#ettore

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Abraham

You first tell Abraham on a beautiful summer day with the still breeze and sun high in the sky.

He was working away in the stables with your dad, sun beating down on his sturdy form and sweat dripping from his brow.

You pass your dad his lunch, tomato and ham sandwiches with thick salted butter "Ah, thanks love! Don't my daughter look after me Abe"

"Aye she does" he smirks, baby blues giving you a knowing look.

You look away shyly and take his hand to around the back of the stables when your father got distracted with his lunch.

He's handsy with you, fingers squeezing at your waist and pulling you in but you pry his hands away, fiddling with you hair "What's the matter love?"

And you just blurt it out.

You're nervous, apprehensive, scared even as he looks at you with wide eyes and mouth dropped to the floor.

"Say something Abe.."

He wets his lips, eyes fluttering around to the stable where your father sat "I- I dunno what to say love", he rubs the back of his neck, strong tattooed biceps flex.

You start to cry. maybe he won't love you now, maybe he won't want your hand in marriage anymore.

But Abraham was gentle, he was never cruel - he closed the gap between you, hands finding your waist again and anchoring you to him as if you would easily drift away; "Ay, ay c'mere love.. Now I don't want you crying over something like this."

"W-what're we gonna do?" Your tear filled eyes meet his crystal clear ones "Well, I'm just gonna 'ave to marry ya."

And he does.

He holds you tight, hands always finding your belly, light kisses peppered on your temples that always turn deeper as his fingers become greedier.

The more you swell, the more passionate he becomes. Holding you tight in your shared bed and mindlessly rubbing geometric shapes and nonsensical patterns on your swollen belly.

It wasn't what you both had planned, but it felt right.

And as soon as one babe is born, he's already thinking of giving it a sibling for 'company' of course.

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Ettore

This was not meant to happen.

This is something neither of you wanted to happen.

Your little dalliances behind closed doors, or wherever Ettore fancied taking you, were not meant to go this far.

Dibs could not resist herself when she found out you were pregnant; her experiment had worked (it didn't), she finally had created life (Ettore was not great at pulling out) and she would be damned if this were to be another failure.

"I'm pregnant Ettore."

"How do you know it's mine?"

Blunt. Blunt as always.

You give him a good slap on his muscular shoulder for that "You're the only one I've been with knobhead!"

He feigned pain, rubbing his shoulder aggressively "So? Doesn't mean Dibs didn't turkey baster some other guy's spunk up there" he sniffs through his nose as if this didn't concern him at all.

And it fucking stung.

Sure maybe you and Ettore meant nothing to each other, maybe it was all just primal urges and tension built from years without human touch - but when he held you.

Those nights when he would just hold you tight to him and kiss your temple - that couldn't have been nothing.

"I'm not fucking joking Ett, this is serious!"

He craned his head upwards as if he was praying to some God for help, yeah like that is going to help us now.

His sharp features glowed beautifully against the blue hues that lit the spaceship "A'right. I'll look after ya. Pinky promise." He turned his head down the corridor to not look at you but held out his pinky finger, you clasped your own around it and nearly missed the smile that graced his lips before he tucked his hands back into his trouser pockets; "Right, see you at lunch."

Something possessive took hold when Ettore found out you were pregnant. Something dark and deep rooted itself into his consciousness.

He had never felt that way before.

He found himself jealous when the others would speak to you or when you went to Dibs' office for your check-ups.

The more your stomach swelled, the more he clung to you. Hands finding themselves at your side and pulling you closer, he sat with you at lunch to make sure you were eating, he took over your chores retorting that 'You weren't doing it right'.

He did all this in silence. No one could know.

No one could find out that he had developed a soft spot for you and the child that grew inside you.

Not even you.

But you noticed.

Noticed his subtle possessiveness when he dragged you away for a 'quickie' when the other men were talking to you or how he would lead you away from Boyse and her complaining about your pregnancy.

How he would creep into your bunk at night thinking you were asleep, holding you tight with a kiss on the temple and hands smoothing over your pregnant belly with barely audible whispers of "I think I love you."

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Genyen

You were paralysed, hands clutching at the luxurious sheets of the hotel bed. It was supposed to be a relaxing trip, a spiritual retreat, instead you found yourself embroiled in some love affair with a Buddhist monk and now pregnant.

Pregnant. Pregnant?!

How could you let this happen? You balled your hands into fists leaving what felt like permanent creases in the fabric.

