#12daysofsmuffmas

“Why do we have to do this every year?” he mutters under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear as you sit beside him, your hand resting lightly on his knee. “A room full of insufferable people and their noisy brats…”

You shoot him a warning look, but the corner of your lips betrays a smile. “It’s Christmas, Daemon. Family time.”

Daemon snorts, taking a sip of his wine, his free hand creeping up your thigh. “I can think of better ways to spend my time, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough against your ear as he leans into you. “Ways that involve far fewer clothes and far more... enthusiasm.”

You elbow him lightly, cheeks heating. “Daemon, behave.”

His grin is wicked as he leans back, feigning innocence when Viserys’s voice booms from across the room.

Daemon rolls his eyes theatrically, but your hand on his knee tighten, and you give him a sweet smile that promised things—delicious, thrilling things—later tonight if he played along. With a dramatic sigh, he sets down his wine and picks up the dice.

“Daemon, it’s your turn! Don’t make us wait all night!” Viserys, the self-appointed Christmas game master, waves the dice in Daemon’s direction.

Beside him, Alicent adjustes the garland draped over the mantle, giving her husband a patient smile while trying to ignore her youngest, Aemond, who was sulking about having lost the last round of Pictionary.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

Rhaenyra, seated across from you, chuckles softly, her children giggling at their uncle’s antics. “Always the life of the party, aren’t you, Uncle Daemon?” she teases, her tone light but her eyes sharp.

All the while, Daemon leans into you, his lips brushing your ear every so often with whispers that makes your cheeks burn.

Daemon ignores her, rolling the dice with as much enthusiasm as a man filling out his taxes…

The game continues, a mix of competitiveness, laughter, and the occasional bickering between Viserys’s kids and Rhaenyra’s brood.

“You’re wearing far too much tonight,” he murmurs during a heated round of charades, his fingers idly tracing circles on your thigh. “When we get back to our room, I’ll—”

But he is interrupted because Jace throws something at Aegon and Rhaenyra and Alicent are trying to restore calm.

Daemon sighs and leans back, drinking his mulled wine and watching the little children shouting at each other. You giggle softly, sensing his annoyance, and lean in to kiss his cheek.

By the time the game draws to a close and Alicent announces dessert in the dining room, Daemon was thoroughly bored and more than a little tipsy. His arm drapes possessively over your shoulders as the family moves toward the dining room, and he bends down to murmur in your ear one final time.

“You owe me for this,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. “I want you. Tonight. And I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

You look up at him, your own mischievous smile spreading. “That was the deal, wasn’t it?”

For the first time that evening, Daemon’s smirk softens into something warmer, though his eyes still burn with their usual intensity.

But before you can follow the rest of the family into the dining room, Daemon takes your hand. You gasp slightly as he pulls you along.

“What are you doing?” you whisper before he pulls you into the bathroom. He doesn't answer, but pushes you against the wall after closing the door.

He kisses you, letting his tongue slide into your mouth while his hand slides to your neck and grabs you lightly. You gasp slightly and look up at him as he breaks the kiss.

“A little taste of tonight,” he murmurs.

“But... Daemon... your family...“, you whisper, but gasp again when you feel his other hand slides up your inner thigh and grasps it.

”Then you have to be quiet,” he murmurs, nibbling gently on your jaw, his hand on your neck tightening slightly.

You can't answer. You whimper as his fingers press against your panties. He feels the damp fabric and gently rubs your nerve bundle. He kisses your cheek and you feel his warm breath. His fingers rub faster and you moan softly.

“Ssh... the others are outside,” he whispers teasingly, but pushes your panties aside. Slowly he smears the wetness along your folds and you bite your lip. You look at him, breathing heavily. You want to lean towards him, want to kiss him, but his hand on your neck squeezes harder, pushing you back against the wall and making you feel his dominance.

His thumb starts rubbing your clit while his fingers tease the rough spot inside you. He fingers you fast and roughly, and your pussy doesn't stop clenching around his fingers. You grind against his hand, your hands on his arms as you try to hold on to something in desperation.

You whimper again, but he just grins cheekily as he slides his fingers into your pussy. Immediately, he feels your walls clench around his fingers. You moan, and then Daemon grants your wish – his lips meet yours as he swallows your moans.

You kiss him hungrily, feeling him choke you. The taste of the spices in the mulled wine linger on his lips and tongue, spreading to your tongue as your tongue dances with his. His fingers slide in and out, the wet smacking filling the bathroom as his legs push yours further apart.

“So wet for me... Your greedy little pussy... Can't wait for me to fill you up tonight, can you?” he growls against your lips and you whimper again. Your pussy flutters around his fingers.

Whimpers and moans escape your lips. He slides another finger inside you and you let out a slight cry. His three fingers fuck you senseless, and he grunts as your wetness runs down his fingers.

“Oh fuck, Daemon,“ you whimper as you feel the pressure. He bites your lip lightly.

“Come on.. cum on my fingers, love…” he murmurs.

You moan again, but bite your lip to be quiet. His thumb doesn't stop circling you, while his fingers move faster, thrusting deeper.

You moan, unable to keep quiet as your eyes roll back into your head.

Daemon growls as he feels your walls clench around his fingers and you cream all over his penetrating fingers.

He kisses you again, swallowing the sounds of your pleasure as his fingers slide in and out.

“That's it...“ he whispers and you whimper as you come on his fingers. His movements slow down as he feels your walls stop clenching.

Slowly, he pulls his fingers out of you and moves them to his lips. He licks his fingers clean and grins at you as he sees you blush.

”Delicious,” he murmurs and you only slightly shake your head, but you smile.

He lightly kisses the corner of your mouth as he releases your neck. You straighten your clothes and take a step towards the door. You try to control your breathing to appear normal.

“Come on... let's get dessert,” you say, still breathless, holding out your hand.

He takes your hand but pulls you closer, ‘Well... I don't know about you, but I just had dessert,’ he murmus quietly.

But now, the world outside his window is nothing but a swirling blur of white. The snow comes down so heavily it obliterates the view of the cobblestone streets and gas lamps he loves. It frustrates him; plans dashed by something as uncontrollable as weather.

He lets out a low sigh, exhaling smoke from the cigarette perched between his fingers. The warmth of the room contrastes starkly with the winter’s chill seeping through the cracks in the old building. His gaze shifts from the window to you, sitting cross-legged on his bed, casually flipping through a magazine. You look so at ease, lost in the glossy pages, and it brings a soft smirk to his lips.

“Y’know,” he says, his tone teasing as he flicks ash into a tray, “I was really hopin’ to show off my fancy moves at the pub tonight.” He turns fully to face you, leaning against the windowsill, the cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers. “Turns out, Mother Nature’s got other ideas.”

You don‘t look up immediately, still engrossed in an article, but you hum in acknowledgment. That only spurs him on.

“Oi,” he says, stepping closer, his cheeky grin growing. “Don’t go ignorin’ me now. It’s bad enough the weather’s givin’ me the cold shoulder.”

Finally, you glance up, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sulking, Tom?”

“I’m just sayin’—seems like a shame for two good-lookin’ people like us to waste a night doin’ nothin’.”

You close the magazine and set it aside. “Well, what do you suggest? Unless you’ve got a snowplow hidden somewhere, we’re not getting out of here anytime soon.”

Tom takes a long drag of his cigarette, his eyes narrowing playfully as he considers his options. He blows out the smoke slowly, then stubbs out the cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table. “Well,” he starts, his voice dropping into that familiar, mischievous lilt, “if we’re stuck here, we might as well make it… interesting.”

You tilt your head, intrigued. “Interesting how?”

