sexykitten

I want to make beautiful girls happy.

You were having a terrible day. Something had upset you so much that you simply collapsed. You sat on the couch, knees pulled up to your chin, crying. Of course, Ben, that smug bastard, couldn't pass you by without cracking a joke.

Ben snorted disdainfully at the sight of you curled up on the couch like a pathetic stray dog. He sipped his whiskey, and the burn from the alcohol did nothing to dull the irritation rising in his skin. Seeing you like that—knees up, face buried in your skin, shivering—he didn't reach for a handkerchief or offer any sentimental support. That wasn't his style.

"What the hell is this?" he asked, his voice hoarse and dripping with sarcasm. He took another sip of whiskey before slamming the glass down on the coffee table. "Oh my god, y/n, you're going to flood the whole apartment if you keep this up. What happened? Did some idiot hurt your feelings, or are you just realizing how awful this is?" He leaned back, crossing his thick arms over his chest, and looked at you with his sharp green eyes. He wasn't cruel out of the blue—well, maybe a little—but he truly didn't know how to handle vulnerability. For Ben, weakness was something to be combated with gunpowder or a goddamn dose of cocaine. Watching you fall gave him a nervous tension, an discomfort that irritated him more than anything else. Hearing no response from you, only quiet sobs, he said, "Damn it, wipe your damn eyes," he muttered, though a microscopic crack had appeared in his usual sharp tone. "You make me feel like I'm sitting next to a goddamn fountain. Spit it out or go cry somewhere else. I can't think with all that noise."

You needed his affection. You really did. But his words hurt you even more, and in annoyance, you abruptly stood up from the couch, uttering a curt, "Leave me alone!" and headed for the kitchen. Ben watched you go, rolling his eyes in disdain, but he didn't stay. His stubbornness and egocentricity wouldn't let him just sit idly by while you fucking had the last word. He followed you into the kitchen, his heavy boots slamming on the floor like a warning. He didn't know how to properly show "affection," but he also couldn't stand the tension hanging in the air like foul smoke.

"Fuck this dramatic exit, y/n. This is very mature," he growled, stepping into the kitchen after you. He leaned against the doorframe, blocking your path with his broad shoulders, looking every bit the intimidating brute he was. "You think you can just throw a tantrum and leave like some spoiled brat? Fuck that!"

He took a step closer, invading your personal space with an all-consuming, radioactive heat that seemed to emanate from his skin. He saw your shoulders tremble, and though he wanted to call you a crybaby, something about your small, defeated expression made his chest tighten in a way he hated.

"Look, I'm not going to apologize because I don't mean anything bad, okay?" he muttered, his voice dropping to a rougher, more dangerous tone. "But stop with the damn theatrics." If you want something, just ask for it instead of acting like it's the end of the world."

You bit your lip, but tears welled up in your eyes from the hurt of his words, from the terrible and difficult day. You hit him in the chest. "Leave me alone, you're just awful!"

Ben cursed in irritation as your fist connected with his chest. It was nothing to him, just a gentle touch, but your words caught him off guard. "Terrible?" he repeated, clenching his jaw. "God, you really know how to hurt a man's pride, huh?"

When you tried to push past him again, his patience snapped like a dry twig. In one sharp, aggressive movement, his hands shot out, gripping your wrists like iron handcuffs. His grip was tight, almost painful, but he wasn't trying to hurt you, he simply wanted control. "I told you to stop this damn theatrics," he growled, his breath hot on your face.

Without giving you a chance to protest, he lifted you, your legs dangling in the air, before he pushed you back onto the cold granite countertop. The sudden movement knocked the wind out of you as he stepped between your thighs, pinning you against the cabinets. He leaned closer, his massive frame looming over you, pinning you against the counter.

"You want to act like a spoiled brat? Fine. But you have no right to hit me and then tell me to go to hell," he growled, his green eyes blazing with irritation and something darker, something more primal. "You're tense as a fucking spring, y/n. Now shut up before you say something else stupid."

Ben let out a long, frustrated sigh, his anger fading, replaced by an uncomfortable feeling of genuine concern. Seeing you turn your face away, hunched over, crying quietly, leaning against the kitchen cabinet, made him feel even more like an idiot than usual. He hated this feeling, this damn vulnerability that made him do things he wasn't programmed to do.

"Damn it, y/n... look at me," he muttered. His voice wasn't a scream anymore; it was rough, but the edge had dulled. He reached out with a large, calloused hand, firmly but gently cupping your jaw, forcing you to turn your head back to him. His thumb roughly brushed across your cheek, smearing away a tear.

"Stop this nonsense. You're fucking ridiculous when you cry like that," he whispered, though his eyes were no longer cold. "You're too damn beautiful to waste your tears on some stupid day. You hear me? You're incredible. Most girls would kill for half your damn soul." It was the closest he could get to a sincere confession without feeling like he was going crazy.

Leaning down, he didn't unleash his usual rudeness on you. Instead, he pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that was unusually soft, almost reverent. It was gentle, with a hint of whiskey and nicotine, a silent, clumsy attempt to bring you back to reality and prove he wasn't going anywhere.

