You’re exactly where Jisung figured you would be. In your room, displayed across your bed as if only for him. Jisung exhales, a weight lifts off his shoulders when he sees you. You’re laying on your back, almost swallowed into the mess of sheets you didn’t smooth out this morning. Your shirt is thrown across the room, and the contents of the bag you were holding are spilling out on the floor. Not to mention, the creme dela creme, your pants are bunched around your ankles—you gave up at the last moment, fiending to scratch that itch. 

Jisung licks his lips. What a beauty on display for his special viewing. He can’t see too much, only the side of you, but it’s just enough for him. Jisung watches as your breasts move with every movement you make, it’s only slightly, but he notices it. He believes he can see the seconds in which your nipples grow harder, only imagining how they would feel on his tongue.

You work between your legs, head thrown back in ecstasy, fingers guided in fast circles over your clit. Oh, how much easier this would be if you had a toy to play with. Jisung thinks something similar: it would be so much easier if he were in the room with you. To touch you, kiss you. To hold you through the night and promise you that everything is going to be alright as long as he’s by your side. But it’s all too early for that. You’re not ready yet. 

Click! Jisung captures the moment. Picture after picture, varying in stages of ecstasy. With each picture, you get closer and closer to your orgasm. Your free hand glides upward to tug at your nipple, fingers slipping into your cunt, palm of your hand grinding against your clit. It takes a moment, but the build up is all too electrifying. Your orgasm hits you in waves, rippling across your body with heat, body shaking, fingers refusing removal from your clit. You cum with a loud moan, and Jisung wishes he could hear it. Click!

Jisung’s breathing is just as heavy as yours. He’s squeezing at the bulge in his pants, though it doesn’t stop him from leaking into them. He’s caught in a fantasy—you’re riding him from behind, eyes trained on your ass. You’re moaning his name, cunt slurping, sucking in his cock. You’re doing all the work, Jisung is just taking everything in. How smooth and soft your skin is, how you react to the sharp sting of his palm coming down against your skin. When Jisung re-enters reality, he finds that you’ve fallen asleep. He waits a few minutes to make sure, watching how your breathing evens out. Now is his time to act.

It’s 6:35 now. Jisung walks around the house, scouting until he reaches your roommates window. He pops it open with no trouble, lifting himself up into the room. He barely takes a second look at things in the room, your roommate is of no concern to him. Jisung takes slow, careful steps. This isn’t the first time he’s been inside of your home; it is, however, the first time you’ve both been under the same roof. 

He steps out of your roommates room and carefully steps across the hardwood floors towards your door. He opens the door slowly, stepping in, one foot after the other. He’s practiced this, over and over, while you and your roommate are at work or elsewhere. How he’d sneak into your room while you’re sleeping to watch over you. 

You are absolutely perfect. Your chest rises slowly as you inhale, exhaling just as calmly. You kicked off your pants and underwear; and Jisung steps up to receive his trophy, picking your panties off of the floor. Red cotton panties. Without hesitation, he brings the panties to his nose, inhaling deeply. His eyes roll back into his head, he’s feeling lightweight; unstoppable. There’s something in your scent that drives him mad. He snatches the item away, trying to stay level headed. 

Jisung turns towards you. He wants to touch you, he craves it—but it can’t be like this. He tucks the panties into his pocket and takes out his camera. He captures pictures of your delicate body, so unaware of his presence. He wonders, would you wake if he touched you? He can’t. He won’t. Jisung chooses only to admire. Pointing the camera to your face, he snaps another picture. You rest so angelically, you must’ve really needed it, he thinks. 

“Angel.” He whispers to himself. His voice is brittle, he hasn’t spoken in days. 

He takes his final few pictures. Jisung hovers his hand just a few centimeters above your face, as if to gently caress you. He makes his way out of the door, looking back towards you before he closes the door behind him. “See you when you wake, angel.” 

Jisung makes his way back into the darkness he calls his home shortly after. Taking no rest, he plops down into his chair, reaching down to seat his laptop on his lap. His hands move fast, with no hesitation, hooking his camera up to his laptop for a better look at the images he’s captured. He works robotically. Reanalyzing each picture he’s taken tonight. He still remembers your scent: cocoa butter and the stained cum left between your legs. 

