nix

“Quinn, get off me!” You grumble, trying to slip out of his hold, but Quinn is still stronger than you. “This is holding me against my will! Kidnapping! Hostage taking!”

Quinn bursts out laughing. Fuck, you’re so silly sometimes. It’s never a dull moment with you, even when you are suddenly on a different wavelength. No, not even, especially. Quinn holds you closer, hand resting over your middle, pulling you closer against his chest.

Soon, your laughter follows—a beautiful mix of giggles and chuckles. Your sound makes him warm all over. When you crane your head so your lips graze his cheek, your hand  entwining with his, the other holding his jaw, Quinn almost forgets why he was holding you in the first place. You trickster.

“You’re distracting me,” he growls softly in your ear. Your little squeak makes him chuckle as he nips at your nape, your shoulders, your jaw. “You can’t get out of this.”

“Quinn,” you whine, “we just had sex. I’m sensitive! Plus I’ve already sat on your face earlier.”

“Sat,” he scoffs. “Sure.”

“Is that attitude?” You twist around so quickly, beautiful eyes narrowing, lips pouting, hair still very much disheveled from your earlier rounds, your nail scratching over his chest. “Don’t scoff at me, Quintin.”

Quintin. His first name. Fuck, it sounds so good.

Quinn sighs, pulling you closer, hooking your thigh over his hip. “Sorry.”

You both groan when his cock graze your pussy lips. Quinn’s member rousing. Yours quivering, leaking with your arousal and his cum. Oh, right. He filled you up so good, didn’t he? Quinn presses against your pussy, feels your entrance pulse, sees your hooded eyes.

“Again? I’m tired,” you whine, protesting but it’s you who reaches his cock to press it against your hole. “I’m so full, Q.”

Are you? You’ve already wasted a lot of his cum. Already so spent for the day. Quinn knows that. He fucking knows that. Despite wanting to pound into you, to fuck you until the next morning—and the through the whole day—he needs to hold back.

That’s why he fucking needs you to sit on his face. Right now.

“Then why is your pussy begging for more?” Quinn asks, eyes hooded, watching every shuddering breaths that escapes your lips. “But I know. You’re busy tomo—”

“Quinn, shut up.” You grab his cheeks and kiss him so sloppily. “I’m so sore, Quinny,” you whine when his tip teases your entrance.

You keep protesting, but it’s you who pushes your hips, chasing after his dick, seeking more and more.

“Sit on my face, my love.” Quinn whispers. His words echo in his ears. Does it with yours? Does his voice rattle your soul as much as yours with his?

“But…” You still hesitate.

You’re rarely hesitant. But when you are, you are. Like he will be turned off by you. Like he will care about your filled up pussy. Like he will suddenly be disgusted with you when he could very much lick the ground you walk on, kiss the pebbles of sweat on your body. Oh, he got you. Silly girl. Just breathe and you already have him hard and begging for a fuck.

“Trust me,” Quinn pleads, pressing his forehead against yours. His nose touches yours. He can see the little fear in your eyes, the doubt, before it dissipates into lust. “There we go.”

He gives you a small peck on your blushing cheek. “And, my Love, when I say sit on my face, I don’t mean hover.”

The wanton moan that escapes your lips is Quinn’s last straw. He could just fuck you. It would be too easy. Just one thrust and he’ll be inside your pussy. Just one kiss and he’ll have you begging for it—sore or not. But he doesn’t. Not when you finally agree.

Quinn helps you over him. His hands glide and grip your skin. He can feel your shivers and trembles as you kneel over his face, legs beautifully parted for him to see your flushed pussy, too used and fucked.

“Quinn,” you whimper, hands planting on the headboard.

He mutters your name like a prayer and when you lower your pussy to his face, he knows his Goddess—you—answered.

He gives your clit a small kiss, tongue flatting over your trembling slit. The way you squeal and say it made his heart flutter faster and faster in his chest. You taste divine. His cum combines with yours. Salty, musky, and somehow sweet.

This is what he fucking wants. He needed—still needs—this for so long. To be able to savor what he has done to you. To know how perfect your pussy would be with his fucking cum that he has never dared to taste before.

Fuck.

Oh, his love of his life. So perfect, so delectable, so fucking divine.

He's so happy that you’re not hovering. So happy that you finally listened. So happy that you’re grinding your pussy against his lips, using his nose to your clit, letting him hear every moan, groan, and whimper that escapes you. So happy to feel your weight on him.

He grips your thighs securing to him as he slips his tongue in your pussy, tasting more of you and him.

More.