“Oh, I dunno,” he says, sitting down beside you on the bed, his knee brushing yours. “Thought maybe we could find a way to keep warm. You know, since the snow’s got it freezing in here.”

You laugh softly, but his tone wasn’t entirely unserious. He leans back on his elbows, watching you with a glint in his eye, the kind that always spells trouble—or fun, depending on your perspective.

“You’re terrible,” you say, shaking your head.

“And you love it,” he shoots back, grinning. “Come on, what else are we gonna do? Sit here and stare at the walls? Nah, I reckon we make the most of it. Could even have our own little dance—no pub required.”

He pushes himself upright again, extending a hand toward you. “What d’you say? Give us a twirl, eh?”

You laugh again but take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. There isn‘t much space in his modest room, but Tom doesn‘t care. He starts humming a tune, spinning you around with a surprising amount of grace.

It doesn‘t take long for his lack of rhythm to become glaringly obvious. His steps are clumsy, a bit too eager, and he nearly trips over his own feet as he spins you around. You can’t help it—you burst into laughter, doubling over as he fumbles to regain his footing.

“Oi, what’s so funny?” he protests, though his grin is wide. He catches your hands to steady himself, his eyes twinkling with playful defiance. “I’m a bloody brilliant dancer, I’ll have you know.”

“Brilliant?” you repeat through giggles. “You’re all left feet, Tom!”

He gasps in mock outrage as if you’d just wounded his pride. “That’s rich, comin’ from someone who hasn’t danced a single proper step tonight!”

“I can’t when you’re stepping all over me,” you tease, dodging his attempt to pull you closer.

“Alright, alright,” he says, raising his hands in surrender, though the smirk on his face tells you he isn‘t done. “If dancing isn’t your thing, maybe we ought to try somethin’ else.”

You narrow your eyes, wary but amused. “Like what?”

He doesn‘t answer immediately, letting the question hang in the air as he wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you close again. His other hand rests lightly on your hip, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your skirt. The touch is casual enough to feign innocence, but the cheeky glint in his eyes betrays him.

“Oh, I dunno,” he says after a beat, his voice dropping an octave. “Reckon I’ve got a few ideas.”

“You always have ideas, Tom. Doesn’t mean they’re good ones.”

His hand on your waist tighten just slightly, pulling you even closer. “I’ll have you know, my ideas are bloody brilliant. Genius, even.”

“Right,” you reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Let me guess—this one involves me doing all the work while you sit back and enjoy yourself?”

“Now you’re catchin’ on,” he quips, his grin widening. He leans in, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs, “What d’you say, love? Thought you might fancy makin’ me feel better after all this weather ruined our plans.”

You shov him playfully, laughing as he tumbles back onto the bed. “You’re ridiculous,” you say, shaking your head.

Tom props himself up on his elbows, watching you with that same cheeky smirk. “Ridiculously charming, maybe. Go on, admit it—you love me for it.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrays you. Snowstorm or not, Tom knows exactly how to keep things interesting—and keep you laughing, even as his hands wandered in hopes of turning the evening decidedly in his favor.

When you finally collaps back onto the bed, Tom props himself up beside you, his face inches from yours. “See?” he murmurs, his voice softer now. “Told you we’d find a way to pass the time.”

“Still terrible,” you tease. He leans in just slightly, his nose brushing against yours. “And still irresistible,” he whispers.

You giggle slightly, “Go on, tell yourself that,” you whisper teasingly and he growls slightly while his hand moves up your thigh. He kisses the tip of your nose, almost a gentle gesture if you didn't feel him gently pressing his growing hardness against you. You giggle again, “Somehow I think I know what you have in mind for how we can pass the time,” you whisper, and he pretends to be clueless. “I dunno what you mean...“ he mumbles with his typical grin. ”Ah... okay...“ you say and straighten up to slide off the bed. Tom watches you and raises his eyebrows slightly. ”Mhm... I think I like the way you think,” Tom says, leaning back relaxed, his arms behind his head, watching you.

You kneel between his legs, your hands gliding up his thighs, and you know how his cock is throbbing with desire in his pants. You bite your lip slightly, your hands sliding higher. Tom responds with a small growl as he watches your fingers play with the button of his pants. You slowly unbutton them, his hardness obviously pressing against the fabric of his pants.

Slowly, you push down his trousers, his length springs free. You reach for it, your teeth still not releasing your lower lip. You let your thumb slide over the tip of his cock, smearing the precum. Your eyes focus on Tom's face as his cock twitches in your hand. His eyes are closed and he moans slightly. You love these moments when his cheeky nature fades into the background and you just see pure emotion flowing through him.

Slowly, you lean forward and your lips close around the tip of his cock. “Fuck,” Tom growls, his hips twitching involuntarily as you gently suck. The salty taste of his precum spreads across your tongue. He slides one hand into your hair, gripping it lightly, while you try to take in as much of his length as you possible.

Your teeth slide gently over his skin and he grunts softly. Your muffled moans fill the room as more precum fills your mouth. His hips thrust up slightly, but this time deliberately, and you gag slightly. Your throat tightens around the tip of his cock and Tom groans.

Your mouth slides up and down, trying to get all of his length into your mouth. You try to breathe relaxed through your nose, but the thrusting of his hips prevents you from doing so. The hand in your hair pushes you down slightly and you moan again, feeling the throbbing between your thighs intensify. Your head bobs, lewd, wet sounds fill the small space you both occupy, accompanied by Tom's grunts.

“Yeah, babe... take me deeper in your mouth...” he grunts and you let your lips slide up and down faster. The thrusting of his hips becomes sloppy, his cock twitches violently in your mouth, almost impatiently. You continue to suck his twitching cock, swirling your tongue around the slick head, while your one hand starts pumping his length and then you hear the moan.

Tom’s legs tensed, driving himself deep into your salviating mouth once more, hot cum spilling down your throat as you eagerly swallow his cum. He is panting and gruntin while his cum is filling your mouth. His hand clenches in your hair and you moan, trying to swallow all his cum. When his cock stops twitching and you have swallowed everything he has given you, you release his cock from your mouth with a pop and wipe your mouth clean.

You look up at him and smile. He is breathing heavily, his eyes closed, a slight smile on his lips. You slowly get up and crawl back onto the bed. Even before his eyes open, you gently kiss his lips.

He hums contentedly, his breathing still heavy.

“Have you thought of something like that?“ you whisper and you feel him smile slightly.

“This is pretty close...” he mutters and suddenly grabs you. You squeal slightly, but giggle as he pushes you onto the bed and rolls on top of you.

Daemon is a vision tonight in a charcoal-gray cashmere sweater, his silvery-white hair perfectly tousled. You’d spent the evening meeting his extended family—most of whom exuded the same enigmatic charisma as Daemon, albeit in varying degrees. There is Rhaenyra, who commanded the room with her sharp wit, and Viserys, whose laughter can warm even the frostiest soul. The children are a chaotic joy, zipping through the halls with sugar-fueled energy.

Daemon had been charming all evening, but there was a spark of mischief in his violet eyes that had you on high alert. He’d been uncharacteristically well-behaved around the children, but you know better than to trust his sudden bout of restraint.

As the evening draws to a close, the family begins to retreat to their respective wings. The halls quiet, save for the occasional creak of the old house settling. You decide to slip away to your room for some much-needed solitude. That’s when you notice Daemon sneaking down the hall, a bundle tucked under his arm.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you follow him on tiptoes, careful not to make a sound. He stops in front of the grand fireplace in the main hall, where the stockings hang in neat rows. Each bears a name embroidered in elegant silver thread. Yours is the newest addition, it‘s dark red velvet standing out against the others.

