#dirtydoesgood

That congenial smile, the one he dons on in public, nowhere to be found as Leonardo’s fingers slip in between the space of her legs, inciting the hungry flash of fangs from their willing captive before he buries the edge of one against his tongue in a poor show of restraint. 

And as the tips of Leonardo’s fingers ghost against her swollen clit, her hand finds his, almost as if on instinct. He watches in mild fascination how he dwarfs the fingers that come to hold his, in stark comparison. The blush that steals fervent across her cheeks before she leans forward to press her lips against his and he answers in kind, smiling.  Fingers driving up into her pussy, slick with the arousal that trails copious down to his knuckles and she moans her other lover’s name — the Comte’s real moniker. 

Head falling back to catch the Comte’s eyes; the man’s semblance of pathetic control Leonardo witnesses rippling apart at the want in that watery gaze, beckoning even as she reaches a covetous hand his way. 

Before he catches the digits of that outstretched hand with his own, tugging it, and her attentions, back to himself.

A low curse uttered in an old, foreign tongue; Leonardo recognizes the words as the Comte’s mother language. The decisive tear of fiber followed by the harsh splintering of wood drowned underneath a strained guttural sound. 

The result, entirely expected though it is, still steals a deep rumble of amusement past Leonardo’s lips. Angling a grin at his now, much agreeable companion, he takes in the sight of that vicious gaze, tempestuous as it meets his across her shoulder. 

“...I quite believe you’ve had your fun, Leonardo.” The admonishment in the raw scrape of le Comte de Saint Germain’s voice serves only to tug that grin higher as Leonardo relinquishes control — for the time being — over to the man in front, toyed with and tested beyond even his restraint. 

“Comte—” Surprise flickers through the dense sheen of desire clouding her gaze before it overpowers her once more in the subdued shudders that take her to feel the sharp drag of teeth against her neck. Straining as she settles against him.  

“Look at me, chérie.” The quick sharp pluck of Comte’s brow before it relaxes, betrays the restraint of desire as he withdraws from her neck. Lost the next instant as she moves to press herself against him, open mouth seeking his and he obliges, slave to her tender mercies, just as Leonardo finds himself. 

The desperate press of a pink tongue she swipes against wet lips before the Comte’s hand finds the back of her head and fists; insatiable mouth breathing her sweet little gasp into his own, ravenous and without mercy. 

Leonardo catches the swell of her arousal on a sharp, intoxicating rush of heavy scent; how the Comte excites her as he is now, unrestrained within her arms. 

The man in front, just as adept at catching her excitement, moves to cup a palm against her sex. Swallowing her moans into his mouth just as Leonardo watches the slow, easy slide of his fingers into her. Withdrawing them drenched to trail across her thighs, copious arousal trekking a slick path against her skin. 

She rolls her hips to press herself tighter against the intrusion of Comte’s hand, self-consciousness long shed to the throes of passion. Delicate fingers shaping around the softness of her breasts to hold and knead. Moaning in appreciation when the Comte’s mouth finds itself around the puckered bead of her breast and sucks. The needle edge of a fang scraping against her nipple prompts a frenzied hand flying to grasp at his hair and tug on instinct. 

Gaze beseeching as it finds his narrowed in mild amusement, desire and affection. “...You’re going to drive me crazy, Comte.” 

He shifts then, just enough to let the press of his cock ghost across her thigh, hot and throbbing. “And you already do so to me, ma chérie.”

The pad of his thumb presses at the plush of her lower lip, teasing the edges of it. Golden gaze wrought with furbished desire, treks the parting of her lips, admitting his thumb to tease at her tongue. “You two put on quite the show for me. Watching Leonardo touch you while I could do little but worship the view, torturous as it was…” A sudden intrusion of another long finger into her depths sends her arching forward but Comte’s grip holds, watching in contented fascination as she shivers in his grasp. “I believe I’ve earned the chance to spoil my love in return for leaving me more than a little... envious.”

He moves forward, titillating whispers ghosting delicious across the curve of her ear. “Don’t you agree?” 

His fingers hook up into her, sending her over the edge, swift and vicious enough she screams out loud. Comte sweeps to swallow the rest of her moans into his mouth, fangs grazing the edge of her tongue in a nick, sending a burst of blood and pleasure across her senses. Convulsions he sets skittering down her spine in rapture, body yielding towards the man. The softness of her breasts molding to fit against the shape of le Comte’s firm chest as she presses in to hold, arms cording around him as if for dear life. 

Lapping at the graze of her tongue before he sucks it into his mouth; the tips of his fingers steal under her chin to lift as le Comte savors the moment to hold onto her wrecked visage — the swell of well-kissed lips far more pronounced by the gloss of wetness, framed by cheeks spilled in rouge, the dark wavering of her gaze — disastrously beautiful in its unraveling. He angles his head to the side in satisfaction; gold meeting burnished copper. 

Leonardo observes the entire spectacle with a crooked grin, one the ‘Comte’ returns. “Heh. Knew there was a greedy bastard in there.” 

“Indeed. And I require your assistance now, old friend.” 

“Always so demanding.” Leonardo moves to position himself behind her now sagging form, arms cording around her waist to hold her steady. “Everything alright with you, cara mia?” 

“....N-No. It feels… way too good, I-I think I’m going to lose my mind… mm A—” The Comte’s fingers ghost against the sensitive flesh of her hips, pressing and soothing as if he does not mean to wreck her entirely with his own burgeoning desire soon. 

Leonardo feels the tight press of her ass against his own arousal. Swallowing around the dry ache of his mouth, fangs burning where they slide against a ravenous tongue; it takes all of Leonardo’s mental fortitude to congeal that desire into a slow, steady caress of an eager tongue against the sensitive flesh of her nape and she croons in approval.

Folding her hand against his, the Comte draws it to his mouth, lips closing around one limp digit. Leonardo watches the flush of her cheeks rise higher with each careful flick of that clever tongue of his. Inhaling deep to catch the suffusion of their desire — hers mixing in with the ‘Comte’s’ and his — to leave a mix of intoxicated lust in the air. 

Popping her finger out of his mouth to leave one last stroke of his tongue against the pad of it. “Forgive me, chérie. I don’t think it’s in my capacity to be gentle with you tonight.”

“...I don’t want you being gentle, Comte. Please… I need you both so much.” 

“Ah,” he smiles, as if it weren’t the answer he knew was coming. “I do not dislike a naughty girl.”

Leonardo’s breath brands across the shell of her ear; a low guttural whisper, hot and caressing. “Especially so when she is ours.”  Roguish smile closing around her earlobe, his teeth sink into the soft flesh of it.

Deft fingers slip to part her folds just as the Comte moves to position himself at her entrance. 

She tucks in a harsh breath at the sight. Leonardo’s low growl at her neck the last thing she hears...

“Hold on tight, cara mia. You’re going to need the support.” 

...before it’s drowned underneath the intensity of her cries with the slow, smooth push of them into her depths.

Dummy,

For someone who constantly behaves like they’ve got their head in the clouds, you certainly seemed to be aware of exactly what you were doing today.

Being so bold as to barge into my office without an appointment.  Without knocking, even.  Deliberately letting your trench-coat fall open to show me you were wearing the fishnet stockings I had chosen for you...those and nothing else.  Taking advantage of the fact that I was still on the phone to crawl between my legs and tug on my belt. 

You’ve certainly grown bold.

And while I do experience a sense of satisfaction in watching you develop in such a direction, it would serve you well to keep a few things in mind.

One: keep your coat belted tighter next time.  If I find out Goldman got even so much as the tiniest peep, he’s fired.  I don’t think you want that guilt on your shoulders.

Two: that was a particularly nice shade of red on your lips.  The next time you’re on your knees with your mouth wrapped around my cock, I should like to see it again.

Three: you will always allow me to escort you, either back to my home or yours.  Don’t assume that I will be satisfied with just an aperitif.  I can assure you that I grow nothing short of ravenous in your presence.

Four: I will have a few more pairs of stockings delivered to your home, as I suspect the ones you had on today won’t survive the night.  Always make sure to have them on hand as you look particularly exquisite in them.

I’ll pick you up at 8 tonight.  I do believe some punishment is in order.  But who knows, you might even enjoy it, dummy.

Victor

P.S. Don’t think that this will get you an extension on your report.

