#virgin reader

It was during a rare lull. Since it was also 3AM and you were running on coffee and fumes, you were a little more prone to honesty. Every so often, personal lives came up. It was only natural for the subject of dating to arrive at some point during the shift. 

Ellis eyed you with what felt like genuine pity when you told her you were on three dating apps simultaneously, all yielding pretty unpromising results. 

“Man, you have got to get out more,” she said, sipping her coffee as she shook her head. 

“I figure the options are limited,” you muttered, arms folded. 

You leaned against the nurses station, exchanging a glance with Ellis.

“But please do not set me up.”

“Shit, I don’t need that kind of pressure,” she retorted with a chuckle. “Your standards sound way too high.”

They actually weren’t. You just felt like you attracted men you weren’t interested in. You rolled your eyes.

“Make sure you look outside of the hospital is all I’m saying,” she added, side-eyeing you. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ellis waited as if you needed to spill the beans, but you didn’t. You frowned at one another. Ellis narrowed her eyes for good measure.

“You’re…not hooking up with Abbot?”

Your response was louder than necessary, the words shooting out of you:

“Me and Abbot? Absolutely not.”

It was at that point that you felt the familiar presence of said Dr. Abbot as he moved past you to put an iPad away. You froze, eyes meeting Ellis. 

She sipped her coffee again, looking pleased with herself, before turning to walk away. You closed your eyes, passing a hand over your face. 

-

Jack had heard the whole conversation - not that he intended to. He was keeping an eye on your patients as usual. He had a tendency to, not that he should. 

You were his favorite resident. He tried to not make it seem so obvious, the way he tried not to smile too much around you.

He liked to teach you, watch you grow. He liked making you laugh. Most of all, when you flourished, your natural abilities shined through. You were a brilliant doctor. 

It hurt, to hear you so adamant. 

Absolutely not. As if considering him was absurd. And yeah, he was a lot older than you but he didn’t think it was insane to even entertain the idea, just as a joke. Even if the joke was totally inappropriate in a hospital setting - either way, Jack tried not to visibly react.

You cleared your throat as he glanced over a chart, pretending to be engrossed. If you talked to him about it, he’d say it was nothing, totally frivolous. 

Because it was, clearly, by how sure you were by the sound of it. 

Absolutely not. Like he wasn’t remotely your type. Ouch.

-

The truth was that no men on the apps you rotated lived up to your crush, who happened to be Dr Abbot. 

Ellis asking about Abbot was kind of nuts - he never, ever indicated being interested like that. He only ever seemed vaguely paternal towards you, a teacher to a student. The boundary was there and always had been. 

Not that your mind or your body had been keeping that boundary. You were drawn to him, smiling way too much whenever he joked. The first time he praised you, you flushed and practically ran off after babbling excuses. In the privacy of a bathroom stall, you checked and saw how soaked you were.

He was older, wiser - so strong and smart and capable. Everything about him, you liked, more than what was considered professional by any means.

And you were a virgin wanting nothing to do with the men actually available for you.

It wasn’t that your standards were too high. You didn’t want to sleep with anyone and have it be a terrible, mortifying experience. You hadn’t wanted it to go on for so long, but you had dedicated so much of your life to medicine already. 

In college, you’d been on dates. It’s not that you weren’t trying to some extent, but you weren’t confident in that part of you. 

Your sexuality, though it existed - felt sort of foreign. Unknown and not important enough for so long. Now it was kind of pathetic how old you were, with how little experience you had. 

Dr. Abbot made you so incredibly horny sometimes that you couldn’t be alone with him, which seemed to suit him just fine. If he noticed your discomfort, he didn’t let it get in the way of you being a great team. He called you a ‘nightcrawler’ like the rest and that had to be enough.

-

Until it was nearly a week and he’d barely said a word to you, like something really put him off. You forgot about your conversation with Ellis, thinking nothing had come from that. Dr. Abbot even joked with you later about switching out Shen’s ice coffee for decaf, smiles all around. 

You had a belligerent patient and went to Abbot, wishing instead it was Shen. You gripped your stethoscope, eyes downcast as you approached.

“What’s up?”

“He wants another doctor,” you mumbled. “And I know it’s stupid, but he’s not taking my advice, he’s not answering questions-”

“I’ll talk to him,” Abbot said, voice soft. 

Your eyes widened. “I didn’t mean you take over for me. I don’t want you to solve all my problems.”

“I know,” he said, eyes meeting yours. “You okay?”

You swallowed, distracted. He was staring very intently at you, assessing. 

“No, not really,” you muttered. “I feel like I did something to piss you off the other day, and I’m sorry if that’s what I did…”

His lips parted, momentarily taken aback. 

“Oh. I – lemme deal with this asshole, and then we’ll talk…”

He walked off, leaving you in the hallway he once occupied. 

It wasn’t for another half an hour that you saw him again. He explained in a clear, calm voice that your patient was complying with treatment and would be discharged momentarily. 

“That’s good,” you said, looking up from your computer screen. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he said. 

He leaned over, looking down at you. “You wanna have that chat now?”

You didn’t, honestly. It was the latter part of the shift, when everything dragged on and on, but you didn’t know when you’d next have the courage to be so honest with him. You had considered never bringing anything up, pretending you hadn’t been hurt by his absence of warmth. 

“Okay,” you mumbled, and then rose from your chair. 

You followed him out to the break room, self-conscious. He went to the coffee machine and poured a cup, offering it to you. 

You took it with a nod, a small smile. 

“I feel like I’ll regret this,” he began, and you went still. “But… I heard what you were talking about the other night with Ellis. About dating in the workplace.”

“Oh, God,” you said, feeling the color drain from your face. 

Abbot pressed on. “I’m only mentioning it because it’s not something you should be talking about in the open like that, it’s just…an HR issue, and–”

You shut your eyes, forcing yourself to speak. “I just wanted to shut that down, I didn’t– I’m sorry if I offended you, it’s not that…”

“You don’t have to say that,” he cut in, hand up. “It would be fucked up for me to make you apologize for not being interested in–uh, dating me or–”

Your face was on fire as you tried to look at him properly again. 

“Just don’t talk about it,” he finished. “Try not to, where I can hear it, at least.”

“Totally,” you said. 

You decided to leave immediately, unsure of what else to do. Maybe you should transfer. People had done that for less embarrassing reasons. Or you could switch to the day shift. 

Before you could though, Abbot reached out, hand stopping short of actually touching your arm. Your hands were by your sides, curled into fists.

“I’m sorry,” you said. 

“Just take a minute before you get back out there,” he said. “For the record, I wasn’t avoiding you. Maybe I had a bruised ego from hearing your ‘absolutely not’ at the idea of me sleeping with you.”

Your mouth stalled, and you gaped. “God, I’m– oh, God. Oh, my God…”

“Hey, it’s not fatal,” he added, smirking. 

You wanted to die. He turned to leave you there and you figured it was as good a time as any to be honest.

“Cards on the table,” you blurted. “I said that because I meant it wasn’t happening, present-tense. And it’s not… it’s not ever happened, actually. With anyone.”

He went still. 

“So maybe this part is fatal for me, not you,” you went on. “I can’t live knowing that you know that about me, my inexperience.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he murmured. His soft tone made your stomach flutter. 

When he was kind was when you found him the most attractive. He was so understanding. 

“Why not? Society says it’s embarrassing.”

“Well, then society’s fucking stupid,” he retorted, shrugging. 

You both went quiet, the sound of the ER beyond filling the void. You glanced at one another. 

“When did you lose your virginity? How old were you?”

He frowned as if to recall something, and you watched with a growing amusement. He cleared his throat. 

“Uh, I was thirteen.”

“Thirteen?” you practically squawked. “What the hell?”

“It was the 80s,” he said with another shrug, as if it explained everything. 

-

From then on, you were less worried about Dr. Abbot being a stranger to you. If anything, the whole debacle brought you closer. Another week went by and you were back to joking with one another. 

During a shoulder reset one night, he winked at you. It made you all giggly and you had to quickly tamper it down, sensing Shen and Ellis exchanging a look.

They didn’t need to be up in your shit any more than they already were. Ellis had dropped the whole dating thing, only for Shen to harass you about joining a club.

“What about pickleball?”

“What?” you said, scrunching your nose. You poured over your chart. “Do you like pickleball?”

“No,” he said. 

“Then why did you suggest it?” you asked with a laugh. 

Shen shrugged. 

“What, slow night?” Abbot said, walking up to you two. 

You immediately pretended to be engrossed in your screen, Shen shrugging. Abbot lingered.

“Hey, I wanted to ask you something about your patient in Two.”

You glanced up, realizing Abbot’s question was directed at you. 

“Yeah, what’s up?”

Abbot cocked his head to the side and you got up, following immediately. He walked you past Two and you frowned, confused. 

He stopped with you next to a supply closet. 

“You’re off tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah,” you murmured slowly. 

He smirked, rocking a little from side to side. 

“Is Dr. Robby off, too, or -?”

Abbot shook his head. You felt your face flush for the umpteenth time in his presence. It felt like every second you were with him, all you did was physically react, unable to control yourself.

Whatever he meant to say, to explain the real reason he pulled you aside - it had to wait. 

“Motor vehicle collision. Unrestrained driver, hypotensive, altered, with abdominal tenderness-”

You barely had time to put on your gloves before the gurney slammed into the bay, paramedics rifling off vitals while Abbot assessed with that unnerving calm he always seemed to possess. 

“BP’s dropping,” Mateo called from the monitor. 

“FAST is positive,” you said. the ultrasound probe gliding over the patient's abdomen. Dark fluid pooled on the screen. Blood.

Abbot was already moving.

"We need access now."

The patient's peripheral lines had blown en route. He was circling the drain, skin waxy and pulse thready.

Abbot looked at you.

"You're doing the cordis."

Your stomach dropped.

A large-bore central line. Femoral. On a crashing trauma patient.

You'd assisted before. Never led.

"Dr. Abbot—"

"You're ready."

There was no doubt, which somehow made you believe it too.

The room narrowed around the two of you. Nurses moved in your periphery, hanging blood, preparing rapid infusers, but your world centered on the sterile field and Abbot at your shoulder.

He guided your hands into position.

"Landmarks."

You swallowed.

"Femoral artery here. Vein medial."

"Good. Needle."

Your gloved fingers were steady, though your pulse hammered. You advanced carefully, aspirating as instructed.

Dark venous blood flashed into the syringe.

"There it is," Abbot said, low and approving. "Beautiful."

Heat flared through your chest.

"Guidewire."

You threaded it smoothly.

Abbot leaned closer, one hand braced on the bed beside you, the other hovering near yours but never interfering.

"Perfect. Keep going."

Dilator, then the catheter.

The patient groaned weakly as you advanced the line.

"Flush."

You did. The blood returned immediately.

Abbot secured the line himself while blood products surged through the tubing.

Pressure began climbing.

"BP's up to ninety systolic," Mateo announced.

The entire room seemed to breathe again.

You stared at the line, hardly believing it.

Abbot tugged off one glove with his teeth, then the other, eyes fixed on you.

A grin spread across his face.

"Textbook."

Your heart nearly stopped.

"You got clean access first pass on a hypotensive trauma patient," he continued. "That's not beginner's luck. That's skill."

You ducked your head, trying and failing not to smile.

His gaze remained on you, warm and intent in a way that made your pulse misbehave all over again.

"You've got excellent hands," he said. "Confident. Precise. You trust yourself."

If only he knew. The praise hit like a drug, sinking deep beneath your ribs.

You felt taller somehow, stronger.

He seemed to notice exactly what his words did to you, because one corner of his mouth lifted.

"Remember that feeling."

You nodded.

The patient was whisked upstairs to surgery minutes later, leaving behind the usual chaos of wrappers, discarded packaging, and adrenaline.

As you stripped off your gown, Abbot lingered beside you.

"Seriously," he said, quieter now, meant only for you. "That was impressive."

You met his eyes. Coming from anyone else, it would have been nice. Coming from him, it felt electric.

"Thanks, Dr. Abbot."

-

When morning came, everything had changed, in a way that was nearly undetectable from the outside. 

You found one another by your car, Abbot moving towards you like he always meant to. 

“Hey,” you breathed. 

“Hey.”

“Do you… want to go to my place?” you asked. 

Your heart hammered. You adjusted your backpack on your shoulder, knowing you were mirroring him. He didn’t question you.

“Sure. I’d love to.”

You drove him home. Your apartment wasn’t in the best condition, but it would do. You felt like you’d waited long enough for this. You wanted this, you almost shook with it. 

You were hyper aware of his body in relation to yours at all times, placing your bag on the floor by your discarded shoes. He copied you, that steady gaze meeting yours. 

