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ᯓ✦∘˙ RYLAND GRACE . . .

“Goodnight, Ry.” You leaned over, momentarily out of his grip as you flicked the bedside lamp off; darkness quickly swallowing the whole room as you settled back into his embrace.

His head was laid gently against your shoulder, hugging you from behind as he began peppering tiny kisses against the exposed skin, eliciting a pleasant sigh from your mouth as you settled down, ready to drift off into sleep. It wasn’t until his kisses became slower, more sensual, that you realised what he was trying to initiate.

“Ry.” You spoke sternly, a tone like you were scolding him.

“Hm?” He hummed innocently, pulling himself back from your neck as he began to fiddle with the hem of the pyjama shirt you were wearing.

“I’m tired, honey.” You sighed deeply, feeling a little deflated for rejecting the man. It wasn’t often that Ryland initiated sex, maybe once a month he made the first move himself, probably in fear of being shot-down like he just had. “Listen, wake me up before you leave for work, okay? We can sort something out.”

“Hey no, It’s okay you don’t have to—“ Ryland seemed to stop himself mid-sentence, imagination probably trailing off to the most wonderful places as he realised just how hard he was; a problem that would keep pestering him until he was able to get his release the way he wanted. “I’ll wake you up in the morning.”

The last part came out a little embarrassed, making you sleepily chuckle, now drifting off into a deep sleep.

Ryland had taken it upon himself to get up a little earlier that morning, allowing himself longer than usual in bed with you; Ryland wasn’t so much a fan of quickies, he liked to take his time, staring down at your face while he pleasured you. He could stay there forever.

Mindlessly, his fingers began fiddling with the hem of your underwear; pulling it and letting it gently smack back against your skin as he waited to see if you’d stir awake from the motion, sighing deeply when you didn’t. He didn’t really want to disturb you in that way, shaking you awake so you could have sex with him, something about it felt wrong to him — like everything was all about him, and he never wanted it to be that way.

He pondered for a moment, wondering how he could make it about you before his fingers paused against the hem of your underwear, an idea quickly coming to light. His fingers gently tucked themselves inside your underwear, flexing his wrist slightly to allow more precision as he pressed two fingers against the most sensitive part of you.

He shuffled upwards slightly, head coming to rest on your shoulder like it did the previous night; his fingers now softly circling, lips kissing up your neck. He noticed how your breathing seemed to speed up in your sleep, letting out a tiny whimper that caused his mouth to drop open, astounded at the effect you had on him just from making such a small noise.

He felt you growing wetter underneath his touch as you finally began to stir awake, a moan of his name leaving your lips.

“This is new.” Ryland could hear the smile on your face, peering over at you to catch a glimpse of it as you instinctively leaned back into him.

“Do you like it?”

He watched as you began to nod incessantly, mirroring the smile you were wearing perfectly as he shifted his focus back to his movements, intent on having you fall apart beneath his touch.

“Wanted to wake you up all nice and gentle like you deserve, baby.” His voice was raspy, feeling how when he circled over a spot your back arched up into him in a silent piece of reassurance he was doing a good job.

His fingers slowly began to speed up their circling, enjoying how you twitched into him, louder moans of his name now falling from your lips — repeating his name like a mantra, over and over again until his head started to spin.

“Mm, turn over. C’mere.” Ryland placed a strong-hand against your shoulder, pushing down on the skin to get you to lay flat on your back, quickly manoeuvring himself on top of you.

His lips caught yours in a passionate kiss, removing his hand from inside your underwear to slide the garment down your leg, discarding it near the bottom of the bed somewhere; his hand now trailing back up to your thigh as he sat upwards, settling himself inbetween you.

His hands gently steadied your legs over his shoulders, using his grip on the limbs to pull you closer to him as he begun lining himself up. Your hair splayed out majestically against the white-pillows, messing up in all the ways he enjoyed.

He entered you with a gasp, carefully pushing himself as deep as he could go before his posture faltered for a moment; feeling how your walls squeezed around him, shuddering at the greeting.