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Want to know exactly what Victor did to you - his sweet, precious dummy?  Curious to know what was in the letter of confession that Gavin so painstakingly penned for you in high school?  Ever thought about what Lucien would say during moments of loneliness spent overseas, yearning for your touch?  Care to know how poetic Kiro gets when he misses you while on tour?

Well, now you can with Dirty Does Good.  Love letters available at all levels of spiciness, and all for a good cause.  Please see commission details here.  

An absolutely perfect Valentine’s Day gift for your friends...or even yourself! 😉💌💝

Nb. Please commission your letter before February 11th, 11:59 PST for guaranteed delivery on the evening of 13 February 2020, EST-PST.  Commissions received after this date will be completed on a first-come, first-served basis.

Hi,

I’ve noticed you around in school, but I’m not sure you know who I am.  So if you don’t mind, I'd like to first introduce myself.

My name is Gavin Bai, and I’m a senior, a couple grades ahead of you.  Minor is an acquaintance a friend of mine.  You probably know him; a bit on the shorter side with a high-pitched voice, kind of clingy and annoying?  He mentioned he is in your class.

Anyway, I’m sorry if this letter comes off strange — I can promise you my intentions are anything but!  I've never really been one for words and I guess it shows.  Every time I see you in the hallways or at the school gates, I really want to speak to you but always lose my nerve at the last minute.  Would you laugh at me if I told you my hands are shaking even as I write this letter?  Please don’t tell anyone.

If my reputation at school precedes me, then I’m sure you'll find that hard to believe, but it's all true.  I've never felt the need or desire to explain my actions to anyone before, but even if the entire world misunderstands me, I want you to know who I really am.  I’m aware I’m not the mild-mannered prince that girls dream of being with, but I am also not one to instigate fights without reason.  I hate seeing people bully others, and I would rather die before I cower in fear before another.  You may not want to read about all the details here, but just know that whatever you wish to know, I am willing to tell you, for however long it takes.  If you don’t mind spending that time with me, that is.

I guess what I really wanted to say is…thank you.  From the bottom of my heart.  If I didn't write this letter, you might never know how you saved me.  You and your beautiful piano music.  At a very dark time in my life, just when the last bits of hope had slipped from my grasp, your music gave me the wings to fly.  That moment may not have been anything out of the ordinary for you, but it gave me new life.

But how best to thank your saviour when you can’t even work up the courage to smile at her?  All I can offer you is my honest truth.

I’ve never felt this way before, but if I had to name this feeling, it could only be love.  Not the gentle affection existing between friends, but a yearning desire so strong it wracks my heart and body with desperation.  I close my eyes and see your face, wet with rain beneath the cover of my jacket. And when all is silent in the dead of night, the strains of your piano haunt me still.

I know in the eyes of many, I am a person of suspicion, someone to be feared.  The scars on my fists and bruises on my face only add to the prejudice I experience on a daily basis.  Being with me could very well make your life more difficult.  For that, and other reasons, I am sorry:

Sorry for my weakness — for failing to forget about you despite trying time and time again.

Sorry for being selfish — for wanting you for myself despite knowing that things might be hard for you.

Sorry for stubbornly persisting in the hope that you could find it in yourself to love someone like me.

I guess what I’m trying to say is…would you be my girl?

Love,

No, not nearly skimpy enough, you think as you peer at your companion from behind oversized shades, as if the intensity of your gaze alone could shave a few inches off the length of Lucien’s swimming trunks.  Reaching for your mojito, you try to quench the thirst that had built up from devouring the man with your eyes for the hundredth time.  Who knew that lab coat did the world such a disservice by hiding that body, firm and muscular in all the right places?

Gulp.

Fingers pinching your thigh beneath your sheer cover up, you’re comforted by the sting that tells you this was no dream of the wet variety.  Because here you were, in the midst of sand, surf and sun…with the most gorgeous man on the beach by your side.  You really were here on vacation with Lucien — one whole week to bask in his undivided attention.  What could be more heavenly?

Well, sex would be great, for starters.

You fight to stifle a chuckle because if you didn’t laugh, you’d have to cry.  You’d been dating the professor for some time now, but had yet to consummate your relationship.  It definitely wasn’t due to a lack of effort —  things would always crop up in the most inopportune times: work emergencies right when a hot-and-heavy make-out session was reaching fever pitch, the fire alarm sounding the moment your panties slid down to your ankles.  Gavin practically breaking down your balcony door just as Lucien’s belt came undone.

You were starting to think you were cursed.

But this was the week things were going to change.  You refused to accept otherwise.  And while you had feigned nonchalance when suggesting a trip to this resort to your boyfriend, the true intention was to have zero possible interruptions.  You even splurged on a bikini so tiny it had no business costing as much as it did for something with so little material.

“Do I get to see this photo too, or is it solely for your viewing pleasure?”  Reclined on his lounger, a sly smile graces Lucien’s impossibly handsome face.

Setting down your phone, you make a show of removing your sunglasses before pulling the cover up over your head to unveil your swimsuit for the very first time…slowly…so as not to miss the subtle tuck of Lucien’s lower lip between his teeth at the sight.

Maybe the bikini was worth your electricity bill for the month after all.

“I’ll let you know when you catch me, professor,” you say, rising to make your way towards the ocean, exaggerating the sway of your hips with each step that finds your feet sinking into sand so fine it felt like talcum powder.

A rich baritone chuckle from behind sends a frisson of excitement through your body, radiating from your core to the tips of fingers and toes.  And when you sense the vibration of Lucien’s fast approaching footsteps, you break into a run, laughing as you dash into aquamarine waters.

“Ahh!”  

Letting out a very unladylike shriek to feel strong arms wrap tight about your waist, excitement transforms to arousal when you find yourself pressed chest to chest with your lover.

“Think I’ve caught the catch of the day,” his breath tickles at your lobe when he bends to whisper in your ear, “or perhaps I should say, of a lifetime.”

The sun is high in the sky behind him, but you aren’t entirely sure you weren’t squinting from a radiance all his own: droplets of water running off the tips of smooth black hair, tracing from nose to chin until they kiss that prominent Adam’s apple.  Lucien’s broad shoulders and the firm pecs against which your nipples were rapidly hardening, drawing the professor’s heated gaze to see their peaks become prominent beneath the taut stretch of your bikini.

You loop your arms around his neck, tracing featherlight circles on the nape as you ask, “And what do you intend to do with your prize?”

Choppier waters push your bodies even closer together in embrace.  Lucien’s eyes darken.  The hairs on your body stand on end.

“I’d take what’s rightfully mine…if it pleases her.”

He slips a finger beneath the string of your bikini bottom, drawing circles on your hip in imitation of your own on his neck.  And when his other hand slides down the curve of your spine to tuck into your swimsuit, you gasp to feel him squeeze the supple flesh of your ass.

“Luci—!  What if…someone…sees?”

Question fragmenting into breathless moans, you lose yourself in your lover’s kiss — sudden and forceful like the tongue that pushes into your mouth as if ravenous from sheer need.  The professor is behaving like a man starved, so different from the gentleman you were used to.

And on instinct, your thighs are pressing together beneath the water, warmed by something that had little to do with the heat of the tropical sun.  It was almost ridiculous how easily he could shatter your composure, unraveling you in an instant no matter how much of an upper hand you thought you had.

No, Lucien was always a step ahead.  And if you were honest with yourself, you knew you’d follow him wherever he chose to lead.  Just like now, returning his kiss with a fervour that paid no heed to any and all sets of eyes that might witness the scene.  No one knew you here, after all; there were no reputations to maintain.

Suddenly, a wolf whistle off to the side and a shout of “Yeah baby, get it!" breaks the magic of the moment.  Quickly pulling away from him, your hands fly to readjust your bikini as you spy two men paddling past on surfboards, laughing and leering as they do.

“Are you all right?”  Lucien peers at you, thumbs caressing your reddened cheeks.  You nod, forcing a smile as you lift your head even though all you wanted to do was bury your face in his chest.  Perhaps embarrassment wasn’t so easily shed after all.  But when you finally process the expression on your lover’s face, it distracts you from your own sense of shame:

Lips set in a straight line — firm, like the fine muscles of his jaw.  An intensity in the dark eyes that look towards the men moving into deeper waters, gaze cold and indifferent.  You are so shocked by the change that you barely notice when Lucien moves in front of you, one arm held out protectively to keep you behind him as the other rises in a smooth arc.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a massive wave appears, defying the laws of physics as it moves as if miraculously contained in a bubble, heading straight for the path of the surfers.  Your heart leaps into your throat to see it crash down upon the pair, only realizing you’d been holding your breath when you sigh in relief to see them surface, shaken but alive as they let out a faint stream of expletives.