And here it is.

When you wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging to him as if he were the only solid link in a crumbling world, Ben made a sound, half moan, half sigh. For a split second, his instinct told him to tense, to push away this unbridled need, but then your lips were pressed against his again, desperate and insistent, and something in his chest gave in. His large hands slid from your face down to your waist, gripping your hips with such force they left bruises, pressing your slender body against his muscular one.

"That's it, baby... fuck, you're so fucking good at this," he growled against your lips, his voice husky and unusually warm. He pulled back just an inch, his forehead pressed against yours, his breathing ragged. "Look at you. You're perfect. "Hear that? Damn perfect."

But he didn't stop there. He became obsessed with mapping your face, his kisses growing more and more frantic, yet surprisingly gentle. He pressed his lips to your forehead, then to the bridge of your nose, before moving to your cheeks. "Beautiful girl," he whispered, pressing his lips to your skin, each word accompanied by a gentle kiss. "Darling, you have no idea how good you look right now."

He kissed your temple, your cheekbones, and the corner of your mouth, running his lips over your skin as if trying to memorize every inch of your body. This time, the rough, vulgar bastard disappeared, giving way to a man who clumsily and desperately tried to make you feel like the only thing that truly mattered in this world.

Your quiet, broken moan pierced his usual defenses like a damn knife. Most people would be frightened or angry at the sound, but for Ben, it made something deep inside him growl with a protective, possessive need. He didn't know how to fix the world for you, and he certainly didn't know how to fix what had broken your heart today, but he could beat all the sadness out of you if he tried hard enough.

"Shh, damn it, don't make those noises, baby. It's okay," he murmured, pressing against your skin. His thumbs were rough, scarred from decades of battles and worse, but as he wiped the salty tears from your cheeks, he moved with surprising delicacy. He erased the traces of your breakdown, as if he could simply erase that terrible day with his own hands.

"I get it. I'm here, okay?" His voice was a low rumble in his chest, vibrating against your body. "No one will touch you as long as I'm here."

He didn't wait for an answer, because he knew you needed action, not more words. He pressed his lips to yours again, deeper this time, greedily devouring your lips, simultaneously soothing and filling you. The kiss was possessive, a reminder that you belonged to him, and he belonged to you. He muffled your moans with his tongue, his hands sliding down to press your buttocks hard against the countertop, pressing you against him as he tried to drown out everything else in the world with just the taste of your lips.

When you went limp, your body finally giving in to exhaustion rather than sadness, Ben felt the change immediately. He didn't pull away or make some crude joke about you being a fucking wreck. Instead, he shifted his posture, bracing his feet against the ground to support both your weight and his as your head rested against his. He let you wrap his arms around him, his huge arms enveloping you in a protective cocoon that seemed almost too large for the small space between you.

When your fingers began to slowly, absentmindedly trace circles on his forearm, Ben froze for half a second. He wasn't used to a gentle touch without ulterior motives or demands. This was unfamiliar territory, sending shivers of unfamiliar vulnerability across his skin. But he didn't push you away.

"Fuck," he whispered, but this time there was no bite in his words. There was almost a tenderness in them, a rough acknowledgement of how much you could disarm him without even trying. He leaned down, pressing his lips to the crown of your head. His beard lightly tickled your scalp as he held you, inhaling the scent of your hair. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, the noise in his head—memories of the war, the Russians, the betrayal, the constant urge to numb the pain—felt quiet.

He simply stood there in the dim kitchen light, pinning you to the counter, while the world outside the window continued to be a damned terrible place. He said nothing more; he knew that sometimes, when everything else is crap, silence and a pair of strong arms are the only things that really matter.

Ben growled as your hips slammed against his, the sound of wet flesh slapping against each other echoing off the shitty apartment walls. He didn't care about being gentle; he never did. His large hands moved from your waist to your throat, his fingers wrapping around your cunt tight enough to make your vision swim, and your cries turn into desperate, needy whines.

"Fuck, you're pathetic, y/n," he murmured in your ear, his breath hot and reeking of whiskey and nicotine. "Moaning like a fucking puppy. Look at you, absolutely wrecked." He pulled back enough to see your face flushed, tear-stained, and completely ruined by him. A smirk, cruel and satisfied, appeared on his lips. "Such a naughty little slut," he muttered, his cock thrusting upward with a bruising force that made you arch your back involuntarily.

You're just desperate for this soldier boy. You're so turned on and want him so badly that you decide to act first. While Ben sits at the table, crushing pills with his hunting knife, you run your manicured fingers over his shoulders and playfully nibble his ear.

Ben didn't even flinch when your teeth brushed his earlobe; if anything, the contact only fueled the smug smirk spreading across his face. He kept his gaze fixed on the wooden table, the blade of his hunting knife scraping the surface with a sharp, rhythmic sound as he ground a handful of pills into a fine white powder. The metallic clang of the knife and the chemical smell of drugs filled the space between you, but he didn't seem to mind.

