SinnersForTheDamned | Smut Blog

               she   is   so   tired   of   denying   herself.      ever   since   his   return,   she   has   fought   to   keep   him   at   arms   length,   like   she   was   punishing   him   for   ever   leaving   her   in   the   first   place.      she’d   hoped   that   by   keeping   him   at   bay   she’d   be   able   to   ignore   the   flames   roaring   back   to   life   the   second   she   made   eye   contact   with   him   that   horrible   night.

               but   those   efforts   have   been   futile.      each   time   she   sees   him,   each   time   they   speak,   each   time   they   touch…      the   fire   only   grows,   and   she   can’t   handle   the   torture   anymore.      she   can’t   keep   holding   herself   back   out   of   fear   they   might   not   work   out.

               it   was   now   or   never,   and   olivia   was   more   than   ready   to   finally   give   in   to   two   decades   of   yearning.      she   needs   him,   needs   to   know   what   it’s   like   to   kiss   him.      needs   to   know   how   those   rough,   work-worn   hands   feel   caressing   every   dip   and   curve.      needs   to   feel   his   muscles   ripple   beneath   her   touch.      needs   to   know   what   he   sounds   like   when   he   finally   pushes   inside   her   for   the   first   time.

               her   body   is   thrumming   with   need   just   from   her   thoughts   alone.

               she   releases   a   shaky   breath.      not   from   fear,   not   from   nerves,   but   from   pure,   uninhibited   desire.

               ❝   el…   ❞      the   intensity   of   his   gaze,   the   sound   of   his   voice   washes   over   her   and   she   feels   her   skin   flushing   with   heat.      he   thinks   what   he   says   is   a   threat,   a   warning,   but   to   her   it’s   a   promise.      she   doesn’t   want   things   half   way   with   him,   she   wants   all   of   him.      she   wants   everything   he   can   possibly   give   her.

               she   wants   to   be   sore   tomorrow.

               lashes   flutter   when   he   leans   in   close,   so   close   to   her,   yet   so   far.      she   can’t   handle   this   sweet   torture   anymore.      she’ll   go   crazy   if   she   doesn’t   feel   him   soon.      all   of   this   anticipation,   all   of   this   tension…      she   can   already   feel   just   how   aroused   she   is.

               ❝   i   don’t   want   it   halfway.   ❞      her   own   voice   is   laced   with   lust,   her   eyes   boring   into   his.      a   hand   reaches   out,   resting   on   the   firm   planes   of   his   stomach.      she   can   feel   just   how   hot   his   skin   is,   even   through   the   button   up   he’s   wearing.      ❝   i   want   you,   elliot.      everything   you   have   to   offer…      i   need   it.      i   can’t   wait   any   longer.   ❞

               if   he   won’t   take   that   first   step,   then   damn   it,   she   will.

His breath hitched the second her words ghosted against his ear; low, wrecked, like something fragile and reckless all at once, and it didn’t just land, it sank. Straight into the part of him he’d spent years locking down, burying under duty, under restraint, under every goddamn reason he’d ever told himself no. That was it. No more lines. No more distance. Whatever control he had left didn’t crack, it snapped, clean and final, like it had been waiting for an excuse to break.

Elliot’s hand moved before he could even think better of it, closing around her wrist. Not to stop her, never to stop her, but to keep her there, to anchor her like she might disappear if he didn’t hold on. His other hand slid to her waist, firm and unyielding, pulling her flush against him in one decisive motion that left no space between them, no room for hesitation.

Jesus, she feels right, too right. Been too long wanting this. Too long pretending I didn’t. His grip tightened just slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to make a point, enough to say don’t move, don’t you dare move away now.

“You don’t get to say things like that,” he murmured, voice rough, low, already slipping into something deeper, something darker, something that had stopped asking permission. His forehead pressed to hers, breath uneven, warm against her skin as his thumb shifted against her wrist, slow, deliberate. “Not to me. Not like you understand what it does.”

God, she has no idea. Or maybe she does. Maybe that’s the problem.

His jaw flexed, eyes lifting to hers, and there was nothing guarded left in them now. Just heat, steady and consuming, like something that had been building for years and finally found air. “This isn’t just want,” he said, quieter, but heavier, each word pulled from somewhere deep, somewhere he didn’t show anyone.

“Not for me, Liv.” A sharp inhale through his nose, his fingers pressing more firmly into her waist without thinking, like his body had already decided what it was going to do with her. “This is years,” he went on, voice dropping, roughened by the truth of it. “Years of keeping my hands off you when I shouldn’t have. Years of looking at you and walking away when everything in me said don’t.”