“I know what this means, that I invited you back here,” you murmured. “I… I don’t know what better words to use…”

You stepped closer, feeling the heat of him that close to you. You looked down at your hands, nearly touching his. He’d stood this close to you many, many times before. Now, it was so charged. So deliberate. 

“You make me so wet,” you whispered. 

“Fuck,” he said, and you took your opportunity, kissing him. 

You hadn’t kissed anyone in a while. You were frightened you were rusty, brushing your lips delicately with his, and then he pulled you into his arms, to properly hold you.

You closed your eyes, his head tilting, mouth moving over yours. His tongue nudged at you and you gasped, letting him in. Your stomach was molten, your hands gripping his arms. 

He was so solid, real. He tasted nice. 

“Shit, is this okay?” you whispered, and he nodded, smiling at you. 

“I promise,” he murmured. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you whispered back. “Kiss me again-”

He cut you off with something rougher, all-consuming. You moaned then, unadulterated. You couldn’t help it, wishing you’d stay dignified. He made you so needy. 

You tussled, and he backed you against the wall. Pressing up against you, you felt it - or thought you did - his erection straining towards you. His eagerness was flattering, still so unexpected.

You grabbed his hair, fingers threading through his greying curls. He moved down, to your cheek, your throat. He grazed your skin and you whimpered.

“Jack…”

It was the first time you’d said his name, ever. He whispered yours back, moving back up to kiss your lips. Slow smacks, tongues tangling.

“Please, I want to touch you, please…”

He nodded, pulling you away from the wall, cuddling you. You wrapped your arms around his middle. 

“Are you sure?” he whispered, and you nodded. 

“I just… don’t want to disappoint you,” you said, words tumbling out awkwardly. 

He shook his head, as if what you were saying was ridiculous. You pulled him by the hand down the hallway, to your room.

Your blackout blinds were still up and you switched on your bedside lamp, sinking onto the mattress. He sat next to you, pulling you into another kiss. 

You felt bold, your hand on his thigh, inching upwards. He smiled against your lips when you shifted closer, pressing your hand against his crotch. 

“I…”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he murmured.

“I haven’t touched one before. Except patients…”

“Do what turns you on,” he said.

“You,” you whispered. “You turn me on…”

Your noses brushed, more kisses. Your lips were going numb. 

“Can you take your clothes off?” you whispered.

He chuckled. He pulled back, taking off his shirt. 

You gulped, watching as he got rid of his pants, too. His underwear, black and tented, had a wet patch in the middle. All that from kissing you.

“Okay?” he asked, and you nodded dumbly.

You knew it was your turn and you hesitated anyway, hands still in your lap. You looked down, at his prosthetic leg, before looking back up at his face.

He was watching you, trying to gauge your reaction. You’d only seen him without his leg once or twice, but never for this long. 

“I really like you,” you said, and his face softened. “And when Ellis asked me about hooking up with you – I wished I could take back what I said, but I didn’t want her to know…”

He kissed you, gentle and lingering. He pulled back, your foreheads together.

“I really like you, too,” he said. 

You decided then to strip, fast enough to just get it over with. He watched, your face burning as you stood there by your bed, only your underwear left. 

You tossed your bra aside, taking a deep breath.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he said, beckoning you. “God, look at you…”

You tried not to think about what you looked like from the outside, what sagged, what was dimpled and not quite right. You tried to be in the moment, but you weren’t until he touched you again, skin to skin.

He pulled you into his arms, so that you sat on his lap, his foot still planted on the floor. You rubbed against his crotch, cotton to soaking cotton, your whimpers undeniable.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, kissing your bare shoulder. 

“Stop,” you whispered.

“Sorry, I like to talk during sex,” he whispered back, hands tracing your sides, your stomach. He slipped down to grip your ass. He nuzzled your cheek. “Can I touch you?”

You nodded. What came next, his hand down the front of your underwear, felt better than anything you dreamt of. Your clit throbbed with need, your folds audibly wet as he stroked and explored you.

“Fuck,” he whispered, and you tried to hide your face, rocking against him. 

You shifted, something coming to life, like when you touched yourself. You chased it, crying out when you found the sweet spot. He wasn’t quite inside you, and it wasn’t enough. 

“Can you… can you get a condom?” you whispered.

Rubbing up against him, you itched for him. He nodded, but didn’t stop grinding his hand against you. 

“You’re close, right?” he whispered, and you nodded.

“I’m… I think so…”

He nodded, encouraging you. “C’mon… I’ve got you. I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

It went on for a while, building up and up. You started to pant, riding his hand. He watched you, and you couldn’t bear it, burying your face in his neck as you rode. 

“That’s it,” he whispered, and you came undone, crying out.

You lost vision, shuddering over the edge. He held you against him, as the world spun around you. You felt sweat on your hairline, blinking back reality.

“And there she is,” he whispered, and you gave a shy laugh. “You okay?”

You moved away, flopping down on the bed. He looked back at you, moving over to your side. He fished out a condom from his pants. 

“Haven’t worn one of these in a while, but I’m sure it’s like riding a bike,” he said, and you laughed, passing a hand over your face.

He shoved his underwear down and off, his back to you. You stared down at what you could see of the top of his ass as he put it on, then he crawled over to you, between your thighs.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “You?”

He nodded. He caged you in, and you kissed his bicep, then his lips again. He hovered.

“Is it gonna hurt?” you whispered.

“It might, it might not,” he said. “It might just feel uncomfortable. Pressure.”

You swallowed. “Okay, yeah. Do it. I’m ready.”

The silence that followed, you held your breath. You waited, glancing down between you as he shifted, aimed, then started to push in. 

“Oh-”

He stretched you beyond what you expected initially. You gasped, and it burned. He stilled, and you let yourself relax. He kissed you again, slow and gentle.

“You are squeezing the hell out of me,” he whispered, and you realized you were.

It was automatic, like your cunt was trying to pull him further in, so eager. 

“Shit,” he whispered, and you fluttered around him.

It wasn’t like you were coming, but it was like you could if you waited. His cock just felt- 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you babbled. 

He began to rock and you couldn’t keep quiet, giving little moans with each stroke. He kept going, becoming lost in you, moving faster.

His rhythm was so precise, so measured, just like when he focused on a patient. He watched your face, eyes blown with lust, and something else…

“Jack,” you mumbled, and caught him in a sloppier kiss.

He let go, and you did, too. It was a sweaty, eager mess. Two bodies together as he raced toward the finish line. 

“I’m gonna…”

He let out a groan, gripping you harder. You knew you wouldn’t come like this, not this time. You watched, wanting to see his face, needing to know what he looked like when he came.

He did not disappoint, mouth falling open as he climaxed, his shoulders rolling. You both went still, your thighs spread wide open, your hips still cradling his, one heel on his ass.

“You okay?” you whispered.

You stroked his back, his hair. He pulled away, looking down at you.

“Oh my God, I had no idea you were prom king!” you exclaim with a wide grin, eyeing the framed photo hanging on the beige wallpapered wall. 

A hand suddenly sneaks around your head to cover your vision, closing your eyes shut and pulling you back against a hard chest.

“We don't talk about that,” Leon, your college boyfriend, grumbles in your ear.

You giggle, reaching for his wrist to pull away the manmade blindfold that is his palm. 

“Hey, let me see! You look cute!”

“I look stupid,” he huffs, finally dropping his hand when you grab it with yours. “I don't even know why I was picked…”

Keeping his palm in yours, you lean closer to inspect the picture where he’s standing awkwardly with his prom date, both adorning a sash and crown that indicate their awarded titles. It makes your heart warm knowing it was probably his mom who insisted on hanging the image in the family home. You can imagine him protesting while she puts it in place and the thought makes you snicker.

Turning to him with narrowed eyes and a sly grin, you squeeze his hand. “Really? You don't know why?”

He frowns, pouty lips growing poutier at your teasing expression and he shakes his head. 

“No, I don't know why, and don't give me that look that says you're about to say something ridiculous.”

Your smile widens and you turn to face him fully, taking a step closer so your chest is nearly pressed to his.

“It’s because you're hot, Einstein.”

Leon huffs out a laugh, turning his face away, though you catch the blush creeping up his neck as he does so.

You want to tease him further, but a yank to your intertwined hands pulls you along as he walks ahead towards the stairs.

“Come on, smartass, let me show you my room.”

Following in his steps, you can't help sneaking glances around his childhood home, taking in every detail of the place he was raised in. 

You and Leon grew up in the same city, but having never gone to the same schools, you never met until you shared a college class a few months ago, miles away from your hometown. Fate works in mysterious ways like that.

You remember he had sat next to you and asked for a pen, which you gave with a kind smile. It was only later he admitted to you he never needed a pen, but just wanted an excuse to talk to ‘the pretty girl who made it hard to focus in class.’ His words, not yours.

He has always been so sweet. Thoughtful too. From buying you your favorite treats to sending you good luck voice memos for your exams where he gets all sappy and cute, even if it's embarrassing. You still wonder how you got so lucky that your first real boyfriend is such a sweetheart.

After strenuous finals and a hectic schedule, you're both back home for the summer, and you couldn't be happier about sharing the same hometown—it really feels meant to be.

Entering Leon’s room, your eyes twinkle with excitement as you take in every detail of the place where he undoubtedly spent most of his time growing up. The soft glow of his bedside lamp makes everything warmer, giving the atmosphere an added hue of nostalgia.

You comment and ask questions about every intriguing feature. His Star Wars themed comforter, the medals from his track running days, the posters of his favorite bands lining the walls… Everything holds a memory you eagerly want to learn about.

Picking up a small figurine of Tony Tony Chopper to examine it closely, you don't see the way Leon watches you fondly from his spot on the bed, taking in the sight of you in his space.

“You know I’ve never really had a girl over in my room…” he smiles shyly, scratching the back of his neck.

Your heart flutters knowing you’ve never really been in a boy’s room either. Although you've been in Leon’s at campus, it wasn't the same with his roommate constantly around. 

With the both of you living in dorms, it's difficult to find a time and place to hang out where it's just the two of you. So this moment feels extra special, and you're excited to have many more like this the whole summer.

Especially if it means you and Leon will finally have your long anticipated first time together.

“Am I the chosen one, then?” you grin, feeling butterflies in your stomach when he stands and walks closer.

“I guess you are.”

Leon stops right before you, taking the old figurine from your fingers to look down at it with a chuckle.

“I think I was a bit too much of a nerd for any serious enough girlfriends to bring home.”

“I disagree. Nerds make great boyfriends,” you argue, tugging at the drawstrings of his hoodie.

He smiles down at you softly, reaching to hold your waist with both hands to pull you even closer.

“Did I tell you my parents aren't home tonight?” 

Your eyes flicker from your toying fingers to his handsome face, narrowing your eyes in mock contemplation.

“I think you may have mentioned that five or six times already, but I’m not quite sure.”

He laughs in response, squeezing your sides playfully, “did I now?”

“Mhm,” you hum, pulling the strings tighter to make him bend down enough for you to kiss his cheek.

The feel of your lips against his skin makes his heart flutter, and soon he’s pulling you flush against him to leave a tender kiss on your neck.

Leon hears your breath catch, and he leans back just enough to meet your eyes.

“But just so we’re clear… It doesn't mean anything has to happen, okay? I don't want you to feel pressured.”

“Trust me, Leon, if I didn't want to do this, I wouldn't be here… How else do you think I stayed a virgin until now?” you huff out a chuckle.

“Same way I stayed one too apparently.”

The both of you giggle, appreciating the fact you get to be in the same 'predicament’—something rare among your peers.

You feel another kiss on your jaw, then your cheek, before he lands one on the corner of your mouth with a smile.

“You want a tour of my bed next, baby?”

That makes you chuckle, swatting his shoulder sheepishly.

“You’re such a dork... But yeah, I would, actually.”

In response to your agreement, the arms wrapped around you shift lower to hold right under your butt and hoist you up in the air, making you squeal.

Leon is beaming from ear to ear as he crosses the short distance from his spot to his old twin bed, only to set you the mattress with a thud, your body bouncing on the sheets from the movement.

“Give me a minute, yeah?” 

He pecks your nose, making you scrunch your face in amusement, then stands up, leaving you momentarily alone in his bedroom.

You lay your head next to the printed Darth Vader on a pillow as you look up at the ceiling littered with pale green glow-in-the-dark stars—the room not dark enough for them to shine. You always wanted to have these growing up, and the thought of little Leon sleeping under them every night makes your chest warm.

The wholesome image isn't enough to keep your nerves at bay, though, when you realize this is the moment you’ve been waiting for for a long time. Or at least, that's how it has felt.