"You're pretty damn cheeky today, aren't you?" Ben growled, his voice deep and raspy. He didn't stop the knife's movement, but tilted his head slightly to give you better access, leaning into your touch despite his roughness. "Most girls would tremble in fear if I sat here like this, but you? You're just looking for trouble."

Finally, he fell silent, the knife blade coated in a white film, and turned his green eyes to you. A predatory glint flickered in his gaze, hinting that he knew exactly what you were doing, and how much you wanted him to stop playing with the pills and start playing with you.

"But I guess I can't blame you, sweetheart. Can't blame a girl for having good fucking taste," he added with a rough laugh, reaching out and wrapping his thick, calloused palm around your neck. His grip wasn't gentle, but it wasn't painful either, just commanding. "You're a sweet little doll, y/n. You always know exactly when to distract me."

Ben stopped mid-step, his hunting knife clattering to the table, and turned his full attention to you. When you licked his plump lips and uttered the phrase about wanting to play with "daddy," his pupils dilated slightly, dark green irises absorbing the light. A slow, dangerous smirk spread across his face—the kind of smirk that promised you wouldn't emerge from this encounter unscathed.

"Damn it, y/n," he growled, lowering his voice an octave to something rougher, more primal. "Do you really not know when to shut up? Approaching a man like that when he's trying to get his fix…" He snorted contemptuously, but his hand, sliding from the back of your head and roughly tangling in your soft hair, told a completely different story. "You're asking for something you might not be able to handle."

He jerked your head back, forcing your gaze to meet his, and ran his thumb roughly over your bottom lip. "Want to play daddy? Fine. But I don't play fair, sweetheart. I don't like affection, and I'll never do anything nice for anything."

His breathing grew heavier, the smug, arrogant Superman giving way to the rough, lustful bastard beneath him. "If you're going to beg for it, you better be prepared to earn it. Now get over here and show me how much you want to play."

As you leaned down to lick his lips, Ben let out a low, grateful growl that rumbled deep in his chest. The moment your lips touched, he didn't hesitate, kissing you back with desperate, greedy intensity, his tongue darting between your teeth to claim yours as if it belonged to him. His mouth tasted faintly of whiskey and tobacco, a rough combination that made your head spin.

As your fingers slid over his temples, feeling the heat radiating from his skin, Ben exhaled sharply, pressing his lips to yours. One of his hands moved from your hair to the small of your back, pressing you against his strong, muscular body. He didn't want to move away from you, holding you so tightly that you could feel every inch of hard muscle beneath his shirt.

"Fuck, you're going to kill me, baby," he muttered against your lips between ragged kisses. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me right now?"

He pulled back just an inch, his green eyes wide with pure, undiluted lust. His breathing was heavy, his chest heaving as he looked at your face as if you were the only thing that mattered in this goddamn world. The smug bastard was still there, but underneath something darker, exhaustion lurked. "If you keep touching me like this, I'll forget about all these pills and fuck you until you can't even remember your own name."

When those words left your lips, that soft, desperate "Please, Daddy," Ben froze for half a second. His nostrils flared, his whole body tensed as if he'd been slapped. That innocent look you gave him was like pouring gasoline on a fucking forest fire; it triggered every single one of his possessive and dominant instincts.

"You little fucking girl," he hissed, but there was no anger in his voice, only pure, unfiltered hunger.

Without warning, his palm slapped your buttocks with a stinging, echoing slap that made your whole body shudder. "Damn it, you're asking for it," he growled. Before you could catch your breath from the pain, his hands were on you, rough and impatient, pushing you backward until you fell hard against the couch cushions. He didn't give you a moment to recover. Ben was bearing down on you like a fucking predator, his massive frame towering over you, blocking out the light. He looked down at you with his piercing green eyes, his jaw clenched, his chest heaving under your shirt. It seemed he wanted to devour you whole.

"You want Daddy to play? Fine. You'll get it." His voice was hoarse and warning as he straddled your hips, pinning you to the couch with all his weight. "But don't fucking cry when I don't stop, until you beg me to stop."

Your innocent chuckle only seemed to anger him further, in the best possible way. "You think this is some kind of damn game, huh?" Ben pressed his face against yours, but his actions belied his words as his lips brushed the sensitive part of your neck. He wasn't just kissing you; he was nipping and sucking at your flesh, leaving bruises that made you arch back against the couch. When your moan escaped your throat, he made a contented, guttural sound deep in his chest.

Then you did it. You grabbed his index finger and ran it over your plump lips, sucking on it, holding his gaze with your wide green eyes. Ben froze, his whole body rigid as he looked at you. The sight of your beautiful, soft hair strewn across the pillows, your gaze gazing up at him as you pleasured him with just your mouth, was enough to make his cock twitch painfully in his pants.

"Fuck, y/n... you're going to be the death of me," he croaked, his voice trembling with suppressed desire. He watched you suck his finger, his pupils so dilated they were almost black. The arrogance was still there, but it was overshadowed by an unbridled, desperate need to possess you.

