You slide onto his lap mid-flight like itâs nothing, like the controls arenât blinking right in front of him, like your hips settling against his thighs isnât the single most distracting thing thatâs happened all week.
For a moment, heâs quiet.
Dead silent.
His hands stay locked on the yoke, tension bleeding up his arms and into his shoulders.
Thenâ
His arm curls around your waist, solid and possessive, pulling you in just a little tighter.
His voice drops low behind the modulator, a dangerous kind of rough:
âCyarâikaâŠâ
The word slides out like a warning and a prayer all in one â tender and wrecked and reverent.
And soaked in restraint.
âYou trying to get us both killed?â
You grin, all innocent. âJust wanted to sit somewhere comfortable.â
He exhales hard, a growl half-hidden in the helmet.
âYouâre not helping.â
Another shift of your hips, this time completely intentional â and he feels it. Hears your breath hitch. His grip tightens. You donât even have to see his face to know heâs biting down hard behind the helmet.
Then, softer now. A whisper:
âKeep this up, cyarâika⊠and I wonât wait âtil we land.â
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Youâre a newly inducted Padawan, still memorizing rules you barely understand-- so whatâs the harm in breaking a few with a cute troublemaker in this Choose Your Own Adventure?
Jaxen x Reader
NSFW Choose Your Own Adventure
đ READ/PLAY HERE
đź interactive fanfic "Running from Trouble, Accidentally Finding More" by MockyJ
đ Episode 1 of 1
If yall know how long Ive been building my fic arsenal yall would kill me for not posting them sooner đ€Łđ€Ł I mean Iâve got like a years worth of content in my docs.
The air shifts. The shadows bend. And something cold slithers up your spine.
Youâre clutching your saber so tight your knuckles ache, blinking into the smoke drifting through the ruined corridor of the outpost. The rest of your unit is goneâscattered, captured, dead. Youâre alone.
And then:Â a hiss.
The ignition of his double-bladed saber slices the quiet open, red light spilling across the broken floor like blood.
You turnâand heâs just there.
Tall. Silent. Staring at you like a puzzle he already knows how to solve.
You barely raise your blade before he speaks, voice a low rasp.
âYouâre trembling.â
Itâs not mockery. Not pity.
Itâs... curiosity.
He tilts his head, taking a single step closer.
âA shame. Youâre not half as weak as you look.â
You force your saber to stay up, even as your arms shake. Even as your mind screams run.
Maul circles you slowly. Calm. Leisurely. His eyes rake over youânot with lust, not with anger, but with something far worse:Â interest.
âThey send children now?â he muses. âOr did you wander too far from your masterâs side?â
You donât answer.
You canât.
He grins. Just slightly. Enough to make your stomach twist.
âI wonder what sound you make when you break.â
He lunges.
Fast.
You blockâbarely.
Heâs not trying to kill you. Not yet.
Heâs testing you. Studying you. Every strike is a question, every parry a dare.
âCome now, little Jedi,â he murmurs mid-duel. âShow me youâre more than just fear in a robe.â
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You thought you could hide it.
The shiver in your spine when he entered the room.
The pulse that spiked when you heard the sound of his breathingâmechanized, steady, inhuman.
But then he pressed those gloved fingers to your temple.
And everything unraveled.
Heâs in your head in secondsâsearching for Resistance secrets. Names. Coordinates.
Instead?
He finds himself.
You. On your knees.
Himâstill masked. Still dressed. One gloved hand in your hair. The other curling under your chin as you beg.
âPlease, Commander Renâdonât take it off. Leave it on. I want to come with your hand around my throat.â
He stiffens.
You gasp.
Your cheeks burn hot as you feel the way his focus narrows.
He drags through another thought:
You squirming in your bunk at night, one hand between your thighs, whispering his name like a prayer you were never meant to say.
And stillâhe says nothing.
The only sound is his breathing.
Inhale. Exhale.
Ragged now.
Until finallyâ
âYou fantasize about my mask.â
A statement. Cold. Sharp.