The door came squeaking open as your 'lover' stepped through, sneaking as always. A cheeky smile plastered on his lips, raising his eyebrows at what tantric activities he had planned for the night.

"Oh God", you felt sick as vomit raised up your throat "Uh I think you mean 'Oh Buddha' darling." He chuckled at that. Fucking chuckled.

You swallowed down the vomit, heat rising in your belly; "We need to chat Genyen."

His laugh stopped, it was as if a switch had been flipped within him, all that playfulness and mischief wiped from his expression till all that remained was arrogance.

"What's this about?" his eyebrow piqued.

"I'm pregnant."

He erupted with laughter at that, doubling over "That it? Thought it was something serious like."

This was bad. Very bad. He treated it as if it was all some joke, a big prank. He ran over to the bed and jumped on it with no care for the expensive mattress or silk sheets.

"This is fucking serious Shawn."

A slight huff of amusement escaped his lips at that "Who's this Shawn babe? Found another monk to fuck?" He brought his finger to your nose and tapped it lightly; "Boop! My name's Genyen!"

A joke. This was all one big joke to him. Well, this time he wasn't going to have the last laugh; "I saw your passport, I know you've been nicking from the temple.. and me."

His eyes blew wild at that before feigning hurt "Well, you see- It's a habit.. That's why I joined the order, my s-stepmum she-"

"You haven't even got a stepmum! You're full of shit!"

Then that arrogance returned "So what? You gonna tell on me? I'll be gone before you even know it."

Bile rose in your throat again and you couldn't contain it, you threw up into the golden bin next to the bed. "Jesus-" he recoiled, "I think- I think you mean 'Buddha'."

A small laugh left his lips as he swivelled on the bed, lean arms wrapped around your shoulders, fingers leaving comforting strokes "Now, that was a good one". He spotted the pregnancy test on the bedside table "So, you're really up the duff?"

You nodded weakly trying not to vomit again. "Listen- Can't we just get rid of it?"

You could, but you did not know if you would.

Your body began to shiver and tears fell onto your red hot cheeks; "I don't know if I can-"

He just nodded, still rubbing soothing patterns in your arms. Life was so good with you; he could eat, sleep and fuck you all day, plus the extra pocket money was nice; but- the baby? Yeah, that was bad.

Genyen didn't know if he could love you or it but sitting here in silence with you crying on his bony shoulder was enough for now.

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Aemond

You were a simple maidservant that caught the eye of the Prince, you had not meant to but that did not matter to Aemond. He greeted you affectionately in the comfort of his own chambers but treated you harshly around others.

The Prince could be cold and cruel but when he awoke in the night screaming and grasping at his eye, you softened - He would reach for you and only you.

Only you could cure what ailed him as his hands grasped at your skirts like a petulant child and whimpers in High Valyrian that you could not understand.

He would finally settle.

Settle in his bed with his athletic arms coiled around you as if he were a serpent, hands grasping at your meaty flesh and head pushing itself between your beasts, forehead begging to be stroked.

It was no surprise to you when you fell with child, the moon tea did not agree with you and some days it could not be brewed at all, with Aegon spending countless nights in Fleabottom there was no one to blame.

You stepped into his room as if it were any other day, his hand danced along the page as he wrote expertly with his quill "Your luncheon, my Prince." He gestured with the feather to seat it at the left of his desk.

You obliged but as the plate reached the table, a swift hand no longer holding the quill found itself at your waist and pulled you into his lap with a satisfied hum.

Startled, you tried to relieve yourself but with every movement, he countered you, hands hooked to your side. "I'll be done soon, Gevie." Your blush grew redder and redder by every flourish of the quill.

You had to tell him. You had to do it now.

Once finished he exhaled deeply relaxing into your touch, providing you some leeway to wriggle from his grasp. His eyes narrowed becoming predatory as he stalked closer to you.

Or perhaps you were craven and this could wait another day?

"And where are you running off to my little lamb?"

"I- I am needed in the kitchens- Dinner preparations start soon-" you cowered, taking languid steps backwards as not to bump into anything.

But he cornered you regardless "And why would a dragon want luncheon or dinner when a perfectly good feast is set in front of him, hmm lamb?"

"Well, I-" tell him. Tell him now. And you did; "I have missed my moon blood my Prince- At- at least two moons have passed since my last."

He stopped dead in his tracks at that. Blood run cold. The tension was palpable. He turned away from you to drink from his cup.