Don’t let her go. Not this time.

“And now you’re standing here,” he continued, gaze flicking briefly to her mouth before dragging itself back up, like even that was a fight, “asking me for everything like you’re ready to carry what that means.”

His hand at her waist shifted again, sliding just enough to pull her closer, closer than she already was, his fingers spreading, anchoring, claiming space without apology. He leaned in, breath brushing her lips, not quite touching, hovering in that unbearable space where everything felt like it was about to tip over. “Because if I give it to you…” he said, voice lower now, thicker, threaded with something dangerously close to hunger, “…I don’t stop.”

And I won’t. I know I won’t.

“I don’t pull back,” he added, softer, but somehow more intense for it, like the quiet made it more dangerous. “I don’t pretend this is something I can walk away from after.” His thumb pressed into her wrist again, slower this time, deliberate, like he was testing the feel of her there, memorizing it. Another inch closer, barely anything, but enough that the tension snapped tight, electric, unavoidable.

“You want all of me?” he asked, voice dropping into something steadier, but edged sharp, like a blade held just at the surface. A pause followed, heavy, intentional, giving her time to think, but not really giving her a way out. Say no. Give me a reason to stop. I dare you.

“Then don’t lie to me about being ready,” he murmured, his nose brushing lightly against hers now, the smallest contact that sent something deeper unraveling in his chest. His grip tightened just enough again, possessive, grounding, like he was already bracing for what came next. “Because the second I start…” his voice dipped, rough, almost a growl now, the restraint in it hanging by a thread.

“…there’s no halfway, Liv.”

Elliot lets out a short, humorless laugh at her confusion, shaking his head like he can’t quite believe she’s standing there asking that, asking him, after everything that’s been simmering between them. His hand braces hard against the desk beside him, knuckles going white as he leans forward slightly, eyes narrowing, not anger, not exactly, but something sharper, hotter.

She’s really gonna make me say it. Jesus, Liv… you always do this to me. His gaze drags over her again, slower this time, deliberate, not even pretending to hide it anymore before it snaps back up to her face.

“You’re not delusional?” he repeats, voice dropping, thick with disbelief and something far more dangerous curling underneath. “Then what the hell do you call this?” He gestures between them, but it’s not vague; not really. It’s the space. The tension. The fact that neither of them has stepped back. His breathing shifts, heavier now, controlled only by habit, not by calm. You feel it. I know you feel it.

He moves before he thinks better of it, closing the distance in a few steps that feel inevitable more than intentional, crowding into her space until there’s barely anything left between them but heat and breath. His eyes flick to her mouth and linger, long, too long, before dragging back up, jaw tightening like he’s physically holding himself in place. Don’t do that. Don’t look at her like that. Too late.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” Elliot continues, quieter now, but the intensity doubles for it. “The way you look at me sometimes… the way you don’t move when I get too close…” His voice dips lower, roughened, threaded with something that’s been held back too long. “You don’t pull away, Liv. Not once.” A beat passes, heavy, loaded, his gaze locked on hers like he’s daring her to deny it.

His hand lifts, stops, hovers just inches from her, fingers flexing like it takes everything in him not to close that last bit of distance. If I touch her, that’s it. No going back. His breath catches, barely, but enough to betray him.

“I’m trying not to touch you,” he admits, blunt and unfiltered, the words landing harder than anything else. His jaw tightens immediately after, like he knows exactly what he just gave away, but he doesn’t take it back. There it is. Said it. Now what are you gonna do with it?

“And you’re standing here,” he continues, voice dropping into something lower, almost a growl, “telling me you don’t understand.” His eyes darken, something possessive, something barely restrained flickering through them as his hand shifts closer, closer… until the heat of it is there without contact.

“So either you’re lying to me…” he murmurs, leaning in just enough that his words brush against her, close enough to feel, not just hear. A pause. Tight. Electric.

“…or you want me to stop holding back.”

Damn that James Flint and the power he holds over him.

It happens quickly, Silver barely has the time to catch up before Flint's attention is placed solely on him again. His voice is rough, rasping, it sends tingles down his back. He takes a wobbly step, assisted by his crutch, backwards. Involuntarily, as his breath is caught in his throat. The man, whoever he was, is all forgotten.

Flint is intimidating and perhaps it should scare him, but Silver is anything but afraid. He is aroused. Heat is pooling between his legs. Perhaps he should feel ashamed to show so openly the effect Flint has on him, but why should he? They want each other. It has been demonstrated so openly just now, that Silver shall be Flint's alone.