Ever since you both started dating, with him officially asking you to be his girlfriend on the third date, all you’ve been able to have were some heated makeout sessions and the occasional dry humping. Oh, and you let him feel you up under your shirt a couple of times—that was nice. Very nice, actually.

Your thoughts are interrupted by him coming back into the room with a set of bath towels and a large bottle of water. He awkwardly bunches the fabric in his arms to place on the nightstand along the water, and you can tell he’s more nervous than he’s letting on.

He sits beside you, a bit stiff, and you're hit with the smell of his cologne that he undoubtedly reapplied just now. The act is endearing, but you start to wonder if you should ask for a minute to do some extra pampering yourself too. Not that you would need it considering you had an everything-shower right before you left home to meet him. 

You’ve both anticipated this, even if it wasn't explicitly planned.

The scraping sound of his bedside drawer opening captures your attention, and you see him pull out a tiny remote with multicolored buttons. Although he doesn't take the rest out, your eyes catch the brand new, unopened box of condoms and a bottle of lube.

Goodness, it’s really happening.

“Just to, um, set the mood, I guess…” he mumbles and presses the red circle on the remote as he turns off the bedside lamp.

You’re suddenly plunged in a crimson hue shining from the LED strips lining the junction between the ceiling and walls.

“Too much?” he asks nervously when he takes in your surprised expression.

You chuckle, watching his now scarlet lit features. “Maybe try something cooler… Perhaps purple?”

He nods, pressing the indicated color with a click, and watches as the light turns into a violet glow. 

When he sees your smile soften, your eyes looking up to take in the change, he can't help but scoot closer until your thigh is pressed to his.

“You’re so pretty.”

His whispered compliment catches you off guard—not that you're not used to his usual sweet words that boost your confidence like nothing else.

“You're gonna make me blush…” you murmur with a flustered smile.

Leon, cups your cheek tenderly, then leans in to whisper against your mouth, “welcome to the club.”

The press of his lips to yours makes your heart skip a beat, and you return the kiss with fervor, reaching to place a hand on his thigh.

What starts as sweet slowly becomes passionate, and he nips at your bottom lip eagerly just to hear you whine like you do every time. You then feel the swipe of his tongue against the seam of your mouth, and you open up to meet it with yours. Both slick muscles brush against each other in a feverish dance once you establish a familiar rhythm.

His hand moves from your face to your waist, and he moans when you thread your fingers into his dirty blonde locks.

“Come here,” he mutters, shifting you so you’re straddling his lap.

The moment you do, you feel his erection press against your jeans, your own heat increasing as you grind down on him subconsciously.

“Fuck, baby…” his grip on your waist tightens, moving you in tandem with his own hip movements.

Between sloppy kisses, you find yourself bold enough to ask in a murmur, “can I take off your hoodie?”

Leon pauses, then leans back in just to gently bite your lip before answering, “you don't even have to ask.”

With his eager approval, you reach for the hem of his top and pull up both the hoodie and the tanktop he had underneath, too impatient to wait. Your breath hitches when your eyes roam his shirtless form, his fit torso making your mouth water.

He feels his whole body grow hotter under your gaze, and takes your hand to place it on his abs, keen for your touch.

“It’s summer, so you know what that means.” He bites his lip with a smile, his confidence soaring from the way you touch him hungrily.

“What?” you ask half focused, your attention still locked on his body.

“Pool dates,” he chuckles, giving your ass a light tap and grabbing the fat in each palm to grind you down on him again. 

You whimper, enjoying the heat of his bold touch. “Are you saying I’ll be seeing a lot more of you shirtless?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

You giggle, bringing both hands to run up and down his sides. “But that also means everyone else at the pool will see you too.”

Raising an eyebrow at your teasing tone, he responds by sliding his own hands under your shirt.

“Don't tell me you’re jealous?”

“Maybe a little bit,” you smirk.

Leon laughs at your playfulness, shaking his head in fondness. 

“How about this, I’ll keep an arm around you the whole time so everyone knows I’m taken… Plus, I need to make sure no one is ogling you for too long either.”

You grin as you picture the image of you both by the poolside, lounging in each other’s arms and enjoying the warm weather. The thought of showing off your hot boyfriend makes you tingle.

Feeling more and more worked up, you let a hand skim further down until it’s toying with the elastic band of his briefs peaking past his jeans. 

“Mhm, but they don't get to touch… Especially not here,” you whisper, letting your index slip under the underwear hem.

He sucks in a sharp breath in response, and you see the look on his face turn from playful to hungry again in an instant.

“That's right. They don’t.”

Leon crashes his lips on yours, kissing you messier than before with his hands moving to push your shirt up, pacing himself just enough to give you the chance to refuse if you didn't want him to.

When you don't say anything, and instead moan into his mouth, he groans, leaning back just to pull your top over your head and discard it to the side.

At the sight of you topless, he can't resist immediately peppering kisses on your sternum, mouthing hungrily at the valley between your breasts.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he grunts, sliding a hand to grab your left tit through your bra.

You’re trembling in need on top of him, feeling every cell of your body on fire. Every compliment, every kiss, every touch—only seem to serve to grow your confidence and want for him. So, you don't hesitate long before reaching behind your back to unclasp your bra.

The moment you slide it down and expose your tits to Leon’s ravenous eyes, you see his brain short circuit in real time at the sight.

“Baby… You’re gonna kill me,” he whispers, voice strained, then slides a palm to massage your breast with a moan.

“Leon…” you whimper, arching into his touch, and he decides to do the one thing he’s always dreamt of doing.

He latches his lips to your nipple.

The sound that comes out of you is pure sin, and he takes that as approval to keep going, suckling the soft peak in his mouth greedily. 

With his left hand, he fondles your other breast, then wraps his arm tightly around your waist to keep you in place as you continue to move your hips against his.

He keeps showering your nipples in attention, licking and sucking while you whine on top of him, feeling your cunt grow wetter and wetter while you clench around nothing.

With wet lips and a mind hazy with want, he lowers a hand to the button of your jeans, meeting your eyes with wide blown pupils.

“I wanna see all of you… please?” 

Biting your lip, you nod, “you don't even have to ask,” you parrot his words from earlier.

Grinning at your answer, he unzips your jeans and you shift off his lap to let him slide them off you, leaving you in your white, thin panties.

The fabric is so soaked it's become transparent, and Leon can't peel his eyes away from the outline of your dripping nether lips.

“Baby, I’ve wanted you like this for so long, I can barely think.”

“Maybe, take off your pants too?” you answer with a sheepish smile.

He chuckles and complies, kneeling between your legs on the mattress to unbuckle his belt. The sight of him looking down at you as he does so has you gripping the sheets.

Once his fly undone and his jeans lowered and off, you're awarded the view of his straining briefs as they struggle to contain his hardened cock. But what gets you even more turned on, is the wet patch of precum indicating just how desperate he is already.

Leon feels the searing heat of your gaze on him, and though he feels nervous, he doesn't let that stop him from hooking his fingers on your panties’ waistband.

“May I, my love?” he asks in an overly formal tone that makes you giggle despite your own nerves.

“Yes you may, my good sir.”

That's all he needs to pull the fabric down as you lift your hips, biting his plump bottom lip when it catches on your wet cunt from the stickiness. A final tug lets him lower them completely to reveal your glistening folds.

“Fuck.”

If his pupils were dilated before, they might as well be fully black now. He’s never been face to face with a pussy before, let alone yours, and he feels like he might drown from how much his mouth is watering to have a taste.

You reach to place a hand on the one he has on your thigh, seeking comfort from the vulnerability of being completely exposed to him for the first time. Only then does he take in a shaky breath to reassure you.

“Baby, I don't even know what to do with myself. You’re so fucking beautiful and sexy… I mean, fuck, look at you.”

He brings a tentative thumb to brush over your puffy lips and watches you shiver at the contact.

“Listen, I don't really know what I’m doing, so, uh, please tell me if I do something wrong,” he murmurs nervously, his hands trembling slightly against your skin.

“Actually, I have an idea…”

You adjust the pillows behind you until you're propped up in a half seated position, your legs bent at the knees. He lays between them, on his stomach, staring at you mesmerized.

“I’ll show you how I do it.”

You reach down and take his hand in yours, just to place his digits on your needy clit, barely breathing as you guide him. Your face is so hot you can feel your temples throbbing, your heart beating so fast it might stop. It’s that mix of excitement and nerves that makes you lightheaded.

With your guidance, Leon is able to circle your sensitive bud with the pad of his thumb, watching you intently for every reaction. When he hits a particularly nice spot and you moan, he feels his hips buck against the mattress under him before he can even stop them.

“Shit… Is this what you do when I call you at night? Tell me, baby, please.”

“Yeah, Leon… This is what I do when you get me worked up.”

He makes a sinful sound at your admission, the thought of you looking like this when he’s whispering in your ear about all the things he wishes he could do to you, making him twitch.

“Can I taste you?” he asks suddenly, unable to pace himself anymore.

When he sees your wide eyed, shy expression, he quickly starts blabbering nervously.

“I-I mean only if you want me to! I just— I’ve wanted to taste you for so long, and I know I’ll probably suck b-but I watched a lot of videos to learn, and, um, I can maybe try, unless that's not—”

“Yes,” you cut off his rambling with a shy voice, “you can do it… I-I want you to.”

Leon’s breathing stutters, grateful that the purple lighting is hiding his intensely blushing face.

“Okay. Just tell me what feels good.”

With that, he leans his face closer, his breath hot against your quivering cunt. Then, he sticks out his tongue and licks a broad stripe along your slit that makes you jerk with a whimper.

Looking up to meet your eyes, he does it again, tongue deliberately slow as he groans, taking in every twitch and tremor while savoring your taste.

Your breath hitches, your fingers digging into the fat of your thighs. “Fuck, Leon—” 

He gets greedier with every sound you make, lapping at your juices like they're the sweetest thing he’s tried.

“R-right there!” you whine when he licks over the hood of your sensitive clit.

“Yeah? Like this?” he mutters against your folds, giving another eager lick.

When he sees the way you react he tries something he’s seen many times in porn in hopes you like it. Gently, he holds your lips apart with his thumbs, then seals his mouth over your bundle of nerves. 

He begins to suckle the delicate flesh experimentally, keeping his eyes locked on your face for any hints of discomfort. The moment you mewl in approval, though—bucking your hips into his touch—he tightens his hold on you to steady you, and starts sucking and licking more confidently.

The new sensations make you dizzy, the pleasure unlike anything you’ve felt before. You’re not experienced enough to know if he’s doing it correctly, you just know it feels good and that’s enough of an indicator he’s doing something right.

Any lack of skill is made up for by his intense enthusiasm, and soon enough, you’re getting closer and closer to orgasming with every swipe of his tongue, the very image of him between your legs already bringing you close.

“Stay right there, fuck, d-don’t change anything,” you whimper when you feel yourself about to tip over the edge.

Leon keeps the fast strokes of his slick muscle that appear to be pushing you to climax, not stopping to rest despite his jaw starting to ache. He does not care, because seeing your undoing under him is everything to him at the moment.

A few seconds later, and he’s making you cum for the first time, your hand flying to your mouth to try and muffle the loud noises leaving you uncontrollably as you writhe under his greedy mouth.

“Leon…” you pant once the high passes, looking down at him to find him smiling up at you softly between your trembling legs. “That was… Holy shit.”

He chuckles and kisses your mound, sliding his palms under you to give your ass a squeeze.

“You taste so good. I could keep going if you want.”

The proposition makes you whine, though as tempting as it is, you can't wait to feel him inside you.

“Come here, please.”

You open your arms, beckoning him closer, and he doesn't hesitate to crawl up your body to kiss you feverishly as he settles on top of you. The taste of yourself on his lips is sinfully addicting, and you don't hesitate to sloppily collect every trace of it off him.

Grinding his hard cock against your heat, you feel gentle hands roam your body, touching everywhere like he can't get enough. You do the same with your own fingers grazing up and down his broad back, tracing every muscle, mole, and freckle on his warm skin.

“I almost came just from watching you fall apart… You looked so sexy, I was humping the mattress like a dog,” he whispers with a small laugh.

You bite your lip with a smile, tightening your hold on him. “That would’ve been really hot.”

“More like really embarrassing,” he huffs sheepishly, then lets his fingers trail down until they reach your sopping cunt again. “I wanna feel you first.”

Breathless, you open your legs some more to grant him easier access, the movement making an obscene, slick noise.

“Y-yeah, me too… Do you wanna try fingering me?”

Leon groans in pleasure at the sound of that and nods eagerly. He readjusts to lay next to you on his side, one hand brushing your hair while the other stays on your waiting pussy.

You reach down to guide his middle finger into your entrance slowly, your shaky breaths making your chest move in tandem with your breathing.