"And this could not be a symptom of something other-"

Cold. It was if the room ran cold. No warmth coloured his voice, leaving only what you assumed was disdain.

"I am fairly certain my Prince."

"Did you not drink the moon tea I had especially brewed for you?" "Yes, but-" "But?", he took a long swig of his wine at that, throat bobbing with every gulp. "I grew sick and well-" The sound of the glass pounded against the table resonated throughout the room; "You heaved?"

His head barely turned to the side, his lips tight and brow furrowed yet all you could do is nod as tears began to fill your eyes. "Moon tea is not as effective if one heaves-" "I- I know my P-Prince- I- tried to swallow it really, I did but-" was all you could stammer as sobs wracked through your body.

"That matter is of little concern now." He turns his head to you fully now as you try to swallow your tears, feet shuffling in place as if you were rooted to the floor; "Is it not?" You could only muster a nod.

He turns the rest of his body to you, harshly almost scolding; "You have a dragon growing in your belly now little lamb," his dark leather boots creak against the wooden floor of his room "you must not let it devour you."

He places a tender hand on your cheek, his calloused thumb gently wiping away the river of tears that have flooded your face "Gevie, avy jorrāelan"

You did not know the meaning of what he spoke but the look in his singular violet eye told you all you needed to know - love, pity, sorrow yet happiness. He planted a soft chaste kiss to your lips; "I will protect you."

Since that day all of your belongings, well what little you had, were moved to a smaller chamber opposite Aemond's; he had dresses made from the finest silks placed in your wardrobe, jewellery that glittered like his shining gemstone eye, the finest foods prepared for your fussy appetite and odd cravings - he spoiled you truly.

He spent every waking hour he had with you, you were stuck to him like flies to cattle - he would take you on walks in the gardens, spend hours reading to you by the fire and even write love poetry dedicated to you.

He lingered to be in your presence at all times.

Some days he had to treat you coldly, days when his mother or grandsire would exact their orders to him - they could not find out about you.

The more your belly swelled, the more loving and fervid Aemond became, whether it was sleeping in your chamber with hands roaming across your abdomen while speaking his mother tongue to his little dragon or whether it was impassioned love making with hot needy kisses, wandering hands and exclamations of adoration.

Aemond wanted nothing more than to have a life with you; to watch your belly swell over and over again, to watch the light in your eyes brighten when you saw him, to comfort your babes when needed.

That was the future he dreamt of as he watched the whistful breaths leave your chest, rising and falling in monotony, too deep in slumber to see how he watches you lovingly with his one eye.

It had been days since Ettore had seen her – really seen her. He had caught fleeting glimpses of her in the mess hall, during the scheduled group exercises, and passed her coming and going from Dibs’ lab, but they hadn’t spent any time together. Usually, they would find an excuse to slope away and do precisely what they ought to be using the box for. She hadn’t sought him out and had avoided any opportunity that he might have to approach her; he couldn’t understand why. Even today, when their work duty schedules aligned so that they shared a free period, she hadn’t come to find him. Ettore was pent up, his use of the box had increased in her absence, but his hand was a poor substitute for the tight, wet heat that she offered. He told himself it was his baser urges that guided his movements towards her cell, but deep down there was an aching emptiness inside of him that pulled him to her. Being separated from the one person aboard the ship who actually looked at him and bothered to see him, rather than recoil in disgust, caused emotions he didn’t quite understand to arise within him. He didn’t like it. He had never craved companionship; how dare she make him feel this way?

Her cell was illuminated, the lights in day cycle when he approached, making the bright white walls and grey flooring appear more sterile than they did in the dim blue of artificial night he usually saw them in. She was laying upon the single bed that was pushed against the right hand side of the small room – the bunks to the left were both empty, for which he was thankful; the other women tended to regard him with fear and suspicion. She was flat on her back, her fingers laced across her abdomen as she stared listlessly up at the ceiling.

Ettore watched her for a few moments, and when she made no move that indicated she would acknowledge his presence, he entered the space, slowly lowering himself to sit on the bottom bunk across from her bed, carefully not to bump his head on the frame of the top.

“What’s up wi’ your face?” he asked cockily, attempting to mask how uncomfortable he was with having to initiate this type of conversation. “Feel like you’re avoiding me.”

She stayed silent for a while, and he was certain she’d ignore him, until she exhaled a weary sigh. She glanced at him before slowly returning her gaze to the ceiling. “I’m bored, Ettore.”

