club owner taehyung x artist fem reader
Summary: Getting hired to paint an explicit mural on the walls of THV was an offer you took with a wash of greed. The pay was high— it canceled out every loud beat of the speakers, drunken men, and the count of how many people accidentally ran into your art supplies. But could the money cancel out the eyes staring at you from behind the office doors? Could money cancel out the warmth Taehyung felt in his chest when he found his new obsession?
Warnings: harsh and foul language's, hard dom tae, oral (m receiving), m. masturbation, choking, mentions of gun insertion but none, unprotected sex, creampie, crying during sex.
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ ─ The lights of the nightclub was a constant blade that had the side of your head throbbing. All you wanted to do was pop in two painkillers and flop down onto your bed until you fell asleep.
But you needed the money.
So here you were, ignoring every drunken person rambling beside you as you tried ever so hard to focus on the way you applied your brush strokes over the clubs far left brick wall.
The clubs owner— Mr Kim— had suggested something erotic to cover the walls... something to "pull customers in". You managed to lap down a series of intertwined limbs using hues of the deep colors, and the more you looked at it, the more you quite were proud of yourself. You wanted to ask him why the hell that was his approach of gaining attraction but it wasn't like you could.
You hadn't even seen the dude, that being a manager being the one to hire you.
That's not something you've brought yourself to care about, just your thoughts being getting this over with and succeeding with the multi zero paycheck promised your way. You were greatful the club actually had pretty good music or else you've probably would've ended up going insane by now.
No, you've already gone mad - your dirty conscious told you. The same conscious that you'd scoff at over and over again with trying to pry that weird feeling settling deep in your bones.
The feeling of being watched.
You felt it in your first night in at 12:36— yes you actually did check the time— and since then, being on your fourth and final night...that feeling has never passed.
A weight that would press into the small of your back. A woman tuition that had your cheeks flushing or a slow fatigue if your exhausted body—it was something that clouded your brain.
With a deep sigh that squeezed your chest, you dipped your brush into your cup in hopes to press that feeling away. The bristles cleaning off into the brown water that oddly looked like blood under the clubs flashing lights.
You wiped the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, leaving a smear of paint across your temple.
Your neck ached from looking up at the high brickwork for hours, but you couldn't stop. You wouldn't stop. If you finished tonight, you could take the money, pay off your mounting bills, and never step foot inside this cavernous, hollowed-out tomb of a club again.
It was a masterpiece, you believed. An artwork that you were somewhat feeling a hint of jealousy for not being able to keep and praise. You looked down at your hands, flexed and unflexed your fingers, and smiled slightly at yourself.
Maybe the hours worth of migraines and eerie feelings was worth it after all.
You cleaned up your paints and brushes, your back aching but you knew it was best to not give up when you were just minutes away from heading home. You signed out as quickly as you could, nothing but a peaceful rest was radiating in your mind.
Kim Taehyung's club possessed a strict dress code for red colored outfits only.
You told yourself not to overdress— hence you were only heading there for a paycheck from the man himself— and yet, you did. You stood clad outside the clubs heavy, mental doors, adjusting your black leather skirt that hugged over your dark red floral tights. Your tube top just barely covered the top of your velvet bra but you knew it was something you shouldn't fix.
Not at a place like this.
The door swung open and the security— a tall man with a deep gash on his left eye— looked at you, examining your face before stepping inside to gain you access.
You murmured a quick thanks to the man but your voice was soon to get soaked up by the beat of the blasting music just up ahead. That too, with a mix of a crowds cheers.
You rounded the corner, a young woman almost spilling her vodka on your skin behalf of her fumbling state. You smoothed her shoulders out quickly before turning to face the wall you spent your now five nights in a row with your neck hung back until the bones ached deeply and your wrists cramped.
A man stood near the ceiling-to-floor painting, his jaw clenched as his fingers rounded a smooth yet deliberate pattern over the rim of the glass. The overhead lights cascaded down into a features, giving a rough highlight to his tan skin in a provocative way it had you gulping with a slow step forward.