You swallow.
He leans in slowly, his voice warping through the vocoder, richer, darker than sin.
âThe gloves too?â
He doesnât wait for your answer. He saw it.
And you? Youâve never been so wet and so humiliated in your life.
Beneath The Hood
Chapter Five: Try Not To Stare
Series: Beneath the Hood | Modern AU | Kylo Ren x Reader (Enemies-to-Lovers)
Word Count: [3150]
Masterlist
A/N: I am SO sorry! I totally forgot to upload yesterday. I normally have a queue, but I've been reading so much lately that it slipped through the cracks. Maybe a double update will be coming in the near future, be sure to stay tuned for the next update! ;)
Content Warnings: Power dynamics / sexual tension, One-bed trope, Dubiously polite mechanic with anger issues, Stranded reader in unfamiliar town, Rough sex (consensual), Aftercare, Dom!Kylo, Brat!Reader dynamic, Language / adult content
đ Tags: #kylo ren x reader #modern au kylo ren #enemies to lovers #reader insert fanfic #tumblr fanfiction #grumpy x sunshine #one bed trope #smutty slow burn #writerblr #beneath the hood
âLet me know when youâre ready to be professional again.â
A snobby rich girl breaks down in the middle of nowhere. Heâs the townâs only mechanic â sharp-tongued, heavy-handed, and completely uninterested in her attitude. With nowhere else to go, sheâs forced to stay above his shop in a dusty studio with one bed, peeling walls, and a man who looks at her like a storm heâd rather weather than run from.
The morning sun filtered through the loft window, soft and goldenâoblivious to the fact that youâd declared war sometime around 3 a.m.
You woke up draped in his sheets, satisfied and smug, the echo of your own moans still lingering in the air like smoke. You hadnât bothered being quiet.
Because the point was for him to hear it.
For him to know exactly what he left behind.
And now? Now you are going to dress the part.
You climbed out of bed, showered, and pulled on your last clean pair of jeans. A fitted tank. Easy. Comfortable. But not enough.
You padded over to the corner where his laundry basket still sat half-unfoldedâgrabbed the same soft flannel heâd worn two nights ago, the one that still smelled like engine oil and aftershave and sweat. And you shrugged it on like it was a dare.
âNext time you come down in my clothes, make sure youâre ready to earn it.â
His words echoed in your head.
You smiled at your reflection.
Fine. Letâs see how ready you are to take it, then.
You cuffed the sleeves. Left the top buttons undone. Let the collar hang off one shoulder in that perfectly effortless way that would infuriate him.
And then you went downstairs.
Kylo was already workingâshoulders tense under the hood of some beat-up Dodge, sweatpants slung low on his hips, jaw tight.
You didnât say a word.
Didnât look at him.
Just walked right past like nothing happened. Like the sound of your moaning his name hadnât bounced down the loft stairs like a ghost haunting the walls.
But as soon as you stepped through the doorway into the office, you felt it.
That stare.
Hot. Focused. Unyielding.
He didnât call after you. Didnât bark some order or snarky comment. But you knewâwithout a doubtâthat he was standing there behind the car, eyes glued to the swing of your hips, the hem of his flannel, the slight imprint of your nipples through your tank.
You didnât glance back.
Didnât flinch.
Just let the door swing shut behind you and went straight for the desk like it was any other morning.
You slid into the chair, adjusted the flannel at your shoulders, and started working.
Invoices. Parts logs. Vendor emails from some janky Yahoo account you still hadnât bothered cleaning up. You clicked through each one with practiced boredom, as if you hadnât been practically feral under his hands twelve hours ago.
Your thighs pressed together on instinct.
But you ignored it.
You had a job to do.
Technically.
Whatever this was.
You heard a soft clang from the garageâa wrench dropped harder than necessary. A hissed curse. Footsteps pacing past the office window.
He was close.
Watching, maybe.
But you didnât give him the satisfaction of looking.