“Oh my god!  Did you see that, Lucien?  Do you think they’re okay—”

“They’ll be fine.  The waves are probably just a bit too big for these novices to handle.  But I’ve spotted something interesting over there.  Are you able to swim that far?”

You follow the direction of his finger to where it pointed to a rocky outcrop jutting from the shore a short distance away.  “I think I can manage that.”

“Good.  Follow closely.”  Lucien looks back with a wink before swimming off, and you can’t help but take an extra moment to admire the graceful sight of his body cutting through crystalline waters before following suit.

It was like you had stumbled upon Shangri-La.  

Flanked by rocky cliffs that pretty much guaranteed inaccessibility by foot, you and Lucien take turns swimming through a narrow entrance that opened up onto a sight that takes your breath away: a cove, small but pristine, as if untouched since the primitive days of its formation.

Wading through waters much calmer than those you swam through to get here, you openly admire this hidden pocket of the ocean — a shifting mirror of turquoise reflecting azure skies, glittering like Gaia herself had deigned to scatter diamonds upon its glassy surface.

White sand and air sweet as it carried the scent of flowers in bloom, its crowning glory nonetheless lay in the waterfall at its centre, the rushing cascade the only sound in the tranquil cove, punctuated by the cries of birds as colourful as the flora that grew in this climate.

Heaven on Earth.

“I can’t believe this place even exists, Lucien.  And we have it all to ourselves!”  

You turn to him, face split into a wide smile, and when you see the tenderness on his, it all seems surreal: too dream-like…too perfect.

“Come, let’s get a closer look.”

As if reading your mind, he extends a hand, voice soft and low when those long, tapered fingers intertwine with yours to gently pull you in the direction of the waterfall.  The heat of his touch allays your fears.  This is real.

The confirmation sparks a surge of excitement from deep within and you are a child once more, seeing the world anew with all the wonder of fresh eyes; this time, with the love of your life as your guide.

“Oh, that’s cold!” You exclaim, quickly moving through the waterfall and climbing onto a platform of smooth rock hidden behind the curtain of water.  Lucien follows, looking every inch like a god when he emerges shiny and wet.

He takes one look at you and you’re immediately pulled into his embrace, your back to your lover’s chest.  His breath suffuses warmth onto the nape of your neck, lips brushing soft on skin to electrify every nerve.

You cannot help the moan that escapes, the sigh of contentment that Lucien takes for his own when he bends to kiss you, slow and unhurried this time — tongue tracing corner to corner before moving in to taste, gentle teeth sinking into the flesh of your lower lip.  The faint trace of alcohol on his breath as intoxicating as the man himself.

“Do you want to try this, butterfly?”  His deep voice, husky with lust, vibrates against the column of your neck as the hands on you continue to roam, palm sliding over wet skin just below your navel, dexterous fingertips teasing at the knots of your loosening bikini top.  “Make love inside a waterfall?”

The question might as well have been a command, the beating of your heart so fast and thunderous that for a moment, you are unsure of what is louder in your ears: the water succumbing to gravity’s sway or the blood pulsing in your veins.  Even if this were a dream, you prayed you would never wake.

So you place your hand over his, guiding the professor’s fingers beneath the band of your bikini bottom until they’re nestled against arousal-slicked folds, “I need you in me, Lucien” almost like a prayer when it leaves your lips.

Because it was nothing short of a miracle that you would come together, finally, in paradise.  That when Lucien finally touches you, the intensity of feeling far surpasses anything that delayed gratification alone would’ve accounted for.

And you are reborn in his touch: every kiss of his lips, lick of his tongue…each and every mark fingers and mouth make on flesh leaving you so wonderfully rearranged that you know in your heart of hearts you could belong to no other.

No, you were irrevocably his when you felt him aligned at your entrance, hot and hard against your wetness.  His fingers intertwine with yours, squeezing to bring you even closer when the pressure gives way at last and he is sheathed to the hilt — your breaths mingling in a mixture of moans and gasps so loud they echo every time your hips rolled against one another.

Aware of everything and nothing at once, the thoughts in your mind dissipate like mist off the waterfall, making room solely for the man bent over you, Lucien’s tongue laving wet swathes from your breasts to your neck.  His fingers caress between your legs even as he continues to thrust, thinly calloused tips enticing your clit to swell beneath its hood, your lover growing harder each time you clench around him in response.

“Don’t be shy, butterfly, let it out.  Tell me you love me…I want to hear it.”

Hoisting you into his arms, Lucien wraps your legs about his waist.  His skin is hot and flushed when you dig your nails into those broad shoulders, struggling to remain in place as ecstasy tore through your body to feel him move at an impossible pace, chasing his high as you neared yours each time he hit that spot deep within.

“I, oh god…I…love you, Luci—ah!”

Suddenly boneless as tension explodes, the shockwaves of your release move through you when your lover floods you with his warmth.  And when a soft “I love you too” is deposited upon your lips before they’re consumed once again in a kiss, a moment of greater perfection couldn’t exist.

Because there, all alone in that hidden corner of the world with Lucien, you already had everything you ever needed.

To the person who commissioned this piece:

Chik, in that dress like second skin, sleek and red and leaving little to the imagination.

Chik, who had seen fit to corner Victor the second he descended onto the red carpet, taking advantage of a sea of flashing cameras to slip her arm through his — much to the glee of photographers desperate to dig up something, anything, on the private life of Loveland’s most eligible bachelor.

Which was precisely why you had insisted on arriving to the event alone, in case it was your name splashed over the front pages of media outlets the following morning.  Or in real-time on Twitter and Weibo.

And although a part of you tried to reason that Chik hadn't given your boyfriend so much as breathing room, let alone the chance to look for you as he worked the room, the voice of logic grew fainter with every playful slap of her hand across his muscular bicep.  You had tried and failed to break through the tide of people jostling for the chance to rub elbows with the LFG CEO.  All you could do now was watch him network with Chik standing next to him like a perfect trophy.

A beautiful and charming prize for a handsome and debonair man.

Draining your glass of champagne, you reach for another flute from a passing waiter when you are surprised by long, elegant fingers brushing cool against your hand.  Looking up, a magnetic gaze beneath dark hair ensnares yours, making you forget all about your drink until the man in the perfectly tailored tux plucks it off the tray, leaning close to say,

“You look absolutely stunning.  Let us toast to finding company I actually enjoy tonight.”

Lucien smiles, lifting his glass in a toast as he hands you yours, and by the time the effervescent bubbles tickle the back of your throat, you remember your manners.

“Congratulations Professor.  There’s been a huge turnout for this charity event.  You must be pleased by the influx of funds to your research institute."

He steps closer, the heat rolling off his body mirroring the temperature of your alcohol-flushed cheeks.

“Please, just Lucien.  And thank you.  I’m very grateful for the LFG CEO's generosity in aiding the fundraising efforts of the institute.  All the same, I can't say I’m not disappointed to find he’s been a less than gracious host to the most important person here tonight.”

Lucien bends to peer into your face, the expression of gentle admonishment on his filled with meaning.  And while you're taken aback by how perceptive he is, the painful throbbing in your chest makes it hard to focus on anything but the fact that the woman by Victor’s side wasn’t you.

You laugh but it is hollow.  And as the music in the room swells, you hope it drowns out the sound, smothers the pathetic thoughts of self-pity running through your head.  

All of a sudden, Lucien’s hand is on your lower back — touch warm through black satin like his breath on your ear when he whispers the words that make you feel like Cinderella at the ball:

“What do you say to teaching him a lesson?”

“I should warn you Lucien, I’m not a very good dancer.”

“You’ll be perfect.  Just follow my lead.  Besides, I’m willing to bet that technique will be the last thing Victor Li pays attention to."

He slides an arm around your waist, then all at once, you’re pulled into an embrace so tight all you see is Lucien’s lips, soft and plush.  Suppressing a gasp, you quickly train your eyes over his shoulder…

…to notice that Victor has finally noticed you.

And the awareness makes you brave.