Upon hearing your heels clank across the hard tiles of the floor, asymmetrical eyes shifted to find yours, darkening with a devotion that had you questioning who the hell this was and why he was standing just ahead of your artwork.
"It's a beautiful one," his lips moved then, and a deep voice had vibrated shockwaves against your skin. "It's a nice backup to my theory. Pretty hands sure do make such pretty masterpieces."
He really was a captivating sight just so up close to him. The sharp line of his collarbone was visible through the unbottoned silk of his shirt, and a gaze that did far more than just meet yours. You immediately knew he was a pleasure magnet and you were too one of the victims caught in the fire.
He reached out, his hand touching the now dried paint that prettied over the rough brick. It was a specific part, a curve of the limbs where you spent hours struggling to perfect two nights before.
"You're the artist," he said.
"I am," you managed, taking a step closer.
His cologne immediately hit your senses— dark, yet a warm cinnamon... a scent you knew would be a struggle to ever forget.
A scent that made your head spin, an effect that had nothing to do with the night's fatigue.
"And you must be Mr. Kim. I assume you're checking on your investment?"
"It's a pretty discovery," he turned to you, placing his crystal glass on a nearby table with a clank. "Made by the hands of a woman with delicate care."
You thanked him, your cheeks a deep fluster as his words did way more than praise you. It felt deep and roughly intoxicated, said by a voice that made your heart feel way out of place.
"Come have a drink with me," he offered, angling his body towards the bar just up at the front. "I have a few more suggestions for you, ma'am... ones I fear only you can satisfy me by doing."
You accepted his offer and before you knew it, the weight of his gaze burned a twist deep in your stomach as you sat down on a high, leather stool.
He moved around the counter in such a manner he looked like he belonged in a painting that was crafted in the late eighteenth century.
Or maybe it was just his looks alone.
Either way, it was a thought that had your mind swarming with a creative desire you couldn't help but imagining what type of things his silhouette could highlight on your canvases.
Could he be a considerate drinker, a man with such smoothness in the way he downed down his alcohol? How his portrait on your canvases could bleed into real life, judging by the way he reached out to pour a rich vodka into a crystal glass while his eyes kept locked entirely on you?
What if he was covered in flowers... even holding one? Red dahlias seemed perfect for a man like him. It matched with his vibe and no matter how hard you wondered what too could make his figure stand out so desirably... all you could think of was dahlias.
Could you replace his honey-silked skin with Lucifer's fallen frame? The same eyes the fallen angel had possessed in the original 1800's painting, but yet this time staring with dark asymmetrical eyes that lined up perfectly with the small mole just under his left eye... the eyes that had your fingers curling around the corner of the bar table absentmindedly.
You took the glass that he offered you, his face blank but yet entirely focused on the way your lips curled around the crystal. You took a sip, pretending not to feel the way his gaze made you feel, and swallowed hard the vodka that had burned your throat.
"Imported from Italy," his voice smoothed you out as he took a small sip himself. "It's forbidden to pour even an ounce to customers."
Why hand it to me?- You wanted to ask him but instead, you cleared your throat. "Hm, so why keep it out in the open?”
He set his own glass down, his movements calculated before leaning in just a tad until you could smell the vodka radiate from his lips. His suit stretched against his broad back, honey skin so taut it had your eyes flickering between his muscles and his eyes.
"Forbidden things have a certain magnetic effect to them, don't they?" He studied you study him. "If I kept it locked away, it'd just be useless bottle of spirit. Take it as my arrogant way of... showcasing. Bragging."
He ran his fingers through his slicked back hair then, a curl falling just over his eye.
"But also, I was savoring it. For something special. Don't you see what i'm doing? Why pretend you aren't something special? I don't talk to my workers nor my customers... I hate the idea of having a drink with others. You've satisfied my wants and i'm here to keep your talented hands at work."
You shrugged, everything in you burning with a weird velocity and yet your body was discreetly moving towards his. Your responses were matching along with his tone like some puzzle peice.