His free hand reached up to firmly grasp your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye. "Keep doing that. Keep looking at me like that while you do it. Do you want to see how bad a daddy can be?" He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "Because I'm five seconds away from ripping those damn clothes off you."

Ben didn't wait for a response; he captured your lips again in a kiss that was less tender and more dominating. His tongue slid across yours, deliberately leaving a trail of saliva on your lips like a brand, a reminder of who was in charge. Pulling away, he left you breathless, your lips glistening.

"Hold still, baby," he commanded, his voice thick with lust. His large, rough hands gripped your hips, the strength of his fingers evident as he pulled your legs toward him, forcing you open. His movements were impatient, almost aggressive in their intensity. In one fluid motion, he pulled off his blue T-shirt and tossed it across the room without even looking. His muscular chest, scarred by decades of combat and Russian experiments, was on full display. He wasn't wasting any more damn time on the fabric. He pulled down his pants, revealing his cock. It was thick, heavy, and already pulsing with desire. Ben wrapped his hand around it and began thrusting vigorously and aggressively. The sight of his sweaty, muscular body, completely focused on his own arousal and staring intently at you, was simply stunning.

"Look at this, y/n," he growled, his green eyes blazing as he watched your reaction. "Look what you're doing to me. You wanted Daddy to play, right? Well, here it is, fucking here." He gripped himself tighter, his knuckles turning white as he increased his pace, the raw power of his superhuman physiology making every movement intense and dangerous.

Ben's breathing became ragged, each exhalation a hot gust of air against your skin as he watched your reaction to his cock. His eyes never left yours, tracking every movement of your eyelashes as he lowered his hand. His large, warm, and sensual hand slid up your inner thigh. The contact was deliberate and possessive, his fingers lightly digging into your soft flesh as he hooked them under the hem of your miniskirt.

"Fuck, you look so damn beautiful like this," he growled, the vulgar compliment rolling off his tongue as he crumpled the fabric. The cool air of the room touched your skin, but you barely felt it over the heat radiating from his body. With the practiced ease of a man who takes exactly what he wants, he hooked his fingers into the lace of your panties, pushing the fabric aside without any delicacy. He exposed you completely to his greedy gaze, his green eyes sweeping over you with undisguised admiration. The sight of you, vulnerable and exposed beneath him, seemed to break something in his pent-up emotions. His hand moved from your hip to cup you possessively, his thumb stroking your sensitive skin until your hips instinctively arched upward.

"Here it comes, fuck," he rasped, his voice dropping to a dangerous, husky whisper. "Now I know exactly what I'm dealing with." He leaned forward, his muscular chest almost brushing yours, the scent of whiskey and raw masculinity overwhelming your senses. "Are you ready to take this, baby? Because I won't be gentle."

"Please, Daddy... kiss me, please," you moaned, your voice shaking as you arched your hips into his hand. You desperately craved contact, the comfort of his lips on yours. But Ben was a sadist when it came to teasing; he loved watching you squirm, loved seeing your sweet face contort with desire.

He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his breath hot on your lips. For three agonizing seconds, he simply stared at you, letting the tension build until you thought you were about to break. Then, just as you leaned forward, he abruptly pulled back at the last second, kissing the corner of your lips. "Patience, sweetheart." "You're going too fast," he mockingly said, chuckling harshly.

Then, without warning, he abruptly shifted his weight. With one swift, crushing thrust, he slammed his thick cock into you. The sudden fullness made you cry out, a sharp sound of shock and overwhelming sensation echoing throughout the room. "Fuck!" he hissed through clenched teeth, his own body reacting violently to the friction.

"Please... Daddy, please hold me... kiss me properly," you sobbed, your eyes filling with tears from the intensity of his kiss. You needed to feel his closeness, needed tenderness to balance the raw power of what he had just done.

Ben groaned, the sound half growl, half pleasure, as he collapsed on top of you. He wrapped his massive arms around you, pressing you against his bare chest in a surprisingly tight embrace. This time, he captured your lips in a real kiss, deep, powerful, and wet, his hand supporting the back of your head. "Fuck, y/n," he whispered, pressing his lips to yours, pulling away to look at your tear-stained face. "You're such a needy girl, aren't you? Always begging for more."

The moment you wrapped your arms around his thick neck, Ben let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a fucking growl. He loved this defiance, the way you didn't just endure it, but tried to return it, even when you were on the verge of breaking down. "Yeah, that's it, baby. Press yourself against me with your fucking hands," he growled, gripping your hips tighter to anchor you, and began to fuck you with brutal, relentless force.

Each thrust was heavy and purposeful, penetrating deep enough to blur your vision. The couch creaked under the strain of his superhuman strength, the rhythm of his body slamming against yours echoing throughout the room. He held nothing back; he fucked you as if he wanted to leave his mark on your soul.