Daemon crouches before your stocking, grinning like a cat with a canary in its claws. You stifle a laugh as he carefully slips a small, neatly wrapped package into the stocking. But it is what he adds next that makes your eyes widen.

A lacy, vibrant red pair of underwear with a tag that read remote-controlled dangles precariously from his fingers. Your jaw nearly hits the floor.

“Daemon!” you hiss, stepping into the glow of the fireplace.

He looks up, utterly unrepentant. “Caught me, did you?” His grin widens, and he hold the underwear aloft, letting it dangle teasingly.

“You’re insane!” you whisper, glancing around to make sure no one else was awake. “There are children here!”

Daemon chuckles, his voice low and rich. “And you think they’re sneaking into your stocking? Sweetheart, this is strictly for you.” He steps closer, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “And for me, naturally.”

Flustered, you try to snatch the offending garment from his hands, but he is quicker, holding it high above your head. “Daemon, I can’t—what if someone sees?”

“Then don’t leave it lying around.” He winks. “Problem solved.”

Despite your protests, you feel your cheeks heating as he hands you the small package and the underwear. “Here,” he says, his tone playful but firm. “Unwrap it in your room. I’ll be up shortly to… supervise.”

Your heart pounds as you scurry back to your room, clutching the items like contraband. Once inside, you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. True to his word, Daemon appears minutes later, leaning casually against the doorframe, holding the tiny remote between his fingers.

“Go on, show me,” he says, his voice a low purr.

You hold up the underwear, glaring at him half-heartedly. “You’re impossible.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” he quips. “Now, put them on.”

Your protest is meet with a raised brow, daring you to refuse. Eventually, you relent, stepping into the bathroom to change. When you emerge, his eyes rake over you with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, holding up the remote. Before you can say anything, you feel a sudden, faint vibration. Your gasp makes him grin like the devil himself.

“Daemon!” you squeake, clutching at the waistband.

“Shhh,” he says, placing a finger to his lips. “Wouldn’t want to wake the children,” he murmurs teasingly.

The vibrations intensified briefly, and you grab onto the edge of the bed for balance. Daemon crosses the room leisurely, every movement deliberate. “You’re blushing,” he observes, clearly delighted.

“You’re an idiot,” you manage to say, though your voice was shaky.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “And you’re enjoying this more than you’d admit.”

You stare at him, caught somewhere between exasperation and anticipation.

“Daemon...“, you begin, but whimper as he turns up the vibration.

Daemon just grins, watching you,

“Oh, you're getting off without me? That's not fair...“ Daemon feigns poutiness.

“Shut up,” you gasp as you try to press your thighs together.

Your eyes close and you try to minimize the vibration by squeezing your thighs together.

Daemon's hand pushes you further onto the bed and you follow his movement, crawling up and positioning yourself on all fours for him. The vibration makes your abdomen tremble and you feel yourself soaking your panties more and more. You press your face lightly into the pillow and feel Daemon come onto the bed, pushing your legs slightly apart as he kneels between your legs.

Daemon slowly approaches you, enjoying the way your fingers dig into the sheet. When he is standing behind you, he puts his hand on your bottom, grasping lightly, while the vibration does not subside.

You let out a small moan as you feel his touch and Daemon's grin doesn't leave his face.

“See, you're enjoying this,” he murmurs and you whimper again.

“Shut up,” you gasp again, but press your ass harder against his hand.

He turns up the vibration and your constant whimpers echo louder through the room.

His fingers glide gently over the vibrating fabric, feeling how wet you already are.

“Oh Love... look at you, so wet... you want more, don't you? Do you want me to stretch that tight cunt?“ he murmurs and you whimper. But before you can answer, he slaps the flat of his hand on your ass.

You moan slightly, pushing your face further into the pillow.

“I knew it,” he mutters. For a brief moment, you hear nothing, until you hear his belt unfasten slowly. The sound alone makes you drip even more. Daemon sets the remote control aside as he pulls down his trousers. His length is already hard, twitching impatiently as his hand encircles it, gripping it lightly and sliding up and down.  

He watches how your bottom is pushed up, how the fabric of your panties becomes more and more soaked. He growls slightly, pumping his hardness faster, before his other hand pushes your panties slightly to the side. His fingers glide through your slit, rubbing the wetness along your folds.

“Fuck...”, he just grunts and you can literally feel his cock twitching.

You push your bottom further towards him as he lets the tip of his cock slide through your folds. Occasional grunts and gasps leave his lips before he slowly penetrates you.

You squeeze your eyes shut. No matter how many times he has fucked your pussy raw, this feeling will never get dull. The way your walls stretch around his length. The way he slides deeper and deeper, making your pussy clench.

“Daemon,” you whimper into the pillow, and he grunts, grabs your hips and pushes all the way inside you.

Long strokes hitting so deep into you, making you see stars. Daemon is gripping your hips, fucking into your tight pussy. His balls slap against your clit with every thrust, intensifying the vibration of your panties.

Your fingers dig into the sheets beneath you as Daemon pushes deeper inside you. You cry out into the pillow and Daemon growls. The panties are still vibrating, teasing your clit as Daemon thrusts into you faster.

His cock kisses your cervix, making your body tremble. His hands grasp your buttocks, pull them apart as he watches his cock slide into you, covered in your juices.

At that moment, Daemon feels his balls tighten as he nears his climax.

He grabs your hips tighter and angles them differently to thrust deeper into you. You cry out, feeling your walls clench around him. The pressure in your abdomen increases and you moan out. He groans behind you, thrusting harder as your noises grow more desperate.

And suddenly you come. You scream and Daemon grunts loudly. Your walls milk him, and pull him deeper inside, want his juice – and Daemon gives in.

He growls as his hips stutter. He thrusts deep inside you, his hot seed spills deeper into your clenching pussy with each thrust.

You whimper as he slows down, letting his orgasm subside. Slowly, he pulls his length out of you, breathing heavily. For a moment, he just kneels behind you, his hands on your hips.

His hand gently glides over your bottom before he reaches for the remote and turns off the vibration. Your eyes are closed, but you feel him fall down next to you on the mattress.

You turn your face to him, watching him as he tries to catch his breath with his eyes closed. You smile slightly before cuddling up to him a little and kissing his cheek.

In one hand, Daemon carries his jacket, casually draped over his shoulder. In the other, a matte black gift bag tied with a satin ribbon. His lips curves into a mischievous smirk as he thinks about the reaction his present would garner.

The woman he shares his life with – you – has a penchant for the finer things in life, a penchant he has both indulged and amplified. If anyone deserves to be pampered, it's you. And tonight, he plans to spoil you properly.

You are upstairs in the bedroom, lazily flipping through a book on the plush king-sized bed, wrapped in one of Daemon's shirts. It smells faintly of him – cologne with a hint of spice and leather – and it was a comfort you often sought when he was out. As the sound of the front door closing reached your ears, you felt a flutter of anticipation. He's home.

"Darling?" Daemon calls out, his voice carrying up the stairs. That smooth, commanding tone always sends shivers down your spine.

"In the bedroom," you reply, setting the book aside and sitting up.

Moments later, Daemon appears in the doorway, looking every bit the dashing rogue you’d fallen for. His platinum blonde hair is slightly disheveled from the day, and his sharp jawline is dusted with the beginnings of a shadow. His violet eyes sparkle with mischief as they lock onto you.

"There’s my girl," he says, stepping into the room with the predatory grace of a panther. His eyes sweep over you, lingering for a moment on the way his shirt hangs on your frame. "Comfortable?", he asks with a smirk.