"I'm just a struggling artist trying to make it past the week," you replied as honestly as you could, looking away from him for a quick second to take a swift from your glass. "Having a drink with someone like you hasn't ever been something my mind ever processed could happen to me."
"A struggling artist shouldn't be a word to describe you," he reached into his breast pocket to pull out a cream colored envelope. "The way you painted that mural? The flowing limbs of the two women reaching desirably for a man who surrendered to their hands— it had me wondering how you saw things. How you can see a man like me."
He slid the envelope across the counter until it stopped beneath your fingertips.
"There's your check, ma'am." He said formally.
"You don't have to call me that, y'know," you replied back, reaching for the envelope to tuck it deep into your purse.
"I guess... I would need something more soothing for what I have planned for you next, huh?"
"I want you in my office as soon as the clock hits two in the morning. Bring your supplies and I'll be sitting on my couch," his eyes hardened, staring down at you in a way that you knew he wasn't playing around with this. "Ever since I saw you, doll, watching you paint that beautiful yet erotic masterpiece on my wall had me yearning an image that haunted my deep sleep. To yearn the way you could map my silhouette and my skin, draw down the tension and truth of my body."
He waited until he could see the intake of your breath and when it had came, a slow smirk had fallen upon his lips.
"Are you asking me to... paint you naked?" The thought made you uncomfortable and yet as you watched the way he nodded at your words, a lustful shudder had racked through your shoulders.
He was inviting you into a space where your professional boundaries would be dismantled, brick by brick.
But something in you, something hot and twisted— had begged you to accept his offer. To see the way his body curved into a perfection or to feel the way he could possibly become your full time muse.
How the offer of seeing his body completely stripped bare made your thighs clench just as hard as your mind had seethed.
"Okay," your dirty conscious agreed before your rightful one could holt.
"Okay?" He repeated, leaning back to straighten out his spine. Just the sight of him towering easily over you had your head nodding long before your words could catch up.
"Two o'clock," you mused, sliding your now empty glass across the table to reach him. "I'll show up.
His face wasn't smiling, nor smirking anymore. The expression that came across his features was mere intoxicating to your heart, reaching for a jolt straight to your core.
"Good," he replied, straightening out the suit that would be long absent the next time your eyes would come across his face. "I already bought new tools for you. Your outcome was evident, regardless your answer."
"...And Taehyung?" You stared, calling out for him breathlessly as his body started to move away from you.
He paused to look over his shoulder, gracing you a view of his side profile. "Yes, doll?"
"What if there's more involved?" It was a risky thing to ask and possibly delusional, but the way he stared back at you felt like a promise to sooth the way your legs clenched. How your core felt hot. "If I don't just want to paint?"
You weren't even sure of how dangerous your words were until his hand came up to cup your jaw. You slightly gasped but leaned into his calloused hand, feeling the way his thumb dragged down your lower lip until the flesh parted.
"Then consider yourself warned. I will have no intention of letting you leave my space until i've become the only thing you think about, paint, or breathe for."
He pulled away, the sudden absence of his touch leaching a cold ache to your skin. You frowned, watching as he turned back without any farewells.
His broad frame disappeared in the crowd that swayed alongside the beat. You watched, your heart beating erratically and refusing to calm down until he was lost on the second story.
You felt like you were walking on a tightrope.
Your skin was flushed and your heart hurt from the sheer race it held and yet you felt conflicted. Satisfied with a want flowing thickly in your veins that you couldn't help but feel excited.
You slid off the stool, smoothing out your leather skirt as you walked into the crowd for the time being, your legs felt unstable and shaky but so ready to follow wherever he led.
You spent your time waiting impatiently, choosing to stay clear from any more alcohol as you partied with strangers until the clock hit two.
The club was dangerously alive at this hour and if you thought it was busy all of your other times you spent your nights here— you were so wrong. You managed to maneuver your way through the tight crowd of nearby people as you walked up the second story, your legs trembling.