Once his digit is inside up to the first knuckle, you let go of his hand and watch him bite his lip as he slowly pushes inside, pausing every other second to check your reaction.

“Shit, babe— you’re so fucking warm,” he can't help but moan, mirroring your own whimpers at the feel of a part of him inside you.

“Keep going… It feels nice,” you whine.

When his finger is fully nestled inside your slippery hole, he leans his head down to latch his mouth onto one of your nipples again, and begins to gently move in and out of your cunt. The moans you make only spur him to continue, slowly picking up speed the more your walls relax.

Leon can't believe your pussy feels this soft, wet, and tight on his finger alone, and he’s already losing it imagine that feeling around his neglected cock. But he knows he needs to prep you first. He’s learned as much as he could about first times from the internet, and even posted on r/AskReddit to seek every bit of advice he can get. He wants to make this good for you more than anything else.

When the slide of his lone finger is easy enough, you stroke his hair and murmur, “I think you can put in a second one.”

He nods, still mouthing at your breasts, before slipping a second digit inside you just like you asked. When you moan at the feeling, your tight walls hugging him, he can't stop himself from pressing his lips to yours again just to swallow every sound.

“You feel so good, baby. You’re so soft and so fucking wet.”

Every whispered word makes you whinier, your pussy greedier, until he’s steadily finger fucking your slick heat without hindrance. He even tries a slight parting motion inside you to stretch you a bit more, and his hips buck instinctively against your thigh when you moan louder at that.

After several minutes of prepping your hole, sucking your nipples, and making out with your whiny mouth, you feel that Leon has done enough to prepare you for his patiently waiting dick.

“Okay, babe… Let’s try. I think I’m ready.”

He releases one of your peaks he was suckling with a wet pop, meeting your eyes with hungry ones. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Your assured tone has him suppress a moan as he nods in return. He slowly slides his fingers out, making you whimper, and he doesn't hesitate to bring them up to his mouth for another taste of your cunt he’s already become a fan of.

Reaching for the waistband of his now ruined briefs from the precum wet patches, you watch him lick every drop of your slick as you lower his underwear slowly. 

He groans, immensely turned on by your initiative, and he watches you peel off the last layer separating your naked bodies. He kicks off the garment once it reaches his ankles, and holds his breath when your gaze drops down to his now sprung free, hard, leaking cock.

“It’s, um… big.”

Your nervous, candid comment makes him choke on his own saliva. He hides his face in the crook of your neck to let out a shy laugh that slowly has you relaxing to join him with a chuckle.

“Sorry, I sounded like a bad porn actress.”

Lifting his head to look down at you, he smiles sheepishly, squeezing your waist. 

“You kinda did. But hey, I’ll take the compliment…” he grins, voice trailing off before his expression morphs into something more serious. “Unless you’re worried or something, which I understand… I mean I can just use my fingers again, we don't really have to do the full—”

His words are cut off when you wrap your fingers around his throbbing length, making him hiss out a low ‘fuck’ as he looks down at where you're touching him.

“It's softer than I thought,” you comment with a small, reassuring smile.

“Y-yeah?”

“It's soft, and warm…” you whisper, using your second hand to stroke the back of his thick head of blonde hair. “Feels nice… Maybe I can taste you too?”

His eyes snap up to yours, lips parted in surprise. 

“That would be—fuck—that would be so hot… But I’d definitely cum too fast, babe. I’m already feeling a lot with just your hand. Shit.”

You can't help but feel a bit disappointed you won't get to have him in your mouth, but you understand why he would be reluctant to let you do it.

“Okay. Next time, then?”

Leon shakes his head out of pure disbelief at how perfect you are. He’s never felt better about waiting for the right girl, despite always feeling like an outcast amongst his peers who constantly bragged about all the dirty sex they're having. Though, he doubts most of it is true knowing how locker room talk tends to be a pissing contest half the time.

“Yes, baby. Definitely next time.”

With one more peck to your lips, he reaches for the condoms and lube in his left-open nightstand drawer. He then quickly tears open the box and takes out one of the foil packets, and prepares to tear it open.

You stop him mid movement with a playful grin, taking the blue square away from him. 

“I’ve always wanted to do this.”

He raises an eyebrow, then laughs when you rip it open with your teeth, putting in more effort than necessary. You then pull out the rolled up latex circle and look at it curiously, before you look at your waiting boyfriend again.

“I wanna put it on you.”

“Please.”

Leon has to stop himself from humping the air like an animal in heat when you sit up to grab his veiny cock again. 

You begin to fiddle with the condom, only to realize you’re attempting to unroll it around him in the wrong direction, and the both of you giggle as you fix it for a proper fit.

Once the protective barrier is on, he kisses your cheek as a ‘thanks,’ then grabs the bottle of lube that he flicks open with his thumb.

“Maybe now’s a good time for the towels,” you mutter and reach for the fluffy fabric that you place under you before repositioning yourself on your back.

Leon then squeezes the lubricant with a loud squelch like ketchup, directly onto his bobbing dick, that he then lathers with his free hand. 

That makes you snicker, finding the sight amusing, and he huffs out a laugh in return before squirting some more directly onto your waiting hole, the cold sensation making you gasp.

“That's what you get for laughing,” he teases, then kisses you again just because he can.

Finally, he positions himself between your legs once again, bracing himself on his elbows and shuddering when his sensitive tip brushes your inner thigh.

“I’ll go slow, I promise,” he whispers with a hand moving to hold his erection, the other stroking your hair.

“I know.”

With your sweet smile, you help guide him towards your entrance until his tip is aimed correctly at it, before moving your palms to rest on his waist.

“Tell me if it hurts,” he mutters.

Then, slowly, he presses in just enough for his cockhead to notch into your opening.

You both let out needy noises at the pleasurable feeling, but it's only when you nod that he pushes in a bit more, his fingers twitching in your locks.

“Still okay?”

“Y-yeah, don't stop.”

You take slow, deep, breaths with every inch that he slides in deliberately unhurried, your virgin cunt hugging his own virgin cock so warm and tight he feels like he’s dreaming.

“Holy fuck— y-you feel so good.”

Pressing his forehead to yours, every ragged breath of his fans on your lips as he continues to steadily breach open your untouched pussy. It's overwhelming how full you feel but the pleasure overshadows any discomfort, and you know the reason you’re not experiencing pain like so many of your girlfriends warned you about, is thanks to his loving and caring approach he’s shown from the start.

“Leon… I love you,” you whimper, suddenly feeling overtaken by emotion when he manages to fully settle inside your clenching heat.

“Oh, baby…” he whispers, a hand moving to cradle your face. “I love you so much… You have no idea.”

Intertwining your fingers with his, you give him the okay to slowly start moving after a moment. Just enough to get you adjusted to the new feeling of having your walls penetrated.

You tilt your chin up to indicate you want a kiss, and he complies with no hesitation, the both of you moaning into each other’s mouths.

“Fuck, I’m not gonna last that long, babe.”

Leon knows the fact he’s managed to not burst after who knows how long spent in the sheer presence of your naked body, let alone touching it, is already a lifetime achievement for a first timer like him.

“Do it. Wanna see you cum, wanna feel it,” you whine under him, moving your hips the slightest bit to meet his shallow thrusts.

“Fucking hell—”

Your words and movements break him, and he can't hold on anymore. 

On more thrust, two, three, and then his cumming with a drawn out moan, his fingers tightening against your skin as he loses himself. Spurt after spurt of creamy spend shoot into the latex barrier of the condom while you shake under him. You only wish you could preserve this moment forever, just to rewatch how beautiful he looks on top of you.

He finally stills, panting, and doing his best not to let himself crush you with his weight, then gives you one more peck on the lips before slowly starting to pull out.

You make a small noise at the feeling of being emptied, and you watch him carefully remove the filled condom, just to tie it up and let it drop in the small trashcan under his desk to deal with later.

“Pro move,” you grin sleepily, feeling exhaustion catch up to you.

“You know me, the expert condom handler,” he laughs.

Leon uses the second towel to clean your inner thighs then himself from any mess as much as he can, while you lay there feeling like a drowsy princess.

But before you can get too sleepy, his hands find your thighs again, and he smiles down at you.

“Do you think I could give you one more? I can use my fingers.”

You bite your lip and nod, feeling giddy at the idea of getting to cum by him again, especially after already getting so worked up from him inside you.

He lays next to you like before, but instead of letting his fingers in, this time he focuses on your clit, watching your breathing slowly get more labored again.

You give him a few adjustments, until he figures out where to press to elicit the loudest moans out of you, and he keeps going with no intention to stop until you climax.

In addition to the steady strokes, a few tweaks to your nipple with his free hand and a wet suck of his mouth to your neck, and you’re cumming again. This time, you don't cover your mouth, letting him hear exactly what he’s doing to you.

When you’re finished, body trembling and exhausted, he immediately moves to cuddle you, peppering kisses on your forehead and temple.

“You're so perfect, I can't believe I got this lucky to be your first…” He pauses in his words to hold you tighter, suddenly feeling a surge of protectiveness. “I hope it went well for you like it did for me… I didn't hurt you or anything, right?”

“No, Leon. Trust me, I would've told you if you did,” you caress his cheek reassuringly before leaning in to kiss him again. “It was perfect. You are perfect.”

He smiles softly at that, feeling himself relax at your gentle assurance.

“I love you, baby. More than anything.”

“I love you too, Leon.”

Reaching a finger to boop his nose playfully, you can't help but tease in a playful tone.

“Can't wait to spend all summer learning how to be freaky together.”

He laughs sliding a palm down to your ass to give it a gentle squeeze.

“Hell yeah.”

Nobody likes a Monday. At 7 AM, you clock in for your shift in the ER, and Robby is already on your ass for different things. There are rounds, night shift hands over patients, all of it. It's around noon when things have slowed down a little for you, and you find yourself catching up on some charting at a desk near the nurses' station. While you don't understand Tagalog, you do understand the name "Brendon Park" and "Park the shark" coming from Princess and Perlah's animated conversation across your monitor. Luckily, Ogilvie seems to join the conversation, and they switch to whispered English for his sake. You keep your eyes on the chart, pretending not to listen.

"—I'm telling you, he had three last month alone." Perlah snorts. "Three? That's a slow month for Brendon Park." A pause. Papers shuffle. Someone laughs under their breath. "He doesn't date," Princess adds, dropping her voice like it's a secret that isn't a secret at all. "He cycles." "Roster," Ogilvie corrects, amused. "Full roster. Like a starting lineup." "Mhm. And he's picky too," Princess says. "Not just anyone makes the cut."

You try to focus on your screen. The cursor simply blinks back at you.

"He's intense," Perlah goes on. "Like... not the sweet, take-you-out-to-brunch type." "No, he'll take you out," Princess laughs, "just don't expect breakfast after." "Or sleep," Ogilvie mutters.

They chuckle a little at that.

"You ever seen him in the gym?" Ogilvie adds. "Man treats everything like a competition." "That doesn't turn off," Princess says. "Not for him." There's a beat. "Why, you interested?" Perlah teases. "Please," Princess scoffs. "I like my life peaceful." Another pause, and you can barely hear Princess over the noise of the ER anymore— "He doesn't repeat, either. Not unless it's convenient."

Those words land like an anvil, down your throat and into your stomach. You don't realize you've stopped typing until your screen goes idle, and the pixels have become "Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center."

That conversation weighs on your mind for the next two days, until Wednesday, at 3:14 PM, when Brendon texts you—

Brendon: You working late tonight?

You: Why?

Brendon Wanted to see you again. Properly this time.

Well, fuck. You're not even supposed to be here—sitting on a toilet seat lid in the women's bathroom of the ER, sneaking away like a teenager taking nudes or something. But you type. Delete. Type again.

You: I don't think that's a good idea

Brendon: Because?

You:I just don't think we're a good match

The anvil in your stomach feels like it's doubled in size.

Brendon: You're gonna have to give me more than that.

You: I'm not experienced With sex, I mean I'm a virgin.

I think you want someone who knows what they're doing, Brendon.

Brendon: And you got that from one night?

You: I got that from you

You debate telling him the next part, but your thumbs are faster.

You: And from everyone else, apparently

Brendon: You’ve been talking about me at work?

You: I’ve been hearing about you

Brendon: And that’s enough for you to decide?

You: Isn’t it enough?

Brendon: No You don’t know me like that If I wanted something easy, I wouldn't be texting you again

Its been seven minutes in the bathroom, you've certainly got Robby looking for you right now. But Brendon keeps typing.

Brendon: You think I didn't notice that you were nervous last week?

