kisses

The slam of the bathroom door was your final, petulant punctuation to a day that had felt endlessly frustrating. You had been a live wire all afternoon, snapping at Baby over every little thing. His usual, playful nicknames and jabs — “Hey, sunshine, you gonna smile or did your face get stuck?” — had felt like deliberate provocations. His sarcastic remarks about your moodiness had landed with the force of physical blows, each one twisting the knot of cramps in your lower abdomen tighter.

You just wanted to be left alone in your miserable, bloated cave of blankets, but the bathroom called. You changed your tampon with a sigh of minor relief, tossing the old one into the small bin by the toilet before shuffling back to bed, pulling the covers over your head, hoping to sleep until this whole awful day was over.

You didn’t hear him come in. You only knew he was there when his shadow fell over you. 

“What now?” you grumbled, the words muffled by the duvet, your tone dripping with an irritation you didn’t even try to mask.

Instead of a retort, his voice was a low, knowing hum. “Come here for a sec.”

With a groan, you pulled upright and shuffled into the bathroom. Before you could tell him to get lost, you saw him leaning against the sink, his dark eyes alight with a predatory gleam. He didn’t say a word. He just pointed a single finger at the small trash can, his gaze locked on yours.

Oh god.

Your stomach plummeted. Heat flooded your cheeks, a mortified flush that clashed violently with the defensive anger you wielded as a shield. You crossed your arms, trying to seem taller, stronger. 

“So?” you deflected, your voice tighter than you intended. “You called me in here to criticize my trash?”

A slow smirk spread across his face, sharp and knowing. “This is why you’ve been such a brat all day, huh?”

The facade cracked. You looked away, your bravado crumbling into a flustered, vulnerable mess. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He pushed off the sink, closing the distance between you in one smooth, silent step. He didn’t touch you, just leaned in, his voice a rough whisper against your ear. 

“I know how those cramps mess with you, doll. They make you aaaall mean and sensitive?” His hand came up to cup your jaw, his thumb stroking your bottom lip. 

You opened your mouth to fire back at him, but he only shushed you.

“It’s okay. I get it now.” He trailed off, his eyes tracing the movement of his thumb. Then, his eyes met yours, his previous smirk returning with a glint in his eyes. “I was planning on fucking that attitude right out of you anyway. And I can do a way better job soothing those cramps than a heat pad.”

Before you could protest, his mouth was on yours, hot and hungry, stealing the breath from your lungs and the fight from your limbs. He bit your lip, earning a gasp from you and taking it as an invitation to explore your mouth. His tongue delved deep, tangling with yours, and you melted against him, a low moan escaping as the tension in your belly began to turn into scorching need.

His hands roamed everywhere, grabbing and groping, before stopping at your chest. He grabbed handfuls, thumbing them until peaks formed and grazed against the fabric of your shirt. You whimpered at the way he flicked your sensitive tips, hands fisting his shirt.

The need for air was the only thing that broke you apart from him, and even then he still chased contact with your skin. His lips moved to your jaw then down the column of your neck, peppering wet open-mouthed kisses in its wake. 

“You’re so soft,” he mumbled, fingers kneading your skin.

You wanted to stop him, to voice your worries about the blood and the mess it would make, to complain about the hassle of cleaning up after — yet all of that got caught in your throat when he’s hovering over you, his movements greedy and void of hesitation, palming your flesh greedily and mapping every exposed inch of your skin his lips can latch onto.

So instead of pushing him off, your fingers tangled in his hair and dragged him closer; instead of voicing your protests, your mouth fell open, spilling obscene sounds that bounced off the bathroom tiles.

His hands went to the hem of your shirt, curling the fabric around his fingers. The movement barely snapped you out of the hazy lust clouding your judgment, but you managed to push him a bit. He didn’t budge.

“Baby, wait—” a moan broke out of you as he sucked harshly at a tender spot before his tongue prodded to soothe the bruise forming. “I-it’s…it’s going to be—haahh—messy.”

“I don’t give a shit,” he growled.

In one swift motion, his hands grabbed your shirt and pulled it over your head. Your pants and underwear followed, a pooled heap at your feet, leaving you bare and shivering under his searing gaze. He lifted you as if you weighed nothing, setting you down on the cold marble of the vanity counter, your back to the large mirror. The shock of the cool surface against your skin and his quick movements made you gasp.