The harsh post of a window digs into his back, eyes darts from Flint's lips to his eyes as his breath comes out in soft gasps. God be good, he wants this man. Wants his lips, his touch, his body.

"Is that a yes? Are we taking this a step further where we decide that I belong solely to you, and you to me?"

Silver decides he cannot give in just yet, cannot cave and grant Flint this victory. Not when he sees, when he feels, the tension thick and taut between them. One will snap, if not both. Taken by the madness that is Silver and Flint.

"In that case, James..."

Again, he leans in. No one is around to watch, this he is certain of, when he brushes his lips so very softly against James. Breathes hotly against him, smirking, for the kiss never comes. It is simply that, a brief brush of lips and hot breath.

"Will you show me then, just where I belong? Is it under you? On my knees? On top of you?"

The blue in his eyes have been replaced with blown pupils, dark and inviting. It is not only lust, Silver has realised that. No, this thing between them, it is something stronger. Something he dares not put into words, for it might hurt too harshly when everything goes down in flames. They are bound for ruin after all, yet that doesn't make it hopeless.

Silver wants him, and he is damned sure Flint wants him back just as vigorously.

Flint’s heart pounds as Silver’s lips ghost his, a contact so fleeting it should mean not a thing. Yet, it touches down like a spark on bone-dry kindling. His breath stutters, jagged and uneven, fists balled tight at his sides until the tension zips up his arms, buzzing with anticipation. His eyes fall half-lidded, heavy with a dark desire he no longer tries to hide from the reaction Silver has painstakingly coaxed out of him. Oh, fuck, he’s playing me… toying with me just to see where I’ll snap. The realization blazes through him, a mix of annoyance and something way more potent.

“You think this is some sort of game,” he growls, voice gritty now, devoid of its earlier restraint. His gaze darts to Silver’s sinful mouth like a bee drawn to nectar before reluctantly crawling back up to meet his electric gaze. Look at him… standing there all provocative and daring me to make a move.

Flint boldly steps closer, shrinking the tantalizing gap between them filled with tension thick enough to slice through. “You parade around alluringly, inviting others to feast their eyes on you, then turn around and ask me where you fit as if it’s something I’ve contemplated.” His voice drops lower, quieter but much more menacing. “You can’t have it both ways.”

His hand hovers momentarily as if he still has the option to hold back… but he doesn’t take it. His fingers latch onto Silver’s waist– not rough but neither gentle, assertive and compelling. Every touch sends an electrifying jolt through him that seethes deep in his chest and refuses to be quelled. “You don’t know what you’re getting into,” he cautions, void of any genuine warning now.

“Under me?” Flint mirrors Silver’s words back at him with a low growl, eyes darkening with desire. “On your knees?” Another stride brings their bodies threateningly close, so close Silver can feel the smoldering heat emanating from him. “You list positions like this is about where I’d fuck you,” he murmurs, locking eyes with Silver in a predatory warning. “It isn’t.” A heavy pause follows, his breath ragged despite his best attempts to control it. He wants me to say it. Wants to hear it loud and clear. Well fuck him.

“It’s about whether you’d stay put,” Flint continues, softer now, but way more threatening for it, “once I’ve had my way.” His thumb skims Silver’s skin ever so lightly that it sends shivers down his spine. Would you bolt the moment I let go?

“If you’re going to tease me like this,” Flint’s voice dips low, bordering on intimate yet threatening, “then understand what you’re truly offering me.” His grip tightens again, reinforcing his words with an undeniable reality. You have no clue what you’re offering... or maybe you do and that’s fucking terrifying. His steely gaze doesn’t waver or soften, leaving Silver no opportunity to escape the implication of his words.

Elliot exhaled a muted, hollow laugh, his head swaying as if trying to shake off an invisible grip, clearly not succeeding.

“What do I want you to do?” he echoed, the words grating against his throat as he shot her a fleeting, smoldering glance, only to divert it elsewhere in a heartbeat.

“Honestly?” The query hung between them like a bare lightbulb, glaring, daring to be addressed for a moment too long.

“Quit playing coy. You know damn well what you’re doing.” With a sudden flux of energy, he propelled himself from the desk, his body moving almost instinctively towards her before halting, too late to withdraw. His gaze fixed back onto hers- steady yet turbulent. “You think this is about the AC?” he asked, his voice dropping to a rumbling whisper, laced with an edgier undertone. A tiny disapproving shake of his head.