Across the crowded hall, a hand balls into a fist so tight knuckles turn white, Victor's unyielding gaze taking in the sight of you dancing with the man every woman in the room would willingly drop their panties for.

And Victor knows that you know — having made deliberate eye contact and even smiling when you tip-toed in those stilettos he loved to see you wear just to whisper in Lucien's ear.  A well-timed joke perhaps, judging by the way you threw your head back, extending that graceful neck in the same way you did when contorting in ecstasy beneath his body.

Laughing freely with a man who wasn’t him.

And as the CEO fights to remain composed, carrying on increasingly stilted conversations with potential business partners while fending off Chik’s advances, every additional transgression adds tinder to a dangerous spark:

The crimson dusting your cheeks as you swayed against Lucien’s body.

The intimate drape of your arms around his neck.

The bite of your lip when the professor’s brushes against the lobe of your ear.

Enough was enough.

“Excuse me.”  Escaping Chik’s grasp and caring not for the bewildered expressions of middle-aged sycophants, Victor puts an abrupt end to all conversation, ploughing through the crowd until his tall stature casts a shadow over you and Lucien on the dance floor.

“Mind if I cut in?”  His voice is lower than you’ve ever heard before, and beneath a thin veneer of civility, his barely contained anger is palpable...sending a rush of moisture between your legs.

Feigning surprise, your partner in crime looks from you to Victor.  “By all means.  It is your party after all, Mr. Li.”  Lucien gives you a covert wink before you’re swept up in Victor’s arms, the exchange so quick you don’t even see the professor make his exit.

But by then, all you could focus on was the press of Victor's hard pecs against your chest and the assertive grind of his pelvis on yours, subtle yet firm.

“You’ve got some nerve.”  The tension in his voice pulls taut at the pit of your stomach, and as his hand presses more insistently at your lower back, you've never been more excited in your life.

“Where’s the gorgeous celebrity accompanying you tonight?  Aren’t you afraid people will talk if they see you dancing with a nobody like me?”  Your words were hard even as the heat of his body softened your resistance.

“I don’t give a fuck about what other people think and care even less for any woman who isn't you, let alone those who throw themselves at me.  My sole concern at the moment is erasing all traces of that man from your body…”  

You could count the number of times Victor swore in your presence on one hand, the profanity lending him an even greater air of intimidation to make you press your thighs together, suddenly desperate to feel him deep.

“…the body that belongs to me.”

Desperate to feel him rough.

Gathering the last shreds of self-control, you make a final attempt to hold your ground: "I belong to no one but myself."

And when Victor’s eyes, dark and penetrating, sweep from head to toe and back again to rest hungry on the heave of your breasts beneath your dress, you are already enslaved by the challenge in his tone as he says,

“We shall see about that.”

“This is a nice look for you.  Now open wider and show me that tongue-ah...that's my talented girl."

The tiles were hard beneath your knees despite the cushion of Victor's tuxedo jacket, but you were too consumed by the stretch of your mouth around his cock to care, your lipstick smeared in that sex drunk way your lover adored.

And though you would never admit it, you loved to please him.  Lived for the moans issuing from deep within his chest every time that smooth head nudged the back of your throat, a challenge to see how much of his thick cock you could swallow this time.  Felt a sense of accomplishment when his long fingers threaded through perfectly done hair, curling tight to hold your head in place as his hips bucked ever so slightly.

And when he begins to twitch — throbbing on your tongue like your clit beneath soaked satin as your fingers rubbed fast circles, you know he is close.  So you pull back, smiling to hear a muffled groan when you press a kiss to that shiny tip and rise up off your knees.

The show was far from over; you still had a score to settle.

There, in that empty men’s room a floor above the ongoing ball, Victor had spirited you away from the festivities, intent on teaching his little dummy a lesson when he locked the door behind him.  

What he didn’t know was that you had plans of your own: to show him the consequences of inciting your jealousy.

So you back up against the marble countertop, fingers sliding down your thighs until they reach the hem of your dress to pull up in a slow, sensual reveal.  And when Victor’s breath hitches at the sight of the damp mess between your legs, you smile to have him right where you want him.

Reaching up, you caress the soft strands of his thick hair once…twice...before gripping hard to pull him down until his nose is level with the lace blooms of your panties, the command in your tone unmistakeable when you say,

“Eat.”

Victor looked good on his knees, dark eyes indignant as they held yours from below, issuing challenge even when the toe of your stiletto prodded against his shoulder, seeing how far you could take this game.

Then…you see it.

Tension settling firm along the line of his handsome jaw.  A flash of something wild in dark pupils and you know you've waded too far into deep waters but it was too late to turn back.  Secretly, however, you wished to explore, wanted to know just how feral Victor Li could become when consumed with jealousy and unbridled by lust.

Suddenly, your world tilts, a gasp escaping your lips as you fall back against the mirror, the grip of Victor's hand strong on your hip as the other rips your thong away with a single, savage pull.  And as you prop yourself up on elbows, his breath is already tracing up your inner thigh — ragged and searing, a stark contrast with the cool marble beneath your bare ass.

You didn’t know what you expected.  Victor had always been a slow, steady lover, taking pleasure in patient seduction and unhurried love-making.  But the man before you now was unrecognizable, burying his face in your folds like he’d been starved his whole life: lips and tongue licking, kissing, sucking and probing until your legs shook, hooked over his broad shoulders.

And when he catches your eye with that piercing gaze, cheeks and chin shiny with his spit and your arousal, the pounding in your chest grows increasingly harried at the sight of Victor sucking his middle finger before it slips inside you, reaching deep.

Eyes closing under the weight of ecstasy to feel another finger join the first as your lover continued tasting you, the wet sounds of arousal echoed off tiled walls to further stimulate your senses until you came hard on Victor’s face — his hand shooting out to cover your mouth before the noise gave you away.

Legs unsteady when he places your stilettoed feet on the ground, Victor spins you around to position your palms on the countertop.  Relishing in the tremble still spreading through your body, he runs a hand up your spine, curving around the slope of the shoulder to lightly grip your throat before tilting up the chin, drawing your attention to the reflection in the backlit mirror.

“Look at you.  Always so beautiful…but especially when you’re wrecked like this for me.”  

Smeared lipstick.  Smudged mascara.  Hair disheveled and breasts practically spilling from your dress.  The diamond necklace Victor had surprised you with on your third date lying next to crimson marks in the shape of his teeth.

And then there was the CEO; bending over you with tousled hair.  Bow tie undone and slung around his neck.  Dress shirt opened just enough to reveal the scratch of your nails down his chest.  And when the reflection in the mirror begins unbuttoning its pants, Victor’s next words have you transfixed:

“Keep watching.  You’ll learn I’m the only one who can love you like this.”  

So you did.  Obediently kept your gaze on the glass as you sucked on Victor’s thumb, occupying your mouth in a bid to keep quiet even as the slam of his hips against your backside had ecstatic tears spilling from the corners of your eyes.

But the moans still leaked like your arousal, dislodged with every slippery slide of Victor’s hard cock to run down the inside of your thighs.  And with each instance of weakness, the unrelenting CEO delivered a particularly forceful thrust and slap to the ass, the sting uniquely satisfying as it bloomed into warmth on your flesh.

None so satisfying, however, as the image of Victor’s handsome face in the mirror, expressions of euphoria wiped away as quickly as they came, your lover stubbornly trying to cling to some flimsy semblance of control.

So you decide to show him exactly how futile his efforts would be, clenching hard and delighting in the groan that issues from his lips as his rhythm falters before picking up again, even harder and faster than before.  And when he finally releases hot and deep within you, the shudder of Victor’s chest against your back is sweet as he bends to kiss the nape of your neck, “I love you” spilling soft across your cheek as his fingers interlace with yours.

“Viiiccctttoorrr!!  So that’s where you’ve been!  I’ve been looking all over-”

The actress stops short to see you and your lover emerge from the men’s room.  And although the pair of you had tried to make yourselves as presentable as possible, it was obvious what you and Victor had been up to.

“Oh, Chik.  Perfect timing.  This is the girlfriend I was talking to you about the entire evening.  Allow me to introduce you to the woman I’m planning to marry.”

Your eyes grew wide, but not as wide as Chik’s when you sheepishly extended your hand.  And although a part of you felt bad for the starlet’s humiliation, you couldn’t deny the way you swelled with pride at Victor’s words — a clear and concise declaration of his love and commitment to you.