Licking his lips, he knelt down, coming face to face with your bare cunt. Your eyes went wide. 

“Baby, no, you don’t have to. It’s gross,” you stammered, shyness and shock warring within you.

“Shhh,” he murmured, his breath hot against your inner thigh. “I know what I want.”

You gasped when you felt his fingers hook into the string of your tampon. “Baby—”

He ignored the weak plea, his movements sure and steady as he slowly withdrew it, tossing it in the trash without a second glance. You’d never felt so exposed, so utterly seen. Your instinct was to clamp your legs shut, but he held you firm.

Using his thumbs, he gently pulled back the hood of your clit, exposing the hyper-sensitive bud. He looked up, his intense eyes locking with yours as lowered his head.

He didn’t even hesitate, didn’t mind that below your sensitive clit was your arousal mixed with blood was already gushing out of your fluttering hole. The first touch of his tongue on your nub was a lightning bolt straight to your core. A jolt of pure, undiluted pleasure that made you cry out and grasp the edge of the counter for support. He circled your clit with the flat of his tongue, slow and deliberate, before wrapping his lips around the aching nerve and sucking hard.

A sob of pleasure ripped from your throat. Your head fell back as sensations overwhelmed you. You felt one, then two of his fingers press inside you, sinking deep into your slick, swollen heat. The sensation was incredible: the gentle stretch, the curl of his fingers finding that perfect spot inside you, all while his mouth worked its magic on your clit.

You could feel it then, the unique slickness between your thighs. You heard the wet, filthy sounds his fingers made as they plunged in and out of you. The messy aftermath was pushed into the back of your head, as the high of coming undone on his mouth and fingers was the only thing you could focus on.

As long as Baby was only focusing on the parts without the blood, right? It should be fine.

But oh, he was so mean. That damn tongue of his was relentless, as  if punishing you for not being able to eat directly from the source of your arousal, for not being allowed to just plunge his tongue deep into your hall and sweep against your walls.

His buttery soft tongue swept circles around your clit, flicking and kissing your nub. He lapped at the bundle of nerves as if he was making out with it, nipping gently, careful not to hurt you, but enough to make you see stars.

You were losing your mind, your hips started to move on their own, meeting the thrust of his hand, grinding against his mouth. You were gushing around his fingers, a hot rush that you knew coated his chin, his neck. You dared to look down, and the sight nearly made you come instantly. There he was, eyes dark with lust, streaks of crimson marring his skin, groaning against your skin as he devoured you like a man starved.

He felt you teetering on the edge and doubled his efforts, sucking your clit relentlessly while his fingers pistoned inside you. 

“That’s it, come for me,” he mumbled against you, the vibrations tipping you over.

Your orgasm crashed through you violently. You screamed, your back arching off the cold marble as your walls clenched and spasmed around his buried fingers, waves of pure ecstasy washing away the last remnants of your pain and irritation.

Before you could even come down, he was on his feet. His face was a mess, blood smeared across his chin and dripping in a thin line down his throat. His grin was all sharp edges, his eyes glinting with a feral light, as if he just had the most exquisite meal of his life.

You were still catching your breath when he hauled you off the counter and spun you around, pressing your hips firmly against the cold edge of the sink. You barely had time to brace yourself before you felt the thick, blunt head of his cock press against your entrance. With a guttural groan, he rammed himself into you to the hilt in one single, devastating thrust.

The fullness was absolute, stretching you perfectly, igniting every nerve ending he just wound up. He set a brutal, punishing pace from the start, each powerful drive of his hips slamming you into the sink. You could feel the mix of your arousal and blood running down your thighs, coating his cock and pelvis with every slap of skin on skin, a lewd, slick sound echoing in the tiled room. 

But Baby only loved it. You could feel it in the way his hands gripped your hips, and in the ragged, approving sounds tearing from his chest.

“So fucking perfect,” he grunted.

One of his hands, the same one he’d used to finger you, snaked around your body and clamped over your throat, applying just enough pressure to make the world swim deliciously at the edges. Blood was still on his fingers, smearing on your skin. The dizzying lack of air combined with the mind-numbing pleasure of his thrusts made you feel weightless and utterly consumed.

“We look like a horror movie, babe,” he snickered. “What do you think? We should do this more, huh? Keep you drunk on my cock so I never have to deal with your attitude.” 