Instead, you tugged the flannel tighter around yourself, like it belonged to you. One leg crossed over the other. Your foot bobbed lazily under the desk as you returned to sorting paperwork he shouldâve cleaned up months ago.
The stack of invoices was still a mess.
The printer tray was still jammed.
And his schedule was, somehow, double-booked for Tuesday.
You made a little noise under your breathâhalf annoyance, half amusementâand muttered, âJesus Christ, itâs like a toddler runs this place.â
You didnât mean for it to carry.
But it did.
And from the other side of the thin garage wall, something went very, very still.
Good.
Let him stew.
You clicked a pen.
Jotted a note.
Leaned back in the chair and opened a new spreadsheet.
All without so much as acknowledging him.
Because the war wasnât in words now.
It was in silence.
And you were winning.
The deeper you got into his email, the worse it got.
Unread messages stacked into the triple digits. Half of them flagged. Most with no subject line. One labeled simply âPart?â from two months ago. You scrolled, eyebrows lifting higher with every page.
âJesus,â you muttered, dragging the mouse across a dozen spam offers for off-brand carburetors and erotic car calendars. âYouâve got a PhD in ignoring shit.â
You started unsubscribing. Sorting. Deleting. Every click was another little stitch in the tapestry of chaos heâd built and ignored.
The satisfaction?
Immaculate.
You didnât hear the bell above the garage door at first.
But you did hear the voice.
âAfternoon.â
Your stomach dropped. Then twisted.
You looked up.
Tucker was standing in the doorway againâshoulders relaxed, grin already halfway formed, and a fresh white tee stretched across his chest like it had been put on just to be noticed.
He looked even more pleased with himself than yesterday.
âDonât suppose the new office managerâs still around?â he asked, eyes scanning the room before landing on youâseated, composed, draped in flannel that was very clearly not your own.
His smile widened.
âWell hey there, darlinâ.â
You kept your expression neutral.
But only just.
âYouâre back,â you said, not quite a question.
âCouldnât stay away,â he replied, sauntering closer. âStill need that tire rotation. But Iâll admit⊠mightâve been hoping youâd be the one to check my pressure.â
You blinked slowly. âWow.â
He chuckled. âToo much?â
âLittle bit.â
But you didnât shut it down.
Not immediately.
Because his gaze dropped to the flannel then trailing the way it slipped off your shoulder, eyes lingering on the line of hickeys blooming across your neck and chest.
It looked unmistakably borrowed. And even more unmistakably his.
He tilted his head. âThat his?â
You didnât answer.
Didnât need to.
The door to the garage slammed open.
Kyloâs boots hit the floor heavy. Purposeful. No announcement. No pretense.
Just presence.
He walked past the desk without looking at youâstraight to where Tucker stoodâand stopped just close enough to make the air go sharp.
Tucker gave a tight smile. âStill doing rotations?â
Kylo didnât speak.
Didnât blink.
Just looked him over like he was measuring how deep heâd need to dig the grave.
âAppointmentâs at eleven,â he finally said.
âItâs ten thirty.â
Kylo turned slowly. Looked at the office clock. Then back at him.
âThen you can wait.â
You sat perfectly still for a beat.
Thenâcasually, almost sweetlyâyou pushed back from the desk and stood, smoothing the front of Kyloâs flannel like it was some apron in a 1950s kitchen. You didnât glance at the man fuming just a few feet away.
You looked right at Tucker.
âYou want some coffee while you wait?â
He grinned, instantly charming. âIâd never say no to a beautiful woman offering me caffeine.â
âGood answer,â you said, already turning toward the dusty coffeemaker tucked into the corner of the office.
You felt Kyloâs stare on your back like a second sun.
Every step you took was intentional.
Every movement is deliberate.
You opened the cabinet. Reached highâjust enough that the flannel rose up your back, flashing a sliver of skin as you grabbed a mug. Poured. Stirred. Hummed under your breath like the world was light and easy and not currently full of deadly testosterone energy about to detonate.