Quinn thinks he should have done this earlier. Should have filled you with more cum and not let you argue and waste a single droplet. Should have feasted on you, stained and dirtied by him. Fuck. He needs more.

For every gulp and lick, your pussy tightens around his tongue, squeezing out his cum and your addicting arousal. Quinn can feel your thighs quiver, your pathetic attempt to escape him.

Oh, you can’t.

He won’t have it.

 He needs you to come. He needs to feel you rob him of air as he does when he wrapped his fingers round your neck as he fucked into you.

He needs this.

Fuck. He’s so hard.

Maybe he can convince you for another round—rounds—of him buried deep in your pussy. Maybe he can persuade you not to attend the appointments you got tomorrow. Maybe he can just fuck you, clean you with his tongue, then fuck you again. Again. And fucking again.

Because this is not enough.

God, he’s so selfish. So fucking selfish.

He needs more and more of everything you can give him. His life is yours. Forever.

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Quinn gritted his teeth, a hybrid of a groan and a growl rumbling out of his throat. His eye momentarily rolled up before fluttering close then open to meet your gaze. His body tensed at the sharp pain that followed the unforgiving slice of your knife across his skin below his left collarbone. He didn’t need to confirm that the cut was deeper than your first cuts which were mere scratches that you’d press to make him bleed. No. This one immediately dripped, his warm blood trickling out of the cut.

It hurt.

It hurt so fucking good.

His cock twitched, dripping with pre-cum underneath his stained boxers. The pain was sharp, yet it melted into an intoxicating blend of pleasure. His body was burning as if he would spontaneously combust. He was fucking addicted to this amount of pain, to this amount of pleasure, to this amount of insanity.

He yearned for more. A deeper slice. A heavier drip of his blood. A high higher than he had ever fucking felt. It didn't matter if he might need stitches. It didn't matter if it would leave a scar. It didn’t matter if there was an odd chance that he would somehow bleedout from this laceration. It didn't fucking matter because he was craving more. He needed more. And more you gave.

The cold metal nicked him almost in the same place, causing him to gasp, to tug against the metal cuffs that secured his wrists to the headboard, to sob out a plea that you answered with a devilish grin. He helplessly rutted his hips upwards, meeting your lazy grinds, wishing desperately that he could feel your bare pussy around his cock instead of the friction of his pre-cum soaked boxers. This wasn't fucking fair.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to touch you. He wanted to carve up your perfect body the exact way you did with his as if it would make your bodies reflections of your shared darkness. He wanted you to bleed onto his bloody skin, your bloods mixing on each other's skin. He wanted to coat his cock with that mixture then he would sink into your quivering heat, painting your walls with the fluid that keeps you both alive and his cum. He wanted it all.

Quinn gritted his teeth, his whole being rattling, as you carved into his skin, swirling and pushing the sharp edge into his flesh. His blood dripped and dripped. Down his chest, down over his sensitive nipple that was still aching from your intense sucks and bites, down to his tensing abdomen, down to his waistband.

Off. He wanted his boxers off. They were in the way. His blood would've reached his cock. You would've been grinding along his length, smearing his blood on your pussy. Fuck his life.

"My Love," he panted, sounding like a whine. His watercolored eyes blurred yet zoned into your amusement. He groaned when your fingers traced over your masterpieces, sending shivers of pain to wreck his body. "F-fuck."

His eyes stung with involuntary tears. His cock painfully twitched once more, bagging to be fucked more than the torture of dryhumping. His mind that was turning with plans he was meticulously weaving turned blank and fogged over.

Fucking plans. His plan went to off the rails. He was supposed to be in charge tonight. He was supposed to strip you naked and secure you to the bedframe with the usual fleece-lined leather cuffs. He was supposed to eat you out until your pussy was swollen and ready for the smooth handle of the knife that he specifically had forged to its exact measurement and shape that would be perfect to fuck you with. He was supposed to bite into your flesh until he left you with bitemarks and bruises on your skin.That was the plan.

It didn't happen because you coaxed him into his position, kissing him so softly then roughly then back, effectively consuming his senses while you gripped his hands to your neck. The next thing he knew was you pushing his hands back and the sound of metal cuffs locking. Then you cut off his shirt, tugged off his pants, snatched the knife that he was hiding. You halted his protests by mounting him, grinding on him. You peppered him with kisses everywhere. Soft and innocent. Greedy and filthy. Then you started using his knife on him, effectively overturning his plans with yours.

Quinn had no complaints—other than to get rid of the boxers, fuck you, and fill you with so much cum that you'd complain about it during clean up—because he fucking loved it when you take what you wanted with him. He loved to be used by you. He loved to hurt for you. He'd do anything.