And when you reached a dark hall, a security studying your face before stepping inside— you were now met with a cold silence. Long gone was the body heat jumping to music that racked your brain... now there was a cold in the air that seemed to tightened the closer you stepped towards his office doors.
You gave his door two, light knocks before stepping into the room.
The lighting was warm inside, the walls thick enough to silence the loud speakers just outside completely. The space wasn't entirely too large, being filled with leather couches and a grand piano— but it was enough to leave your lips slightly agape.
Light jazz with the coating of his humming had filled your ears.
Your head snapped to where he stood against the grand piano, the sight of Kim Taehyung again already enough to have you choking on the tight air. His formal outfit from earlier was replaced with a black tee along with flowy sweatpants— something that could be swept off his frame with an easy breeze.
He stopped his humming the moment you stepped into the light. His eyes tracking every moment you walked toward until you were just merely inches away from his frame.
"You look hesitant," he noted. "Don't be. The room is completely sound proof... does that information make you feel better?"
You opened your mouth to speak, eyes flickering towards his desk to your left, where a pistol lay. You looked back at him, craning your neck back. "No."
"Straightforward," he chuckled. "There's no need to worry, doll, I have no intentions of putting that gun near or in you. Unless you ask me to, i'd be glad."
You set your bag down on the armrest of his couch, your fingers fumbling with the clasp.
The air felt far from the professional pass it supposed to hold, but instead it was heavy. Lustful. Tight in a way you wondered just how ruined your panties were.
"I would let anything," you replied, keeping your voice steady and he dragged his tongue across his cheek, the indent just enough to send you spiraling.
He reached out, his hand grazing your shoulder, his fingers trailing down your arm to your hand, which was still gripping your bag.
He gently pried your fingers loose and pulled the bag away, tossing it carelessly onto a leather couch.
"I checked the finest supplies in the country," he said, motioning towards an easel next towards a rolling cart, an array of tubes, pallet knives, and brushes that you ever wished to have. "Go set yourself up, i'll be undressing."
He moved towards his couch, lighting a cigarette and placing it between his lips while his other hand tore at his shirt. Your heart hammered widely as he pulled the fabric upward, over his head and tossed it aside.
The sight of him was paralyzing.
His honey skin was a map of defined muscle on his torso that moved with every breath he took.
He was beautiful — a breathtaking masterpiece of anatomy— the sight of him enough to cause your throat to turn dry.
You moved right ahead of the couch, gently placing your needs as you ignored the way the sound of his pants peeling from his hips hadn't caused your body to squeeze.
But once you were ready and he was too, you braced yourself to glance up at the sitting man just near feet away from you.
One half of your brain— the artist in you— was already calculating the shadows, how the light carved a path up his collar bone, and how his muscles tensed at the base of his abdomen.
Another half of your brain was focused on how desirable he looked.
Dark eyes staring back at you, smoke curling down his neck as he took a painful drag from his cigarette. His legs were spread, giving his muscles a hard tense along with the perfect view of his cock. It was large, thick in a way it sent an entire wave of want down your body until you literally felt yourself pool at your panties.
You were staring and you knew it. The same stare your eyes had when you examined a masterpiece in a gallery— but this time, that masterpiece was breathing.
Looking at you with the same need that you looked back at him.
You forced yourself to rip your gaze away from the part of him you couldn't help but imagine the feel of, your cheeks flaming as you picked up the pallet knife. You mixed a shade of the paints until you were satisfied with the match to his skin tone.
You were completely clouded with the sight of his body that you forgot you were quite physically there and he quite physically could probably sense everything you felt.
The reminder of his voice— that monotone pleasure— snapped you entirely out of your orbit.
"Oh, ah, I was thinking..." you paused in to take another full look of his body. Your imagination, the same wild one that pictured him as an early century painting, had came back into play.
You dragged your eyes away from the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and forced them onto the palette knife in your hand.
"—That you should sit closer to the edge. The way the light is angled... it will hit the slant of your shoulder and throw your side into a shadow."