âHope you like it strong,â you said, turning back and handing the cup to Tucker with both hands, your smile a little too wide, a little too inviting.
He took it with a wink. âI like everything about this place more now that youâre here.â
You laughedâlight, airy, hand brushing his arm as you walked past him to return to the desk.
Kylo hadnât moved.
Not an inch.
Just stood there, watching, jaw clenched so hard you could see it flex.
You sat back down in your chair, gently crossing your legs and sipping your own mug like nothing was wrong. Like you hadnât just poured gasoline on the slow-burning fuse he left last night.
âCustomerâs all yours,â you said to Kylo, flipping a page in the appointment book without looking up.
Then, almost lazily:
âTry not to scare him off this time.â
Tucker had finally left.
Not without trying every last line in his dusty little playbookâgrinning, lingering, even touching your wrist once when you handed him the invoice like he wanted to leave his name on your skin. He flirted with the full force of someone who thought he was making progress.
And you let him. You werenât interested. Not really. But you let him. Because someone else was listening.
And now?
Now it was quiet again.
The office was still warm with the lingering scent of coffee and engine grease. Youâd returned to your seat, tapping the edge of a highlighter against your lips, flipping through a dusty old service ledger like nothing had happened.
But you could feel it.
The energy had shifted.
Kylo hadnât said a word since Tucker pulled out of the lot. Not when the door shut. Not when the car roared to life. Not when the flirtatious goodbye echoed behind it.
He was somewhere just outside the officeâclose enough to watch, close enough to hear. But he hadnât crossed the threshold. Not yet.
The silence stretched.
Untilâ
The office door swung open behind you.
You didnât jump.
Didnât even flinch.
You flipped a page in the ledger and looked up casually, lips curling into a soft, polite smile. Like this was any other morning.
âHey,â you said, bright and chipper. âEverything good with Tucker?â
Kylo didnât answer.
He stood just inside the door, chest rising slow and deliberate, eyes locked on you like you were the problem and the solution and the fucking fire he couldnât stop touching.
You tilted your head, blinking innocently.
âHe seemed sweet,â you added, tapping your pen against your lips. âTalkative.â
No reaction.
Not with his face.
But his fingers curled into fists at his sides, slow and tight, like he was trying to physically hold something back.
You leaned forward in the chair, arms resting on the desk. His flannel shifted on your shoulders, slipping just enough to flash the strap of your tank top.
âDonât suppose you scared him off again, did you?â you teased lightly.
Still nothing.
The air crackled.
You could practically feel the effort it took for him to stay silent. To keep standing there, still, while you played this little game with his clothes on your body and someone elseâs name still echoing off the garage walls.
You clicked the pen.
âNeed something?â
That was it.
That was the snap.
He moved.
Fast.
Crossed the room in three long strides and slammed his hands down on either side of the desk, caging you in before you could even lean back. The whole desk shuddered beneath his weight. You gaspedâgenuine, this timeâand looked up into eyes that were blazing.
âIs this a joke to you?â he said, voice low and lethal. âYou think you can walk around in my shit, moan my name loud enough for the whole fucking block to hear, then bat your eyes at that hillbilly and act like nothing happened?â
You stared up at him, breath catchingâbut not in fear.
In thrill.
In victory.
Because he was unraveling.
Because you liked it.
You blinked up at him slowly, tilting your head like you honestly didnât understand what the problem was.
â...Whatâre you talking about?â
His nostrils flared.
The vein in his neck twitched.
Your tone was perfectâlight, curious, baffled. Like he was the crazy one. Like you hadnât spent the morning humming around the office, covered in his scent, while another man flirted with you like you were available.
Kylo leaned in further, arms tense, breath hitting the desk in short bursts.
âYou know exactly what Iâm talking about.â
You bit your lip thoughtfully, eyes wide.
âNo, I really donât,â you said, voice soft and syrupy. âDid I forget to file something?â
He made a sound. Half growl, half scoff, pure frustration.