Ryland moaned out in a mix of desperation and relief as he begun thrusting in and out of you, intently watching every twist of your face, how your eyes were squeezed shut, mouth hanging open as noises slipped out every so often.

Wanting more contact, your hands begin gently grabbing at the air while you tried to reach him, eventually giving up with a whine. Ryland leant down closer to you, accidentally pushing himself impossibly deeper with a guttural groan.

He watched how your head shot back instantly, one of your legs spasming involuntarily on his shoulder as you let out your loudest moan yet.

“Geez.” He seethed through gritted-teeth, eyes shut as he cocked his head in pleasure, feeling your fingers now threading through his messy locks.

He acknowledged how you begin bucking your hips at him, a silent begging for him to resume his pace. And who was he to say no?

With the added pleasure of your fingers tangled in his hair, Ryland began thrusting just like before, his eyes locked on yours, which were now looking up at him in pure bliss.

“Ry— I’m really— I’m gonna—“

“I hear you, baby. Come on, let me feel it.” He encouraged in a tone that made your head spin, orgasm hitting you like a truck as he talked you all the way through it, barely even audible over the sounds of your repeated moaning.

Ryland finished as soon as you did, the squeeze proving all too much for him to keep it together. He pulled out of you slowly, carefully bringing your shaking legs to return to the comfort of the mattress as he collapsed next to you — his chest heaving.

“Feelin’ loud this morning, huh?” He joked, turning his head to face your annoyed expression.

“You better look the other way before I smack you in the face.”

ᯓ✦∘˙ SIERRA SIX . . .

“No, we’re not doing that, follow me.”

Six’s deep, authoritative tone echoed through your ears despite the overwhelming chatter of the crowd. His hand was wrapped tightly around your wrist, tugging you over to a dimly-lit corner of the room, growing further and further away from the target you were assigned to be uncomfortably close to by now.

Six was protective, he never wanted you to be in the line of danger, but most of all — he wasn’t a fan of sharing.

The agency had instructed you to seduce the target by any means possible: flirting, touching, nothing seemed to be off-limits to gain further insight into the mystery man. They hoped that you’d do just enough for him to trail after you upon leaving the party, allowing you and Six a perfect ambush.

Six was deployed as a fail-safe, a strong presence looming close, just in case anything were to go south with the mission.

However, for an agency that prides themselves on intel, they certainly hadn’t realised the sexual nature of your relationship with Six. The long nights in dingy hotel rooms, screaming his name until the sun came up, until your voice had given out — words coming out like a broken whisper by the time he was satisfied.

Six leaned suavely against a nook in the wall, a doorway space, but he leant on the leftmost wall; strategically placing himself in-line with the target’s vision as he held up two fingers, motioning for you to come closer to him.

He offered you a small nod of reassurance as he shifted one of his legs to extend outward, his combat boot planted firmly against the hard-wood floor whilst he flexed the muscle of his thigh. Six watched your expression carefully as he snaked his hands around your back, pulling you to hover just above his thigh.

“Do you trust me?” He spoke lowly in your ear, voice gruff and raspy as he fiddled with the hem of the short-dress the agency had provided for you, rubbing the silk material gently between his fingers as if it were a compulsion.

“Always.” All the oxygen had already left your body, breathless as you realised what he had planned, how he was going to get the target’s attention. In front of all these other unsuspecting party-goers who would catch quite a sight if they were to look over.

“Put your head on my right shoulder. He’s by the bar. Make sure he sees you looking at him.”

You obliged swiftly, laying the side of your cheek to rest against his shoulder as your eyes settled on the target, currently nursing a whiskey the bar staff had just handed him.

Six’s hands trailed from your back to your hips, quickly flipping your dress up for a moment as you settled against his thigh. As fast as he flipped it up, he flipped it back down, letting the material fall gently against his knee as your dampening underwear began to soak the harsh material of his jeans.

Whilst your head lay gently on his shoulder, strategically blocking his face from vision; his head was craned towards you, lips lingering just inches away from your ear.