Literally anything.

Even if anything meant dying of blood loss when you eventually cut him too much. He wouldn't mind. His life was yours.

"My Love," he called again, trying to sit up from the headboard. ignoring the soreness on his wrists. "Please."

"Hmm." You hummed. Your hips stopped, lifting from his cock, robbing him of his pleasure. You shook your head, your other hand flattening on his left chest, pushing him back. When he stopped moving, you brought the bloodied knife to your lips, kissing its face, leaving his blood on your lips as you put it down against his skin again.

You were ethereal like his very own Goddess of both Life and Death. You excude confidence as you dragged the knife over his skin, leaving a streak of red down his sternum. While on top of him, you looked up at him through your lashes, the spark of darkness and mischief turning into a feign innocence. You blinked, smiling so sweetly that Quinn swore he could taste its saccharine lie.

"Please what, Quinny? Do you want me to stop?"

"Never," the word slipped out in a hurry. His tone was tight and laced with panic. His heart twisted, tumbling with his spiral. "Please don't stop. Give me more. You can keep me like this. Cut me up. Make me bleed. Mark me up. Just let me fuck your pussy. I need to be inside you. I. Need. You."

You discarded the knife on the bed, not caring a single bit about the mess. Your hands hooked over his nape, pulling him for a searing kiss, lips parted for his tongue, but Quinn dared to lick across your lips first, taking his essense on your lips, feeling the ghost of your smile.

He groaned, the copper taste entwining with your taste. He felt your nails sink into his nape, heat stabbing through his cock. His breaths came short and shaky as he met the fervor of your kiss while he held off his orgasm. He hoped to anything fucking holy that he could still tamped it down.

"I need you too," you replied, dragging your nails from his nape to his chest, to his waistband, prying off his boxers to free his raging problem. "Oh, Quinn, you poor thing."

You giggled, your hand wrapping around his cock, your thumb pressing on his slit, making his eyes roll upwards. You were going to kill him. Figuratively. No. Literally—

"Fuck," he stuttered, writhing underneath you as you swiftly took all of him inside your wet pussy. The feel of your warmth hugging him got him choking on his spit. His body tensed as he came. "No, no—fuck no," he whined, shaking his head, his hips rolling to ride his own orgasm. "I'm sorry. I'm fucking sorry. I tried—"

"Yes, yes. Fuck yes," you moaned, lifting up his throbbing length only to slid back down. You leaned down, your tongue lapping over his wounds, pushing him further and further as his peak dragged, spilling more cum inside you. "Fuck. Yes. Quinny."

Curses danced from his lips when he finally stopped coming and you continued to fuck him even as his cock softened, working his overly sensitized member so deliberately until he painfully hardened once more. Black spots darkened his vision as he met your thrusts. His ears rang as he heard a click of the cuffs unlocking. His mouth felt dry as he immediately gripped your hips in a bruising hold.

Quinn pushed through the pain. From oversensitivity. From his sore and probably blistered wrists. From the cuts that you continued to lick and prodded with your thumb. From his balls tightening with another load of cum ready. From the freedom that he must pretend that he didn't have yet.

He acted pliant, receiving everything you gave. He reciprocated every thrust and grind, every kiss and sighs, every moan and groan. He called out your name with tears strreaming down his face. He listened to how your body reacted, feeling the same fluttering of your walls until you came. He smiled in awe at the sight of your back arching, your neck looking so pretty and unmarked, yoour lips parted in your silent scream.

You were so pretty when you came, so beautiful when your pussy clamped down on his cock, so incredible when you panted and finally met his eyes, so cute when you squealed after he flipped your positions.

Quinn grasped the knife, perfectly gripping it and holding it to your neck, right against your thundering pulse, its blade nicking your skin, drawing the smallest amount of blood compared to his blood dripping from his skin.

Your eyes widened while your pussy clenched. "Quinn—"

He thrust into you, reaching your deepest depths, smirking when your eyes rolled up and your hands slamming onto his chest. He grinded his hips, torturing your sensitive spot with his cock and your clit with his pelvis.

"I'm gonna breed you while I cut you, my Love." He grinned, pressing the knife harder on your neck, chasing after you when you tried to move away. He knew you weren't afraid. He could see your trust and your desire. Then he slid the blade down as he slowed down his thrusts, still driving into you deeply. He traced over your collarbone. "Scream for me."

You did when he cut through your skin exactly where your first deep cut on him.

You were so loud when he fucked you through the pain that you came for him.

You were so singing your screams so beautifully that he couldn't help but grab your throat and kissed you while you rolled into another peak over and over again.

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