You nod, smiling. "Always, when you're home."

Daemon holds up the gift bag, dangling it enticingly. "Saw something today and thought of you."

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Should I be worried?"

"Never," he says, sitting on the edge of the bed and placing the bag in your lap. "Open it."

You tug at the ribbon and peek inside. Your breath hitches as your fingers brushed the fabric—a negligee, delicate and sheer, in a deep crimson.

"Daemon..," you murmur, pulling it out and holding it up. The soft silk and lace glide through your fingers. It is stunning—provocative yet elegant, sensual yet commanding attention.

"I thought it was appropriate," Daemon says, leaning closer. His voice drops to a husky whisper as he adds, "I couldn’t help myself. I saw it and immediately pictured you wearing it… Tonight."

Your cheeks flush, but you can‘t hide your smile. "You like surprising me, don’t you?"

"I love seeing you happy," he says, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "And I know how much you enjoy it when I spoil you." His thumb traces your jawline, his eyes locking onto yours. "Put it on for me, sweet girl."

The way he says it, with that deep, velvety tone, sends a thrill racing down your spine. You just nod, slipping off the bed and heading to the ensuite bathroom to change. As you close the door, you can hear Daemon chuckle lowly—a sound that promises a night to remember.

When you reappear, Daemon is lounging against the headboard, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to tease a glimpse of his chest. His eyes darken the moment they land on you, taking in the sight of the crimson negligee hugging your curves.

"Come here," he says, his voice a low growl.

You walk towards him, your bare feet padding softly on the carpet. When you are close enough, Daemon doesn’t hesitate and reaches for your hand, pulling you gently onto the bed. His hands rest on your waist, his thumbs brushing slow circles over the fabric as he looked up at you.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his tone filled with both admiration and hunger. "You’re breathtaking." His lips quirk into a smirk. "And all mine."

His words make your heart race, and the heat in his gaze leaves no doubt about how much he adores you. "You like it?" you ask, your voice softer than usual.

"I love it," he purrs, pulling you closer until you are straddling his lap. His hands roam up your sides, his touch firm yet reverent. "My good girl…," he growls.

The praise sends a shiver of pleasure through you, and Daemon, ever attuned to your reactions, notices it. His smirk deepens as he tilts your chin up to look into your eyes. "You like that, don’t you? When I call you my good girl."

You just nod, biting your lip.

Daemon’s laugh is low and wicked as he leans in to press a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. "Good," he murmurs against your mouth. "Because tonight, I'm going to remind you that you're my good girl.“

A slight gasp escapes your lips when you hear his words. Your hands glide over his chest, feeling his muscles. Daemon growls slightly as your hands slide to the back of his neck, lightly grasping his hair. In response, his hands glide over your thighs, up to your bum. You whimper slightly as he grabs your bum, pulling your cheeks slightly apart.

Your hips roll forward reflexively, grinding against him, and you feel his growing hardness. Daemon bites your lip lightly and you whimper again. While your movement was involuntary, you can't stop grinding your hips against him now. His hands encourage you, pushing you harder against him.

"Fuck... I need you," Daemon growls and you can't react fast enough as Daemon turns you onto your back in one swift movement.

You gasp and look up at him, seeing the look on his face. Pure desire reflects back at you as he sees you lying there. Your hair is spread over the pillow, your lips slightly parted, a slight blush creeping up your cleavage. He grabs your legs and spreads them a little to be able to kneel in between. His big hands glide over your thighs and he growls slightly.

"Look at you... so beautiful... in that sexy negligee..." he murmurs. His hands slide back down to your knees, grasping the backs of your knees and pulling you closer. You gasp again, but you feel the wetness pooling between your thighs. You lean up slightly and your lips meet.

You sigh as your tongues dance wildly around each other. Daemon's hand finds its way between your thighs and he immediately feels how soaked your panties are.

"Mhhm... eager for my cock to fill your tight cunt?" he growls against your lips - you moan in response. Daemon's fingers glide over the damp fabric, find your sensitive bundle and leave circular movements. Another moan escapes your lips and Daemon grins slightly. He pushes your panties aside and his fingers slide through your slit.

"Mmm... my good girl... so wet and ready for me," he growls into your ear, nibbling lightly on your earlobe. You whimper and your hips start to move, moving desperately against his fingers. Daemon chuckles, teasing your clit again before smearing the wetness along your folds. He brushes his fingers against your entrance and groans at the feeling of your wetness coating the tips of his index and middle finger.

Your hands glide over his arms and then he can no longer resist and pushes two fingers into your hot tightness. Your fingernails dig into his arms and you moan out.

"You need that, don't you? How greedily your cunt clings to my fingers..., " Daemon growls, kissing your jaw.

Slowly his fingers pump in and out, smacking sounds filling the room. His pants are tighter than before – he is throbbing underneath his clothing and the little sounds you let out do nothing to help his case.

When Daemon can't take it anymore, he pushes his hips forward slightly, letting his cock slide through your folds.

You only notice subconsciously how Daemon unfastens his belt, but the sound awakens memories in you and you know immediately that it will be an unforgettable night.

Daemon watches you as your face glows with passion. He pumps his cock, precum leaking from its tip as he slides his fingers into your tight cunt over and over again. He grunts and watches closely as his fingers disappear into your tight heat – soaked in your juices, they slide in and out, making your moans louder.

"Daemon, please," you whimper as he pulls his fingers out of your heat and fills the void with his hot length. Inch by inch, he slides deeper, feeling your walls clench around his girth. He growls, pushing deeper.

"Fuck, you're so tight... taking my cock so well," he gasps.

You moan as you move your hips towards him. His hand is on your hip, holding you tight as he thrusts faster. His cock kisses your cervix and you cry out slightly, your fingernails scratching his back. Daemon thrusts deeper, his balls slapping against your ass with each deep thrust.

You can feel every inch of him as he stretches you out, over and over again with each rut of his hip. He watches you, studying your face every time he bottoms out, memorizing every lustful expression you make when he hits that special spot deep inside you, making sure to angle his hips that way each time.

Daemon feels your cunt fluttering around his cock and he growls. He feels the pressure in his balls and thrusts harder.

"I'm going to fill this pussy... You're gonna leak with my cum!" he growls and you moan. The pressure in your abdomen intensifies and your eyes roll back into your head.

"Come, love... Come on my cock," he grunts before he starts rubbing your clit. It's too much and you cry out. Your pussy clenches hard around his cock as you come, triggering Daemon's own orgasm.

He growls loudly and his hips jerk as he coats your walls with his hot seed.

You're breathing heavily, your hips still moving as Daemon buries his face in the crook of your neck. Your hands slide over his back as you try to catch your breath. But your movements falter slightly when you don't feel Daemon's skin – you feel his shirt, the soft fabric that now seems to be a little sweaty. You giggle slightly as you realise that Daemon is still fully clothed.

"What's so funny?" mumbles Daemon against your skin before kissing the spot.

"You didn't even take your clothes off... " you whisper, still a little breathless.

He chuckles lightly, "Some situations call for swift action," he murmurs as he bites you lightly.

You watch him with a mixture of amusement and affection as he swirls the mulled wine in his glass. He’d reluctantly agreed to this—your idea of a quiet, stress-free evening. No office calls, no high-stakes business deals, no planning his next move in the corporate battlefield that he dominated. Tonight, it is just the two of you.

“Admit it, you’re enjoying yourself,” you tease, sinking into the couch beside him.

Daemon smirks, his violet eyes—striking and sharp—narrowing at you. “It’s tolerable,” he replies, the faintest hint of a chuckle in his voice.