Six guided your hips in a slow rhythm, pulling you up and down against his thigh as a string of small moans began falling from your lips at the friction — your body gently twitching into him.

The target’s eyes began to wander aimlessly around the room, scanning for nothing in particular until his eye-line began to trail in the direction of you and Six. If he continued following his current direction, his eyes would settle on the two of you, mainly you.

Quickly, you flinched away before his eyes could reach, trying to make it as subtle as you could when you absentmindedly happened to glance over at him whilst grinding down against Six’s muscular thigh, mouth agape ever so slightly.

In the moment that Six began bouncing his leg, you felt a pair of eyes burning into the side of your head, as if trying to melt straight through the bone in your skull. A louder moan fell from your lips, flipping your hair in a performance for your eyes to fall directly on the target, meeting his perverted gaze in feigned surprise.

A small smirk was tugging against the corner of his lips as you smiled coyly, making sure your eyes stared dead into his, locked in a gaze of seduction. Your left hand, out of vision, began to tap twice against Six’s side in an attempt to alert him that the target was looking.

“He lookin’ at you?”

You tapped twice again as confirmation, listening as he hummed in response, now muttering all sorts of husky praises in your ear to turn you on even more; in concordance, contorting your facial expressions in a way he knew would captivate the target. His words, mixed with the flexing of his thigh, pushed you further over the edge — the familiar knot beginning to tie itself in your stomach, now desperately chasing your high against his jeans.

“I bet he wants to touch you so bad, but he can’t, can he?” Six muttered in a condescending tone, teeth grazing against the soft skin of your earlobe as he pushed you impossibly further onto his thigh. “Cause you’re all mine, and you know it.”

Your eyes began to flutter closed, the feeling in your stomach growing more intense as it seemed to rock through your whole body.

“Look at me when you cum. It’ll drive him crazy.” Six instructed, feeling how your hips stuttered against his thigh, how your breathing became even more ragged by the second, trying to keep up with your own orgasm.

Finally, you offered a knowing smile to the target before pulling back to face Six, who now had his head leant against the wall behind him as he watched you come undone over his thigh; his hands on your hips not stuttering for even a second as your orgasm rattled through you, riding it out both metaphorically and physically.

Six allowed you a couple moments to recover before carefully loosening his grip on your hips, allowing you to get your bearings as you stood up slowly.

“Leave through the door next to him. I’ll be right behind you.”

Six watched as you nodded, easily sauntering through the crowd of people while honed-in on the target, who now came to stand up as you walked by.

Six was entranced, watching how your weight shifted from one hip to the other; strutting like a model, like this whole place was your runway — subtly offering a quick, lingering touch against the target’s hand as you walked outside.

Six smirked, watching how the target trailed close behind you like a lost puppy; eager for just an ounce of your attention.

In that moment, he realised he wasn’t all that different to the man.

ᯓ✦∘˙ HOLLAND MARCH . . .

“You sure you can handle me, old man?” You teased as Holland carefully walked you back toward his bed, the back of your knees coming in contact with its frame — toppling you back into the plush mattress.

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll do just fine, sugar. Thanks for your concern.” He spat sarcastically, crawling himself on top of you as he leant down to your neck, leaving a trail of saliva and kisses wherever he went; your hands travelled gently down the front of his body, working on unbuckling his belt.

With an internal cheer of relief, you pulled the belt through its loops, ready to throw it somewhere on the floor until Holland harshly gripped at your wrist, your grip loosening at the contact.

The material slipped through your fingers as Holland smoothly took ownership of the belt as he retracted away from you for just a second.

He dangled the belt just beside his face, occasionally shooting a glance at it before glancing back to you, eyebrows suggestively raised in a silent question. He watched as your eyes darkened, a small smile now playing at your lips while he shook his head in a mixture of disbelief and complete arousal.