“It’s not.” Another stride closed the gap, not exactly deliberate, but not incidental either. “Haven’t you caught on yet?” He let out a slow breath, his hand scraping over the rough stubble on his face before it fell away.

His restraint was fading fast; every passing moment etching deeper lines on his strained visage. “I’m trying damned hard to keep this professional,” he confessed, his voice raw and brutally honest, more than he’d usually allow.

His eyes skated over her silhouette again, a fleeting perusal but lasting enough to sear into memory. “You’re making that one hell of a task.” A curt scoff echoed in the silent room; his pent-up frustration spilling out as he leaned against the hard edge of the desk behind him.

The solid surface grounding him amidst this volatile situation. “Yeah, okay, ‘just a little bit,’” he retorted with biting sarcasm, “It’s that ‘little bit’ that’s got me completely fucked up right now."

This time, when his gaze locked onto her, it stayed there.Intense and unwavering. “If you want to parade around like that, go ahead,” he continued, his voice lowering to a sultry growl, “But don’t stand there and pretend you’re oblivious to the effect you’re having.”

A pause. A moment of pure tension. He straightened up, pushing off the desk again, inching closer, enough to change the dynamics between them, enough to hint at deliberate intent.

The way Flint casts heated glances over his shoulder, the tension. He has half a mind to ask whether or not he is planning to murder the poor man caught in the middle of this dangerous game. Is that a possible outcome? Would he go that far for him? Silver studies him, looks at his hands, the way his fingers flex. Sees the way he shifts, how his shoulders are high and alert. Looks up at his face, reads his expression as well as he possibly can. He still can't read Flint's mind. Not like he can other people.

Is this what it feels like to be wanted by someone like James Flint?

Clearly, he has stirred up something between them, for the hushed tone, the way he inches closer, Silver inhales, makes a show of it when his lips part, only a fraction.

"You act as if my eyes can only rest on you, as if any improper thought I might have shall only be reserved for you, is it so? Is this where we are now, that I shall be yours solely?"

Takes the moment to ask, hoping, as he tilts his head and allows his eyes to wander once more. Looks to his lips, surprisingly soft against his own, something he has kept stored away in his memory. Looks at his freckled skin, thinks that someday he shall count every single one of them. Meets his eyes once more, it is playful, but sincere at the same time. When did they get to this?

"Say the words, James, and my eyes shall be on you only"

Will he allow it? Allow Flint to be the one to claim him fully, finally? The thought should scare him, but it doesn't.

Obscured from view with his back against prying eyes, protecting by Flint's person, Silver lets his fingers wander. It is bold, but he knows exactly what he wants as clever fingers travel down his covered abdomen, further down, until... a slight brush between his legs. Blue eyes stare with intent into green ones.

Flint hears him, every word of it. Not just hears, but feels it, the deliberate provocation threaded through Silver’s tone, the way he offers himself up like a challenge rather than a question. Yes, or no? The answer is already there, sitting heavy in Flint’s chest, coiled tight in the way his jaw locks, in the way his focus has narrowed to a single, unrelenting point. Silver. Only Silver.

And then, movement.

Flint sees it before he fully registers it. The man. That damned man stepped in, lingering too close, inserting himself into something he does not understand. Something he has no claim to. Flint’s teeth grit, a low, restrained sound slipping under his breath before he can stop it. Still here? His eyes darken, tracking the approach, the way the man’s attention fixes on Silver like he has any right to it, like he has not already been dismissed by silence alone. He thinks this is an opening. A mistake. A grave one.

Flint moves before the thought finishes forming. His hand comes down hard on the man’s shoulder, unyielding, immediate, fingers locking in with a precision that leaves no room for misunderstanding. He pulls him back just enough to break whatever line he thought he had with Silver. Control. Reclaimed.

For a moment, Flint says nothing. Because what sits just beneath his restraint is not something meant for an audience. His grip tightens, subtle, but deliberate. A promise, not yet fulfilled. You chose the wrong moment.

“I would advise you…” Flint begins, voice low, measured, every word placed with care, though the tension beneath it hums like a drawn wire, “…to find another place to stand.”

The man hesitates. Of course he does. People always do when they don’t yet understand the danger they’ve stepped into.

Flint leans in then, just slightly, close enough that the words that follow are no longer shared, no longer part of the room, but something private. Something meant only for the man unfortunate enough to have earned it. “You’ve mistaken the situation,” he murmurs, quieter now, colder. His fingers press in just enough to make the point unmistakable. “This does not concern you.”