âYou fuckingââ
His hand slammed down beside the appointment book.
You didnât flinch.
Didnât blink.
You just⊠smiled. Sweet. Pursed-lip. Deadly.
âI thought you told me to get to work,â you said quietly, flipping to the next page in the ledger. âSo I did.â
Kylo straightened like he was trying to physically distance himself from youâlike getting any closer would mean losing something he hadnât intended to give.
But his eyes stayed locked on yours.
âI swear to God,â he muttered, voice ragged, âyouâre trying to break me.â
Your lashes fluttered. âWould I do that?â
He stepped back once. Twice.
But he didnât turn.
Didnât leave.
He just stared, hands flexing at his sides, every muscle in his body screaming to move, to grab, to own.
You let the silence hang for a beat longer before turning back to the screen.
âWell,â you sighed. âLet me know when youâre ready to be professional again.â
You didnât hear the first step.
You felt it.
The shift in the air. The way the silence snapped in half.
And thenâhis hands were on you.
Not gentle.
Not tentative.
Just there, wrapping around your arm and yanking you up from the chair so fast your breath caught in your throat.
âHeyââ you started, but he already had you spun around, bent forward against the desk, the sharp corner pressing into your hip.
His chest was at your back in seconds. His voice hot in your ear.
âYou wanna pretend nothing happened?â he growled. âFine. Letâs make something happen, then.â
You gasped as his hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to bare your throatâalready marked, already bruised from the night before.
âYou think you can play games in my shirt, at my desk, moaning my name and then smiling at him like you didnât soak my sheets six hours ago?â
You whimperedâjust onceâand his other hand slid around your front, dragging up under the flannel, pushing your tank top higher.
âBet youâre still wet,â he muttered, voice full of dark satisfaction. âBet you never stopped thinking about it.â
You didnât answer.
You couldnât.
His hand dipped lower, into your jeans, beneath your pantiesâand fuck if he wasnât right.
âJesus,â he hissed. âYou liked that, didnât you? Making me listen to you fuck yourself in my bed.â
You let out a strangled sound, hips rocking against the desk as his fingers slid through your slick, slow and punishing.
âYou wanted me to lose it,â he said, pressing harder. âYou wanted this.â
He pulled your jeans down just far enough. No teasing. No ceremony. You heard the sharp click of his belt and the rough drag of denim as he shoved his sweats down just enough to free himself.
âYou wanted to be fucked like a problem?â he said, teeth grazing your ear. âCongratulations, sweetheart.â
Then he drove into you in one hard, brutal thrust.
You cried outâloud, shamelessâas your hands flew out to brace yourself, the desk groaning beneath your weight.
âKyloââ
âThatâs right,â he snarled. âSay it again. Scream it this time. Let the whole fucking block hear you again, since you like putting on a show.â
He set a pace that was ruthless. Relentless.
Your thighs shook. Your eyes blurred. And stillâhe held you there, bent over the desk, one hand in your hair, the other gripping your hip like he owned it.
âNext time you moan my name,â he growled, âit wonât be in my bed with your hand down your panties.â
He snapped his hips harder, deeper.
âItâll be like this.â
Another thrust. Another gasp.
âWhere I put it.â
Your breath hitchedâsharp and highâas he slammed into you again, deeper this time, grinding in slow and cruel at the end of it. The desk shook. Papers scattered. Your moan punched the air between you like a challenge thrown back in his face.
And that just made him fuck you harder.
âYou think this is a game?â Kylo growled, hips snapping into you so hard your thighs burned against the wood. âYou think I donât know what youâre doing?â
You clawed at the deskânails dragging across the grainâsearching for anything to ground yourself while he kept you split open, stuffed full, wrecked on the same desk youâd ruled from all morning.
âI told you to be ready to earn it,â he snapped. âAnd you come down in my flannel like you want a fucking prize?â
He yanked you upright by the hair, flush against his chest now, one arm banded around your waist as he drove into you from behind with brutal rhythm.