As he worked you, he leaned closer, his lips brushing against your earlobe. His breath was hot and smelled of whiskey as he began whispering dirty, degrading things that made your skin flush. "You like this, don't you? Being used like a fucking toy by a man like me?" he rasped, his voice vibrating softly in your ear. "Look at you, begging for it like a fucking animal. Just a needy little slut who can never get enough of daddy's cock."

His words were vulgar and harsh, but the way he held you, the way his arms wrapped around you even as he fucked you roughly, betrayed the perverse possessiveness lurking beneath. "You're mine, y/n. Every fucking inch of your body is mine now. Remember that while I stretch you out."

Ben was in his element: arrogant, drunk, and completely in control. One of his massive hands released your hip to reach for the bottle of whiskey on the bedside table, and he took a long, scorching swig while his other hand held you down. He didn't slow down because of the alcohol; he simply drove harder and harder into you, each thrust penetrating to the very core, making your entire body tremble. The sound of his cock slapping against your entrance, combined with the wet gulp of whiskey, was stunning.

When you raised your hand, trembling fingers stroking his rock-hard abs in a desperate attempt to slow his agonizing rhythm, Ben noticed immediately. He looked down at you, taking in your flushed skin, your dilated pupils, and that pathetic, needy expression on your face. Instead of softening, he let out a harsh, mocking laugh.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? Can't keep up with Daddy's pace?" he teased, his voice laced with mockery. Suddenly, his hand flew from your hip to your throat. His grip wasn't crushing, but it was firm enough to remind you who was in charge, and he pulled your head back onto the pillow. "Open your sweet mouth. Now."

This command left no room for argument. As soon as you parted your lips, obedient and desperate, he leaned down. He captured your lips in a passionate kiss, but he didn't just give you his tongue; he tilted his head back slightly and poured the rest of the whiskey directly into your mouth. The burning pain of the alcohol spread down your throat as the kiss deepened, forcing you to swallow the liquor, mixing with his saliva. You squeezed your eyes shut, letting out a broken, muffled moan as the heat of the whiskey and the raw intensity of his dominance washed over both of you.

Ben didn't stop for a second. The alcohol coursed through your systems, making everything even more intense, even more dangerous. One of his hands left your throat and slid up, lifting your blouse so that it bunched under your chin. His rough fingers immediately found your breast, squeezing and stroking it with such possessive hunger that you moaned.

"That's it, damn princess. Good girl," he growled, his voice thick with praise that sounded both like a reward and a command. "Such an obedient doll. So damn beautiful when you take it."

But he wasn't done playing yet. With effort, he shifted his weight, lifting your body off the pillows. In one smooth, powerful movement, he flipped you over so that you were across his lap, facing him. His hands gripped your hips like iron shackles, guiding you as he thrust up sharply again, slamming his cock back into your wet cunt with crushing force.

The shift in position meant you couldn't avoid the impact; each thrust lifted you off his lap before slamming you back down. Your hands flew to his bare chest, clinging to his tense muscles with all your might, and you began to cry out, the pleasure so overwhelming it felt like pain.

Ben exhaled sharply through his teeth, biting his lower lip, watching your face contort in ecstasy and despair. Seeing you fall apart like this, completely broken by him, was better than any drug he'd ever taken. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours as his hips continued their brutal work.

"Look at you," he rasped into your ear, his voice dropping to a dirty, desperate whisper. "You're completely broken. And I'm not done yet. I'm going to come so deep inside you, you'll feel it in your bones. You want that, don't you? You want Daddy to fill you up?"

When you nodded and let out that broken, desperate moan, something almost feral flashed in Ben's eyes. "That's my girl," he growled, his voice shaking with tension. He wrapped both arms around your waist, pressing you against his bare chest so that there was absolutely no space between you. The contact was searing, your bodies slick with sweat and whiskey as he began to thrust into you with all his remaining strength. Each thrust became slower but infinitely more powerful, each stroke pushing you deeper into the pillows.

"Fuck... I'm cumming," he hissed through clenched teeth, his entire body tensing like a coiled spring. "I'm fucking filling you." With three final, earth-shattering thrusts that seemed to shake your entire body, Ben let out a guttural roar. You felt the hot, pulsating stream of his cum erupt deep into your swollen vagina, filling you to the brim.

The ejaculation left you completely exhausted. You couldn't hold back a final moan before your muscles finally gave out. You collapsed onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck in a tight, instinctive embrace, and your body went limp. Your head fell forward, pressing against the hard, warm surface of his chest, and your breathing gradually slowed.

For a moment, the confident, cruel Superman fell silent. Ben remained still, allowing you to ride out the aftershocks. He raised his hand and gently kissed your head. "You did so damn well, sweetheart," he whispered into your hair, his voice rough but devoid of its usual cruelty. His large hand came down, gently slapping your buttocks one last time, as if claiming his ownership even in the silence. When exhaustion finally overcame you, your eyes closed and you fell into a deep, drug- and sex-fueled sleep, right next to his heart.