You nudge him with your shoulder. “Tolerable? You’re sipping wine with me, surrounded by Christmas lights, and you’re warm for once. That’s more than tolerable.”

His gaze softens as he looks at you. “Perhaps,” he concedes. “But it’s not my usual kind of evening.”

“That’s the point,” you say, grinning. “You work too hard. Even dragons need to rest.”

Daemon chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that always sends a shiver through you. He leans back, draping an arm over the back of the couch. “You’re lucky I like you, or I wouldn’t tolerate being called a dragon.”

“You love being called a dragon.”

His grin widens, and you can‘t help but smile in return. You reach for your own glass of mulled wine, taking a generous sip. The spices dance on your tongue, warming you from the inside out. You sigh contentedly, the alcohol buzzing pleasantly in your veins.

Daemon’s gaze lingers on you as you drink, his thoughts evidently wandering. The soft curve of your lips as you sip the wine seems to hold his attention longer than usual. He isn‘t the kind of man to relax easily, but tonight, something about the atmosphere—and you—has him loosening the iron grip he usually kept on himself.

“You’ve had more than me,” he observs, his voice low and teasing.

“It’s Christmas!” you declare, setting your glass down. “Or close enough. I’m allowed to indulge.”

Daemon raises a brow. “Indulge, huh?”

You nod emphatically, the alcohol giving you a playful confidence. “You should, too. Stop pretending you don’t like this.”

He leans closer, his face inches from yours, his smirk turning wicked. “Oh, I like it,” he murmurs, his voice a low purr.

The firelight dances in his eyes, and you suddenly feel the air between you shift. His hand, warm and steady, brushes against your thigh as he adjusts his position. You are acutely aware of how close he is now, how his scent—spiced cologne mixed with something inherently Daemon—wraps around you like a silken thread.

“You’re blushing,” he points out, his tone dripping with amusement.

“I’m not” you protest, though the warmth spreading across your cheeks betrays you.

Daemon’s smirk deepens. “Liar.”

You can‘t answer with words. In one fluid motion, he leans in and captured your lips with his.

The kiss is everything you’d expect from Daemon —intense, passionate, and completely consuming. His hand slides up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin as he deepens the kiss.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, he chuckles softly. “This,” he murmurs, “is why I agreed to your little evening. You always know how to make me forget everything else.”

You smile, your fingers trailing through his silver hair. “You deserve it,” you whisper. “Even dragons need someone to remind them they’re human sometimes.”

Daemon laughs, a rare, genuine sound that makes your chest swell with affection. “Careful,” he says, his voice laced with amusement. “You keep saying things like that, and I might actually start to enjoy Christmas.”

You grin, pulling him back into another kiss. “That’s the plan.”

His hand lingers on your thigh now, his thumb drawing lazy circles over the fabric of your skirt. His touch is light, teasing, but his gaze is anything but.

"You know," he begins, his voice smooth and low, "for all your talk about me being human, you seem to forget just how easily I can make you prove it."

You blink at him, your breath catching. "Prove it?"

He smirks, that dangerous, knowing smile that always makes you feel like you are walking into a trap—one you don‘t mind at all. “You like to think you’ve tamed me tonight, dragging me into this cozy little scene, mulled wine and Christmas lights. But I’m still me, love. A dragon doesn’t change its nature.”

His fingers trail just a fraction higher on your leg, enough to make you shiver. You try to mask your reaction, but his smirk told you he notices. “Daemon..,” you begin, trying to sound admonishing, but the way your voice wavers betrays you.

“What?” he asks, feigning innocence, though the playful glint in his eyes says otherwise. He leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “You said I’m only human. Don’t you think I deserve to feel like it tonight?”

You swallow hard, your heart racing as his words sink in. He isn‘t even trying to hide the teasing edge to his tone now. “And how do you propose I do that?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

Daemon chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through you. “For starters,” he says, his fingers toying with the hem of your skirt, “you could take this off. It’s distracting.”

You shoot him a mock glare, though your cheeks were burning. “Distracting? You’re the one who can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

He grins, unabashed. “Can you blame me? You put so much effort into tormenting me with this little thing,” he says, flicking the edge of the skirt playfully. “It’s only fair I return the favor.”

His hand lingers, his touch still maddeningly light. He is watching you closely, clearly enjoying the effect he is having. You can feel the heat rising between you, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

“Daemon,” you say again, this time softer, more breathless.

He tilts his head, his expression softening just a fraction, though the wicked gleam in his eyes remains. “What?” he asks, his voice a low murmur. “You’re the one who wanted me to be human tonight. This is me, being very... human.”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He has a way of turning every situation to his advantage, always one step ahead, always in control. And yet, there is something disarming about the way he looks at you now—like you are the only thing that matters in the entire world.

“Fine,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “But you’re not as smooth as you think you are.”

Daemon laughs, a low, rumbling sound that sends shivers down your spine. “Oh, love,” he says, leaning in until his lips are a hair’s breadth from yours, “you have no idea how smooth I can be.”

You just stand up and start to slide down your skirt.

“Happy?” You ask, but before you can sit down again, Daemon's hand is on your hip.

“Not quite yet,” he says, and his finger slides under the waistband of your tights. He slowly begins to pull them down. You look at him, “That's not fair... why should I be the only one to take off all my clothes?“ you complain, but you do him the favor... after all, he is also spending an evening with you, without any distractions from work.

“Who says you're the only one?” Daemon suddenly says, and you look at him as you hear his belt open.

You smile slightly as he pulls down his trousers. When your tights are on the floor, you sit down next to him again, grinning. He sits there in his boxer shorts and a small bulge can already be seen.

“Someone is happy,“ you say teasingly and giggle as Daemon pulls you closer.

“Careful,” he grumbles as his lips meet yours. His hand slides up your thigh and he grabs your ass lightly as a gasp escapes your lips.

“Don't be shy, help yourself,” Daemon says teasingly.

He doesn't hesitate and lets his fingers glide over the already damp fabric of your panties.

“Mhm... someone is happy,“ he grumbles and you bite his lip lightly in response. Suddenly he pulls you closer to him. This sudden movement makes you gasp again, your hand slides to his thigh, gripping lightly to support yourself.

“Oh shut up,” you mutter, but your desire wins out. Your hand slides to his crotch and he growls slightly as his hips twitch slightly. A sound of arousal escapes your lips too as Daemon pushes your panties aside and smears the wetness along your folds.

You grind against his fingers lightly and whimper as you cup his balls lightly through the fabric of his boxers. He growls again and you feel his cock twitch. Slowly, you let go of his balls and slide your fingers up his length while his fingers lightly circle your clit, making you whimper.

Your hand pulls down his boxers and his length springs free. You bite your lip slightly and feel your pussy clench around nothing at the thought of what awaits you. But at that moment, Daemon pushes his fingers inside you and you moan out. Immediately, he feels your walls clench around his fingers.

“You like that, don't you?“ he grumbles, but only a whimper escapes your lips. Yet your fingers grasp his length, pumping him gently. He stutters out a shaky breath, a groan choking in his throat as he desperately tries to regain his composure.

”Fuck... look how hard you make me,” he grunts, and his face contorts with pleasure as you continue to stroke him. You don‘t mind that he has stopped his movements, breathing heavily.

You lean into him again, kissing him as your hand moves faster, gripping him tighter. He grunts and you smear the precum along its length. Your pussy flutters around his finger as he adds another finger, moving again and stretching you further. His fingers thrusting in and out, his palm rubbing your clit with each thrust.