You gasped, head falling back against his shoulder.
âWas this your plan?â he snarled. âMake me break first? Make me fuck it out of my system?â
He laughed, low and dangerous in your ear.
âYouâre not that smart, baby.â
You whimpered at thatâhalf frustration, half fuck you, and it only spurred him on.
âSay it,â he growled. âSay my name again.â
You bit your lip.
He grabbed your throat.
âI saidâsay it.â
âKyloââ
âLouder.â
â*Kyloâ*fuck, pleaseââ
âThatâs it,â he muttered, letting go of your throat to drag his hand down to your clit, working you in tight, fast circles between each savage thrust. âLetâs see if I can fuck the brat out of you.â
You cried out, knees starting to buckle as your orgasm clawed its way up your spine. You were so close. So close. Everything was sharp and hot and hisâthe smell of him, the sound of skin on skin, the way he gripped you like a punishment and a promise all at once.
âYou feel that?â he hissed, voice ragged against your ear. âThatâs what happens when you push me.â
Your body shattered around him, hips jerking as pleasure tore through you, raw and wild, your moan long and broken and perfect.
Kylo kept going through it, pace rough and relentless, chasing his own release with growls ripped straight from his chest. You were trembling, gasping, nearly folded over the desk again when he finally spilled into you with a snarled curseâhands gripping you so tight you knew you'd bruise.
And stillâŠ
he didnât move.
He stayed there, breathing hard against your back, hips pressed tight to yours, hand still curled around your waist like you might try to escape.
You didnât.
You couldnât.
You just lay there, wrecked, trembling, completely silent now.
The office was silent nowâ
except for the hum of the old ceiling fan and the sound of both your breathing.
Heavy. Shallow. Wrecked.
Your palms were still flat on the desk, fingertips curled, legs trembling so hard you werenât sure theyâd hold you if he let go.
But he didnât.
Kylo stayed behind you, chest pressed to your back, hands still locked around your waist like he wasnât ready to release you. Like he wasnât done.
His breath ghosted against your shoulder. Hot. Quiet.
You didnât speak.
Neither did he.
There was no need.
Because your body was shaking.
Because his was still buried inside you.
Because this time?
The lesson had been understood.
Chapter Four: The Hard Way
Series: Beneath the Hood | Modern AU | Kylo Ren x Reader (Enemies-to-Lovers)
Word Count: [1650]
Masterlist
Content Warnings: Power dynamics / sexual tension, One-bed trope, Dubiously polite mechanic with anger issues, Stranded reader in unfamiliar town, Rough sex (consensual), Aftercare, Dom!Kylo, Brat!Reader dynamic, Language / adult content
đ Tags: #kylo ren x reader #modern au kylo ren #enemies to lovers #reader insert fanfic #tumblr fanfiction #grumpy x sunshine #one bed trope #smutty slow burn #writerblr #beneath the hood
âYou really gonna wear that around me and act like nothingâs happening?â
A snobby rich girl breaks down in the middle of nowhere. Heâs the townâs only mechanic â sharp-tongued, heavy-handed, and completely uninterested in her attitude. With nowhere else to go, sheâs forced to stay above his shop in a dusty studio with one bed, peeling walls, and a man who looks at her like a storm heâd rather weather than run from.
The loft was too hot.
You tossed and turned for hours, sheets twisted around your legs, the air thick and unmoving. Every time you closed your eyes, your brain started replaying the dayâTuckerâs grin, Kyloâs voice, the way heâd looked at you from the stairs like he wanted to pin you to the counter and throttle you with your own attitude.
Which, honestly, was kind of flattering.
You kicked off the blanket with a groan and sat up, stretching. The sweatshirt clung to your bare skin, the hem riding up your thighs when you shifted. You didnât bother pulling it down. It wasnât like anyone else was awake.
You crept down the hall barefoot, half-blind, the floorboards cool beneath your feet. The kitchen light was offâbut the glow from the microwave was enough to guide you.
You opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and turnedâ
Kylo was already there.
Leaning against the far counter, arms crossed, eyes half-shadowed by the dark. No shirt. Just sweatpants and muscle and heat radiating off him like a furnace. You jolted slightly, the bottle cold against your palm.
âHow long have you been standing there?â you whispered.
He didnât answer right away. Just watched you. Watched the way the hem of his sweatshirt skimmed your bare thighs, how the sleeves bunched around your hands, how your hair was still a little messy from tossing in bed.
âLong enough.â
You took a sip of water, throat suddenly dry.
He pushed off the counter, slow and deliberate. The space between you closed a little too quickly. You stood your ground, back against the fridge, the cold air seeping into your legs while his body heat soaked into the rest of you.
âYou really gonna wear that around me and act like nothingâs happening?â he asked, voice quiet but loaded.
You looked up at him through your lashes, smirking. âItâs just a hoodie.â
âItâs not just anything on you.â
Silence stretched. You could feel his breath against your cheek now. Could feel the way his eyes dropped to your mouth and stayed there.
âYou gonna scold me for stealing your laundry,â you murmured, âor are you just gonna keep staring like youâre starving?â
That did it.
He surged forwardâone hand braced against the fridge beside your head, the other gripping your hip like he was afraid youâd vanish. His mouth crashed against yours, hot and unrelenting, tasting like frustration and something darker. His tongue swept into your mouth without asking, without warning, and you let him. Welcomed him. Matched his pace with something molten in your belly.
You moaned when his hand slid under the sweatshirt, fingers dragging up your bare thigh. His palm was rough against your skin, his grip tight, like he was trying to hold back and couldnât.
âFuck,â he muttered against your lips. âYouâre killing me.â
âThen do something about it.â
And he did.
Kylo didnât give you time to second-guess it.
One hand fisted in the hem of the sweatshirt, dragging it higher as his mouth sealed to your throat, biting down hard just beneath your jaw. You gasped, back arching against the fridge as his tongue soothed the stingâthen bit again, lower this time, teeth scraping down your neck like he wanted the marks to show.
You clawed at his shoulders, fingers digging into skin, and he groaned low in his throat like the pain just spurred him on.
âFucking knew it,â he growled, breath hot on your skin. âKnew youâd look like thisâwearing my shit, teasing me, making me lose my goddamn mind.â
You grinned, smug even as your pulse pounded. âThen maybe you shouldâve done something about it sooner.â
He growledâactually growledâand lifted you by the waist, setting you down hard on the countertop with a thud. You spread your legs instinctively to make room for him, the sweatshirt riding dangerously high, panties now completely exposed to the heat of his stare.
He looked wrecked. Chest heaving. Eyes black with want. Every inch of restraint gone.
âI should make you beg,â he rasped.
âBut you wonât,â you whispered, dragging your nails up his stomach. âYouâre too far gone for that.â
He grabbed your faceâfingers digging into your jaw, thumb smearing the corner of your mouth like he was trying to memorize every part of you. His mouth crashed against yours again, messier this time. Tongue, teeth, desperation. You were both gasping between kisses, clawing at each other, no rhythmâjust heat.
His hand slid up, wrapping around your throat.
You froze.
Not from fear.
From anticipation.
He squeezedâjust enough to make your breath catch, just enough to make your thighs clench around his hips.
âStill feel like playing games?â he asked, voice dark and low.
You smiled through your shallow breath. âOnly if I win.â
That broke something in him.
He shoved your sweatshirt higher and dragged your panties to the side with a practiced flick of his wrist, two fingers sliding through your slick like he already knew how soaked you were. His eyes flicked up to yours, satisfied, cruel.
âYou liked watching me lose it,â he said.
You didnât deny it.
He pressed his fingers insideâdeepâand you cried out, grabbing his wrist as your body arched off the counter. He didnât give you time to adjust. Didnât let you breathe. Just drove his fingers harder, faster, while his mouth returned to your throat, adding another hickey to the line he was painting across your neck.