You: I don’t think I can be what you want Really, Brendon

It takes a while for you to see his last message, because you've turned on the do-not-disturb mode on your phone. You don't see him after your shift ends because you took another exit out of the hospital.

Brendon: You're wrong.

It all stings. You don't want to be his second choice. Or his third, fourth, fifth, or however many women have come before you by now. Brendon Park cannot be sweet. He cannot be the sweet man who takes your virginity, because apparently, he fucks anyone he wants, and he isn't capable of slowing down to love you.

You'll mourn this man until the early hours of the morning. Thankfully, you have today off, so nobody has to see you in this state—puffy eyes from sobbing your way through the night and spiraling, in your ratty pajama pants, a The Beatles T-shirt, and no bra, and—

Brendon Park is standing outside your apartment door with a bouquet of lilacs.

Your doom is inevitable, so you open the door almost as soon as he rings the doorbell.

Brendon exhales, like he's been holding it in the entire drive over. His eyes sweep over your features, and you know he's analyzing you. He's seeing the most raw, bare version of you. Drinking it in, almost. But his eyes don't look at you like you're another flower he wants to pluck on his roster, fuck, why is he looking at you like—

"I need you to hear me out." Too fast. Too direct. Very him—but there's something off about it. Less polished, maybe. You shake your head immediately. "Brendon—" "Five minutes." His voice drops. Not commanding, not like before. It's controlled, careful. "That's it. If you still want me gone after that, I'll leave."

You hesitate. He holds the flowers out, awkward now. Like he doesn't really know what to do with his hands. "I don't—" he huffs out a breath. "I don't do this. You know that, apparently." That almost makes you laugh.. almost. "You showed up at seven in the morning," you say, and you take the lilacs. "I think I gathered that." "Please," he says, quieter this time. That's what gets you. You step back, opening the door wider for him. "Five minutes."

He steps in, glancing around. He's curious. Intrigued. By you.

You don't invite him to sit. He doesn't sit anyway. You stay standing across from him with your arms crossed as he awkwardly shuffles his shoes off in the entryway. "Okay," you say. "Go." He nods once, and the man looks nervous. "I know what people say about me." No denial. No deflection. You don't respond. "I know how it looks," he continues. "And I'm not gonna stand here and tell you it's all bullshit, because it's not." That surprises you. "I don't do relationships," He says. "Or—I didn't. It was easier. No expectations, no... anything complicated." You swallow, gaze dropping to the lilac bouquet in your hand. They smell good. "Yeah," you murmur between sniffs. " I figured." He steps a little closer. Not crowding you, but just enough to keep your attention. And you meet those deep blue eyes. "But that's not what this is." he says softly. His words are soft. You never thought he could be this quiet. Park the shark, they call him. This is not the same man.

You shake your head, a small, frustrated laugh slipping out. "You don't get to decide that, Brendon." "I know," he says immediately. "That's why I'm here." You pause. "I don't get to decide it," he repeats, softer. "But you don't get to decide it for me either." The silence stretches between you two; it's agonizing. "You think I didn't know you're a virgin?" he asks. Your head snaps up. "That's not—" "I noticed," he cuts in. "The way you hesitated when we kissed. The way you kept thinking, like you left your body for a second." Your face burns. Maybe he notices that, too. "I wasn't judging you," he adds quickly. "I was trying to slow down." "...You weren't very good at it." You blink at him.

Maybe your ears are tricking you, but you think you hear the faintest huff of a laugh.

“Yeah,” he admits, stepping closer. “I’m not used to it.” “I would’ve stopped,” he says. “At any point. You just had to say it.” “I did say it,” you whisper. “And I listened.” he's right. It's so quiet. The sun is starting to shine through your living room curtains, spilling into the apartment slowly like thick honey. “You think I want someone ‘easy’,” he says, voice lower now, less defensive. “Someone who already knows everything about sex.” He watches you for a second before continuing— “If that was true, I wouldn’t be here.” Your throat tightens. “I’ve got something at two,” he adds abruptly, almost like he’s reminding himself a little. “I don’t have time to stand here and bullshit you.”

There he is, Park the shark. But he's still softer at the core.

“I came here because I didn’t like how that ended,” he says. “And I don’t like that you think you’re not—” he exhales, searching for the word. “—worth the effort.” “I didn’t say that,” you murmur. “You didn’t have to.”

He’s close now. Not touching you, but he's close enough that you feel the whisper of his exhale from him breathing through his nose. “You’re overthinking this,” he says quietly. “Everything.” “I don’t think I am.” “You are,” he counters, softer this time, and he cocks his head a little. “You decided how I feel without asking me once.” “Then tell me,” you frown. “What do you want?”

There's no hesitation. “You,” he says simply.

“But on your terms,” he adds, quieter. “Not mine.” His eyes flick down for a second, then back up to your eyes.

“Can I..” he starts quietly, then stops himself.

“…Yeah,” you whisper.

He closes the distance slowly. Yeah. His lips fall into place on yours, and you almost want to kick yourself for giving in this quickly. Fuck.

Brendon leans into you, a hand at your back and one snaking between you to grab the lilacs and put them on the kitchen counter so you don't crush them when you pull him closer. Surprisingly, it's you taking the lead this time. Not him. You guide him to your couch, gently shove him down, and straddle him. Your mouths are all over each other. He says your name gruffly. Once. Twice, and you look up at him.

It's obvious he's in need from the way that his erection pokes your cunt through the barriers of his jeans and your pajama pants. Your hand palms it, eyes never leaving his.

He says your name again, this time it's nearly a rasp. "Let me," he huffs. "Let me take care of you. Slowly." You hum. "Slowly? Brendon—" "Let me make love to you," Brendon takes your hand away from his crotch, but he never breaks eye contact with you. "...You're sure you can—" "Yes," Brendon huffs, "I can be slow. I can teach you. Please—"

You can't hide your grin, and this time you palm his erection through his jeans again, slowly pulling his fly down. He lets you. It's not the first time you've seen a cock—you're a doctor in the ER, you've seen it all—but it sure is large. And hard. It's leaking at the pink mushroom tip, where you run your thumb from the bottom of it, up to the top, and circle the leaking slit gently. Brendon rasps your name again, there's a short pause before he holds you to him and flips you underneath him.

To be fair, he said he could teach you. Your back is on the couch, Brendon is leaning over you—at this angle, you can see the way the morning sun hits his eyes, making them look like small lagoon pools. "You're okay with this?" Brendon hums, and he kisses your wrist. His fly is still undone. You nod. "Use your words, lilac." He says it so quietly that you almost miss it. “Lilac,” you repeat. “Why that?” “You flush,” he says, almost distracted. “Right here—” his thumb brushes your cheek, “—it’s not red. It’s… lighter.” You stare at him. “Lilac,” he finishes.

Brendon doesn't expect the fit of small giggles that escape you. He can't help but smile softly, and then his hands are under your shirt, palming your breasts gently. It feels so, so good.

"M'gonna to make love to you," he says quietly, helping you out of your shirt. There's a soft "yeah" that slips past your lips.

From there, his mouth is all over you again. He takes a pebbled nipple into his mouth and sucks. You can't help the moans that escape you. He's attentive—both breasts get his attention until they're slightly swollen, when Brendon moves down your ribs.

Almost counting them as he goes, you watch as he leaves a mix of soft and bruising kisses down your flank. It's so smooth, the way he slips your pajama pants and panties down your legs, dropping them down in a pile on your rug along with his own shirt and yours.

He finds your clit in a matter of seconds.

"S'that good?" It's almost mocking, but you know he doesn't mean it like that. Nodding, you're a moaning mess under him as he works his tongue deftly over your sensitive bud. He pauses slightly, slows down a little as he gently slots his middle and right fingers along your slit. Up, down, testing the waters, before finally gently coaxing a finger in your hole.

He mutters a soft "fuck" before pressing a gentle kiss to your clit and looking up at you with those pretty blue eyes, working his finger into you slowly.

He's incredibly attentive to where your sensitive spots are—when he finally gets his finger in your tight cunt, he makes a curling motion. Again, and again, again. Now his middle and ring fingers are deep in you, his mouth sucking your pretty nub so hard there's no way it won't bruise, and you break. Shattering back into his arms, which come up to hold you after you ride out your high. Brendon sucks on his fingers for a second, savoring the taste of your orgasm. It's not your first, but it was one of the best. For the first time, it wasn't your fingers or your vibrator getting you off.

You've been stripped of all your masks, shields, and armor. You're so bare in this moment, Brendon knows it. Maybe that's why he holds you to him for so long, wrapping you up in those beefy arms, your nipples are sensitive to the coarse hair on his pecs. It feels like Klimt's "The Kiss," it feels so... safe. This is the most vulnerable you've been with someone else in your life—physically, mentally, emotionally.

He tells you you're beautiful. You're his beautiful lilac, he hums, working to push his own jeans down while fighting to keep eye contact with you. He's kissing you, your wet cheeks, bare-faced and all raw for him.

"I'm going to put it in," Brendon says, kissing your breast. He's all over you, and now fully nude himself as he pumps his aching cock slowly. "Lilac,"

"Okay," your throat feels thick and congested.

It's a stretch. Of course, it's a stretch. You handled his member earlier, and it was large, but this feels so filling. Brendon looks pained, even, taking small and short thrusts to inch his way into you. The entire time, his hands never leave your body—they're on your ribs, breasts, or gently holding your cheek. It's not painful, maybe just uncomfortable for a second. His tip hits your cervix, and he bottoms out.

It's the closest anyone has ever been to you. Fuck. Brendon gives you some time to settle and stretch on his member. He's kissing you again, though you're unable to completely kiss him back through your moans, as his thumb is resting on your clit. Slow, careful circles. It feels so good.

"Let me know when I can start moving," Brendon murmurs, his eyes are full of reverence and love for you. Not in the way actors play people in love on TV, because this love isn't superficial; this love is real. This love is all yours, you realize, and you give him the go-ahead to move.

He's slow at first. In and out in short thrusts that barely graze your cervix and sweet spot. Agonizingly slow. You grin at him, "Faster, Brendon."

The pace picks up a little more. Your hands find his broad shoulders, and his hands are firmly holding your hips down. It ramps up again, and you can hear the squelches where your bodies connect.

"Doing so good," Brendon grunts, "So—Fuckin'—Fuck, you're so tight—" Though he moves faster, and this time he hits your G-spot and cervix. His tip starts kissing those amazing spots again, and again, and again, and you're a whimpering mess under him.

"Come for me," your name is a plea on his lips, "please, come—" Brendon's thumb finds your clit again, his other hand holds your hips in place as he pummels his cock into your cunt. Circle, circle, rub, changing the pressure of his thumb on your clit in a rhythmic pattern that your body craves.

You do as he says, your body convulses with the strength of an orgasm under him. Back off the couch, head thrown back, moaning in pure ecstasy. Hips meeting his, Brendon grunts through his last few sloppy thrusts.

His orgasm is just as beautiful as yours. Hot ropes of his come shoot through your channel in that moment, he digs his face into that juncture where your neck and collarbone meet.

"You're on the pill?" Brendon asks meekly, his voice rumbling through your body. He's still inside you.

You laugh. "Yeah. No surprises anytime soon."

Brendon kisses your cheek. "M'gonna pull out,"

Nodding, there's not a big stretch that makes it uncomfortable for him to pull out of you. But you catch the smallest whimper from Brendon's mouth as he does, because he's sensitive. He, too, is coming down from an orgasm.

Brendon lifts you to his chest, flipping you smoothly so that you're on top of him. He snatches the throw blanket off the arm of the couch, gently wrapping you both in it.

His hands are on your lower back and the back of your head as you snuggle into his chest, legs intertwined.

Brendon says something, but you can't remember. The two of you fall asleep like this. On your couch, the morning light spilling over you. It really is like The Kiss.

It started with a simple hand on your thigh.

Innocent, technically. You were curled up together on the hotel bed, lights dimmed aside from the table lamp, some half-forgotten Netflix show playing in the background. Oscar had his usual calm about him, an arm slung around your shoulder, the other tracing idle patterns along the bare skin on your thigh. Every movement left a trail of fire in its wake.

You weren’t naive, you knew exactly what he was doing. Oscar had a way of teasing that never felt overly dirty, but it always lingered, always left you feeling flushed, thighs pressed together. Words that didn’t cross a line, but danced right on the edge. 

“You’re tense,” he said, voice low against your ear. His fingers had started to move, inching higher up your thigh, tracing a lazy path from your knee up through the inside of your thigh, only to trail back down before they got too far. “Something on your mind?”

You swallowed hard, eyes returning to the TV, attempting to focus again on the show. “No.”

He grinned like he didn’t believe you.