He didn't argue or blink, just adjusted his body until you could feel his body heat just inches away from yours. He tilted his head up just a tad, exposing the line in his throat that sparked a flip in your belly.
"Drape one arm over the edge of the couch, spread your legs wider too. Make it look like you're either exhausted or ruined."
He hummed, the sound settling deep in your skin as he moved, the leather groaning under his weight.
"Like this?" he asked as he shifted, his legs parting slightly, his free hand coming up to rest casually over his own thigh.
Your fingers tightened around the palette knife.
He knew exactly what he was doing—how the shift in his posture made the muscles in his thighs bunch, how it highlighted the lean, dangerous line of his hips.
"Perfect," you breathed, moving to the easel.
You began to work smoothly, humming calmly under your breath although the presence just ahead of you caused anything but a calm feeling to your bones.
But as the time passed and his breathing grew more heavy— you felt like you weren't painting a man anymore.
A desire that made it so damn hard to focus. Every single time you looked at the canvas, your eyes flickered back at him with the excuse to guide the reference.
But your brain knew you long memorized his shape way too long ago.
He was watching you paint him with such a terrifying focus that you felt as if he were the one painting you.
And when you got to the space below his abdomen, where his muscles hardened into a v line to the thickness of him that had your mouth watering, that's when you began to really slip.
Your paintbrush mapped out his cock and you kept on returning your eyes to the reference only to cross your thighs in advance.
You barely even knew the guy and here you were, painting out the veins in his shaft while your mind drifted into a fantasy of what that part could bring to you.
Like a hard pleasure that'd send your eyes rolling back as it dragged in and out of you, that same voice of his whispering— hell maybe even groaning— praises into your eyes as you took him completely raw and twisted.
To have his hands, the same ones that spread over his thighs, to venture around your body until you were a screaming mess. Until your body molded tight against his in a thick way where it was merely impossible to separate his electric touch away from you. Until his lips, the pretty heart shaped wonders, tasted every single inch and curve your body offered to him.
Fuck, if only you were alone. If only his eyes would finally peel from your frame and maybe you'd shift your free hand down your leather skirt.
The fantasies brewing in your mind was alluring and no matter how hard you wanted to simply roll your hips on the soft cushion he gave you for your knees long ago— you had to give yourself at least one sliver of self dignity left, right?
Your fingers ached to move to your cunt, now a desperate and wild mess— but the thought kept you still.
The barrier between the two of you can't break.
Atleast, that's what you thought... until you heard a low, guttural groan escape from his throat.
You looked back at him to see his hand had moved towards the base of his cock. He was fully hard, the thickness throbbing and pulled up to his abdomen where his thumb smoothed a bead of precum down his shaft so slowly it had his lips parting.
Fuck your image, that was long gone now, just seeing him like this— spurred a mix of both a gasp and moan from your lips.
"You really want me to fucking spiral here, huh?" He spat, his chest heaving as he fixed his position until he was back to sitting normally. Only this time, he was fisting his cock hardly in his hand. "How do you expect me to pose for you when you're staring at me with those beautiful eyes? Your nipples are poking through your shirt, baby, it's ruining every calm I have left in me."
His words felt like a physical touch, sending a wave of fresh heat straight between your thighs.
You watched, amused, as he gave his cock a slow stroke upward while using his thumb to glide against his swollen head.
"Taehyung," you breathed, straightening your back out as your hips absentmindedly rolled against nothing. You breathed, your body seeking to feel the friction of anything as you watched his wrist work himself.
"Fuck," he rasped out, giving his base a rough squeeze. "Say my name with that beautiful voice again and I won't stop this fool in making of myself... my hands will move on my own and you will watch, still, like a fucking good girl."
Your paintbrush slipped from your fingers and clattered into the floor, forgotten.
"Taehyung," you said again, testing the waters.
His head fell back, adam's apple in his throat bobbing as his hand began to pace up and down his cock until a wet noise had mixed along with his groans. Every inch of you screamed to move, to shove your legs wider against that cushion until you were toying with yourself too— but you were too focused on the view ahead of you.