You mewled with each thrust, your sensitive walls fluttering and clenching around him uncontrollably. He felt it, the way your body was tensing for another peak. 

“Fuuuuuckkkk, you feel so gooood,” he choked out. “I want you to come all over my cock, doll. Let me feel it.”

His filthy words, his hand tightening around your throat, and the way his tip kept bullying your cervix were all too much, taking you over the edge. 

“Baby! Oh god, I’m gonna—” Your eyes rolled back, your walls tightening around him, making him groan in response.

Your second orgasm detonated, a silent, seismic shock that ripped through you, your body seizing as you milked his cock with violent, pulsating waves.

He doesn’t give you a moment to recover. You were still trembling from the aftershocks, your body loose and pliant, when he wrapped his arms around your legs and body, and carried you to the shower.

The bathroom is still thick with the musk of sex and copper, but he ignored it, one hand reaching to twist the shower knob. A blast of cold air hits you before the water does, and you gasped, clinging to him. Then the spray turns hot, cascading over both of you in a sudden, steaming curtain.

The water ran over his shoulders, over the dark red streaks painting his neck and chest, turning the runoff a pale, transient pink before it swirled down the drain. His eyes were locked on you the whole time, dark and hungry even now, watching the water bead on your skin, trail through the smudges on your inner thighs.

“Turn around,” he commanded as he let you down, his voice a low rasp against the hiss of the shower.

Your breath hitched, but you obeyed, turning to face the tiled wall. You felt him press close behind you, branding your skin with the hard, wet line of his body. His hand slid around your waist while you felt his cock drag across your cunt, smearing the tip with the arousal from your previous orgasm. He kept the slow pace of his hips, sliding his cock against your folds, making you moan.

“Still so ready for me,” he mumbles, his hot breath at your ear. 

You could only whimper in response, your head falling forward as his cock, already hard again, nudges against your entrance. The water ran over your back, over his hands, and you watched, mesmerized, as a faint blush of pink traces a path down your leg from where you are joined.

A soft moan was torn from your mouth when he pushed inside. The angle was deeper, more invasive than before. The water provided a slick, hot glide, but it did nothing to dull the exquisite stretch as he filled you completely.

He kissed the skin on your shoulders, stopping for a moment to kiss you tenderly. His hands slid down your arms, fingers wrapping around your hands before planting your palms flat on the tiled walls.

Then he moved, setting a punishing pace. Each snap of his hips was a jolt of pure electricity straight to your core. 

“You take me so well,” he grunted, his voice strained with the force of his thrusts. “Still so—fuck you’re so t-tight—so needy after cumming twice. Sucking me in like you never want to let me go.”

Your eyes, half-lidded with pleasure, focused on the wall in front of you. The polished tiles were like blurred mirrors, and in them you could see the shadowed reflection of his powerful body moving against yours, his face a mask of fierce concentration and primal need. Your own face was contorted in pleasure, mouth open in a silent scream.

One of his hands left yours and slid around your abdomen, pulling you back against him even more firmly to spear you deeper. The other hand fisted in your wet hair and pulled, holding your back flush against his chest. The change in angle was devastating. Each drive of his cock brushed that perfect, hidden spot inside you, and you felt another orgasm building, a tight coil of white-hot pleasure in your gut.

“Come on, babe,” he encouraged, his lips leaving bruises on your neck again. “Give me one more. Gotta make sure the cramps are all gone.”

Your climax detonated, your inner walls clamping down around his girth in rapid, violent spasms. You milked him as guttural and broken sobs wrenched itself from your chest. 

Feeling you clench around him, his control shattered. His rhythm faltered, becoming erratic and almost brutal. He slammed into you once, twice, and then his length twitched inside of you with a loud groan. Hot, pulsing ropes of cum shot inside you, some dribbling out of your hole and streak down your thighs.

For a long moment, he stayed buried within you, his body bowed over yours, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades. The only sounds were the spray of the shower and your ragged, synced breathing. His grip on your hair gentled, his hand flattening against your stomach in a gesture that felt tender and soothing.

He shifted, pressing kisses to your nape and then another to your shoulders. 

“See?” he murmured, lips still moving against your wet skin. “Told you I could help you.”

A breathy laugh was all you could manage. He finally pulled out, and your hole fluttered at the sudden emptiness, your body humming with satiated exhaustion. 

He turned you gently to face him, reaching for a washcloth and a bar of soap. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

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