Perhaps a bit of jealousy wasn’t so bad after all.  

“Wait, you said yourself that it’s just a game.  Why are you getting so worked up over the characters’ wardrobe choices?”

“This game — Mr Passion: Who Will You Choose or whatever it’s called — is a massive waste of time and brain cells.  You should find better ways to spend your day off.”

You laugh, incredulous.  “Excuse me, Mr Li, but could you please refrain from telling me how to live my life?  Besides, no one is forcing you to stay with me.  Don’t you have to work today?”  

Victor shifts on your couch, looking entirely out of place in your mess of an apartment in his immaculate suit.  Clearing his throat, he schools his expression into something unreadable.

“Unlike someone who works at the pace of a snail, I already completed everything—”

A cellphone rings to interrupt him, muted through the pocket of Victor's blazer draped over the armrest at his side.

“You gonna get that?”  You ask after the fourth ring.

“It’s not important.  Continue.”

Raising your brows, you turn your attention back to your smartphone, trying not to think about how strangely Victor was behaving; skipping off work and showing up at your apartment unannounced with pudding from Souvenir - leaving you with neither the option to protest nor the opportunity to make your home semi-presentable.  The way he looked at you like one would a child when you informed him you’d be spending the day playing a game, yet listening with rapt attention during your explanation of the rules.

No matter.  You would keep your focus on the game.

Not, for instance, on how close Victor was; how the woodsy notes of his cologne mixed with skin to form a scent so uniquely him — one that never failed to send a rush of pleasure down your spine.  You would refrain from letting his breath distract you, warm on the shell of your ear as he looked over your shoulder at the phone.  Regardless of how soothing it felt.

Then suddenly, your screen darkens, ‘Goldman, Executive Assistant to the LFG Bitch’ scrolling in large font to interrupt your game.  Hearing a sharp intake of breath, you don’t have to look behind you to feel the dark cloud of displeasure at your back.

Before you could conjure up some excuse for his nickname, however, Victor snatches the device from your hands, finger swiping impatiently and followed up by an equally impatient voice:

“I said no calls today, Goldman.  I don’t care if it’s Bezos.  And tell Zuckerberg for the last time that it's going to be a hard 'no' for me."

Hanging up, Victor’s cool eyes study you as he hands back your cell.  "Am I being referred to as the ‘LFG bitch' now?"

“You tell me, Victor Li.  Do you know anyone else who would answer someone else's phone like that?  And for the record, I am capable of taking my own calls.”

“Hmph.  Trust me, Goldman wasn’t calling to speak to you.  And you certainly think very highly of yourself for someone who can't even choose the right virtual man.”

It drains every reserve of patience you have not to wrap your hands around that thick neck and squeeze.

“Fine.  And who would you have chosen?”

“No contest.  Viktor.”

“Viktor?!  Mister unpleasant personified?  Why?  Because he’s a CEO?”

“He’s smart, serious and efficient.  Says what he means and means what he says.  The man also has good taste in clothing, although the same can't be said about his judgement when it comes to women.  The main character can’t even cross the street without almost getting hit by a car, for god’s sake.”

“Ok, well, when it’s your turn, you can romance Viktor all you want.  Now can I finally go on my date with Gaven?”

Rolling your eyes, you tap on the screen as if the game couldn’t load fast enough, but your frustration soon melts away as you become immersed in the story — forgetting that your boss is still sitting next to you and very, very close.

So close, in fact, that he could observe the tiniest details on your person — each and every one tugging up the corners of his lips in a secret smile:

The wisps of hair falling out of your top-knot, soft against the skin of your neck.

Unfettered expressions animating your face as you played; a refreshingly open book he never tired of reading.

One nail slightly shorter than the rest on the hand you brought up to frame your face on habit - the same one you had broken in his office a few days earlier.

And if you had turned at just that moment, you would’ve seen a stranger - tenderness suffusing the features of that handsome face to transform Victor Li into another man entirely…

One completely absorbed in committing everything about you to memory.

“What?!  That’s the end of the date?  At least kiss me, Gaven!  Way to leave someone with blue ovaries."  Tossing your phone aside in a huff, you suddenly jump at the sound of a throat clearing by your ear — a rude reminder that you weren’t alone.  “Oh shit, you weren’t supposed to hear that.  You weren’t supposed to hear the ‘shit’ part either.”

Bleeding internally from embarrassment, it crosses your mind for the umpteenth time that it was a phenomenally bad idea to spend your day off with Victor.  No doubt, the first impression you had left on the CEO was less than positive.  And it seemed that every encounter since only served to highlight yet another insecurity, another way by which Victor Li is so out of your league:

That imperious man who nitpicked everything you did, but also showed you the value of learning through trial by fire.

The exacting CEO who expected nothing short of perfection because he, too, offered nothing less.  

The man who, beneath words like bitter pills, actually had his moments of sweetness.

Victor Li is out of your reach, and the truth stung because in spite of it all...

You are madly in love with him.

“Blue ovaries?  Are you implying that…” Pulling you from your thoughts, Victor's deep voice trails off as his eyes drop to the hands on your lap, already bunching your skirt in nervous fistfuls.  And before you can completely disintegrate in the flames of mortification, you spring from the couch, mumbling some lame excuse about needing the bathroom so you could hit your head against the wall in private.

At least, that’s what you would’ve done had you not been undone by your untidy ways, foot slipping on the cover of a glossy magazine left lying on the floor to send you flying face first towards the rug.

It all happened so quickly.

Your teeth never got the chance to introduce themselves to shaggy fibres, and instead of lying sprawled out on the ground, you found your legs spread wide, straddling a man who still had an iron grip on your arm from saving you from an impromptu face plant.

And inappropriate though it was, you couldn’t help but enjoy the firmness of Victor’s thick thighs beneath your ass, suddenly picturing your boss in nothing but the tiniest Speedo, beads of water cascading down an insanely muscled torso as he pushed himself up over the ledge of a pool — the image undoubtedly sparked by your recollection of the swimming trophies you saw displayed in his home that one time you delivered a report after hours.

“Oh, god.  I’m so sorry.”  The words leave your mouth, but it isn't lost on either of you that neither person is making an effort to move.

Perhaps it was the black lace between your legs, clearly visible now that your skirt was practically hiked up to the waist.  Or maybe it was the grind of your hips, weight shifting side to side on his lap as you tried to keep balanced.  Whatever it was, Victor Li knew he couldn’t let this opportunity slide.  

Not when he had been holding back for so long.

And at the back of his mind, the CEO knew how it would look if he finally acted on his feelings — the ones he’d kept suppressed since the day you accosted him at his office.  Society on the whole was unkind to women, and he did not want to give anyone fodder to insinuate that your company had earned its funding from LFG by any means other than your own hard work and dedication.

Most certainly not by fucking the boss.

Crossing this line now could set off a chain reaction of consequences, ones that Victor had spent many sleepless nights considering, trying to balance the scales between desire and what he felt was in your best interests.

But the look on your face left his mind a blank slate, unable to think of anything but the overwhelming urge to taste your lips.  And with your ass sinking so nicely into his lap, the CEO couldn’t help but wonder how the rest of your body would feel: on top, beneath, and surrounding him.

“I…I should probably...get off.”  Struggling to move sluggish limbs, you hesitate to tear your gaze away from Victor's jet black eyes, their intensity holding you in place as if time itself had stopped.

Then, you feel it: Victor’s grip on your arm tightening again in a bid to get you to stay.  The signal you had been waiting so patiently for, but now that it had arrived, you scarcely dared to believe was real.

“Not yet,” he whispers, breath warm against your lips to make them part in kind, immediately drawing Victor’s gaze to the pink sweep of your tongue from corner to corner.  “Did you hurt yourself?”

You don’t know how you did it.  Didn’t even know where that blind courage came from, possessing you in a fit of lust-induced insanity to nod in response to Victor’s question, finger tracing down your body until it pointed to the space between your legs.  

“I’m a bit sore here.  Could you check to see if it’s okay?”

The CEO inhales sharply for the second time that day, broad chest lifting to strain against his fitted dress shirt as his eyes widen almost imperceptibly - cracks starting to form in that poker face to hear you raise the stakes.  

“Then you’d better make it wet for me.”  Victor places a finger on your lips, tip tracing back and forth along the seam before slipping past to caress your tongue.  And when you pucker to suck, the low groan that escapes him makes you clench.