Just watching the way his abs flexed with each and every pump of his fist.
"Can't fucking keep calm when a beauty is mapping out my body," he groaned, his half hooded as he stared right back into your eyes. "Your pretty tits, begging to be sucked while I stroke this cock for you. You want to see me come, huh? You aren't moving at all... you're staring. Want to watch me coat all over my stomach while you drown in your own wetness without even being touched?"
His hips lifted slightly off the couch to thrust harder into his own grip. The noises were loud and lewd, dangerous but mixed with the occasional whimpers that torn straight from your throat involuntarily.
Your thighs clenched harder, the pressure sending pleasure through your folds but it wasn't enough. No where near enough. You needed him and him only.
He leaned back slightly, spreading his legs further apart so you had a view of everything. The flex of his biceps when his cock continue to twitch in his pumping fists, the sounds driving your mind crazy.
"Keep squeezing those legs together, baby, that's it," he hummed, a bead of sweat falling down from his forehead. "You're my fucking girl now, the only use of your body as put by my hands. My fucking slut."
Your nipples ached so hard you wanted to pull them through your shirt, twist and pull— imagine his mouth instead— until you've cummed from that just alone.
His hand never stopped moving, faster and torturous that left his thighs trembling. His hips buckled and at that moment, you believed his release was to come— but he was quick to pull away, his cock slapping full lengths back to his stomach.
He stood up from the couch, took two strides to where you sat, and brought the swarming heat of his cock straight up to your mouth.
He towered over you, eyes locking at your vulnerability as your legs trembled from the pure velocity from just it alone. He pulled your hair into his fist, making a makeshift ponytail that curled around his fingers, until pushing your mouth down around his cock.
You choked immediately, his taste— all warm and salty— filled your senses whole as his weight had squeezed your tongue. You gagged but he pushed himself further down your throat until you screamed and cried, nails clawing at his hips and your mouth producing gags over his length that only seemed to send his body into a deeper spiral.
Your saliva mixed with his cum and at that moment, you felt as if you fully surrounded to the man who had now completely taken over your body. Your reasonable actions was gone, replaced by lust— and now completely frozen as he slammed his head fully down your throat.
You cried and heaved over him, tears streaming down your cheeks but he continued to pace unapologetically, your head bopping in a rhythm so hard your eyes rolled back just against your cry.
"Continue to make those noises around me and my cock won't just be deep in your throat. I'll have you crying so hard you'll be a weeping mess once I fuck you," he snapped, pushing your head harder against his base. You felt him poke the back of your throat, hard, thick and tight.
Perfect. Fitting. Like a missing puzzle peice finally found after years of being gone.
You took one, painful breath in and out your nose before finally being the one to put yourself at work. You slid your mouth down on behalf his hands, tongue curling around his thick veins until his hips buckled restlessly. Your cheeks hallowed in, giving a tighter squeeze and he groaned, fingers lost and moving around uselessly in the tightness he held in your hair.
"That's it, continue that, mamas. Let me feel the dream i've desired ever since I saw you walk past my threshold," you continued to hallow your cheeks in and your looked up, giving his cock a new angle in your mouth while his eyes sent your limbs shaking. "I fucked myself every night watching you paint that threesome on my wall," he admitted. "Had me whimpering like a pathetic mess as I imagined we were one of the souls in your painting. Fucking. Loving. Owning."
You moaned against himself and the vibrations sent him to go crazy. He buckled again into you, his mind reeling as he felt the pleasure shoot from his veins. Hotness instantly filled up your mouth and you swollowed it as best as you could, keeping your eyes locked on the groaning man ahead of you as his hand pet softly to the back of your head.
"Fuck," he reached out to grab his cigarette, pulling your cum-soaked face up so you were mere inches away from his. He exhaled the smoke onto your mouth and you choked, eyes stinging, before he moved the stick away to collide your lips against his.
His kiss was slow, a lingering taste— instead of the harsh abuse his cock had felt in your throat.