That was the thing with Oscar. He didn’t push, but he loved to see how close he could get before you’d squirm. And you always did, not because you didn’t want it, god no, but because you were still figuring this all out. You hadn’t been with anyone before him, at least not like this, and he knew that. And oh, was he so respectful about it.

Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t a menace. 

“You sure?” His head leaned down closer to you, breath skimming your neck, hand dipping just a little higher. Just enough to make your heart stutter. 

You leaned into him instinctively, legs shifting against each other in the smallest, most telling motion, his smile widening against your skin as he placed a soft kiss against your neck. 

“Oscar,” you warned, voice barely above a whisper, tone falsely threatening 

“Hm?” He hummed innocently, nuzzling into your jaw, peppering light kisses, momentarily flicking his tongue across your skin. “I’m not doing anything.”

But he was, he always was. Maybe not always with his hands, but with the way he looked at you. Like he could see straight through every layer of hesitation, of nervousness, and he wanted to unravel it all, softly, slowly. 

He was patient, too patient, and somehow that only made the waiting worse. 

And hell if he stopped teasing you. 

-‘๑’-

You were making a quick coffee the next morning, setting up a cup for Oscar’s tea as well, wearing his t-shirt and nothing else. The sun poured in through the hotel blinds, warm and soft, casting long golden lines across the dull colours of the hotel room. You didn’t hear him pad out from the bathroom, now barefoot behind you, his arms circling your waist. 

“You always wear my shirts like that?” he murmured, voice husky with sleep, his head leaning down, his chin resting on your shoulder as he tucked his head into your neck.

“Like what?” You asked, stirring a pack of cream into your coffee.

“Like you’re asking for trouble.”

You rolled your eyes, flicking a pack of sugar before dumping that in as well. “It’s laundry day.” You excused.

Oscar chuckled against your neck, feeling the vibration of his chest against your back. “We’re in a hotel.”

“Exactly.”

He laughed again, quietly and knowing, his hand grazing the bare skin of your thigh under the hem of his shirt, lifting it daringly. Lingering. He was far taller than you, his body nearly caging yours from behind as he was bending down towards you. 

“You know,” he added, lips brushing just behind your ear now, your body shivering at his contact. “You could just say the word.”

You turned your head to get a better look at him, eyebrows raised slightly. “I thought you liked the anticipation.”

His mouth curled, “I love it, but don’t pretend it doesn’t drive you insane,” he teased, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek.

Touche.

-‘๑’-

Later, you lay in bed, reading on your Kindle while Oscar mindlessly scrolled his phone next to you, one hand absentmindedly resting on your lower back. He liked to keep in contact, just enough to keep your body aware of him. It didn’t help that now and then, his fingers would trace small paths, sometimes grabbing you a little tighter. Always random enough to throw you off.

“You’re quiet,” he said, without looking up.

“I’m reading something,” You mumbled, mind focused on the warmth of his hand on your back.

“You’re flushed,” He said, finally glancing over.

“No, I’m not-” 

He rolled over on top of you before you could finish, pushing your Kindle to the side, pinning you gently to the mattress, straddling your hips. “You think I don’t notice what I do to you?” He whispered, breath fanning your face as his eyes darkened. 

His fingers hooked into the bottom of your shirt, well, his shirt, and lifted it slightly. His hands roamed the skin of your waist, hands warm and rough. “I think you like it when I take my time, darling.”

You shivered underneath him, hands coming up to rest on his neck, lightly playing with his hair. His weight on you, the soft graze of his thumb along your stomach, left your body squirming. 

You exhaled shakily, “I hate you.” 

He smirked before leaning down to kiss you, his lips latching onto yours roughly. You let out a whimper. His teeth scraped against your bottom lip, tugging your lips open, his tongue slipping into your mouth hotly. His tongue swipes against yours as you whine, hands tugging his hair, Oscar groaning at the pull. 

He pulls his head back, lips glossy and cheeks flushed as he began trailing kisses down your neck, wet and sloppy, sometimes pausing to suck a light mark into your skin. 

“Osc,” You whimpered, tugging a little harder on his hair as he groaned, lips trailing lower, leaving a wet trail of kisses. 

Reaching his head back up, he placed a light kiss on your lips before tapping your hip. His eyes were blown with want, his lips upturned deviously. “Alright, time for bed.” He spoke, your body slightly relaxing from disappointment, a teasing smirk covering his face. 

You pouted at him, cheeks flushed bright red, lips bitten raw as he climbed off of you.

Calling him a tease was an understatement. 

-‘๑’-

The next evening, you were both running late, on the brink of missing a team dinner with the grid. Your hair was still half done, dress zipped halfway, the strap nearly sliding off your shoulder as you finished your makeup, face as close to the mirror as humanly possible, trying to get the best possible liner wing. 

Your mouth was slightly open, forming an ‘o’ as your hand shook a little. You saw Oscar come up behind you, his eyes looking at your reflection adoringly, a small smile stretching his face. You yelped quietly, feeling his hands grab the arch of your ass, rubbing over it a few times before resting one on your hip and the other still palming your ass. 

You could see your cheeks redden at the action, feeling Oscar’s hips press against your backside, his arousal pressing into you. His eyes darkened as you watched him behind you, his eyes stuck on the shape of your hips in the dress, entranced. 

You huffed out quietly, deciding the wing was the best it was going to get as you straightened up, pressing completely against Oscar as you put away your makeup. 

His knuckles brushed the bare skin your unzipped dress exposed, sending a shiver down your spine as you bit your lip. “Need help?” He asked, full well knowing you did.

“Please,” You requested, tone soft and nervous. He placed a gentle kiss on the back of your neck, trailing a few further down as his hand slipped up towards the strap, gently pushing it off your shoulder. His knuckles trailed lower, nearing your tailbone, then back up again. 

“I don’t know if I wanna zip it up,” He murmured, the strap of your dress sitting idly off your shoulder, threatening to fall completely. 

“Oscar,” You warned, tone stern, knowing you both had somewhere to be.

He chuckled lowly, the sound thrumming through your chest. “Okay, okay.”

The zipper slid up slowly, torturously. His lips brushed against your shoulder as he brought the strap back up. 

“You have no idea how hard you make it to behave,” he whispered, lips brushing against the back of your ear as you pushed your hips back against him, his hands tightening on you. 

You swallowed, “Maybe that’s my goal,”

His hands paused at your waist before he let you walk away.

Barely.

-‘๑’-

You woke the next morning to his fingers tracing your arm. You’d fallen asleep tangled together, as usual, limbs warm and overlapping in a way that made it impossible to tell where you ended and he began. 

“Do you ever think about it?” you asked softly, voice less than a mumble. 

Oscar’s finger paused. “Think about what, darling?”

You turned over to face him, your voice quiet, a little nervous. “Us, that night. You know, when it does happen.”

He blinked, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, “Every night.” 

Your breath caught.

“But I don’t imagine it for me,” He added. “I imagine it for you. What you’ll need, how to make it not scary, how to make you feel good, how to make you want it again, what I can do for you.”

That was the thing about Oscar. Sure he could be cocky and shameless all day, but when it came down to you, the real thing, his teasing quieted. 

He kissed your forehead lightly, “No rush, baby, I don’t mind. I’m ready whenever you are. I’ll wait.” He reassured.

You smiled, heart bursting, “Even if it drives you mad?” 

He grinned, a huff coming out lightly. “That’s the best part, darling.” 

-‘๑’-

Oscar had a sponsor event coming up, and of course, he had wanted you to be there. Your stylist had sent over a few options for you to try. 

Oscar insisted he help you decide, and so you found yourselves sitting in the quiet hotel room after a long media day, cycling through dress options that were best fit for the event. 

He watched intently, offering his opinions when he deemed necessary, ensuring he always complimented you regardless. 

You stepped out in a navy dress, tight, strapless, and fairly short, cinching your waist in essentially accentuating your hips. You couldn’t even make it to the mirror to look at yourself.

Oscar’s gaze snapped to you, eyes dragging across every inch of your frame. He sat up slowly, inching towards the edge of the bed, jaw clenched. “No.”

You blinked, a hand running across your body, smoothing any wrinkles. You gave a slight twirl, presenting your backside to Oscar, a small look over your shoulder catching his eyes staring. “No?”

“You can’t wear that.” 

You narrowed your eyes. “Why not?”

He stood up, walked over slowly, and circled behind you. “Because,” He murmured, mouth brushing your ear, “If you walk around in this, I’m going to get into a fight.”

You laughed, lighthearted, your head falling back slightly onto his chest. “You’re not the jealous type.” 

“Not usually,” he said, voice low, his hand sliding up your thigh towards the hem of the dress. “But right now I’m thinking about how easy it would be to slide this dress up.” He teased, his fingers pushing up the hem of your dress, dangerously close to exposing you. “Or off. No zippers, no buttons.’

You bit your lip.

He smirked. “What’s wrong, baby?”

You glared at him through the mirror, watching his hand roam your hips in the reflection. “I hate you,” you tried, your knees slightly wobbling when you said it. He tugged the edge of your dress, completely exposing you. His foot pushed your ankle, spreading your legs a little as your breath caught. 

“I don’t think you do, baby.” He said quietly, fingers grazing your inner thigh, seeing your arousal drip down slightly, his fingers catching it as he rubbed his fingers against your core teasingly. Your body shook, feeling his rough fingers spread your arousal. 

“You knew what you were doing. Knew I’d lose my mind the second I saw you in this, or that I’d want to ruin it, didn’t you?” He teased his finger teasing your entrance softly as he lightly fucked his fingers into you, your knees buckling, his arms around your waist being the only thing keeping you up. You whimpered, he was giving you enough to tease you, but not enough to actually feel good just yet. 

“Osc,” You whined out, body buckling from pleasure as he held you up, his fingers hitting a spot deep inside you.

“Take it so well, can’t wait to see how you fit me, baby.” He teased, quickening his pace, your stomach tightening. “Look at yourself.” He demanded, his other hand reaching up around to grab your throat, not so hard that it was painful, but enough to limit the air to your lungs, brain fogging at the intensity. 

You caught sight of yourself in the mirror, cheeks flushed red, eyes blown wide with need, tears brimming in them from pleasure. Your lips were parted, breathy and glossy. Oscar’s hand looked obscene around your neck, veins bulging as he tightened slightly. His eyes were dark, glazing over your body wantingly. 

The sounds of your arousal mixed with gasps and whines as Oscar continues mumbling sweet nothings encouragingly to you brought you closer to your release. His fingers slowed, teasing, pulling out before slowly fucking back into you, your mind dizzying at the stretch. 

“Oscar, please,” You begged, needing just a bit more. He chuckled from behind you, placing a soft kiss on the back of your head, his fingers plunging deeper, hitting exactly where you needed, a breathless moan escaping your throat as you crumbled. Your body clenched, writhing against Oscar, and he slowly eased his fingers out, a teasing pump making you whine.

You exhale a breath, body slumping as he circles his arms around you, pulling the dress down to cover you. “You did so well, darling.” He praised, kissing the top of your head, mumbling ‘I love you’s’ into your hair as you caught your breath. 

“Now you definitely can’t wear this dress or else I’m gonna spend all evening thinking about doing that,” He mumbled, placing one last gentle kiss against your head as he tapped your bum. You lightly slapped his arm jokingly, walking towards the bathroom to change back into your clothes for bed.

You heard Oscar chuckle behind you as he watched your legs tremble slightly from the aftermath of his actions. 

A menace. 

-‘๑’-

It had been a hectic day, lots of physical activities, and simply exploring the city with a few of the other drivers’ girlfriends. Tennis, a bike ride along the boardwalk and coast, a pretty hike and picnic, and my god, so many pictures. 

You had come back home to Oscar in the shower, the sound of water running mixed with the heat of the bathroom making the home feel cozier. After changing, your body needed a stretch to loosen all its muscles. You heard the shower turn off as you nearly flopped onto the floor in your bedroom. You laid out a few dynamic stretches, letting your body relax, sighs of relief leaving your mouth. You stood up, bending forward, your hands reaching for your toes, hamstrings burning at the pull. 

You closed your eyes, exhaling a deep breath as you heard the bathroom door open, footsteps padding closer. As you go to stand up, a hand steadies itself on your lower back, pushing your body back down as Oscar pushes against you. 

You immediately regretted the choice of stretch, vulnerable and exposed. He straddled your legs from behind, his other hand gripping your waist. 

“Need help?” He asked, far too innocently, for the way his hands were roaming your hips and his hips were pushing against you. 

“No,” You stuttered out quickly, unsuccessfully attempting to push yourself back up.

“Adjust your posture. Back straight, hips forward.” He instructed, his voice breathy. “Breathe, baby.”

You nearly died on the spot.