To lighten the mood while you sat with this sexy but annoying soldier boy, you wanted to challenge him to a simple drink. You playfully joked that he was so old he'd pass out faster. Ben could only smirk at you but agreed. You wanted to get him drunk, and you thought you could do it. You really thought you could. It wasn't long before you had a drink... you don't even remember how much you drank. You noticed he was the same as usual. Still muscular with wide biceps and thick thighs. Biting your plush lip, you realized you'd been staring at his huge hands for a long time, imagining him grabbing your throat and roughly fucking you.

Ben let out a hoarse, rough laugh as he saw you looking at him, the ice clinking against the glass as he stirred the whiskey. "What the hell are you staring at, sweetheart? Never seen a man's hands before?" His smirk was downright nasty, knowing exactly what was going through your eyes. The alcohol had clearly turned your brain to mush, leaving you sloppy and pathetic in the best possible way.

"You're damn charming when you're drunk and stupid, I'll admit that," he muttered, setting the whiskey down on the coffee table with a thud. "Bet you thought you could outdrink a damn war hero. Breaking news: I've drunk more alcohol in one night than you've ever had in your entire pathetic life." He leaned forward, his massive frame looming over you like an inescapable storm. His hand grabbed your thigh sharply, not gently, but with a rough authority he couldn't contain. His grip was tight, almost painful, his thumb digging into your soft skin as he pulled you closer to the edge of his seat. "You're looking at my hands like you want them to do something to you. Why don't you stop pretending and just ask?"

He leaned in so that you could smell the sharp scent of whiskey and tobacco on his breath. "Unless you're too afraid of what will happen when I actually start touching you. So what? Speak up, doll."

Ben didn't give you a single chance to close yourself off. The moment he saw you flinch, trying to hide the crimson blush rising up your neck, he burst into another loud, rude, and completely unceremonious laugh. "Oh, screw it. Don't be shy, especially after the way you were practically drooling over me two seconds ago."

Before you could protest or even stumble over your drunken words, his large hands reached out. One wrapped around your waist, the other hooked around your hip, pulling you off the couch with terrifying ease. In one smooth, commanding motion, he pulled you forward until you were straddling his thick thighs. The sudden contact took your breath away; you felt every inch of his hard muscle beneath you.

"That's it," he growled, his voice dropping to a lower, dangerous register that vibrated right through your bones. His hands spread across your lower back, squeezing tightly, leaving a trail of his power. "Good girl. See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

He leaned back slightly, forcing you to sit upright against his chest, his green eyes studying your face with predatory satisfaction. "Look at you. Such an obedient little doll. Beautiful enough to make a man forget he should be angry at the world." He nipped at your earlobe, his beard pressing roughly against your skin. "Keep being so damn good to me, sweetheart, and maybe I'll show you what these hands can really do."

After losing the bet to Soldier Boy, you lay naked on the bed, wearing only lace panties, breathing heavily from his kisses on your sensitive, soft breasts. Ben let out a husky, throaty laugh as he pulled away from your hips, his green eyes darkening with a mixture of arousal and a familiar, arrogant satisfaction. The sight of you lying there, your pale skin flushed by his lips, trembling under his gaze, was exactly what he wanted. He loved having you exactly where he wanted you, especially after he made you squirm with every inch of attention.

"Fuck, y/n," he growled, wiping a string of drool from his chin with the back of his hand. "Look at you. You're dripping like a broken faucet. You're such a pathetic little slut for me, aren't you?" His smirk widened as he watched your chest rise and fall. He wasn't trying to be cute; he loved the way his words made your breathing even more ragged. He loved being the reason you couldn't think straight.

He crawled onto the bed, the muscles in his arms tensing as he leaned against you, his gray sweatpants doing nothing to hide how much he wanted to plunge inside you again. "Bet you thought you could beat me, huh?" He leaned down, his beard scratching your soft skin, and whispered in your ear, "You should have been more careful. Now you're going to pay." His hand slid down between your legs, his fingers finding your clit without a moment's hesitation. "You're going to take every damn inch I give you today, baby. And you're going to fucking love it."

The moment your fingers dug into his biceps, searching for purchase as your body pulsed with desire, Ben didn't relent. On the contrary, your desperate, needy moan only fueled his fervor. He wasn't some fucking prince who would pamper you; he was a man who took what he wanted, and now he wanted to feel you surrender completely.

His free hand shot up, his palm cupping your neck. He didn't squeeze hard enough to hurt, but the pressure was enough to remind you who was boss, making you gasp as the air momentarily thinned. The dominance in his grip was instinctive, rough, and uncompromising. "Fuck yes, cry about it," he murmured, pressing against your skin, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

Then he pressed his lips to yours. This wasn't a gentle kiss; it was a hellish collision. His lips were rough, with a hint of whiskey and tobacco, and he invaded yours with an aggressive hunger, demanding you kiss him back. His tongue darted between your teeth, tasting your arousal as he kissed you as if he were trying to devour you whole. One hand pinned you by the throat, and the other slid down your body, leaving bruises on your thighs. He wanted you marked, wanted you to remember the feel of his hands on you long after he finished fucking you senseless.