His hands dip into his pocket, bringing the red fabric to his nose. He inhales your scent until he’s lightheaded, staring at all of your pictures until they’re burned into his retinas. Jisung is breathless. He thinks he’s going to lose his mind. He can’t tolerate not being close to you. He has to have you, he needs to hold you. 

He gathers all of today's photos and places them into a folder titled Skin. At that moment, he made up his mind. He can’t go on like this, not being able to have you in his possession. He’s taken his time up until now, moving slowly, progressing with his plan. Jisung desires to have you for safekeeping. His lover. His property. His angel. Only his. 

It’s time to move onto the next phase of his plan. Luckily for Jisung, the lights in your house just turned on. 

“Happy anniversary, Dad, Mom,” your daughter Regina hugs you. “Take notes, Chris. This is the standard for celebration.”

When normal people get infatuated with someone, they ask them out, get to know them, and if there’s chemistry, they start seeing each other. If the lights are dim in the basement of your conscience, being single is more of a suggestion than a requirement to date them. Then there are some basements where light just cannot breathe—no windows, no electricity, too damp for fire, and nothing battery-powered works inside. 

Which is why the process works a little differently if you are Chris Bang.

You fall so fantastically, over-the-top, wanna-slit-my-own-throat in love with a woman, insert yourself into her life by becoming her neighbor, charm her socks off with acceptably shameless flirting, earn her trust with long vulnerable talks into the night, listen to her, study her, become the world’s number one expert on her, let your interest be obvious to her, come dangerously close to crossing lines with her but NEV—VER do anything she will consider “a mistake” the next morning unless you hear it directly from her that she’s filing for divorce.

And if she’s still not doing it years into relentlessly pursuing her, marry her daughter and insert yourself directly into her house.

You let your fuckass husband touch you in front of him? He’ll finger Regina under the table during a Thanksgiving dinner for fifteen people. You let your waste of oxygen husband kiss you in front of him? He’ll fuck Regina in the hallway and make sure you walk in on them. How’s that for misery?

You can’t reason with a maniac. Anything you can do, he can do worse. He can do anything worse than you. Until you accept you’re as down bad for him as he is for you. Until you admit you are so fantastically, over-the-top, wanna-slit-my-own-throat in love with him. 

He never expected that day would come, but one of these days, you actually do. 

So begins the most wicked games you just can’t stop playing,

“Hosting a party for a hundred people on the day we get married? I think that’s called a wedding, and we’ve already had one,” Chris teases and hands you the bottle of wine he has spent months to find. “Happy anniversary.” 

You take the 2002 Romanée-Conti from him in total and utter disbelief. You’ve mentioned it once in passing, and this man actually…

“Oh, wow, you… really shouldn’t have,” you accept the gesture way too grand for an in-law wedding anniversary. 

“My absolute pleasure,” Chris serenely smiles. “Hope you enjoy.” 

“You’re the man, Chris,” his father-in-law playfully thanks him with a pat on his back, and while Chris responds with a slight dip of his head, he intently watches your reaction. Your slightly curled lips that whispered, “You’re fucking crazy.” 

Because he is. 

“Gigi, could you greet our guests with your father?” you request, then excuse yourself. “I’ll check how things are in the kitchen.”

You’ve only taken a few steps before you felt a presence right behind you. You haven’t seen him, but you just know he’s following you to that kitchen. As you’re passing by the staff restroom, the steps behind you suddenly quicken, and you find yourself getting dragged inside it, surprised gasp instantly hushed with a pair of full lips pressed hard against yours.

“Miss me?” he grins big.

“Chris, stop it!” you hiss in a whisper.

“Not happening. You should have thought about that when you didn’t return any of my calls,” his playful smile vanishes right away. “Do you even know how long it’s been?”

“It’s just two weeks, and don’t expect me to be sorry for not responding to your thirst traps when I couldn’t get a minute to myself,” you scold him, then turn towards the sink to splash some cold water on your face.

“Not even a minute?” he knowingly smirks, sneakily wrapping his arms around you. “Am I not in your shower thoughts, baby?”  

The effects of the cold water promptly evaporate when he places a soft kiss on your neck. It was just one kiss, but you can already feel him growing harder on your hips by the second.

Can we get an ETA on when you’ll stop getting a huge kick out of this?

