“what’s it called?”

“uh.” you look up, digging through recent receipts and credit card statements. “dragon…”

he draws in another breath of you.

“fire…” you gasp when he nips at your skin with his teeth, unable to hold back any longer. “…kiss?”

he freezes, then chuckles. “ah.”

“ah?” you frown when he lifts his head. his lips land on your hair. “what do you mean, ah?”

“ah, this makes sense.” he grins, planting more possessive pecks onto your forehead. even up here your sweet scent drives him into a frenzy. “how much did you get it for?”

you purse your lips and suddenly you’re bashful. never once in your relationship has he asked you about prices, having said at the very beginning that it would take decades for you to even make a dent into his fortune no matter how much you consume.

it shouldn’t be a point of shame either, because he actively asks you to use his card for anything you might need. yet, confronted with it now… it’s harder to admit that you’d thought a luxurious bottle justified such a price for a few drops of product.

and like he reads each thought you just had, he bends to kiss your lips gently, to coax you out of the spell. “i don’t mean to pry.”

“i think i spent too much.”

“no,” he drawls, utterly entertained by you. “not at all, sweetie.”

you pout. “then, why…?”

“you don’t have to buy this again,” he’s like a bird, pecking at the skin of your blushing face with butterfly kisses.

you open your mouth— to bite, to complain, to express the frustrating confusion he’s wringing you into.

technically, sylus could stay in this position forever. he’s absolutely mesmerized by the sight of himself stretching you out, only penetrating you halfway. your tight walls uncontrollably clench down as they try to adjust to his girth, leaking yourself everywhere with a shiny, sticky mess. fat globs of tears get stuck in your eyelashes while you look at him like he’s the only person in the world. he didn’t think he could be more in love with you.

“you’re beautiful.” he scatters kisses across your face. he presses his lips to your eyelids and wipes away tear streaks from your cheeks, no doubt preemptively apologizing for what he was about to do next.

after all, there’s only so much patience the man can have before he wants more.

he snaps, no longer holding himself back. one sharp thrust is all it takes for his hips to meet yours. “ah, fuck!”

“fuck!” you scream out in unison. you feel sylus in your stomach, in your throat. there’s not a part of your body that doesn’t have him in it.

“oh—good girl. forgive me, you’re so good, sweetie. keep breathing for me.” it takes everything in him not to cum on the spot. all he can do is mumble praises into your hair and keep grinding your pussy flush against his base, waiting for you to stretch to accomodate his massive size.

this time he doesn’t move out of turn. he waits—until finally, you whimper, “sy, need you to move.”