You offered your wrists out to him, already placing them just how he wanted them — both wrists now flush against each-other. The belt jingled quietly as he worked on wrapping it around your hands, quickly tugging on it to make sure it was tight enough to resist your attempts to break-free. Though, you didn’t particularly want to be free of the belt, at least for now.

Holland’s large hand enclosed over yours as he leaned over you again, pressing your two hands into the wall just above his headboard.

“Keep ‘em there.” He demanded, now working on undressing every inch of you, not just with his eyes, but physically too.

Your clothes were soon discarded along his bedroom floor, strung out in a way that felt almost poetic. Holland leant over to his bedside table for a moment, seemingly fiddling with something before holding a cigarette between his lips.

“Seriously? I’m naked on your bed and you’re thinking about cigarettes?” Holland flicked his lighter open, the flame gorgeously lighting up every inch of his face in a warm, comforting glow before returning the lighter to the bedside table; cigarette now lit.

He brought two fingers up to the cigarette, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly as he stared down at your impatient state.

“You ever smoke before?” He ignored your previous question, proposing another one.

“It’s the 70s. Everyone’s smoked before.” Your sass seemed to enlighten something within him, his free-hand snaking its way up your leg to settle in-between your thighs.

He gently ran a thick, rough finger through your folds — watching as your hips involuntarily bucked up into his touch, giving into you immediately as he pushed two fingers inside of you at once. Your breath hitched, a noise caught in your throat as Holland began pumping his fingers in and out of you.

He watched in a sense of amusement, noticing how you struggled against his fingers, trying to spit some sort of sarcastic remark that proved unable to leave your mouth.

He took another drag from the cigarette, an irresistible smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as his fingers never even faltered inside of you, in fact only growing faster by the second.

“Quiet now, I’ve noticed.” He pulled the cigarette from his lips proudly, cocking his head to watch as only small whispers of pleasure left your lips. The feeling he drew out of you was too much for your brain to even register, barely even letting a moan slip past your lips at the sudden assault on your senses.

Holland kept puffing on the cigarette until it was almost done, just watching as your body contorted, getting off so perfectly on just his fingers while he absentmindedly smoked at the same time. In fact, the sight of him turned you on even more.

Taking a final drag, he outstretched his arm to stub the cigarette out in the ash tray upon his bedside table. He finally leant down to hover his face above your own, tapping gently against your cheek; a signal to open your mouth.

All too willingly, you obliged as he grew impossibly close to you, his lips gently brushing against your own as he blew the smoke directly into your mouth — enjoying the scent of tobacco now filling his senses in all the right ways, watching how you inhaled the smoke before breathing it out again in a large sigh, his fingers curling themselves inside of you.

“You’re bad, you know that?” His free hand now came to caress your cheek, his knuckles grazing softly against your heated-cheeks, tinted a soft red colour.

The extra stimulation sent you reeling, still trying your best to keep your hands up as your arms began to ache in a way that was impossible to ignore. The sooner you came, the sooner he’d release your hands from the belt.

Your hips desperately bucked up against his fingers, riding them as he continued his relentless pace, feeling that familiar knot sitting deep, unavoidable in your stomach. Your moans progressed in their volume, now whimpering and whining in a way that dangerously inflated his ego.

In that moment, a shriek left your mouth; the dull ache in your arms, the movement of your hips, the pace of his fingers all became too much as the metaphorical coil inside of you snapped. Your hands accidentally smacked hard into the wall as you came, a force that would definitely leave a bruise when you woke up the next morning.

Holland smiled down at you proudly, his hands working on undoing the buckle of the belt, letting your arms now fall free either side of you as he gently massaged your hands — trying to soothe where you’d hurt yourself, wincing slightly as he did so.

The mix of fading pleasure and pain seemed to make you dizzy, eyelids softly fluttering shut as your head sank further into the pillow; enjoying the warmth, the cushion of the material behind your head.

“You’re stayin’ the night, I assume.” Holland chuckled, his hand coming to annoyingly ruffle in your hair; creating knots you knew you’d have to untangle in the morning.

“Not if you keep talking.”