Ben pulled away from your lips with a smacking sound, leaving you wet, breathless, and stunned. He didn't give you a second to recover before sliding between your thighs again. He wanted to throw you off balance, to completely surrender you to whatever he decided to do next. When his tongue first slid over your swollen folds, you let out a broken sound, half-sob, half-moan, your hips jerking involuntarily.

"Fuck, you're so damn desperate, aren't you?" he growled, pressing against your skin, his voice muffled but oozing with scornful amusement. He found your clit with alarming precision, sucking on it so hard it sparked behind your eyelids. As you writhed beneath him, your fingers desperately tangled in his dark hair, trying to either pull him closer or push him away from the overwhelming sensations, he only dug deeper.

Suddenly, he stopped licking and jerked upward. Instead of kissing, he sank his teeth into the soft flesh of your thigh, biting so hard he left a visible mark. You cried out, but the sound was cut off by his cruel, satisfied gaze as he looked up at you, between your legs.

Ben let out a hoarse, rough laugh when you tried to turn away from him, the smoke from his joint enveloping your face like a fucking fog. "Fuck your innocent bullshit, y/n. You're not innocent, you're just pretending," he growled, his voice trembling with amusement and irritation. When you ignored his order, his patience snapped not from anger, but from the domineering cruelty he wore like a second skin.

His fingers clamped around your jaw like iron shackles, forcing your mouth open wide. "Open that slutty mouth for me. Now." When you still resisted, he spat without hesitation, then squeezed your cheeks hard. "Bad girl. Very, very bad."

The sound of your soft moan, pressed against his palm, only made his cock twitch even harder in your throat. He could feel the heat radiating from you, the way your cunt was soaking wet. "Look, you're already soaking wet," he smirked, his green eyes dark with pure, unbridled lust. "You're such a pathetic little slut for me, aren't you?"

Ben exhaled a thick cloud of marijuana smoke, his green eyes watching your movements with a lazy, predatory hunger. His legs were spread wide, his thick, powerful thighs framing the space he wanted you to be. "That's it, sweetheart. Come here and be a good girl for Ben" he growled, his voice hoarse from years of cigarettes and whiskey. When you obediently settled into his lap, he chuckled harshly and leaned in to whisper dirty promises in your ear about exactly how he planned to fuck you later.

His fingers hooked into the hem of your shorts, teasing the skin beneath, before he pulled away abruptly. "Actually, screw it..I need a different kind of fun" he growled, pushing you down until you were kneeling between his thighs like the submissive slut he knew you could be. "Try harder, baby."

One hand remained wrapped around the joint, the ember glowing brightly as he took another drag, while the other fisted roughly in your hair. He squeezed even harder, throwing your head back to expose your throat before thrusting his thick cock between your lips. "That's it, swallow it," he commanded, his voice thick with vulgar satisfaction. As you gagged, tears welling in your eyes from his depths, he simply watched with a sadistic grin, smoke curling around your faces as he deliberately teased you, giving you no relief, reveling in the sight.

"Fuck, you're just a natural-born slut for sucking my dick, aren't you?" " he growled, his words muffled by the smoke as he leaned back, letting out a satisfied groan. He watched with undisguised arrogance as your eyes filled with tears, your throat tightening around his cock as he took another slow drag of the joint. He loved this feeling of power, the way he could make a beautiful girl like you squirm and resist simply because he wanted to.

"Don't you dare stop, baby. Keep going until I tell you otherwise," he ordered, tightening his grip on your hair to emphasize his command. He wasn't thinking about tenderness or aftercare right now; he was thinking about how good it felt to dominate something so soft and young. The combination of marijuana smoke and the unbridled need for control made his blood boil.

"Yeah, that's it. Swallow every damn inch," he muttered, his hips jerking up involuntarily as you struggled to keep up with his pace. With his free hand, he reached down, roughly brushing his thumb across your cheekbone where a tear had rolled. He brushed it away with the pad of his finger. "Look at you. So damn obedient. I wonder what else you'd do if I really pissed you off."

You choked on his cock, whimpering and moaning. Ben clicked his tongue sharply in disapproval as you instinctively tried to pull away from the thickness of his cock filling your throat. "What the hell was that?" he barked, his voice dropping to a dangerous, raspy register. Before you could catch your breath, his palm struck your cheek sharply, but not painfully. A mere slap. "I never told you to pull away, princess."

The burning sensation seared your skin, but the fear of disappointing him was stronger. His grip on your hair tightened painfully, pressing your face against his groin, making retreat impossible. "You'll take every damn inch of this, and you'll love it, do you hear me?" he growled, exhaling another cloud of smoke that stung your watering eyes. "Don't you dare make me ask twice. You're here to please me, not whine."

He leaned forward, his free hand pinning your head to him with relentless force, causing you to gag violently as his cock sank deep into your throat again. "That's it. Now be a good little slut and finish what you started," he muttered, a cruel, satisfied smirk spreading across his face as he watched you struggle to submit. "Fuck, you're so pathetic when you cry like that. It's so fucking arousing."