A pause. Measured. Deliberate.

Flint’s gaze flicks, just once, to Silver. And there it is again. That pull. That infuriating, relentless pull. He did this on purpose. Of course he did, the look, the positioning, the question. Say the words, James. Flint’s jaw tightens. You will not be handled like this.

And yet his hand doesn’t move. If anything, it tightens further. Grounding. Claiming. Drawing a line that had not been spoken aloud before now. When he speaks again, it’s quieter still, but far more dangerous for it. “You will remove yourself,” Flint says, each word precise, controlled only by effort, “or I will do it for you.” A beat passes. Then, softer- worse; “And you will not enjoy the difference.”

Silence stretches. The man shifts. Flint waits with more patience than he is known for for fear that he might just slit the other's throat in public with no seemingly so reason.

He sees it then. When the man finally, finally, understands.

Flint doesn’t watch him go. He doesn’t need to. Because the moment the space is clear, his attention snaps back to where it has been from the start. Silver. Always… always Silver.

There’s a pause. A long one. Flint doesn’t step back. Doesn’t create distance. If anything, the absence of the interruption only sharpens what had already been building, tightening the space between them into something far more dangerous than before.

His gaze drops briefly, just enough to take in the position Silver has put them in, the deliberate boldness of it! Before returning to his eyes. Steady. Burning. Yes, or no?

Flint exhales slowly through his nose, control reassembling itself piece by piece, but not entirely. Not enough.

“You ask that,” he says at last, voice low, roughened now, no longer untouched by what sits beneath it, “as if the answer has ever been in question.” He steps closer. Deliberate. Measured. Inevitable.

His hand lifts, not to restrain this time, but to anchor, fingers settling firm and certain, leaving no doubt in the intent behind the contact. “You want clarity,” Flint continues, quieter now, gaze locked to Silver’s, unflinching.

Then-

“Then stop pretending you don’t already belong exactly where you’ve placed yourself.”

The words land between them, heavy, undeniable.

“You didn’t think… what?” she murmured, her voice soft but edged with mischief.

She leaned in as if to kiss him, close enough for him to feel her breath, to anticipate it—but she didn’t give him what he wanted. Instead, her tongue brushed lightly across his bottom lip, a fleeting, electric touch before she pulled back just enough to watch his reaction, a faint, knowing smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“Go on,” she whispered. “Finish that thought.”

His eyes went wide at the shift in her, surprise flashing into something darker—something hungry. He liked it. She could tell. She could feel it in the warmth pressed beneath her, in the way his breath hitched.

“Yeah?” she murmured, a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. “You like that?”

Her tone softened just slightly, teasing but edged with control. “You know… good boys get rewards.” She tilted her head, studying him like she already knew the answer. “Do you want yours?”

Before he could even respond, her free hand slid up, fingers curling around his jaw. She guided his head in a slow, deliberate nod—answering for him, just this once.

“Mm,” she hummed, satisfied, her thumb brushing lightly along his cheek. “That’s what I thought.”

She leaned in again, close enough to steal his focus entirely, her presence overwhelming in the best way. “Then you’d better stay good for me,” she whispered, her voice low and promising, like whatever came next was already his—if he earned it.

Her hips stilled, the sudden pause almost more intense than the movement had been. For a moment, she just looked at him, like she was deciding something—like she already knew exactly how far she could push.

Slowly, deliberately, her hand drifted downward, fingers grazing along her thigh before slipping beneath the delicate lace at her hips. She inhaled softly, her lashes lowering just a fraction, then brought her hand back up between them.

“Baby…” she murmured, her voice quieter now, but no less commanding. “Open up.”

He hesitated for half a second—just enough for her lips to curve—before doing as he was told.

Her fingers brushed against his lips first, teasing, before she pressed them gently forward. “That’s it,” she whispered, watching him closely, her gaze heavy and intent. “Just like that…”

A soft shiver ran through her at his response, her breath catching slightly as she held his gaze. For a moment, she let it linger—stretching the tension, letting it build between them like a held breath.

“Again,” she said softly, more of a promise than a command this time.

She leaned in closer, her forehead nearly brushing his, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “You’re doing so well for me…”

“Such a good boy,” Charlotte sighed, the words warm with approval as her hips began to move again—slow, deliberate, like she was savoring every second of his reaction.

Her rhythm wasn’t rushed this time. It was controlled, almost languid, each roll of her hips purposeful, designed to keep him right on the edge of anticipation. Her hand lingered at his jaw, thumb brushing lightly along his cheek as if rewarding him for listening.