Precariously balanced with your hands on his knees behind you, the spread of your legs widens to meet Victor's touch - long fingers gliding over the lace of your panties, slowing to linger on areas that were particularly moist.

“Nothing seems out of the ordinary here.  Are you feeling any better?”  Voice growing increasingly raspy, the CEO bites his lip to see you shake your head, cheeks already flushed crimson.  “No?  Then I’m afraid we’ll have to look a bit deeper.”

You whimper to feel your underwear pulled aside, the air of the room cool against bare skin as Victor takes his time admiring the sight: the afternoon sun bathing you in a warm glow to highlight the slickness of pink folds like tulips glistening with morning dew.

Just when you are about to go insane from anticipation, Victor finally touches you — index running from the hood of your clit down to the base of your entrance and back again, over and over.  Licentious and needy, you could scarcely believe the moans that were issuing from your mouth.  But at the moment, you didn’t care, too caught up in the way the CEO’s talented fingers made you feel.

“How about now?”  Fingertips beginning to draw circles about your swollen clit at a maddeningly slow frequency, Victor keeps you suspended in a state of heightened arousal — a touch shy of release, but much too high to come down.  Satisfied to have you exactly where he wanted you.

“Hmm…it…it still hurts,” you piece the words together between pants, and when he responds by sliding first one, then two fingers deep into your pussy, your head falls back in ecstasy.  Victor quickly throws an arm around your waist to keep you anchored on his lap even as his other hand continued to stroke — intent on coaxing every last drop of arousal from your body to join the pool already staining his pristine dress pants.

“Seems like you’ve always been a glutton for both pudding and pleasure,” Victor’s chuckle is dark in your ear to send another rush of fluid between your legs.  And you are powerless to even refute his statement when he presses the pad of his thumb to your clit, broad palm rubbing against your core even as his fingers continued to fuck you.

Then finally, the tension snaps — convulsions passing through your body in waves as the arm around you tightens to bring you close enough for a kiss.  And with his fingers still buried in you, savouring the flex of your warm, wet walls, Victor slips his tongue past your lips, kissing you with the same fervour as the hands you had tangled in his thick, black hair, leaving it wonderfully disheveled.

“Are you still sore?” Victor asks, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Not anymore.  Quite comfortable, actually.”

The CEO drops a kiss on your forehead before leaning back to reach for his belt.  And as the buckle above the massive bulge in his pants comes undone, you bite your lip, readying yourself for round two when he says,

“Good.  Because Viktor just entered the game.”

Nb. **A Canadian tuxedo is denim on denim (e.g. denim jacket with jeans)

Ah, why must Sirius be so observant? You’ve been in Cradle for years but you’ve only crossed a total of four times for this reason or that, so you’d think he wouldn’t notice, but… “I was running around all day before I got back, I severely underestimated the sheer amount of things I’d have to do.” You bring a spoonful of food up to your mouth. Details? Lying was in the details, right?

Except Ray’s hand is going up your thigh again and your brain goes blank.

Seth sighs. “Oh, Ray, really, you should go with Alice sometimes, if she’s running errands. We’ll live without you for a month. Right, Fenrir?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah.” You mentally slap your forehead. Ah, great, no one’s a good actor here, huh? Fenrir’s sitting on your other side, fully aware of what’s going on. He’s usually better than that, but Ray’s being really handsy tonight, and you can only imagine how distracting it is for him.

Not that you’re any better.

Sirius’ eye twitches and you freeze as you put your utensils together in the middle of your plate. Luka, ever the angel, ever the lifesaver, stands up. “Sirius. Help me wash up in the kitchen.”

The Queen of Spades takes a full moment to stare at you and your lover from across the table. Ray is just casually finishing up the juice in his glass. Sirius sighs. “Sure.”

You’re sure Sirius knows already, he’s just letting it slide. Ah, sometimes Sirius really is the best.

Seth stands up from his seat as well, humming as he’s clearing out the plates, and Fenrir takes it as a cue for him to get up too. When he turns to you he shoots you a small, comforting smile. He’ll be the one to bring you something to soothe your aching muscles tomorrow.

“Thank you for dinner, Luka!” You manage to call out, thankful your voice is steady despite Ray having had already pulled your skirt’s hem up to your mid-thigh. He squeezes the soft flesh.

Luka shoots a smile at you from the door, and seeing that innocent look on his face makes you ever so thankful he didn’t have an inkling of what was going on just two feet from him earlier. “Go get to bed, I’m sure you’re tired.”

“Yes,” Ray answers for you, his voice nearly two octaves deeper. He’s helping you up from your seat, and you’re thankful, because your legs are already wobbling. The other officers, still in the room, turn back to the both of you curiously. Your face feels like it’s burning. “I’ll make sure she rests well.”

-

Fuck, you weren’t even going to make it to the room. Ray has his mouth pressing wet kisses on your neck and his door is still three meters away. You groan, half for the touch, and half because if you don’t push him away right now (and you don’t want to) you’re going to get caught!

Ray is stronger than you are but when he’s desperate like this you can get him to do whatever you want, so when you push him back he doesn’t resist, just huffs a little in disappointment. Why is he so adorable? You pull him by the collar to press a kiss square on his mouth just enough to take his breath away before squeezing his hand in yours, marching right up to his door.

You pull him in and turn just long enough to lock the door. “I swear to god, Ray, if we were caught right there—”

Your legs are pulled out from under you. Ray has you pressed against his chest, carrying you princess-style to the bed. Breathless, you laugh, hitting his shoulder without much power.

“Warn me next time,” you say.

“You didn’t warn me that you were going to do that,” Ray chides, and you don’t hold back the smirk that graces your face.

You preen the moment he puts you down on the center of the bed, raising one leg up so your skirt slides down your thigh, one hand tracing the bare skin revealed by your little off-shoulder number, then, like a killer blow, tracing the leather of your new choker, dark black against your neck.

You ring the little bell on it like beckoning Ray to pounce on you.

Ray chucks his shirt off his frame, and you welcome him with open arms when he crawls over you. What previously was desperation when he was clamoring for your touch in the hallway is now just adoration, the worship of a devotee whose god has left them alone during a time of hunger. He smiles in that way that sends your heart fluttering before taking your lips into his.

Slowly, like he’s aware he has all night to shower you with his love, that you have much to catch up on.

He slides his tongue in your mouth the same time he brings his knee up between your legs. Just enough to keep them open, but not high enough for you to grind against. You whine and push yourself down with all the force you can muster, sighing when you feel him against you. You feel Ray smile against your mouth. You want to kick him.

This is how you make love every time you return to Cradle. Ray, hiding a month’s worth of longing with teasing, and you, taking all that you can.

Some days you kiss like you’re fighting, all teeth and tongues craving the heat of the other’s mouth, and some days you kiss like there’s no end in sight, just you, and him, and exchanging breaths. Tonight, you kiss like he’s given you the universe all over again, like he’s all you’ve really ever held in your hands. You feel your heart climbing up your throat.

You’re gasping for air when Ray finally breaks away. He only looks a little bit winded, but his face is flushed red, his pupils blown wide. This a look of hunger that’s only for your eyes. You tangle a hand in his hair to pull him close and he begins the slow, torturous journey down your body he’s missed so much.

He doesn’t mark you yet. The night is way too early for that. Instead, he presses kisses filled with reverence, tracing your curves he’s long memorized. Down your jaw; the line of your neck; the expanse of your shoulders. He strips you of your clothes without losing rhythm—opens the buttons of your blouse nimbly without even looking, pulls it off of you without a word. One hand cups the weight of a breast while his tongue traces the other. The taste of your sweat mingled with your distinct scent only amplifies his need to get his hands all over you after a month of being on his own.

You sigh as he makes his way down your torso, his hands careful on your sides—just enough to make you shiver, not really to tickle. He looks up at you as he’s undoing the ribbons on your skirt, and when your eyes make contact as it falls with a thump on the ground, the way you smile at him makes his hands tighten where he holds your hips.

“I missed you too, Ray.”

He looks at you like he knows you know what you’re doing. Oh, whatever he does after this is definitely on you—

-

Tears are pooling on the corner of your eyes, and Ray is all blurry. But you know its him, from the wild black shuffle of his hair, his deep emerald eyes, and the way his hands are pressing your hips down against him mercilessly.

