call me Poison

The chill of the night greets you as you both settle onto the mattress laid beneath the open sky. You had invited Zayne to watch the moon with you, and at nightfall, he arrives as promised.

Reclining at ease, you press sweetened dates to his lips—offerings left earlier by your devout followers. In the hush of the evening, you can hear the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing. Together, your gazes lift toward the moon’s pale glow.

“It is indeed lovely,” he murmurs, his head tilting low to brush a kiss against your hair. You hum in agreement, nuzzling into the warmth of his chest before lifting your face to press a chaste kiss against his jaw. Responsive as ever. You suppress a smile and push yourself upright, slipping from his chest.

His brow lifts.

“Are these sweet enough for you?” you ask, lifting a honey-soaked date toward his lips.

The dip of your voice has his breathing quicken, though he parts his lips obediently and takes the fruit. As he chews, you wipe a smear of honey from your thumb across his mouth—then lean in to lick it away.

A cloying, almost sharp sweetness blooms on your tongue. You wince.

“It’s bland,” he says after swallowing, the faintest crease in his brow.

“It’s too sweet,” you insist. “Your taste buds must have gone into sugar-shock from overindulgence.”

“It is bland,” he repeats, blinking once before turning his gaze aside—almost embarrassed. You huff out a laugh in defeat.

For a moment, the both of you sit still—until, a mischievous thought crosses your mind.

“It would be a pity to waste such wonderful moonlight.” You glance over at him. “Shouldn’t we do something?”

He stiffens in his place at your offer—mostly in disbelief that you’re actually offering this. His gaze flits over the places your clothing covers—looking for wounds. “Your body…”

You sigh, a little annoyed. “Must we only do this when I am on the verge of collapse?”

You see him contemplating for a moment. Hesitant. His lips purse in thought. He looks around, scanning the surroundings. “We’re outside.” He finally murmurs—low and shy. Yet, he doesn’t entirely object.

“So?” you shift closer, to him, hand lifting to comb through his golden-black locks. They slip like silk between your fingers.

“The Divine Tower in it’s entirety is mine.” you lean closer. “And you belong to me too,” you remind, breath teasing the shell of his ear. His breath stutters, as he leans into your warmth.

Your hand finds the hard plane on his stomach, and from there, you only trace his body further, coming up to his chest and then cup the column of his neck. Your lips find where his pulse beats warm and steady against his skin and you place an open-mouthed kiss there.

His head tilts, allowing you access. You take that as invitation to go further. You gently nip the spot, sucking a mark. He makes a small noise at that, making you lift your head to see him.

“Do you want me to stop?” your breath is getting heavier, chest heavy with anticipation.

“I should nod,” he murmurs, craning his neck so his lips brush against yours. His hand comes up to snake around your waist and he lifts himself off with the other. “But my heart… says no.”

You kiss him then. And he kisses you back with the same fervour. His sweet spit mingles with yours, warmth and pleasure blooming in your mouths. He sighs into your mouth, pulling away.

You climb on his lap and he only tugs you closer, desperation leaking through his usually self-controlled demeanour. You grip his chin, making him look at you. there’s a soft crease between his brows and his eyes are almost wide, pleading.

He doesn’t let you revel in his state too long. He huffs a little and tightens his hold on your waist. He doesn’t need to elaborate. You kiss him again.

But this time, he pulls away, as his lips trace lower, beneath your chin and then your jaw, placing a small kiss below your ear.

Your hips instinctively move, grinding down in hunger. He makes a sound—surprised and aroused. He devours your throat in hot, sloppy kisses, teeth grazing at your collarbone before tugging at the fabric over your chest.

A nip at the edge, a quick glance up at you, and then his hand slides under your blouse to cup you.

“Go on,” you whisper, breathless.

He doesn’t hesitate again. Cool night air rushes over your bare tits as he frees you. He flushes at the mere sight—cheeks and ears turning bright pink. But he stills. His urgency ebbs, his breath slows as he watches the rise and fall of your chest in awe. Your tits sit heavy in front of his face.

His hands tremble as they lift. He glances at your once, a shadow of uncertainty flashing through his eyes. But the way you look at him, chest heaving in anticipation has him finally engulfing you in his warm palms.

You melt into his touch—the hot embrace of his palms. In this chill of the desert, it’s comforting. Your eyes flutter shut. He kneads your flesh languidly, mouth close—finding your flesh to kiss.

Then he buries his face between them, lost. His mouth latches wherever it can, open and wet, sucking and biting, worshipping as though he can’t get close enough. His nose grazes a stiff peak and your body jolts.

It has you shuddering—hands coming up to tangle in his hair until his muffled moans vibrate into your flesh.

He pulls away to see the face you make. His lips are parted, drawing heavy breaths. And then, he leans in again, mouth open, taking your nipple in his mouth.

The heat of his tongue, the scrape of his teeth, the way his breath stutters—everything about him is filthy, starved, desperate. And it’s all for you.

You hum in pleasure, thighs clamping around him. His length presses hard against your core through thin layers of fabric—impossible to ignore, straining for you.

He sucks deeper, teeth tugging lightly before letting your nipple slip free with a wet pop. The sound rips a gasp from you, your fingers tightening in his hair. Before he can pull too far, you shove his face back against your chest.