He scoffed in amusement, his brow furrowing. “We’re all bored. Let’s be honest, waiting to die isn’t as exciting as I thought it might be.”

Shaking her head, she turned her head fully to look at him, her expression downcast and sullen. “Bored of this,” she gestured between them, “us.”

The casualness with which she said it felt like a blow to the chest. He did his best to school his features, not wanting to show the shock he felt at her unexpected dismissal of their arrangement, but his world felt as though the bottom had been pulled away and he was in freefall. It hurt, a painful, barbed twisting in his chest that caused his hands to curl into fists. He wanted to lunge across the small space that separated them and throttle her until she swore to take it back. Swallowing down his anger, he pressed his lips into a tight line, absentmindedly rubbing at his knuckles.

“You can’t just end things,” he finally said, his voice quiet. He despised how pathetic he sounded.

She pulled herself into a sitting position, crossing her legs and leaning her back against the wall so that she was facing him. “I’m tired of this,” she shrugged, “what do I get out of it? I’m not allowed to touch you, there’s no real intimacy in it for me. I’m not giving you anything you can’t get in the box.”

This wasn’t a conversation he was ready for. Exasperation welled inside of Ettore and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and threading his fingers into his hair. He raked them through it, sitting up once more. “This is new for me. I’ve never been with anyone where they’ve…y’know…wanted to fuck me before.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re a rapist, Ettore, let’s call a spade a spade. And whatever fucked up journey you’re on to try to evolve or make peace with it or whatever, I can’t be a part of it. It’s too much. I can’t fix you.”

His jaw ticked as he clenched his back teeth together and his anger roared to the surface, begging to be set free. He had never considered the word “rapist” for what he was, and he didn’t like the confronting nature of it. He had believed that with every encounter he had with her, he developed a deeper understanding of himself and his feelings towards physical intimacy, leaving a piece of his former life behind with each moment they shared. There was a part of his mind that urged him to simply walk away – she didn’t want him any longer, he should respect that and not humiliate himself by clinging to her. But she was his, and he couldn’t simply let that go. If she wanted something more, then that would be exactly what he would give her.

“Get on your knees,” he gritted out, rising to his feet. He saw fear flash momentarily in her eyes as she huddled closer to the wall, and he exhaled heavily through his nose. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya. You can stay on the bed, just kneel for me.”

He watched as she complied, lifting herself so that she knelt upon the narrow bed. He advanced upon her, looming over her as he circled around, taking in her posture. He liked her like this, and instinct and muscle memory kicked in, demanding he take control, remind her of who she belonged to. Clearly having seen the predatory glint in his eyes, he watched her tense, her arm quivering as though preparing to strike out.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warned, “play nice and I will too.”

He could still feel the tension radiating off of her in waves as he came to kneel behind her, the springs in the thin mattress protesting beneath their combined weight. Slowly, his hands trembling slightly from the restraint he was exercising, he gently grasped the tops of her arms. He could hear the shakiness of her breath, feel the tightness in her back as he pressed his chest against it, but he was undeterred. He ran his palms down the length of her arms, his pace glacial and his touch featherlight, until he reached her wrists. Gently, he turned them palm up, allowing his fingers to drag across her flesh, his touch exploratory. He felt her relax, the tension leaving her body as she rested more of her weight against him. He had never taken his time with her like this before, never stopped to really drink her in or notice the little details about her. He knew she was heavily tattooed, but if he had been asked to describe any of the designs before now then he couldn’t have said what they were. Now, he noticed the mandala tattoo in her elbow ditch, and traced his fingertips over the outline of it, committing its intricate design to memory. As he dragged his hands back up to her shoulders, he tugged her tighter against him, ducking his head to nuzzle into her neck. He inhaled deeply, the warm scent of her hair making his chest tighten and ache, even as he felt his cock stir to full hardness. His hands moved to the waistband of her scrubs, tugging them down along with her underwear.

“We shouldn’t, we’ll get caught,” she murmured, though even as she protested, she rose up, aiding him in removing her clothing.

“Don’t fucking care,” he whispered hoarsely, freeing his cock as he grasped her bare hip, nudging the swollen cock against her slick entrance.