It was a deep savoring, a vow that although he didn't seem as the type to commit— this was far from the only time he'd touch your body like his.
You were his now, no matter what.
The thought made him pull away with a growl, placing the cigarette back between his lips before flipping your body over. Your body fell onto the floor with a soft grunt on your end, a complete surrender of your soul.
His hands reached out to fumble with your skirt, pulling the fabric down roughly until the air was completely soaking your skin.
He growled, pressing a lingering kiss to your tailbone before dragging his head right along your entrance. It was thick, hard, throbbing that had you gasping, back arching and hips buckling into the air as his hand pressed onto your ass.
Your mind couldn't stop replaying the way his cock had treated your mouth and the image had you dying to know what itd be like if it was pounding in your core.
You let out a loud scream, hands clenching into the rug below you, looking over your shoulder the best you could to meet his eyes.
"Fuck me," you begged, your arms shaking where you kept yourself prompt up. "Ruin me sweetly, daddy. Please. It's all I need."
His response wasn't words, no. It was more a deep growl, his supposed warning before slamming his used cock fully into you. The stretch was immediate and rough, so hard it had your vision splotching in a white blur.
"Fuck, Taehyung," you hooked your ass higher into the air, feeling the way his head brushed inside you in places you hadn't even known existed.
His hands gripped hard into your hips, pushing your spasming cunt impossibly closer to his body as he begun to thrust tortuously into your body.
He hit in places that had you screaming into the floor, fingers fisting your own shirt and he groaning hard to pull you back into his cock over and over again.
"So fucking deep, my girl," he pants. "Fuck, you feel like heaven like this. Your sweet pussy taking me all gracefully."
He hits that deep spot inside of you with every thrust, making your legs shake and vision blur harder as his hips snapped against your skin. Your tears were back now, streaming a waterfall as his hands snaked up your breast and stopping low at your throat.
His hand quickly applied a deep pressure to your airways, your mind tightening and your heart now gone haywire. His slams inside you grew heavier and so did his cock, twitching inside of you as his head hit that spot so hard it was both painful and pleasurable. It was bruising, no doubt, and you were crying and begging him to stop in the same breath that begged him to fuck you harder.
To fuck you until you were in complete pieces and he was the only one compatible to glue you back up together.
Your core clenched in a hard knot, a release tugging at you so hard you couldn't feel a sole thing except for his pounding pace.
"I'm close," you panted, feeling the way your core clenched over and over again over his rough veins. He choked you harder, leaving your rambles silenced into gibberish.
"I need to see your face, wait, doll." He ordered, flipping you over until you were on your back, legs spread wide and body folded perfectly against him.
His hand moved from your neck to your breast, squeezing and rolling the bud as fast as he could as he watched the way your brows burrowed together and the sweat pouring down your temple.
"Do it then, baby," he gave your breast a rough squeeze and you cried out, your body releasing in hard tremors as you felt your arousal squirt out and coax his cock and the floor underneath.
He groaned upon feeling your hot insides, his thrusts growing weak immediately before emptying out inside of you.
It left the two of you to breathe heavily in silence with his long arms to hold you tight as you shook violently in his arms until your orgasm calmed.
He leaned his head in again to plant kisses down the curve of your neck, sloppy and messy, needy as if he hadn't spent his night claiming you as his.
He pulled back to hook a loose strand of your hair behind your ear but at that moment— something that had gone unnoticed shone under the dim lights just up ahead.
A purposeful scar on his left wrist.
He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours. He was shivering, a violent tremor that racked his whole frame.
You were completely certain for what you had caught a glimpse of into his skin... becuase, how could you not?
It was your own fucking name carved into his flesh.
And now, feeling his arms hold you on the floor where he bruised the deepest parts inside of you— you truly realized what you had just done.
You didn't just fuck a stranger.
You signed yourself off to a man whose mind was drowning in the depths of obsessive insanity.
my first oneshot posted on tumblr, i hope you guys enjoyed it as much as i did :) thanks for taking the time to read, i love you 💗