“I’m trying to stretch,” You muttered, muscles tensing up as your heart hammered against your chest.

“I’m helping,” He said, fingers splaying wide against your back. “This is very technical work.”

Momentarily, you ground your hips back into him, Oscar groaning at the movement. “You’re the worst.” You mumbled, a smile still evident in your tone.

“Correct,” He chuckles, “but look how deep you’re stretching now.” He spoke, his tone sultry with innuendos. 

You couldn’t even respond, just exhaling exasperatedly. He knew exactly what he was doing. 

He always did.

-‘๑’-

It was a particularly hot day this weekend in Miami. You were sitting on a curb outside the garage, licking a near-melting ice cream cone while Oscar stood next to you, sipping water. It was a few hours before free practice 2, his suit undone, sitting at his hips as his fireproof clung to his body. 

He watched you for a second too long.

“Baby,” He sighed, cheeks lightly flushed from the heat or the sight of you.

You looked up at him, eyes alight with energy.

“You can’t eat it like that.” He groaned, tone almost a warning. 

You blinked at him, taking another slow lick before asking, “Like what?”

He raised a brow, arms crossing against his chest. “You’re lingering, it’s obscene.”

You rolled your eyes, mind revelling at how easily you could also get him riled up. “It’s just ice cream.” 

He sat down, leaning in close to you, his voice low, meant for only the two of you. “It was ice cream. Now it’s a public indecency charge.”

You took an extra slow lick, simply to spite him, your eyes not leaving his. Oscar made a strangled noise, running a hand over his face and looking away. “You’re going to kill me.” He said, voice muffled by his hands.

“Good,” you said, smiling at him as if you hadn’t just made him hard. 

He reached a hand out, swiping a bit of melted ice cream from the corner of your mouth, slow and deliberate. His thumb dragged just enough to make your stomach drop a little, heart pounding. 

“You missed a spot.” He said, eyes heavy as he brought his thumb to his mouth, suckling the ice cream off, eyes glued to yours. 

Your breath hitched at the sight, his tongue swiping over the pad of his thumb momentarily. You didn’t speak for a full minute after that. 

-‘๑’-

You were sitting on the floor in front of a mirror, testing a few different hairstyles for fun. It had been a slower day, Oscar mostly out training for the day, as you stayed at home. He wandered in a bit later, shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He leaned against the doorframe, simply admiring you as you fiddled with your hair. 

After a while, he walked over, squatting down behind you, placing a soft kiss on the back of your head. He twirled a finger through your hair before gathering it whole in his hands.

“So pretty like this,” He said softly, eyes meeting yours in the mirror. Then he leaned closer, voice warm against your ear. He tightened his hold, pulling your head back slightly as your breath hitched at the pull.

“D’you ever think about what I’d do if I had your hair in my hands like this for another reason, baby?” He asked, tone deep, vibrating through your chest as your heart pounded against your ribs. 

You nearly choked on your breath, cheeks flushing.

He just walked out, satisfied with himself at the red on your face.

-‘๑’-

The hotel room was quiet, the low hum of traffic and the soft rustling of bedsheets filling the room. You weren’t asleep, nor was he.

Oscar was lying on his side, one arm tucked neatly under his head, the other resting gently across your waist, a comforting weight. His mouth was warm against your neck, trailing slow, reverent kisses.

Your shirt had long since been pushed up, panties pushed aside as his hands roamed your body as if he couldn’t get enough. His hands were everywhere, on your hips, your thighs, the sides of your neck. He kissed you as though he was trying to keep it gentle, but you felt it, his control hanging on by a thread.

He pushed himself up and on top of you, his weight welcome and warming, as his lips found yours, tongue desperately swiping over yours as you whimpered, one hand scratching the back of his neck and the other trailing down his chest towards his waistband. 

His hips bucked forward, your fingers pulling down the waistband of his sweatpants, his cock springing up, flushed and aching as your hand pumped him. You spread your thighs a little, feeling Oscar nibble on your lip before smoothing it over with his tongue. Your hand trailed back up his abs, nails lightly scratching along his body as he groaned. 

His hips pressed forward, and you felt it, him. Hard against you, not inside, but nestled perfectly between your thighs, slightly coated in his arousal mixing with yours. The thin friction, skin on skin, made you gasp. He lifted his head from yours, eyes watching your face as he pushed his hips. 

You clenched your thighs, wanting to make Oscar feel good too as he moaned. This, by far, had been his favourite way to get both of you off without crossing any lines. He bucked his hips, groaning at the wet slide between your thighs.

He exhaled shakily, forehead pressing to yours, his eyes fluttering closed. “Fuck.” He let out breathily as you looked at him, wide-eyed and cheeks flushed. 

You arched into him, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails slightly digging into him as his name spilled from your lips. You felt his warmth slide against your core, body begging for him. 

He rocked slowly, getting used to feeling as you clenched a little tighter, his hips faltering a little. 

You nearly fell apart watching him stutter.

He shuffled back, sliding off his sweatpants and boxers, dropping them off the side of the bed as his hands stumbled to throw off your t-shirt. His hand gripped your thigh, pulling it higher to rest upon his waist as his hips moved again, slow and controlled, dragging the full weight of his want between your legs, watching your arousal coat him. 

He groaned, eyes locking with yours as he spoke, “You feel…” he whispered, teeth grazing your jaw. “So fucking soft, baby, unreal.” He continued, voice shaky with need. 

You moaned softly, back arching. It was overwhelming, but you craved it. Every press of his hips sent sparks ripping through your spine. Although he wasn’t inside, it felt like he was claiming every inch of you anyway.

“Fuck baby, please,” He begged, although you weren’t quite sure for what. “Please let me fuck you, please I-” He exhaled, his voice whiny as you moaned his name. “Need to fuck you.”

Your heart pounded, nails clawing up his back as his cock throbbed between your thighs, your arousal’s mixing messily. “Oscar…” 

“Please, you feel so-” he gasped, hips rutting into yours especially hard, “so warm, so fucking perfect.” 

His tip slid between your folds, catching at the entrance momentarily as it slid, you whimpered at the feeling. He placed a shaky kiss to your lips, shuddering at the feeling. 

You moaned softly, eyes blown wide with want as you watched Oscar huff with need. His mouth hovered over yours, hot breath spilling across your lips. “All I can think about is how good you’d feel around me.”

You whined softly, you were right there with him, burning up with need. 

He kissed you, hard and messy, full of want. He pulled back, his face looking as though he was breaking. 

“Please,” He breathed. “Let me fuck you,” He begged, his voice raw and torn. 

You stared up at him, breathless, heart pounding in time with his. 

“I want it,” You whispered, his eyes closing at the words, a low groan rumbling from his chest. He exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for months.

“Say it again,” He begged.

“I want you.” You whimpered.

He kissed you again, slow this time, like the desperation from before was folding into something deeper. He leaned his forehead against yours, one hand trailing down between your thighs, the other cupping your check like he was in awe of your words. 

His fingers slipped between your thighs, pumping lightly, your thighs dripping with arousal as his eyes caught sight. You groaned at the slight stretch, heart clenching with nerves. He  

“I’ve got you,” He reassured, noticing the worry on your face. His fingers curl, hitting a deep spot, body arching at the feeling before he slid them out. He spread the arousal across himself, pumping his cock a few times before lining himself up with your entrance. 

“You’re everything,” He spoke, tone soft as he pushed in. Just the tip, your breath hitched, and he did too. His mouth fell open, eyes squeezed shut like the sensation wrecked him instantly. The stretch was unreal, your body shuddering. 

“Shit,” he whispered, voice shaking. “You feel-” he groaned as you clenched around him. “Fuck, baby.”

He hadn’t moved yet, simply just held it there, letting you adjust, watching you carefully through blown pupils and clenched teeth, his tip pulsing inside you. 

“You okay?” he asked, brushing a soft thumb over your cheek. 

You nodded, words caught somewhere in your throat, “Yeah.” You let out breathily, eyes brimming lightly with tears. Oscar bent down, kissing your forehead then your nose, then your lips, soft, slow and grounding. “You’re doing so well,” he whispered. “Tell me if you need anything.” He spoke, gently and caring. 

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling his body closer as you curled your leg a bit tighter around his waist in response. 

That was all he needed.

He pressed in deeper, the stretch making your head spin as he slid in, inch by inch, until he was fully there. Oscar breaths landed heavy into your neck, one hand on your waist and the other gripping the sheet beside your head like it was the only thing keeping him together. 

“God,” he groaned, “You’re fucking soaked, dripping all over my cock.” He spoke, the words making your tummy turn. You were clinging to him, gasping softly, overwhelmed by how close he was, how he fit like he was meant to. You could hear the slick drag of him between your thighs. 

He rocked his hips gently, rolling in slow careful waves. Not hard, not fast. Just intentionally, every motion is a promise. You moaned softly, body arching up into his, matching the rhythm. 

“That’s it,” he whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth, “You’re okay. You’re perfect, so perfect, baby.” He reassured, his tone gentle with love.

You tighten your grip around his back, feeling his cock throb inside of you, vision blurring at the feeling of him pumping inside you. “Oscar, fuck.”

“I’ve got you,” he breathed again, one hand tangling in your hair, holding your forehead to his. “You’re mine baby, I’ve got you.” His words emphasized with a thrust.

“More,” You whimpered out brokenly. His thrusts quickened slightly, the sound of your arousal and skin slapping against each other fucking filthy in the air. 

Your head spun at the feeling of him, nails scratching along his back as he whispered sweet nothings. “Fuck you feel so good, you’re so tight.” He whined head falling to your shoulder as he fucked into you. “Gripping me like you were made for me.”

“You’ve fucking ruined me,” Oscar groans, hips rocking into you. He angles his hips, hitting a better angle as you whimper. You’re babbling at him, lips bitten raw as you look at him, eyes blown to filth. 

You clench around him, your body needing release. And fuck, Oscar nearly cums feeling you tighten around him. “Look at yourself, baby. Clenching around me like you’re fucking desperate for this, hm?” He teased, sitting up slightly as he fucked into you, watching your body rock up with each thrust. His hand reached up, thumb tweaking over your nipple as you whimpered.

He hissed through his teeth. “You feel that, baby? Right there?” He spoke, hand pressing down against your lower stomach, the pressure making your chest ache. You cry out, feeling his cock bulge inside you. You whimpered, nodding desperately.

He buried his face in your neck, breath hot and shaky. “You’re fucking melting around me. So wet-” He swore, voice shaking as he groaned. “I can feel everything.”

His hips snapped into you, rougher now, and the sounds it made, skin on skin, soaked and absolutely filthy, only made you clench harder. Oscar exhaled, grabbing your hips to keep you where he wanted you, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises. 

“You like it when I fuck you like this?” he growled, teeth dragging against your skin. “Like I can’t help myself?”

You moaned, arching beneath him, eyes fluttering shut. “Yes, fuck Osc, please.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes glassy and dark and completely undone. “Open your eyes, darling, look at me. I want to see your face when you come.” He demanded, your stomach churning at his tone. 

You did, barely able to keep your eyes open as he slammed into you, again and again, hitting that perfect spot, your tummy bulging at how fucking well he was filling you. Your body went tight, heat building until it snapped. 

You shattered under him with a strangled cry, legs trembling, your cunt clenching around him so hard it made him swear, loud and filthy. 

“Fuck, that’s it. That’s it, baby, just like that. You’re so fucking good”

You were still fluttering around him, overstimulated and gasping as Oscar’s thrust slowed slightly. His pace stuttered, hands flying to your thighs to hold you open as he drove in deeper. 

“Where- fuck, where do you want it?” he gasped, barely coherent. “Tell me where you want me, baby. I’m not gonna last, fuck, I’m so close.” He begged, his thrusts getting sloppier. 

You clenched impossibly tighter, a tear spilling from your eye as you whispered, “Inside, I wanna feel it.” you whimpered.

That broke him.

Oscar let out the filthiest sound you’d ever heard from him, a half groan, half moan, as he slammed into you one last time, burying himself deep, his whole body going rigid as he came with a choked moan against your mouth. 

You felt it. Every hot pulse, deep and perfect, his cock filling you with warmth. 

He didn’t move at first. Just held there, twitching inside you, breath heavy, chest heaving against yours. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours.

He kissed you then, slow, open-mouthed, filthy, and tender all at once. And when he finally pulled out, you gasped at the loss, feeling disappointingly empty. “You’re perfect.”

He looked down at you, watching himself drip out from between your thighs, and let out a shaky laugh. “Look at you, fucking filthy baby. Look at what I did to you.” He said, running his finger through the slick mess between your legs pushing it back into you as you whine. 

He leaned in again, kissing your shoulder, dragging his lips down your chest lovingly before whispering, “You’re mine now, every fucking inch.” 