âLook at you,â he muttered, lips hot on your collarbone. âDripping on my fucking hand, grinding on my counter, wearing my clothes like you own me.â
You couldnât even respondâyour brain was dissolving under the pressure of his fingers and his grip on your throat and the low, primal groans vibrating from his chest.
And thenâhe stopped.
His fingers stilled inside you. Just like that.
You whined. Actually whined, your body jolting forward, instinctively trying to chase the friction youâd been grinding against seconds before.
âAw,â Kylo murmured, lips grazing your ear as he withdrew his fingers with slow, deliberate cruelty. âPoor baby.â
You gasped as the emptiness hit youâsharp, humiliating, hot. Your thighs trembled around him, hips rolling on their own like your body hadnât gotten the message.
He brought his hand to his mouth and sucked his fingers clean, eyes on yours the whole time, slow and shameless. When he finished, he grabbed your jaw againâforcing your mouth open with a squeeze.
âIs that what you wanted?â he asked. âThought Iâd let you come just because youâre wet and desperate and finally acting like you need me?â
Your breath hitched, lips parted around a gasp you couldnât hide.
âThatâs not how this works,â he said. âYou donât get what you want just for looking pretty in my sweatshirt.â
His hand dropped from your jaw, and he stepped back slightlyâjust enough that you felt the cool rush of air between your thighs where his hand had been.
âYouâre gonna come,â he said, voice dropping lower. âBut not like this.â
You swallowed hard. âThen how?â
He leaned in again, his nose brushing yours. His words came out as a growl:
âWhen you beg.â
Your mouth opened, ready to fire something backâsomething bratty, maybe a little cruelâbut all that came out was a broken sound, somewhere between a gasp and a plea.
And that smug, arrogant, absolutely maddening smirk curved across his lips.
He dragged the sweatshirt back down over your thighs, covering the mess heâd made between your legs like it had never happened.
âYouâre lucky I even touched you tonight,â he murmured, stepping back fully. âGo back to bed.â
You stared at him, heat prickling up your neck. âYouâre serious.â
He just nodded, turning away, his back muscles flexing as he walked to the stairwell without looking at you.
The bastard didnât even glance back.
But right before he disappeared around the corner, he spokeâlow and certain:
âNext time you come down in my clothes, make sure youâre ready to earn it.â
You didnât move for a long moment after he left.
Just sat there on the counter, legs spread, panties askew, sweatshirt bunched around your waistâstill wet, still aching, still full of the throb heâd left in his wake.
That smug bastard.
He hadnât hesitated. Hadnât asked. Hadnât pretended it wasnât what you both wanted.
But then heâd walked away. Left you panting. Dripping. Needing more with no intention of giving it.
And thatâs when you made your decision.
You slid off the counter with slow, deliberate grace, tugged your panties back into place, and padded back toward the loft bedroomâhis space. Not yours. But the only one with a bed. And tonight?
That bed was going to be your battlefield.
You crawled under the sheets without shame, still in his sweatshirt, skin flushed and burning. You didnât even try to be quiet.
You let your hand slip beneath the hem of the fabric, fingers trailing over your still-sensitive thighs. You were soaked. Ruined. Ready.
And you moaned.
Loudly. Unapologetically.
You threw one leg over the blanket, body rolling into the mattress like it was his body beneath you, like he was still there holding you down. Your fingers circled your clit with practiced precision, back arching as you rode the edge he hadnât let you finish on the counter.
You didnât whisper his name.
You moaned it.
âFuckâKyloââ
And then again. Louder.
You were putting on a show now.
Letting your whines echo down the stairs.
Letting him hear every needy breath.
Every wet, filthy, furious sound heâd created and refused to finish.
Your orgasm hit fast, almost violent, shuddering through you with a sharp cry muffled only by the edge of his pillow.
And when you finally collapsed into the sheets, muscles trembling, breath shallowâŠ