He gave a few shallow thrusts, forcing her tight walls to yield to his intrusion, and had to bite back a groan as he finally sank all the way inside of her. It was like coming home. The familiar tightness of her wrapped around him once again, after so many days without it, was almost his undoing right then and there. He held back, keeping his thrusts languid, almost gentle as they knelt together. He moved his hand from her hip to her throat, but this time he didn’t tighten his grip as he usually did – this wasn’t a grasp for domination or possession, he simply wanted to hold her. Each flutter of her pulse beneath his fingertips made his cock twitch inside of her, her soft, breathy moans not nearly as frantic as when he rutted into her like an animal. This was different, softer, it felt like it meant something, and it was almost more than he could stand.

When she came, the rhythmic squeezing around his shaft proved too much and he followed close behind her, pressing his pelvis flush against her rear as he spilled inside of her. He fell back on his haunches and she slumped against him, panting harshly. He wrapped his arms tight around her waist, not ready to let her go yet, unprepared for the clarity that would follow post coital bliss. She tilted her head, and his breath hitched when he felt the press of her lips against his jawline, the softness in direct contrast with the sharpness of his bone structure – she had never done that before, he’d never allowed her to. The gesture cut through the haze and it was then he noticed the stray tear that was rolling slowly down his cheek. There was a warmth spreading like warm treacle through his chest, travelling to the rest of his body, and he knew that if he stayed here, dwelt on it, then the single tear upon his cheek would be followed by many more. He would burst open, be faced with feelings he simply didn’t have the capacity for. No. Not this. Not now. Not yet.

Hastily, he pulled away from her, righting his trousers as he stood and tucked himself away. He kept his back to her, coming to stand in the doorway as he discreetly swiped away the wetness on his face, his head bowed.

“We’re done when I say we’re done,” he uttered, and strode quickly away down the corridor.

If he had taken the time to look back he would have seen the soft smile that graced her features as she sank back against the bed once more. They were far from over.

Even here in the greenhouse, she could still hear the ship’s systems beneath the sound of clipping leaves and weeding. She was knelt in the dirt, gloves on, trowel in hand, doing the only thing that ever gave her some peace in this place. It was dirty work but quiet, safe. Unlike everything else on this floating coffin.

She knelt up, leaning over a rosebush, the thorns prickling her forearms as she reached for some soil she had yet to spread. Her eyes caught a glaring flash of orange from a cluster of flowers behind the tended ones. They'd been here since she started doing this little duty, untended and messy, with stems twisting in green and yellow, and their fleshy petals bursting in bright orange like a mouth with a dangerous red centre. It smelled sweet, almost chemical like.

Fuck knows what they were, she'd have to read up on them.

She almost let her curiosity get the better of her, before his voice made her heart fall out her arse.

“What are you doing?”

She needn't even see his face to realise there was a smirk on it. Annoyance bubbled in her gut at the mere sound of him, traipsing across her freshly tended to garden with a confidence that didn't seem earned.

“Working,” she answered without moving, “should try it sometime.”

He laughed, leaning against the workbench, arms crossed, like her annoyance tickled something inside of him. She glanced up, eyes narrowed. His chest was damp as if he'd just been to shower. She willed herself not to notice it.

“Have you come here just to annoy me?”

“Not specifically you,” he muttered through a grin, “but you're the only entertainment here so.”

She rolled her eyes, turning back to her flowers, “then go entertain yourself somewhere else.”

He scoffed, “entertain, huh?”

She ripped a weed out the soil just a fraction too hard, “yeah instead of— starting fights and tugging your tiny dick outside the communal showers.”

“Oh, so you do watch me?” He raised an eyebrow.

She sighed and pushed herself to her feet, pulling off her gloves and bracing herself for the smug expression on his face. “You are such a colossal twat.”

“Rich coming from you,” he spat back, pushing himself off the workbench, making her heart race just slightly. “You walk around here like you're not just another piece of crap like the rest of us, like your shit doesn't stink.”

“At least I actually do something useful around here,” she countered, throwing her gloves on the ground, “unlike you, stalking around like a feral mutt.”

His jaw tensed, but his smile stayed. It was unsettling, watching the way his eyes took her in, searching for the weak point. “You must be so fucking lonely. Touching yourself on your side of the wall, pretending you don't want someone to hear.”

“Go fuck yourself,” she shoved him, palms flat on his chest, and even though it barely moved him, the touch shocked him.

As if acting on pure instinct, he shoved her back, not quite knowing his own strength. She seemed to trip over her feet, hurtling arse first into the bed of bright orange flowers. It cushioned her fall just slightly, enough not to hurt. But it was the pollen that the flowers coughed out that disoriented her, sweet, cloying, hitting her nose all at once.