When he suddenly pushes you onto your back. You gasp but you let him. Your fingers let go of his cock as you lay back on the sofa, taking off your panties and spreading your legs for him. You whimper as he hovers over you, pumping his cock. Your fingers glide to your clit, rubbing it, and Daemon growls as his hand slides faster up and down.

“Yes... rub that perfect little cunt for me,” he grunts, as his other hand slides back to your folds and he slides his fingers back into your cunt. You moan as he fingers you – his movements encourage yours to speed up.

Daemon growls, his hand pumping faster, his eyes fixed on your pussy. Drop after drop of precum drips onto your folds. Your fingers rub the precum along your cunt. Your wet walls clench around his fingers, the smacking sound of his penetrating fingers filling your room. Your moans get louder and you feel the pressure in your abdomen as his fingers push into you. The lewd, wet sounds increase your arousal and your back arches as his fingers curl against your spongy inner walls.

“Daemon,” you whimper, and he growls.

“Yes... come on my fingers!” He growls, and you cry out.

Your pussy clenches around his fingers, trying to pull them deeper. Daemon feels his balls tighten and he moans. He pumps faster, watching his fingers thrust into your spasming pussy. And then he grunts loudly. He pulls his fingers out of your pussy before he cums on it. He grunts, pumps his length and milks it completely. As if in a trance, he watches wave after wave of searing hot cum cover your pussy and abdomen.

You lie in front of him, your eyes closed and breathing heavily. Daemon pants, trying to catch his breath and enjoying the sight of you.

Unlocking the door, you step inside and are immediately enveloped in a tranquil hush. The house is dark, save for the soft glow of scattered candles casting playful shadows on the pristine walls. A faint, intoxicating scent of sandalwood and amber lingered in the air.

“Daemon?” you call out, your voice echoing softly in the vast space. But there is none, only the quiet crackle of a candle’s flame.

The trail of candles guides you past the grand staircase and into the open living space, their flickering light leading you toward a doorway partially veiled by a sheer curtain.

Pushing it aside, you enter a softly lit room. The large windows are draped, and the room feels intimate, bathed in the golden glow of more candles arranged artfully around the space. And there he is.

Daemon stands near the center, his lean figure framed by the warm light. He wears a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, the top few buttons undone to reveal the silver chain resting against his collarbone. His silver-gold hair falls in soft waves, untamed as always, and his violet eyes glint with mischief when they meet yours.

A glass of wine shimmers ruby in his hand as he steps closer. “You’re home,” he says, his voice low and smooth, carrying the faintest hint of a smile.

Your lips curve as you walk toward him, your fatigue melting away with each step, “I see you’ve been busy.”

“I couldn’t let our anniversary pass without something special.” He extends the glass to you, his fingers brushing yours as you take it.

You sip the wine, savoring its bold flavor, your gaze never leaving his. Daemon reachs out, his hand sliding to your waist, pulling you gently closer. His lips find your neck, pressing a warm, lingering kiss that sends a shiver down your spine. You close your eyes, letting yourself melt into the moment.

Then, you feel the cool touch of something against your skin. Your eyes flutter open as Daemon steps behind you, his movements deliberate yet unhurried. He holds up a delicate collar—soft black leather with a single silver charm dangling from it. It is understated, elegant, and undeniably Daemon.

“I saw this and thought of you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. His hand brushes your hair aside, and you feel the collar encircle your neck, his fingers deftly fastening it. “Perfect,” he whispers, his hand sliding to the curve of your neck, his thumb caressing your skin.

Your breath hitches as he presses his lips to your earlobe, his teeth grazing it lightly. A soft moan escaped you, and you lean into him, your heart racing.

“Daemon…” you begin, but words fail you when his hands roam down your sides, grounding you in his presence. His lips trail down your neck before he pulls back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless.

He smiles then, a rare, genuine smile that makes your chest ache with love.

Daemon takes your hand and leads you to a low seating area by the window where a plush blanket and cushions await you. He sinks down first, pulling you to straddle his lap. Setting your wine glass aside, you rest your hands on his shoulders, your fingers tracing the lines of his collarbone through the fabric of his shirt.

The evening unfolds in perfect harmony. Daemon brought out a tray with an assortment of their favorite treats.

The tray is a masterpiece of indulgence, a testament to Daemon’s thoughtfulness. A selection of rich, dark chocolates, their glossy surfaces catching the flicker of the candlelight, nestled among plump, glistening berries.

His eyes lingers on you as you bring a berry to your lips, your teeth sinking into its ripe flesh. A bead of juice escapes, and before you could react, Daemon leans in and brushes it away with his thumb, his gaze never leaving yours. The intimacy of the gesture sends a flush up your neck.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you tease, reaching for a piece of chocolate for yourself. But Daemon is quicker. He snatches it from your hand, his laughter low and full of mischief. Before you could protest, he bites into it, then leans forward to kiss you, letting you taste the chocolate on his lips.

Your laugh dissolves into a soft moan as he deepenes the kiss, the sweetness of the chocolate mingling with the warmth of his mouth. When he pulls away, your eyes flutter open, your breath coming quicker than before.

“You make everything taste better,” he says, his voice roughened by desire.

He traces the edge of your lower lip with his thumb, his fingers lingering on your chin. You don't hesitate and enclose his thumb with your lips, sucking on it gently.

“Careful,” he said, his voice a husky warning, without breaking eye contact. “You’re playing with fire.”

“And you’re the one holding the matches,” you shoot back, after you release his thumb from your mouth with a slight plop, emboldened by his reaction.

His laughter rolls through the room, warm and genuine, as he leans back against the cushions. His hands settles on your waist, steadying you as you adjusted to the position, leaning closer. Your faces are inches apart, your shared smiles giving way to something deeper as your breaths mingle.

“You’re intoxicating,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your temple before trailing down to the curve of your jaw.

Daemon’s fingers play with the hem of your blouse, your skin tingles where his fingertips linger, his touch deliberate yet teasing.

His fingers trace the line of your arm, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. But you can't answer when he pulls you closer to him and you feel the beginning of his arousal pressing against your core. A slight whimper escapes your lips.

Your heart skips a beat as his lips brush your jaw, trailing down to the hollow of your throat. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, holding on as he works his particular brand of magic.

“Daemon,” you say, your voice a breathless whisper.

“Hmm?” he hums against your skin, his teeth grazing your collarbone before he leans back, just enough to meet your gaze. His violet eyes glint with mischief, daring you to look away. “Say the word, and I’ll stop.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible,” you breath.

“And yet,” he murmurs, tilting your chin up with a single finger, “you’re still here,” he counters.

Your lips part to reply, but before you could, he captures your mouth in a kiss that is anything but gentle. It is consuming, a clash of desire and devotion that leaves you breathless. You melt into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to elicit a low growl from him.

Daemon's hands wrapped around your hips, his touch firm but never intrusive as he guides your movements, letting you grind against his now obvious hardness, which makes you whimper again. The line between teasing and surrender blurs as the air around you thickens, charged with unspoken promises. His lips find your neck again, lingering just below your ear, and you couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through you.

“You’re trembling,” he whispers, his tone equal parts observation and satisfaction.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you quip, though your voice betrays you as it wavered.

“Too late,” he says, his laughter warm against your skin.

Daemon’s hand slide up your back, his touch deliberate as his fingers trace the delicate line of the collar he’d fastened earlier. The smooth leather feels cool against your warm skin, and the weight of it is just enough to keep you acutely aware of its presence.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmurs, his voice a seductive rasp, “how stunning you look wearing this?”

Your breath catches as his hand lingered at the nape of your neck, the silver charm resting against your skin cold under his warm fingers. It is a simple thing—elegant and unassuming—but in his hands, it feels like a crown, a declaration of something deeply intimate.