He hasn’t let go for minutes. Or hours. At this point, you’re not sure anymore.

You grind your hips weakly to get a semblance of friction, the bell on your choker ringing with your movement, and Ray lets you, but only because you both know it will never be enough. You whimper weakly and meet his eyes again, just as he had asked you to.

“There you are, kitten,” he says, his voice that same timbre from at the dining table, and it sends a shudder down your spine. You know he feels it too. “Where were we?”

Where were you? More like where the hell did he learn this! You think to yourself. Exploring kinks with Ray wasn’t a new thing, but he hadn’t brought this up at all in the past, so you weren’t expecting to get home, lock yourself up in his room, and just stay here warming his cock, sitting pretty.

You drag your voice out from somewhere. It takes all your strength to. “You were asking… what I was doing when I missed you.”

“Yes, I was,” Ray says. Slowly. Like he was letting every syllable seep through your skin. “You were all I could think about. The bed was so cold. And I… I missed your heat.”

“Me too,” you say, your voice trembling. You sob when you feel Ray thrust just enough for you to feel it, but not to sate anything. “I missed you too, Ray.”

“What did you do?” Ray asks, leaning forward to press a kiss on your shoulder. The night breeze was cold everywhere he didn’t touch you. You’re fully naked save for the little choker Ray seems to fancy. “Did you think of me?”

You’d tried begging, you’d tried bargaining, you’d tried just wrestling him out of this, and none of them worked. You have one last card up your sleeve.

That card was honesty.

Grinding against him hoping it’ll make your strategy a little more effective, you wind your fingers in his hair and stare at him straight into his eyes. Well, as much as your teary-eyed ones can. “I did,” you say, nearly out of breath. “I did think of you. I thought of you every night. My bed was cold too. I know that’s the world I’m from, but everything felt so unfamiliar.” You lick your lips. “I wanted to go home. Here. With you. On our bed. Where everything smells like you.” You buck against him particularly hard, and Ray holds back a groan. “I touched myself. I pretended it was you, Ray. All the time. I was never as good as you. But I missed you so much… everything you did to me, I wanted it.” You grin. “Even when you tease me like this, until I’m crying.”

Ray grins. “You enjoy what I do to you.”

And, well, there’s no denying that. “I do. I do, everything you do.”

That seems enough to break him.

Ray pulls you off of him in a move that makes you cry out with the sudden loss of his comforting weight inside of you. Just enough to get you on all fours, and then to bury himself back into your welcoming heat.

“Ray!” You call out, as he begins to thrust, slow, and then faster, because you’re ready for him and you’ve been ready for him from the moment your feet touched Cradle again. His hands’ hold on your hips is bruising but it’s a sting you’re thankful for feeling.

The bell on your neck keeps ringing. It sounds like it’s counting down to you finally breaking, right into a puddle of love and limbs for your beloved. 

When he finds his groove, Ray usually is pretty quiet, but tonight he’s different. When he groans out your name, it’s followed by a hoarse “I love you,” and that’s when it finally feels like you’re home again.

Ray is home.

He hovers over you, pressing kisses down the nape of your neck after he’s brushed your hair aside, and then sucking bruises onto your shoulder until they’re a multicolored mess. You belatedly realize it’s a reprimand, for that off-shoulder blouse you’d chosen solely to mess with him. You laugh when it dawns on you, and Ray pulls your hair back in response.

“What’s funny?” he growls in between thrusts, and it only makes you laugh even more.

“Didn’t think you’d be jealous, baby,” you say. “They weren’t even staring.”

Ray huffs. “Only because I wasn’t letting them.”

As if to drive that home, he changes his pace and angle so that he can thrust into you even faster, one hand straying from your hips to mess with your clit that exact way you like it. You feel him everywhere.

“Fuck,” you drawl out, “Ray, Ray, Ray, I’m cumming—"

“Do it,” he says, orders, as if your thighs weren’t shaking, hadn’t stopped shaking, because you’ve already cum twice just before, with his mouth and his fingers. As if you weren’t collapsing into the black hole of pleasure all because of his doing. “Do it, baby.”

“You’re so good to me,” you gasp out, teetering, so close—“You’re so good to me, always, I love you, I love you, Ray, my King—”

You lose yourself into the white-hot searing flames of your orgasm, walls clenching around Ray, at the very same moment Ray’s entire world shrinks into your small, shaking voice, calling him your king.

That’s all he needs to finally surrender as well.

When consciousness finally returns to you, you’ve settled on the bed as Ray’s little spoon, the both of you still catching your breaths.

You feel the drip of his cum coming out of you. You have half a heart to reprimand him. Instead, you snort. “Really?”

Ray nuzzles your neck guiltlessly, the movement causing your little bell to ring. “Couldn’t help it.”

And as comfortable as the cuddle is right now, you want to see him, so ignoring the ache of your straining muscles, you turn to face him, your noses nearly touching.

“I really missed you, you know,” you say softly.

He grins, that boyish grin that made you fall in love with him in the first place. “I know.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, like willing you to sleep. “Welcome home, my Alice.”

-

Ray spots the empty bottle of aphrodisiac in the kitchen late the next morning, when he’s gone to get coffee for the both of you. Fenrir bought it for him as a gag while he was lonely waiting for you, and he’s sure he’d joked about taking it when you came back, but he didn’t drink it last night.

And he didn’t really mind, if someone had messed with him, he’d openly said he’d be up for it, it’s just that he just wanted to know who did it...

Sirius, who was in the kitchen with him, frowns in disappointment when Ray glances at him suspiciously. “Really, Ray?”

“Okay, fine, sorry,” Ray concedes. “I didn’t really think it was you, I just thought you’d know something.”

No one takes Ray seriously over lunch when he uses his “I am the King of the Black Army” voice to ask who put an aphrodisiac in his drink the night before.

“Fenrir,” Sirius pointedly calls out with no hesitation.

“HAH?!” Fenrir is mid-chew, and food nearly falls out of his mouth. “No way that was me. Ray’s been waitin’ for little Alice to come home for weeks, I ain’t gonna ruin it for ‘em like that.”

Sure, you think to yourself, ‘ruin’. Quietly taking a sip of your drink, you wonder if someone’s spiked this one with aphrodisiac too. .

“I betcha it was Luka,” Fenrir finishes.

Everyone turns to Luka, who is quiet, a solemn expression on his face. There’s a pause before he finally speaks up. “Why me?”

The others are silent for a moment, considering, and then they nod in agreement.

Luka seems to hesitate, but he offers, “Maybe it was Seth.”

“Luka! Is this what you think of me?” Seth has an expression that’s a cross of shock and offense. “Did you think I’d resort to low-level crime like Fenrir would?”

“Hey, whaddya mean low-level—”

“Besides, it was probably Ray from the beginning! Setting us up to take the fall,” Seth sighs. “Ray, you just have to be honest about your feelings, okay?”

“I don’t need an aphrodisiac to improve my performance—“

“We’re not talking about your performance!”

The Black Army officers bicker like children until lunch is over.

-

You hear a knock on your door later that day, and in comes Sirius, with a glass of water… and the empty bottle of the aphrodisiac.

You already look pretty silly enough in the turtleneck Ray made you wear under your usual clothes, but you look doubly silly now, sitting on your bedside with a look of bewilderment.

And also mild amusement.

Sirius sighs. “Look, he missed you so much, I had to make sure he could get it all out of his system as quickly as possible. I needed him back on his work. I’m sorry if he went too hard on you, little miss.” Sirius hands you the glass of water and a small white pill. “Here’s a painkiller.”

Ah, you think to yourself. Sirius really is the best.

And even with his denim jacket draped over your shoulders to keep the evening chill at bay, you couldn’t help the shake of your hands, the hellish events of the past thirty minutes continuously looping in your mind:

The gang of eight or nine men - scarred and muscled - leaning against the rails where Sparky was parked when you and Gavin returned from dinner.  Rough hands on baseball bats and beer bottles, and peeking out of a duffel bag, the sharp shine of steel.

“Just in time, Officer Gavin!  We’re celebrating boss’ release today!  Since you’re off duty, why don’t you join us?  I see you’ve already brought a pretty guest to the party.  We'll take real good care of her once we settle the score with you, won't we boys?"

Raucous laughter and lustful stares before Gavin says “Run," his whisper turning into a shout of "NOW!” when hesitation crossed your face.  And from behind, you could hear Gavin trying to distract them from your flight.