“Did you forget the night of five times? I ate your pussy good, you almost passed out in my mouth,” he jogs your memory with the red-hot memories of an illicit night whispered against your skin, breaking goosebumps everywhere. “I fucking know it makes you wet just thinking about it.”

You absolutely despise how right he is because everything about this is wrong. It’s wrong, but it feels so right.

It makes no sense, but GOD it feels so fucking right.

“You do know this is our anniversary, too, right?” he pouts. “No presents for me?”

“Weird way to celebrate it when you got an expensive bottle of wine for me and my husband,” you scoff, holding his gaze in the mirror.

“The 2002? Please, I got a 1945 just for us,” he chuckles, genuinely amused and not at all upset, and slowly turns you towards himself again, “and you best believe I’m drinking it straight from your pussy when we go to Cabo.”

He pulls you closer by your waist and melts into your lips. You’re immediately disarmed, having absolutely no willpower or willingness to tell him to stop. You moan into his mouth when his hand gets under the skirt of your dress and he starts caressing your pussy. 

“You starved me for two… entire… weeks,” he heaves a deep sigh, somewhere between extreme annoyance and crushing longing. “I’ve missed you like fucking crazy.”

“Chris, w–we have to go b—“

“Two weeks! Are you trying to kill me?” he snaps at you. “Spread your legs. I want my present.”

You don’t know why his sheer existence cripples you so. Your half-assed protests are always stillborn—you just can’t say no to him. You can’t think. You can’t move. You just watch him drag his tongue all over your pussy, jaw slack, basking in the ecstasy only he can make you feel. The more he moans into your cunt, the harder you bite into your fist. The harder you bite, the faster he licks.

“Mm, excellent choice of menu. Loving the appetizers so far,” he smacks his lips and gets up on his feet, turning you towards the mirror again. “I think I’ll have a few side dishes for now to last me until the main course. Bend over for me.”

He slides your dress up and drags the lace underwear all the way down. He openly drools at the sight of your bare ass, so delicious that he can’t decide if he wants to grope it, slap it, or bite it first. All he does is press his tip against your soaked folds, smearing his precum all over, but Chris wasn’t the only one who spent the past two weeks alone. You’re so on edge that just him prodding your entrance less than a knuckle deep makes your eyes roll back.

“Shh, don’t close your eyes now. I want you to see who truly owns you.” 

He holds your chin up to have a look at him in the mirror. Then spreads his thumb and index fingers and rests that curve in between your lips like a mouthguard. 

"Your body, your heart, your soul…” he quietly speaks, his jaw clenched like he’s mad at something. “All of you—is mine.”

Your teeth almost fully sink into that piece of skin when he rams himself into you. The strange move muffles what would otherwise be a piercing scream of pleasure. Fuck, you’ve missed this. You’ve missed him stuffing you full. You’ve missed having him pant down your neck, calling you the filthiest names like the most affectionate terms of endearment, getting your pussy dripping for him with mere words. He’s missed watching your face twist in excess pleasure, clinging to him to have him sink deeper inside you. God, it has to be illegal for a woman to be this captivating, this tempting, so unbelievably sexy that you’re gonna fucking kill him one of these days.

“Say it,” he sinks his fingers into your hips, relentless thrusts getting sharper and more precise. “Who owns you?”

“Y–You…”

“Say—it,” he holds your chin with one hand. “Full sentence. With your man’s name in it.”

“You… You ow— Fuck, Y–YOU own me, Chris.”

“Goood girl. Don’t make me remind you, you won’t like it,” he warns. 

You have fully stopped thinking at this point, completely forfeiting control over your own body to Chris. He makes you turn around again and wraps one leg around his waist, reaching a dangerously deep spot inside you. You cling to his shoulders as your high fast approaches, and he can see the buildup second by second with each muscle that tenses on your beautiful face. 

“I love you, baby,” you hold his face out of nowhere and pull him in for a deep kiss.

Chris fucking dies.

You feel so full, so satisfied as he unloads himself inside you, and if he could physically be any closer to you than this, he really would. Sometimes he thinks it’s just a waste of space living in two separate bodies; why can’t you just merge within one anyway? He drowns your face with kisses all over, each one with a stupid cute ‘I love you’ note tucked beneath it.