“I wasn’t sure you’d like it,” he admits. His thumb brushes over the clasp at the back. “But seeing it on you now…” He lets out a low, appreciative hum, his lips quirking into a knowing smirk. “It suits you.”

Your cheeks flush under his gaze, your voice unsteady but teasing. “You have a thing for collars, do you?”

“For this collar, on you? Absolutely,” he replys. His hand shifts, sliding forward to rest at the base of your throat, the collar snug beneath his palm. His grip is light, more a suggestion of power than a claim of it, but it steals your breath all the same.

“You’re enjoying this,” you accuse, your words faltering as his thumb traces a slow circle against your pulse.

He tilts his head, his smirk softening into something more primal. “And you’re not?” His voice drops lower, the challenge in his words evident.

Your lips parted, but the reply catches in your throat as his fingers tighten ever so slightly—a mere whisper of pressure, just enough to make your heartbeat race beneath his touch. Your eyes flutter shut, and you lean into him, your body instinctively responding to the heat between you. He guids your movements again – his hand on your hip encouraging you to take what you need. You feel the throbbing, you need more. His hardness twitches as you grind against it, a slight growl leaves his lips.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet against your ear. His thumb grazes your jawline, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. When your eyes open, the intensity in his violet stare left you utterly undone.

He leans in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was maddeningly slow, his hand never leaving your neck. The collar, the candlelight, the feel of him – all of it combined into a symphony of sensations that leaves you dizzy.

When he pulls away, his hand lingers his fingers gliding along the curve of your neck, savoring every inch of skin beneath the leather. “Do you know why I chose this for you?” he asks, his tone contemplative, though his eyes still burns with unspoken promises.

You shake your head slightly.

“Because it’s beautiful, bold, and it commands attention,” he says, his hand slipping down to rest at your collarbone, his thumb stroking idly. “Just like you.”

Your cheeks flush, and for a moment, you was grateful for the dim lighting, though you suspect he could still see the way you react to his words. “Daemon—”

He silences you with another kiss, this one deeper, hungrier, his teeth catching your lower lip as if he couldn’t get enough. When he finally pulls back, you are breathless, your thoughts spinning.

“Wear it for me tonight,” he whispers against your lips, his hand tightening briefly on the collar before sliding away. “Let me show you just how much I adore you in it.”

You smile and bite your lip slightly, before your hands find their way beneath his shirt, palms gliding over his toned chest as his muscles tense beneath your touch. The simple act makes you feel powerful, like you hold some measure of control in this exquisite game. But Daemon is nothing if not a master of turning the tables.

Before you could press your advantage, he shifts, laying you back against the cushions and pinning you there with his body. His weight is a comfort, his presence an anchor as his hands frame your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones.

You pull him down into a kiss, your lips moving against his in a way that tells him everything he needs to know. His control frays, but he hold the line, teasing you with just enough to make you crave more.

And then, as if sensing the perfect moment to leave you wanting, Daemon pulls back. His smirk is infuriating, his hair disheveled, and his breathing uneven. He looks like chaos incarnate, and you hate how much you love it.

“Daemon,” you protest, reaching for him, but he is already standing, his hand extended to you.

“Patience, my love,” he says, helping you to your feet. “The night is young.” He leads you toward the grand staircase, the candlelight flickering as they passed. His hand lingers on your back, guiding your step by step, his promise unspoken but unmistakable.

You turn your head slightly, catching his reflection in the mirror. He wears a tailored black suit that seema to have been made with him in mind—sharp lapels, crisp lines, and the faintest sheen of fabric that shimmered like dragon scales under the light. The deep crimson of his tie, a nod to his fiery heritage, is the perfect touch. His silver hair is swept back with careless precision, making him look both regal and roguish.

“You look…” His voice is a low purr as his eyes roam over you, “…ravishing.”

“Thank you,” you reply, a hint of playful defiance in your tone. “We’re going to be late if we don’t leave soon.”

Daemon’s lips curl into a smirk, the kind that always make your pulse quicken. He doesn’t respond immediately, instead stepping closer, his polished shoes clicking softly against the hardwood floor. When he reaches you, he doesn’t stand beside you—Daemon stands behind you, so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body.

He places his hands on your hips, his fingers grazing the satin with deliberate slowness. His touch sends a shiver down your spine as his lips brush against your bare shoulder, trailing up to the sensitive curve of your neck.

“You know,” he murmurs against your skin, his breath warm and teasing, “we could always be fashionably late.”

You try to hold your ground, keeping your eyes on your reflection as his kisses become more insistent. “Daemon,” you protest, though the words come out weaker than intended. His hands slide up, fingers tracing the line of your waist, pressing you back into him.

“You’re always so composed,” he whispers, his tone a mix of admiration and mischief. “But right now, I’d rather see you come undone.”

Your breath hitches as he nudges your legs apart with his knee, sliding one of his thighs between them. The friction is gentle but insistent, the tension building with every deliberate movement. His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer against him as his grin deepened in the mirror. His thigh presses against you in just the right way, and the fire that has been simmering beneath the surface threatened to consume you.

“Daemon…” you start again, though your resolve was already crumbling. “We’re going to ruin my dress.”

His lips find your ear, his voice a dark promise. “But if you’re so worried, you could grind against my thigh”

His thigh shifts slightly, intensifying the pressure in a way that makes your knees go weak. He catches you effortlessly, one arm looping around your waist to steady you while his other hand slid up to cup your jaw, tilting your face so he could kiss you properly.

Effortlessly, his free hand pushes your dress aside and you gasp against his lips as you feel him press his thigh against your core. His hands slide to your waist, grab you. You feel your walls clench around nothing as he dictates your movements, letting you grind against his thigh. The warmth and wetness between your thighs attracts your attention – you are sure that you are soaking your panties right now.

“My panties...” you whimper, and he grins slightly but immediately understanding that you are about to soak your panties. His hand glides around your body and with a practiced move, he pushes your panties aside. During this movement, you feel it – the almost touch of your clit. This only intensifies the throbbing and an impatient whimper escapes your lips as you try to move your hips more to create more friction.

He follows your movements, senses the impatience growing inside you. His hands grip you tighter, push you down slightly onto his thigh,  “Come on... grind against my thigh, I can feel how wet you already are,” he murmurs in his deep voice.

You whimper again, but you give in, grinding against him. The throbbing becomes almost unbearable as you let your clit slide along his thigh. You feel him tense his muscles and increase the friction for you as you grind yourself against his thigh again and again.

You moan, Daemon's lips glide along your neck. His warm breath caresses your soft skin as you grind against him. His hand makes you slide faster and you feel how you soak the fabric of his trousers. You feel his hardness pressed against your bottom, but his attention is focused on you.

Daemon bites your neck lightly and your pussy throbs, while you whimper. His hand glides to your core and without hesitation, he rubs your clit and your eyes flutter closed. You moan again, his circular movements become faster.

Your head falls back, leaning against his shoulder, while your hand slides into his hair, gripping it as you press his head against your neck and feel him smile against your skin. “That's it... show me how much you need it...” he murmurs and you whimper. He nibbles lightly on your earlobe. You gasp as he slaps your clit, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“Daemon!” you gasp and he growls as he rubs your clit again. You grind against his thigh faster, feeling the pressure spreading in your abdomen. His mouth closes around the flesh below your ear, sucking your skin, eliciting a cry from you. You pull his hair lightly, making him growl as his fingers moving faster, putting more pressure on your clit. You grind your core harder against his thigh while he pinches your clit. You cry out, feeling your wet walls flutter. Daemon bites your neck as he rubs your clit again, almost to soothe the sharp pain of the pinch, but his movements are too rough for anything but that. Then you feel the overwhelming feeling.