After a few more desperate, crushing thrusts that pushed you over the edge, Ben let out a guttural, triumphant groan. His hips jerked hard against your face as he shot thick, hot cum deep into your throat. "Fuck, yes... take it all, baby," he rasped, his voice shaking with intensity. When he finally pulled away, leaving you gasping and wiping drool from your chin, his expression softened from the brutal dominance to something almost resembling tenderness that only a man like him could muster.

"Swallow every damn drop, y/n. Don't let a single bit go to waste," he ordered, though the harshness in his voice was less pronounced than before. When you complied, licking your lips, he leaned down and caught you under the arms, lifting your trembling body onto his lap. His muscular arms wrapped around your frame, holding you close to his chest until the adrenaline began to fade, replaced by the haze of marijuana.

Ben groaned, his hoarse, guttural sound piercing you without the slightest hesitation. He laid you face down, pressing your cheek into the pillow, and with one massive hand he fisted your hair, jerking your head back to expose your throat. "Fuck, you're so tight. Like you were made just to take this from me," he growled in your ear, his breath hot and faintly scented with whiskey and tobacco.

Every thrust was purposeful, strong, and merciless. He wasn't gentle; he was claiming your territory. When you began to whimper, your voice muffled by the fabric beneath you, he didn't slow down, he fucking sped up. "That's it, cry for me, you little slut." "Show me how much you love being used by Daddy," he chuckled, though there was something possessive in the way his other hand caressed your thigh before digging his nails into your skin.

"Ben... I can't... I can't take it anymore," you moaned, your body shaking under the relentless onslaught of his cock.

"Bullshit. You'll take every damn inch I give you," he snapped, though with surprising strength he flipped you over, pinning your wrists above your head. His weight was crushing, warm, and overwhelming. He leaned down and kissed you with a greedy, desperate need that tasted like dominance. "You're mine, doll. Remember that. My sweet girl."

He shifted his grip, one hand sliding down to grab your buttocks hard enough to leave bruises, the other continuing to tangle your hair, forcing you to look up and meet his piercing green eyes. "Look at me when I fuck you, y/n. Don't you dare close those beautiful eyes," he commanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous, husky tone. He was relentless, his hips slamming against yours with a rhythm that felt less like sex and more like an act of war.

The friction was unbearable, your body stretched to its limits as he penetrated deeper, seeking to possess every single nerve ending. "Fuck, you're so fucking perfect," he hissed through clenched teeth, his cock pulsing inside you as he neared his breaking point. "My perfect little doll."

Without warning, he pulled back just long enough to flip you onto your stomach again, lifting your hips high. This angle was devastating. "Take it all, sweetheart. Every fucking drop." He thrust into you again, his movements faster, more primal. His breathing became ragged, filthy as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, lightly biting your shoulder, spilling everything he had, filling you completely and shouting curses that sounded more like praise than anything else.

He let out a final, trembling growl, burying his cock as deep as he could, his entire muscular body tensing as he poured his passion into you. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was his ragged, labored breathing and the wet slap of skin on skin as he slowly pulled out, though he didn't pull out completely. Instead, he dropped his heavy weight on your back, pressing you into the mattress, his heart pounding against your spine like a fucking hammer. He kissed your ass.

"Fuck me," he muttered into your hair, his voice rougher than gravel.

After a few minutes, catching his breath, he rolled off you, pulling you with him until your head rested on his broad chest. One of his hands slid down, absentmindedly caressing your thigh, where his fingers left red marks, while the other tangled in your hair. With his free hand, he reached for the bottle of whiskey on the nightstand, took a long swig, and pressed his lips to yours, letting you drink it from his mouth.

Ben wasn't gentle. He never was. He rode you with a relentless, punishing rhythm, his hips slamming into yours with enough force to make your vision blur. Each thrust was deliberate, heavy, and utterly dominating, designed to remind you exactly who held the leash. He watched your face intently, fascinated by the way your eyes welled up and your breath came in ragged, broken gasps as he pushed you to your absolute limit.

When he saw the first tear track down your cheek, he didn't stop. Instead, he slowed down just enough to savor the reaction, a cruel, mocking smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He leaned in close, his sweat dripping onto your skin, his breath hot against your ear.

"Oh fuck, what's this?" he drawled, his voice dripping with false concern. He sounded like he was performing for an audience, faking a concern he didn't fucking feel. "Why's my beautiful little doll cryin' all of a sudden?"

He gave your hair another rough tug, forcing your tear stained face upward so he could inspect the damage. "What's the matter, sweetheart? Did Daddy get a little too rough for ya?" His laugh was rough and condescending, completely devoid of real sympathy. "Should've thought about that before you started beggin' for this shit."

Despite the mockery in his words, his cock kept driving deep inside you, punishing you for your vulnerability even as he teased you about it.

"C'mon now, don't ruin that pretty face. You wanted this, remember? You wanted to be my little good girl?."

Sorry girl I need him so much lmao🫩

I write for the most wonderful and beautiful girl🧁