“Already itching to go back to that pisshole, Mack?  If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were starting to like it there.  Why don’t I give you a hand?”

His voice grew fainter as you ran — heels in hand and adrenaline masking the scratch of pavement on bare feet.  Still, you couldn’t help but look behind you, catching sight of the officer as he sent a machete-wielding brute to the ground with a single left hook.

And when those amber eyes observed you turning the corner — Gavin finally satisfied you had received enough of a head start to escape — he turned his wholehearted attention back to the violent throng, fists connecting with flesh to deliver bone-shattering force in quick succession, leaving hardened men howling in pain.

But that was before backup arrived: another fifteen, twenty guys with more on the way.  Fresh fighters, new weapons.  And while the officer was strong, he wasn’t stupid.

So Gavin high-tailed it, running into a nearby alleyway where he had found you cowering behind crates stacked tall like haphazard towers by fortuitous accident.

“We can’t go back out there yet.  They’re still looking for us.”  Gavin whispered in between breaths to stop you just as you were about to emerge from your hiding place.  “But don’t worry.  I’ll protect you even if it’s the last thing I do.”

He took in the sight of you: back up against a brick wall and hair a mess.  Noticed the phone shaking in hands held close to the chest, as if sheer prayer alone could speed the arrival of his colleagues from the station.  And in the mixture of guilt, concern and affection that welled up in a gut still sore from punches, Gavin forgot all about the gash on his scalp and the bruises on swelling limbs.

“It’s got a bit of blood on it, but…if you don’t mind…” Gavin winced as he slid the jacket from his body, draping denim over your shoulders even as you tried to protest, incredulous that he could even worry about you at a time like this.  At least, that’s what you would’ve told him had you found your voice.

But when you saw blood and sweat mix to roll down that handsome face — vigilant as the officer listened for approaching footfalls  — you found yourself silenced by Gavin’s command just as you had finally found the nerve to speak.  

At last, it is his voice that cuts through quiet air.

“Should be safe now.  I can’t hear them anymore.”  Tension in his jaw loosening, Gavin’s shoulders drop along with the finger laid across your lips.  “I’m sorry.  So incredibly sorry you had to go through that.  Are you alright?”

His tone is soft concern, falling upon you with the comfort of a familiar blanket.  And as you bask in the warmth of his gaze scanning your body for even the slightest evidence of anything askew, you cannot help it:

Cannot refrain from reaching for that chiseled face, blood sticky under your fingers when you wipe it from his brow.

Could not voice your plea for Gavin to seek immediate medical attention, the words catching in your throat like the way he caught your wrist, saying, “Don’t worry, it’s just a scratch.  I don’t want your hands to get dirty.”

Could not hold back from standing on tip-toes to kiss knuckles gripping you still, lips expressing the sincerity of your gratitude to each bruised joint when you fall into his eyes — wide with wonder, as if you had just stepped out from his dream.

“Please don’t say that.  Not when you got hurt trying to protect me.”  The tears you'd been holding back finally spill, wiped away as quickly as they came by the rough pad of Gavin’s calloused thumbs.  And when one sweeps across your flushed cheek to gingerly approach the cut on your lower lip — you having accidentally bit down hard during your escape — his face transforms into a mask of pain, as if that tiny wound alone was worse than all his injuries combined.

“You’re hurt,” he says.

One step, then two.  And suddenly, you’re boxed in: wall at your back and the officer in front.  Gavin bends to bring his face near for inspection in the dark, the tip of his nose practically brushing yours as he focused on trembling lips.

You don’t dare to breathe.  Could’ve even done without air at that moment.  What you couldn’t live without, however…was Gavin’s touch; the warm silk of his lips against yours.  Gentle as they pressed, dropping patient kisses at just the right places to awaken desire: cupid’s bow, each tiny corner, and all along the seam.  And when that shy tongue peeks out to lick at your wound, the sting of your cut is all but forgotten in the rush of pleasure that ensues, topped only by Gavin sucking your lower lip into his mouth, hot and wet.

Looping your arms around his neck, the officer presses even closer — muscular chest firm against your breasts like the hardness between his legs, growing increasingly evident in the subtle grind of his pelvis on yours when your tongue finds Gavin’s to entice it to slide past your lips.

All of a sudden, Gavin pulls back, hands falling heavy on the wall on behind you, your body caged between those strong arms.  And when he speaks, his voice is low, raspy — as if struggling to maintain even breath:

“If…if we continue…I won’t be able to hold back.”

Having said his piece, Gavin swallows hard, throat bobbing to make you even more desperate to learn how his Adam’s apple would feel under the slide of your tongue.  So you respond by slipping his jacket off your shoulders, chest heaving under the intensity of his gaze — luminous with its own fire even in the darkness.

A breeze blows through the abandoned alleyway, carrying the charged scent of oncoming rain.  And when it comes — first thin and sparse before giving way to drops falling hard and fast - your white blouse is quickly drenched, silk clinging transparent to the curves of your body.

“Make love to me?”  

You ask without the slightest hint of shame, fingers stiff from the chill of rain already reaching to undo the button on your collar.  Desperation transformed you into an entirely different person; the heat that had been simmering deep within now a wildfire burning out of control, and not even the storm could temper your desire for the hard slide of his flesh inside you.

Suddenly, the rattling peal of thunder and electricity rends the sky in two as lightning illuminates the entirety of that dim passageway — including the hunger in amber eyes.

The afterimage of Gavin’s face still floating neon behind closed eyelids, you barely have time to adjust to darkness before rough hands pull yours away from your half-unbuttoned top, one large palm pinning both wrists to the wall above your head as the other rips down the front of your blouse, your gasp only spurring on the excited officer.

“I want you so bad.” His low voice is almost a whine when his tongue runs along the column of your exposed neck, the heat of wet kisses laid along collarbones and chest dissipating in cold rain.  But all you cared about were the gentle fingers pulling down the cups of your bra, lace stretching beneath the swell of goose-pimpled flesh as a ravenous mouth sucked each puckered nipple into wet warmth: teasing, nibbling…infinitely arousing.

Little wonder that all you could manage was an emphatic nod in response when Gavin says, "I'm going to fuck you now.  Is that okay?"

So it was that you found yourself leaning against cool brick, one leg propped up on a wooden crate as Gavin thrust up and into you over and over again, the violence of the movement sending drops of rain flying from the tips of his wet hair to land at random on your face and breasts, joining the rivulets of rainwater already running down your exposed body.

“You feel…hm…so good.  So wet.  Tight.  You like-ohh…like it when I make love to you like this, baby?  In public?”  Gavin unclenches his jaw, releasing the bite on his lower lip just to whisper in your ear, as if sharing in some illicit secret.  But even if you had tried to deny it, said that the prospect of being caught with the officer’s cock buried deep in your pussy didn’t excite you more than usual, your body didn’t lie.

It couldn’t.

Not with the way your walls fluttered around him, copious arousal drenching him from within like the rain from without, your gaze holding his in a silent plea for harder, faster…more.

And when his eyes crinkle at their corners in implicit understanding, Gavin presses himself to you in a tight line, eager mouth latching onto your outstretched tongue in a deep kiss as the hands on your hips tighten to secure your body in place.

Then…it begins, and you almost find it impossible to believe that Gavin had been holding back before — hips snapping so hard and fast that your skin starts to tingle, the officer hitting just the right angle to set every nerve aflame, yanking his name from your lips in a scream that was barely drowned out by the storm.

Gavin fits his face to the hollow between your neck and shoulder, lips sucking gently to mark you even as he left traces of himself inside your body — a crimson brand that would fade in time, but a sign nonetheless.  And although the contractions of your release conspired to hold onto whatever it could of the officer for just a moment longer, liquid heat continued its slow slide along trembling walls, spilling pearlescent onto the flesh of your thighs before it is washed away by rain.

Ephemeral, like life itself…like the way you were afraid to tear your eyes from that lean, muscular figure, continuing to fight despite uneven odds solely because he had sworn to protect you.  Afraid that if you looked away, he might not be there at next glance.

But Gavin is here.  Here with you now.  The heat of the man inside and around you as he wraps his arms about your waist to draw you closer still, and you know that if bodies could merge, he would gladly do so to keep you by his side, always.

And the thought keeps you warm even in the cold, cold rain.