Your hand grabs his hair tighter and he growls again, his fingers rubbing faster as his other hand lets you slide along his thigh more firmly.

“Come on, baby... pour yourself over my thigh,” he growls, pushing you over the edge.

You squeeze your eyes shut as the warm feeling washes over you, your juice soaking his trousers, but your grinding movements don't stop as you try to catch your breath, whimpering and moaning.

His lips caress your neck while he continues to caress your sensitive pearl, letting you enjoy your climax. You breathe heavily and slowly open your eyes. Daemon is still kissing your neck and you feel the smile on his lips. “Look... panties almost dry and the dress not ruined,” he murmurs in your ear and you smile.

Slowly, he fixes your panties before releasing his grip on you. You are still breathing heavily and turn to him. He grins and slowly begins to unbutton his trousers.

“Daemon...?“ you ask, a little confused. “We don't have time for...” you start, but he stops you.

“Calm down, you soaked my trousers... can't show up there with trousers soaked in your juice, now, can I?” he says, turning around as he walks away, his trousers slipping down, revealing his butt.

Lois had swept into the house earlier that day like a whirlwind, carrying a box of Christmas decorations and a cheery resolve that neither you nor Tom could easily argue with. “You can’t just ignore the holiday spirit!” she had declared, dropping the box onto the coffee table with a thud. “I’m working tonight, but you two can do something useful with your time. Decorate the tree!”

Tom had groaned loudly, slumping back on the sofa. “Decorate a tree? Why bother? It’s just going to stand there shedding needles.”

But Lois had turned to you with a persuasive smile. “You’ll help, won’t you? I’d do it myself if I wasn’t stuck at work.”

You hesitated, glancing at Tom. He gave you a pleading look, silently begging you to refuse. But there was something about Lois’s determined grin that made you relent. “Alright,” you agreed.

Tom’s groan grew even louder, but you simply patted his shoulder. “It’ll be fun,” you said.

Now, standing in the living room, Tom eyes the half-assembled Christmas tree with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. You, on the other hand, are happily untangling strings of fairy lights, humming to yourself. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with an expression that is part amusement, part exasperation.

“You know,” he drawles, his voice low and teasing, “we could be doing something a lot more interesting right now.”

You glance up, arching a brow. “Interesting like what? Watching you complain about decorating the tree?”

He smirks, pushing off the wall to step closer. “That’s not what I had in mind.”

Before you can respond, his hands are on your waist, his fingers brushing lightly over the fabric of your dress. You froze for a moment, a shiver running down your spine. “Tom..” you gasp, a blush was already creeping up your cheeks, “…hands off. We have a job to do.”

“Oh, I’m helping,” he say innocently, his lips quirking into a mischievous grin. His hands slide lower, and you swat him away, the blush on your cheeks deepening.

“Stop it” you scold, trying to keep your composure. But he just chuckles, leaning in close to whisper in your ear.

“Why? You don’t seem to mind.” His breath is warm against your skin, and you can feel your resolve wavering.

“Tom Bennett,” you say, doing your best to sound stern. “If you don’t start hanging these ornaments, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” he interrupts, his voice full of mock innocence.

“I’ll make you sleep on the sofa,” you shoot back, holding up a bauble like it is a weapon.

He laughs, a rich, deep sound that makes your heart skip a beat. “Alright, alright,” he says, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll behave. For now.”

But of course, he doesn’t.

Every few minutes, he finds some excuse to touch you—a hand brushing against yours as you reach for the same ornament, his arm slipping around your waist as he adjusts the lights, his fingers trailing down your back when he thinks you aren’t paying attention.

And then there are the whispers.

Tom has an uncanny ability to find just the right words to make your cheeks burn and your resolve crumble. As you crouch by the box of decorations, untangling a particularly stubborn knot of tinsel, he leans over you, his breath warm against the shell of your ear.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice low and velvet-smooth, “if I were that tinsel, I’d wrap myself around you too.”

Your hands still, the comment catching you off guard. You glance up at him, a flush creeping up your neck. “Tom,” you say, though the warning in your tone lacked its bite.

“What?” he asks, grinning. “It’s true. That dress you’re wearing is a bit unfair, isn’t it? How’s a man supposed to think about baubles and lights when you look like that?”

You roll your eyes, attempting to ignore him as you focuse on unraveling the glittering mess in your hands. But then his hand brush lightly against the small of your back.

“I could think of a few better ways to use that tinsel,” he muses, his voice dropping into a husky undertone. “You’d look good all tied up in it… Remember that one time? When you were lying on your belly, unable to move? And I just grabbed your hips and…“

“Tom!” you gasp, spinning to face him, your face now fully aflame.

He laughs, utterly unrepentant, and snatches a length of the tinsel from the box. “Just saying,” he teases, wrapping it loosely around his hands. “It’s versatile stuff. Don’t blame me for having ideas.”

“Stop being ridiculous and hang it on the tree,” you order, your voice cracking slightly as you try to maintain your composure.

“Hang it on the tree?” he repeats, tilting his head as though considering the suggestion. Then, with a wicked grin, he drapes the tinsel across your shoulders instead, letting the silvery strands shimmer against your skin.

“There,” he says, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “Perfect. Tree’s done.”

“Tom Bennett,” you say, grabbing the tinsel and throwing it back at him, though you can’t help the laugh that bubbled up.

He catches your wrist before you can pull away, tugging you closer. “You’re blushing,” he notes, his tone both smug and tender.

“No, I’m not..” you retort, though your voice waveres under his intense gaze.

“Liar,” he whispers, his fingers trailing up your arm as he lets the tinsel slip through his other hand, the glittering strands brushing against your skin like a feather.

You shiver, swallowing hard as you struggle to hold his gaze. “The tree,” you manage to stammer, motioning weakly toward the half-decorated branches.

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten about the tree,” he murmurs, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “But I think it can wait a few minutes. Don’t you?”

Your breath catches as he tugs the tinsel taut between his hands, his smirk deepening. “Besides,” he continues, his voice dripping with mock innocence, “Lois said we should make it festive, didn’t she? I’d say this qualifies.”

“Tom!“

Your protests fell on deaf ears as he loops the tinsel over your head like a garland, letting it cascade down your shoulders. You swat at him, trying to hide your laughter, but he only grins, the glint in his eye unmistakable.

You sigh after he reaches into the box again to take a bauble and ‘accidentally’ runs his hand a little too far up your thigh.

“Focus”, you say, but you can’t suppress a smile.

“I am focusing,” he says, smirking as he took a step closer, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Just not on the tree.”

You roll your eyes, still trying to fight back that smile. “If Lois knew how useless you’re being right now, she’d kill you.”

“Good thing she’s not here, then,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to that low, suggestive tone that makes your knees weak.

“Tom,” you warn, though your resolve is faltering.

“Yes, love?”

“Hang. The. Ornaments.”

“Fine,” he says with an exaggerated sigh, grabbing a bauble and hanging it on the nearest branch. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” you reply, though the flush on your cheeks betrays you.

Despite his constant teasing, the tree eventually starts to come together. By the time the star is perchs on top, you have to admit it looks pretty good—though you’d never let Tom take the credit.

As you stand back to admire your handiwork, Tom slips an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “See?” he says, his voice soft now. “Told you we could make it fun.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help smiling. “Merry Christmas, Tom.”

He leans down, brushing his lips against yours. “Merry Christmas, love.”