“Mm, you changed your cologne,” you observe with a faded voice, still floating in the air in pure bliss.

“It’s the one you said smelled really sexy on me. Do you like it?” he mischievously smiles. “Does it make you wet?”

“Meet me here in an hour and you’ll get your answer,” you land a smack on his peach-shaped ass, and Chris is already hard enough to rip through his slacks.

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“Happy anniversary, Dad, Mom,” your daughter Regina hugs you. “Take notes, Chris. This is the standard for celebration.”

When normal people get infatuated with someone, they ask them out, get to know them, and if there’s chemistry, they start seeing each other. If the lights are dim in the basement of your conscience, being single is more of a suggestion than a requirement to date them. Then there are some basements where light just cannot breathe—no windows, no electricity, too damp for fire, and nothing battery-powered works inside. 

Which is why the process works a little differently if you are Chris Bang.

You fall so fantastically, over-the-top, wanna-slit-my-own-throat in love with a woman, insert yourself into her life by becoming her neighbor, charm her socks off with acceptably shameless flirting, earn her trust with long vulnerable talks into the night, listen to her, study her, become the world’s number one expert on her, let your interest be obvious to her, come dangerously close to crossing lines with her but NEV—VER do anything she will consider “a mistake” the next morning unless you hear it directly from her that she’s filing for divorce.

And if she’s still not doing it years into relentlessly pursuing her, marry her daughter and insert yourself directly into her house.

You let your fuckass husband touch you in front of him? He’ll finger Regina under the table during a Thanksgiving dinner for fifteen people. You let your waste of oxygen husband kiss you in front of him? He’ll fuck Regina in the hallway and make sure you walk in on them. How’s that for misery?

You can’t reason with a maniac. Anything you can do, he can do worse. He can do anything worse than you. Until you accept you’re as down bad for him as he is for you. Until you admit you are so fantastically, over-the-top, wanna-slit-my-own-throat in love with him. 

He never expected that day would come, but one of these days, you actually do. 

So begins the most wicked games you just can’t stop playing,

“Hosting a party for a hundred people on the day we get married? I think that’s called a wedding, and we’ve already had one,” Chris teases and hands you the bottle of wine he has spent months to find. “Happy anniversary.” 

You take the 2002 Romanée-Conti from him in total and utter disbelief. You’ve mentioned it once in passing, and this man actually…

“Oh, wow, you… really shouldn’t have,” you accept the gesture way too grand for an in-law wedding anniversary. 

“My absolute pleasure,” Chris serenely smiles. “Hope you enjoy.” 

“You’re the man, Chris,” his father-in-law playfully thanks him with a pat on his back, and while Chris responds with a slight dip of his head, he intently watches your reaction. Your slightly curled lips that whispered, “You’re fucking crazy.” 

Because he is. 

“Gigi, could you greet our guests with your father?” you request, then excuse yourself. “I’ll check how things are in the kitchen.”

You’ve only taken a few steps before you felt a presence right behind you. You haven’t seen him, but you just know he’s following you to that kitchen. As you’re passing by the staff restroom, the steps behind you suddenly quicken, and you find yourself getting dragged inside it, surprised gasp instantly hushed with a pair of full lips pressed hard against yours.

“Miss me?” he grins big.

“Chris, stop it!” you hiss in a whisper.

“Not happening. You should have thought about that when you didn’t return any of my calls,” his playful smile vanishes right away. “Do you even know how long it’s been?”

“It’s just two weeks, and don’t expect me to be sorry for not responding to your thirst traps when I couldn’t get a minute to myself,” you scold him, then turn towards the sink to splash some cold water on your face.

“Not even a minute?” he knowingly smirks, sneakily wrapping his arms around you. “Am I not in your shower thoughts, baby?”  

The effects of the cold water promptly evaporate when he places a soft kiss on your neck. It was just one kiss, but you can already feel him growing harder on your hips by the second.

Can we get an ETA on when you’ll stop getting a huge kick out of this?

“Did you forget the night of five times? I ate your pussy good, you almost passed out in my mouth,” he jogs your memory with the red-hot memories of an illicit night whispered against your skin, breaking goosebumps everywhere. “I fucking know it makes you wet just thinking about it.”

You absolutely despise how right he is because everything about this is wrong. It’s wrong, but it feels so right.