“That’s it…” she murmured, her voice softer now, but no less commanding. “Stay right there.”

She leaned in closer, her lips ghosting just beside his, not quite giving him the kiss he wanted—just enough to keep him chasing it. A faint smile tugged at her mouth as she watched him, clearly pleased with herself.

“See what happens when you behave?” she teased gently, her breath warm against his skin. “Makes me want to be very generous with you…”

Her hand slid back to his neck, not tight, but steady—grounding, guiding—while her hips moved with a growing urgency, chasing a feeling just out of reach.

A soft breath slipped from her lips, her control faltering just enough to make it real. She pressed a little closer, the rhythm less teasing now, more desperate in its intent.

“Don’t move…” she whispered, though her voice wavered slightly, betraying how much she was feeling.

Her fingers flexed lightly against his skin, holding him there as she found her pace again, slower this time, more intentional—drawing it out, savoring the tension she’d built between them. Her forehead dipped toward his, her breath uneven as she hovered close, like she was balancing right on the edge.

“Stay with me…” she murmured softly, her tone no longer just commanding, but laced with something deeper—something almost vulnerable beneath the control.

Just as the feeling began to crest, she stilled—lifting her hips slightly, denying herself at the very edge. A soft, shaky breath left her, the restraint almost more intoxicating than giving in.

“Tell me what you’re feeling, love…” she murmured, her voice low and a little breathless now, the control still there but threaded with something softer.

She leaned down then, finally closing the distance between them, her lips brushing against his in a slow, lingering kiss—less teasing this time, more deliberate, like she was drawing the answer out of him rather than demanding it.

Her hand remained at his neck, gentler now, thumb tracing absent patterns as she hovered close, her forehead nearly resting against his when she pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.

Rowan’s breath came in shallow bursts, his chest rising and falling like a tide against the shore. His pupils had dilated to black pools rimmed with the thinnest circle of hazel, and a fine sheen of sweat glistened at his temples. Every nerve ending in his body seemed to vibrate at her proximity, the heat radiating between them like standing too close to an open flame.

“I-“ he started, but the words died in his parched throat, dissolving into a ragged exhale that made his Adam’s apple bob visibly beneath the taut skin of his neck.

His fingers dug into the curve where her waist met her hip, the pressure leaving five distinct half-moons against the silk of her skin. Not pulling her closer, though every muscle in his arms twitched with the urge, but anchoring himself as if she were the only solid thing in the world.

“This is too fuckin’ intense,” he finally managed, each word scraping out of him like they’d been carved from his chest with a dull blade. The dim light caught the slight tremor in his lower lip as he spoke. His gaze tracked across her face, lingering at the flush high on her cheekbones, the slight part of her lips, the flutter of her lashes; cataloging details as if committing them to memory.

“And I don’t want it to fucking stop.”

Another breath escaped him, this one ending in a sound halfway between a moan and a whimper. His head fell back, exposing the vulnerable column of his throat where a pulse hammered visibly beneath the skin.

“You’ve got me all tangled up,” he confessed, voice dropping to a whisper so intimate it seemed to brush directly against her ear. A single bead of sweat traced a slow path down the side of his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

A laugh, unsteady and raw, bubbled up from somewhere deep in his chest, making the muscles of his abdomen contract beneath her touch. “And the worst part is...” He paused, the silence stretching taut as a wire between them. His eyes locked with hers, the vulnerability in them as naked and exposed as an open wound.

“I wouldn’t change a fuckin’ thing.”

The weight of his words seemed to press the air from the room, leaving them suspended in a moment where even the dust motes hung motionless in the slanting light His expression shifted, something primal and unguarded breaking through the careful facade he typically wore like armor.

“I feel...” He faltered, the tendons in his neck standing out as he struggled for words. His pulse visibly raced beneath the thin skin at his wrists, at his throat. Leaning in until his lips brushed the delicate shell of her ear, the warmth of his breath sending goosebumps cascading down her neck, he whispered: “...completely possessed by you.”

Not as if she’d stolen something from him, but as if he’d willingly surrendered it; offered it up with open hands. The raw hunger in his eyes was tempered with something deeper, something that made his hands tremble where they held her.

“You can touch me with slow hands Speed it up, baby, make me sweat Take me there, 'cause I want your sex If my body had a say, I wouldn't turn away. Touch, make love, taste you If my body told the truth, baby I would do just what I want to"