This time, he doesn’t budge. He devours you greedily, mouth moving from one breast to the other, lavishing each nipple in turn. His tongue circles, flicks, flattens, wet trails of spit smearing your skin as he sucks and bites, desperate to mark you. Drool trickles down his chin, dampening your chest, and still he doesn’t stop.

You’ve never seen him this focused. This hungry. This filthy. You groan at your own thought. His hips move beneath you, jerking up—body involuntarily searching for your heat. You grind back down.

And it has him whimpering—muffled by your tit in his mouth.

You cup his face, gently pulling him away from you. your nipples are swollen, perky, red from all his attention. He breathes, in silent protest, but obeys, awaiting your wish.

“You like these that much?” you tease, rolling a nipple between your fingers in front of his face. His eyes widen and then narrow, brows furrowing as he looks away, blushing.

“D-Don’t,” his voice is strangled—like a man struggling to keep his dignity—as if he wasn’t ravishing you just now.

“then maybe you should use them properly.” His breath catches at your statement, cock jumping in his clothes.

Before he can protest, you reach between your bodies to cup him over the fabric. He tries to suppress a moan—still, his body lurches up into your touch. You smirk, and all he can do is sit under your mercy.

You get off him, and push him to lie back down. He does. Obedient and eager. And just when he thinks you’ll straddle him again, you crawl lower. You guide him out of his clothes.

He makes a soft sound above you—brows furrowed with need.

The pink head of him is dribbling with precum, lewdly leaking all the way down to his shaft. You grip him, tighter now. He exhales sharply, shifting. Trying to keep his hips from thrusting into your hand.

Your hand wraps around him firmly, stroking once. His body jolts, breath spilling out ragged as he fights the urge to thrust. His cock throbs in your grip, hot and heavy, veins straining beneath your palm.

And then—you press your breasts together and guide him between them, eyes locked on his.

“What’re you—!” The moment he catches on, he lifts himself up, weight resting on his elbows. His hand reaches for you—to stop you, but you dodge it. The sight makes him falter—jaw slack, breath caught. His flushed face twists in awe and desperation as his length disappears into the warm, soft channel of your cleavage.

You squeeze your tits together, trapping him between your plush flesh. You reach out for the vial of olive oil beside.

“Hngh!” his face contorts in pleasure and shame. “This is so—” before he can say anything else, you drizzle some of the oil between your tits, glazing the crown cock that pokes out from your cleavage. He chokes on a groan, his body shuddering at the cool oil dripping down his sensitive skin.

He props himself up again—unable to take his eyes off you despite the embarrassment that makes his cheeks burn.

You start to move. Up, down, sliding his cock through the oil-slicked valley of your breasts. Each drag squeezes him tighter, heat and softness engulfing him. And he finally lets out a groan, head falling back.

“So unholy…” he gasps, huffing as his hips stutter, chasing the warmth that you offer him.

“Unholy?” you let out a laugh. You lean down, tongue darting out and pressing against his slit when it reappears, licking away the warm, salty beads of precum that keep endlessly settling and dripping down to mix with slick of the oil—making a sticky mess between your tits. 

Pleasure zaps through him, making his hips jerk up and cock twitch between the soft trap of your chest.

“Hah! You—” he gasps.

You drag your tits over his cock once again, cutting him off. “Why are you leaking so much if it’s unholy?”

He strains up, looking at you one last time before slumping back down—yielding in defeat.

Yet, his hands fly to your shoulders, torn between stopping you and holding on. The friction is too much—your slobbery softness pressing tight, your tongue flicking the swollen head of his cock each time it peeks out at the top.

He groans helplessly, ears burning scarlet, words spilling in broken gasps. “Your body—so soft—this is—ah—shameful.” His forearm drapes over his eyes—hiding himself from the way you overwhelm him so. He’s never seen something so—so scandalous, so lewd. And it’s getting him closer and closer to his climax.

The pace grows slicker, wetter, filthier—spit and oil coating your breasts, his cock sliding easier with every pass. You feel him trembling, balls tightening, thighs straining beneath you.

When you press your tits all the way down to his base, you pause—then part your lips to suck his tip into your mouth.

The sound he makes is guttural, half-moan, half-prayer, like the last tether to his composure has been snapped clean through.

“You’re soaking me, Zayne.” you tell him, marvelling at the way his cock is practically drooling precum on your slippery tits.  

“Stop fighting it. Let me feel how bad you want it.” You tell him.

And the moment you say this, the remnant but of his restraint snaps. His hips jerk up, cock sliding slick between your breasts as he groans loud, rutting helplessly, torn between humiliation and raw ecstasy while you squeeze him tighter, milking him with your softness until he’s your name spills from his lips like a prayer.

Hot, thick ribbons of cum spurt across your chest, painting your collarbones, your throat, glistening as it drips down over your skin. His body shudders violently, cock twitching between your messy tits until he’s spent.

He doesn’t even allow himself the luxury of aftershocks. He sits up immediately, eyes glued onto the mess he’s made of you both. He sighs, looking around to find something to clean you with. Too embarrassed.

“I—”

“Zayne.” Your chest still rises and falls with heavy breaths. You crawl back into his lap, straddling him once more. His eyes finally lift to yours, wide, undone.

“We’re not done here."