She blinked, and the air seemed to shimmer.

Heat curled in her belly, sudden and unwelcome. She felt her skin flush bright and needy, pupils widened and her heart racing against its natural rhythm. When she dragged in a breath, it only made it worse. Her nipples hardened under her shirt, painfully almost, and she pressed her thighs together to relieve the ache that formed heavy, to no avail.

“Fuck’s wrong with you?” Ettore furrowed his brows, watching her chest rise and fall from a new burst of aggression.

Her eyes raised to him when he spoke as if only just aware he was still there. A haze covered her vision. She could hear the beat of his heart, the rush of blood in his veins. And nothing else seemed to matter. Her lips parted.

Ettore took half a step back, “you good?”

Her eyes crackled with a near feral gleam as she scrambled to her feet, covered in soil and sticky pollen, and grabbed his shirt to crash her lips to his. It was sloppy, desperate, panting. And Ettore mumbled into her mouth, the strength of her grip surprising him and taking him off balance as his back met the workbench again.

“What the fuck?” he spoke against her lips when he could get air in, but she couldn't stop. Wouldn't. Her nerve ends were sparking and he was right here, warm and solid, exactly what her instincts were screaming for.

She moaned softly, pushing her hips to his, her other hand rubbing the growing hardness there recklessly. Her nails clawed under his shirt, leaving red little trials across his pale skin.

“Jesus—wait—” he muttered, grabbing her wrists. He was so used to being the one in control, he didn't like it one bit that he and his body was at the mercy of someone else, someone he hadn't expected to be so strong against him. He was half annoyed at himself for freezing up for so long.

But her lips found his throat, sucking and biting the sensitive skin, and his grip faltered. She was grinding against him now, dry fucking him like a mindless animal. Like she didn't care about anything else. She moved like she needed a primal closeness, like she needed to smell his natural sweat, feel the tackiness of his body against hers, but annoyingly all he smelt of was the dull powdery musk of the prison soap.

He could have pushed her off if he really wanted to. But maybe some part of him didn't. He swore under his breath, “you're high as fuck.”

Her voice was raw and needy, “I need—”, it came out more sob than a sentence, desperate. And fuck if it didn't make his cock twitch.

He pushed her back against with a cursed, ‘fuck’, her body landing once again amongst the orange flowers and another puff of shimmering pollen released around her, clinging to her skin like springy glitter. Her legs tried to catch around his waist, squirming for contact she didn't have yet, dragging him into the dirt with her as he fought to rid her of any clothing below her waist.

“You don't know what you're asking for,” he murmured, crowding her body with his, already pushing his sweatpants down to line himself up with her heat, pressing the blunt head of his cock against her slit.

She twisted beneath him, bucking her hips desperately, her fingers clawing at him with impatience, “shut up— please, just—”

He laughed, low and rough, enjoying the appearance of her like this, a way he'd never seen her before. The laugh died quickly when she grabbed his cock, hard enough to draw out a low hiss of part pain and pleasure.

“Easy,” he growled as she guided him to where she needed him most, her body feverish with the need to be fucked. Her glassy eyes met his, and without waiting Ettore pushed in with one brutal thrust, grabbing her face and swallowing the broken cry she let out with his lips. She clenched around him instantly, her nails creating welts in his back in a way that made his vision swim.

There was no gentleness. Ettore fucked her into the dirt, hips snapping forward and grinding her into the crushed petals beneath. Each thrust pushed out of her lungs and drove the pollen further into her bloodstream. The madness building without an idea of where it would end.

The dirt that had been on his fingers had smeared on her face as he grabbed her jaw, making her lips part, the moans falling out of them with abandon. Her thighs trembled, and he pulled out just enough to hear her whimper, before slamming back inside, deep, painful, as if he wanted to carve himself into her.

She gasped, weak and overstimulated, so close to that delicious high the pollen craved. And her stomach flipped as Ettore grabbed her thighs and lifted, forcing them up until her knees were nearly to her chest.

“Stay like that,” he ordered, positioning higher over her, “don't move.”

He folded her in half, pushing her body further, pinning her open and helpless. The position let him sink in even deeper, the angle making her cry out as he bottomed out with a brutal snap of his hips.

“Fuck,” he hissed through his teeth, watching her face twist with pleasure she couldn’t fight, “you feel that? You like this, don’t you? Getting ruined in the fucking dirt.”