It makes no sense, but GOD it feels so fucking right.

“You do know this is our anniversary, too, right?” he pouts. “No presents for me?”

“Weird way to celebrate it when you got an expensive bottle of wine for me and my husband,” you scoff, holding his gaze in the mirror.

“The 2002? Please, I got a 1945 just for us,” he chuckles, genuinely amused and not at all upset, and slowly turns you towards himself again, “and you best believe I’m drinking it straight from your pussy when we go to Cabo.”

He pulls you closer by your waist and melts into your lips. You’re immediately disarmed, having absolutely no willpower or willingness to tell him to stop. You moan into his mouth when his hand gets under the skirt of your dress and he starts caressing your pussy. 

“You starved me for two… entire… weeks,” he heaves a deep sigh, somewhere between extreme annoyance and crushing longing. “I’ve missed you like fucking crazy.”

“Chris, w–we have to go b—“

“Two weeks! Are you trying to kill me?” he snaps at you. “Spread your legs. I want my present.”

You don’t know why his sheer existence cripples you so. Your half-assed protests are always stillborn—you just can’t say no to him. You can’t think. You can’t move. You just watch him drag his tongue all over your pussy, jaw slack, basking in the ecstasy only he can make you feel. The more he moans into your cunt, the harder you bite into your fist. The harder you bite, the faster he licks.

“Mm, excellent choice of menu. Loving the appetizers so far,” he smacks his lips and gets up on his feet, turning you towards the mirror again. “I think I’ll have a few side dishes for now to last me until the main course. Bend over for me.”

He slides your dress up and drags the lace underwear all the way down. He openly drools at the sight of your bare ass, so delicious that he can’t decide if he wants to grope it, slap it, or bite it first. All he does is press his tip against your soaked folds, smearing his precum all over, but Chris wasn’t the only one who spent the past two weeks alone. You’re so on edge that just him prodding your entrance less than a knuckle deep makes your eyes roll back.

“Shh, don’t close your eyes now. I want you to see who truly owns you.” 

He holds your chin up to have a look at him in the mirror. Then spreads his thumb and index fingers and rests that curve in between your lips like a mouthguard. 

"Your body, your heart, your soul…” he quietly speaks, his jaw clenched like he’s mad at something. “All of you—is mine.”

Your teeth almost fully sink into that piece of skin when he rams himself into you. The strange move muffles what would otherwise be a piercing scream of pleasure. Fuck, you’ve missed this. You’ve missed him stuffing you full. You’ve missed having him pant down your neck, calling you the filthiest names like the most affectionate terms of endearment, getting your pussy dripping for him with mere words. He’s missed watching your face twist in excess pleasure, clinging to him to have him sink deeper inside you. God, it has to be illegal for a woman to be this captivating, this tempting, so unbelievably sexy that you’re gonna fucking kill him one of these days.

“Say it,” he sinks his fingers into your hips, relentless thrusts getting sharper and more precise. “Who owns you?”

“Y–You…”

“Say—it,” he holds your chin with one hand. “Full sentence. With your man’s name in it.”

“You… You ow— Fuck, Y–YOU own me, Chris.”

“Goood girl. Don’t make me remind you, you won’t like it,” he warns. 

You have fully stopped thinking at this point, completely forfeiting control over your own body to Chris. He makes you turn around again and wraps one leg around his waist, reaching a dangerously deep spot inside you. You cling to his shoulders as your high fast approaches, and he can see the buildup second by second with each muscle that tenses on your beautiful face. 

“I love you, baby,” you hold his face out of nowhere and pull him in for a deep kiss.

Chris fucking dies.

You feel so full, so satisfied as he unloads himself inside you, and if he could physically be any closer to you than this, he really would. Sometimes he thinks it’s just a waste of space living in two separate bodies; why can’t you just merge within one anyway? He drowns your face with kisses all over, each one with a stupid cute ‘I love you’ note tucked beneath it.

“Mm, you changed your cologne,” you observe with a faded voice, still floating in the air in pure bliss.

“It’s the one you said smelled really sexy on me. Do you like it?” he mischievously smiles. “Does it make you wet?”

“Meet me here in an hour and you’ll get your answer,” you land a smack on his peach-shaped ass, and Chris is already hard enough to rip through his slacks.

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