She could barely speak now, just gasping, nodding, babbling nonsense between moans and whines. Her hands clawed at his arms, but she didn’t try to stop him. She wanted it. Needed it. Her body arched under his, sweat glistening, completely at his mercy. The slick sound of him driving into her echoed in the humid space, mixing with her breathless, broken cries.

He wrapped one hand around her throat, her pulse hammering beneath his fingers, “you gonna cum, just from me fucking you like this?” he muttered, eyes burning into hers, “like a bitch in heat?”

Her answer was a sob, her legs trembling in his grip as her walls spasmed around him, the orgasm ripping through her with force. She clenched so tight he could barely move, but he didn’t stop, he just kept going, chasing his own release with ruthless rhythm.

But just as he felt himself teetering on the edge, he pulled out, slow, deliberate, dragging a long, wet moan from her throat as he slipped free.

“No,” she whimpered, hips bucking up instinctively, trying to follow him, “don’t—please—”

He slapped her thigh, sharp enough to sting, “shut up,” he hissed.

She froze, panting, eyes wide as he knelt over her, fist around his cock, stroking himself hard and fast. She was spread out beneath him, ruined, legs still trembling, her sex soaked and twitching, glistening with slick and dirt and shame.

“Look at you,” Ettore muttered, his voice smug and cruel, “laid out like a fucking cum rag.”

With a final stroke, he came, hot, thick ropes spilling across her inner thighs and glistening slit, painting her skin in filthy, dripping streaks. Some of it landed just above her clit, sticky and warm, sliding down into the mess already coating her folds. She gasped, moaning at the sensation.

He rubbed the head of his cock along her sex, smearing his cum into her swollen lips, not bothering to be gentle. “Look at this pussy,” he sneered.

It was a sight he wanted to look at forever. Something stirred in his body, need. And it was slow at first, like a fever burning up. A wave of warmth that made his skin itch, made his pupils dilate. The scent in the air, the crushed petals, the sweat, the sex, it got thicker. He blinked, licked his lips, and his eyes dropped back to her.

She shifted slightly, letting her legs fall open further, exposing the full, glistening mess between them, like she wanted to show him, like the burning need still thrummed in her own blood. His cum still pooled on her folds, sliding down slowly.

That was it.

A groan tore out of his throat. Like an animal wounded. And he lunged forward.

She gasped when his hands gripped her thighs, rough and unrelenting, forcing them apart again. His mouth descended before she could even speak. No teasing. No warning. Just his tongue, hot and wet and starving, lapping at her like he was trying to devour her whole.

“Oh fuck—Ettore—!” she cried out, body jolting as his mouth sealed over her cunt.

He moaned against her, tongue thrusting between her folds, licking up the mix of cum and slick like it was the only thing that could satisfy this sudden, burning hunger. He licked deeper, rough and messy, tongue dragging through his own spend like it meant nothing, like he liked it. Every groan he let out vibrated through her, sending new shocks of pleasure down her spine.

He pulled her higher, pulling her body up so all her weight was on her shoulders and her legs over his. She was barely coherent now, sobbing and gasping, hips twitching as he tongue-fucked her, nosing up to her clit only to suck it harshly, then retreat to taste her deeper.

He dipped his head again, dragging his tongue back over her pussy, slow and indulgent, savouring the mess he’d made. But then, lower. Past her folds, past the soaked seam of her slit, down to the soft, untouched skin beneath.

Her breath hitched sharply.

Ettore smirked against her, licking a slow circle around her rim, deliberately filthy. Her body jolted, spine arching as she cried out, too far gone to stop him, too lost in the heat to care.

She screamed out as his hands spread her open, greedy and rough, holding her in place as he circled her tight hole, then pushed in, fucking her with his tongue with reckless abandon.

He licked deeper again, faster now, rutting into her with his tongue like he couldn’t stop. Her thighs were trembling violently, her voice reduced to moans that bordered on sobs. And still he held her open, still he feasted on her like it belonged to him.

She felt his cock against her body, had done since he'd abandoned fucking her altogether to fuck her with his tongue instead. Her mind was clouded with sex and lust, and she understood the same claws had sank into him too, when he began to spring to life again, pressed hard against her backside and grinding.

That's when she was unsure if she would leave the greenhouse whole. Whether clarity would come rushing in any moment now. But for now, lost in the yellowy cloud of pleasure and weightlessness, she could not find it in herself to care.