You whimpered, hips twitching at the pressure. “Oscar-” you gasped.

“You think I can stop now?” He growled, voice low and rough, his body sliding down against yours. “When you’re this wet, this open for me, when I can see what I’ve done to you?”

He sat back a little, spreading you open again. He knelt between your legs, eyes fixed between them, lips parted like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to ruin you with his fingers of his mouth. 

“Fuck it,” he muttered. “You let me know if it’s too much okay, baby?” He reassured, his eyes hungry with want. 

He dipped his head and licked a striped through the mess he left inside you, groaning low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you. 

You sobbed, a hand flying to grip the sheets, the other threading through his hair, body jolting at the overstimulation. 

“You taste like me,” he said, almost smug, tongue dragging over you again. “So fucking sweet, how the fuck am I supposed to be gentle, hm?” His eyes running over your body hungrily, peering up at you from between your legs. 

His hands pinned your thighs wide as he sucked your clit into his mouth, rough and hungry, pure filthy, wet, need. 

You were already close, too close. “Oscar, I- please,” Your voice cracked, hips bucking up. 

“Yeah baby,” he groaned into you, “I know, gimme another darling. Let me hear how pretty you sound with my cum still dripping out of you.” 

That pushed you straight over. You came hard, again. Your whole body shaking, breath catching on a scream as he worked you through it with his tongue and fingers, relentless and soaked. 

He pulled back only when your thighs were twitching, lips slick and shining, eyes glazed with lust. 

He looked wrecked. 

And hard again.

“Turn over,” he said, voice hoarse, wrecked and commanding. You blinked at him breathless.

He reached down, slapping your ass once, just enough to make you jump. “On your knees. I’m not done with you.” a tone of ferality to him. 

You obeyed, barely able to hold yourself up, Oscar’s arm coming around your waist to support your body. He lined himself up behind you, dragging his cock through your folds teasingly, 

“Gonna fuck you one more time okay, baby?” he groaned, hand gripping your hip like a vice. “And you’re gonna take it.”

You moaned, shameless and needy.

“Such a good girl,” he whispered, voice strained, “Opening up for me again, you’re mine.” You nodded, barely able to breathe.

“Say it.” He commanded, sliding into you slowly.

“I’m yours,” you gasped, face falling onto the pillows.

“That’s right,” he muttered darkly, sliding in and out, deeper and rougher, more possessive now. Filthy, and in love, and completely fucking obsessed. 

And it was quite safe to say he didn’t stop until you were crying into the pillows, shaking, and ruined all over again. 

“You okay?” he asked, your body collapsing forward into the pillows, legs trembling, heartbeat still fluttering somewhere in your throat. Your body felt wrecked in the best way, used, filled, warm.

You barely registered the sound of the sheets rustling behind you until you felt Oscar’s hands on your hips again, softer this time, thumbs pressing light circles into your skin. 

“Hey,” he whispered, voice rough from the use, but gentle now. “Breathe. I’ve got you.”

He eased out you slowly and carefully, you winced at the loss. Oscar leaned forward, kissing the top of your spine, then the back of your shoulder, his lips lingering. “You’re okay,” he murmured. “I’ve got you, baby.”

He disappeared for a moment, you heard the tap running, the sound of a warm cloth being wrung out, then he was back, sinking onto the bed beside you, gently coaxing you onto your back. 

His eyes flicked across your body, his work. The redness on your thighs, the marks on your neck, the mess between your legs. 

He swallowed hard.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he said softly, in awe. “Completely mine.” You shivered at his words.

“Too much?” he asked immediately, eyes snapping up to yours, alert. “No.” you whispered, “Not even close.” A small smile crossing your face.

Relief washed across his face, and he kissed you, without any hurry. His hand cradling the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone, you leaned into him, your body aching but weightless now, as if everything inside you had finally settled. 

He cleaned you gently, his touch light but focused, whispering quiet apologies every time you flinched. 

When he was done, he pulled you straight into his arms, blankets pulled up, limbs tangled. You tucked yourself into his chest, cheek against his warm skin, listening to the slowing rhythm of his heart. 

He kissed your forehead, then again, and again, like he couldn’t stop. 

“You okay?” he asked again, his voice barely above a whisper now.

You nodded into his neck. “I’m fantastic.” you let out lightly. 

His arms tightened around you. “I love you.” he murmured, burying his face in your hair. You smiled, half-asleep already. “I love you.” you mumbled happily. 

There was a long pause. Just the two of you, breathing together.

“You know I’m never letting you out of this bed again, right?” he whispered. “Like… we live here now.”

You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his chest. “You say that now.”

“I mean it,” he mumbled, already pulling you impossibly closer. “You’ve got me obsessed.”

And with your body against his, the smell of skin, sweat, and something softer between you, you fell asleep with him wrapped completely around you. Safe, warm, and entirely his. 

The silence in your penthouse is thick and enveloping, the only sound the gentle ticking of an ornate grandfather clock that stands like a sentinel between two towering bookshelves, brimming with tomes of every size and age. Beyond the French doors, the city's lights shimmer in the distance, glimmering like a spilled treasure of jewels; they twinkle softly, muted by the expanse of night. The air carries the rich, warm scent of aged leather from the well-loved volumes that line the walls, mingling with the crisp, clean aroma of the polished black marble floors beneath your feet. A low fire crackles in the hearth, sending flickering golden light that dances upon the walls, creating long, sinuous shadows that seem to animate the figures in the dramatic tenebrist paintings. Each stroke of dark color seems to come alive, whispering secrets and stories into the room's hush. 

Leon Kennedy stands by the fireplace, an iconic figure with one arm resting casually on the mantel. He's been your mentor for several weeks, a steadfast and formidable presence. His gaze is not fixed on the fire, but rather piercing into you, the crimson glow from the flames accentuating the sharp angles of his face and igniting the intensity in his striking blue eyes. Tonight, however, a weightiness hangs in the air, his usual confidence tempered by the recent turn of your conversation into more personal realms. The lingering revelation of your... inexperience hovers unspoken, a palpable tension that fills the space between you both, heavy and unacknowledged.

He pushed himself away from the mantle with a deliberate grace, his movement slow and deliberate, as if measuring the space between you. “You know, for an agent capable of hacking into a secure server in a mere thirty seconds, you're surprisingly… sheltered.” A murmur resonated through the quiet room, wrapping around you like a dark shroud. He paused a few feet away, his gaze momentarily dropping to the silver ring that glimmered on your finger, before returning to meet your eyes. “That little ring, it's a promise, isn't it? A promise to remain pure.” He drew out the word 'pure', infusing it with curiosity, as though he were examining a rare artifact.

As he took another step closer, the distance between you narrowed, the warmth of the fire casting flickering shadows around you. The scent of his cologne wafted through the air, rich and smoky, entwining with the faint aroma of wood burning, creating an intoxicating atmosphere. 

You nodded, feeling the gravity of the moment, and replied, “It's a part of my religion, Leon. I'm a Catholic.” In response, he released a soft exhale, almost imperceptible, a breath that hinted at amusement. His eyes remained locked onto yours, the deep blue seeming to darken as the firelight danced across his features. “Religion,” he repeated, each syllable drawn out as if he were savoring the taste of the word. “I’ve witnessed what faith can do to people in foxholes. For some, it brings comfort; for others… It’s merely a chain.” He reached out then, not to touch, but to gesture toward the ring that adorned your finger, his hand a tapestry of calluses and scars, each mark a testament to a history steeped in violence and struggle.

“A chain you put on yourself when you were just a kid. Do you even realize what you're sacrificing by keeping it on?” He bridges the gap between you, closing in until he's almost invading your personal space. The heat radiating from his body is an undeniable presence, blending with the room’s soft warmth, making the atmosphere feel electric. His voice lowers further, wrapping around the words with an intimacy that feels conspiratorial, as if sharing a secret meant only for you. “Or are you simply too afraid to uncover the truth?” 

You furrow your brows in response, a flicker of defiance igniting within you. “It's my faith, Leon. I don't believe it's a chain.” The air grows thicker, the tension palpable, as if the very walls are listening intently to the exchange. The flickering firelight dances across the diamond in your earrings, causing them to shimmer as you hold his unwavering gaze, the challenge between you both igniting an unspoken connection.

“A core value.” He repeats the phrase, his voice dangerously soft, a whisper that sends a shiver down your spine. He lifts his hand slowly, deliberately, and this time, he brushes against you, though not where you expected. His fingers, rough yet warm, glide gently across your cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with careful precision. The touch is fleeting, yet it lingers in the air between you, charged with an intensity that makes your breath hitch in your throat. “Values can change, (Y/N). They're supposed to. It's called growing up.” 

His fingertips hover near your skin for a heartbeat that stretches into eternity before he lowers his hand, the absence of contact leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. He shifts his weight, subtly positioning his body to block your path to the door, creating an unspoken barrier that feels both confining and oddly thrilling. “You've been trained to assess threats, to read situations. So read this one. Do I look like a threat to your values? Or…” His voice drops to a husky mutter, wrapping around you like the smoke from the fire that crackles nearby. “...Do I look like an opportunity to discover new ones?”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest like a frantic drum against your ribs, a rhythm so loud you’re convinced he must hear it echoing in the silence. The glow of the fire flickers and dances, casting long, sinister shadows that stretch across the black marble floor, enveloping your smaller silhouette in a dark, looming presence. The question hangs between you both—fragile, exposed—carrying the weight of uncertainty and potential.

“Look at you," he says, his voice steady and unwavering, holding your gaze with an intensity that strips away all pretense. “You’re not just that little girl at the church anymore. You’ve grown into a woman. A damn capable one.” There’s a weight to his words that both anchors and liberates you, as if he’s peeling away layers you didn’t even know you had. His thumb glides slowly over the back of your hand, just beside the silver band—a piece of jewelry that now feels like an anchor, a relic from a life that no longer suits you. “That ring…” he murmurs, his touch unexpectedly intimate, a contrast to the roughness of his hands. “It’s keeping you in a cage.” 

His voice, low and sultry, pulls you in, promising something you can’t quite define. “Let me show you what lies beyond those bars. Just a taste. You trust me, don’t you? I’m your mentor.” The air thickens with the scent of him—smoke, leather, and an indescribable essence that is uniquely Leon. The city lights twinkle in the distance beyond the balcony, fading into a blurred backdrop as everything around you narrows to just this moment, this room, this man, and the choice you’re faced with. 

A soft whine escapes your lips, a whisper of hesitation. “Leon… but I’m supposed to be married first.” The words hang in the air, swallowed by the electric atmosphere that surrounds you. He continues the steady rhythm of his thumb over your skin, juxtaposed with the quickening heartbeat in your chest. The thought of marriage ignites a fire in his gaze, a flash of something dark and possessive, an impatience that flickers just beneath the surface, swiftly masked by a veneer of feigned understanding.

“Married,” he repeats, the word rolling off his tongue as if it’s a quaint, antiquated notion from a bygone era. “To who? Some nice Catholic boy who’ll never grasp the depths of what you’ve faced? The things you’re capable of?” His voice drops. It transforms into a whisper against your ear. “That life is merely a fairy tale, while this…” He gestures expansively, encompassing the opulence of the penthouse, the sprawling city beyond, the very space between your bodies. “...this is real. I am real.” 

With a deliberate grace, he moves his hand from the back of your hand to gently encircle your wrist, his grip firm yet tender. The other hand slides up to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone, just below your eye. The contact sends electric shivers throughout your body, overwhelming everything else, making it impossible to think of anything except the intoxicating closeness between you.

“You think a vow made when you were just twelve carries more weight than what you're feeling in this very moment? Than this?” His thumb grazes your bottom lip, smudging the vibrant red of your lipstick and leaving a delicate mark. “Your body knows the truth, even if your mind is tangled in doubt. Stop letting those thoughts interfere.” He leans in, his forehead almost brushing against yours, the warmth of his breath enveloping you, carrying a hint of whiskey that adds a heady swirl to the air between you. As he moves closer, a shiver runs down your spine, compelling you to pull back slightly and feel breathless. “Oh, I must not! Father Ruiz, my pastor…he would be so disappointed.” You let out a soft gasp, the weight of his gaze intensifying the moment. 

The name “Father Ruiz” resonates in the air as a stone dropped into a serene pond, sending ripples of tension between you. Leon’s expression shifts, hardening imperceptibly; a fleeting flicker of annoyance flashes in his piercing blue eyes before it morphs into a deeper, more calculating intensity. His thumb, still resting on your slightly smudged lip, presses down with a subtle but undeniable insistence. “Father Ruiz isn't here. It's just us. And God…” A soft, cynical exhale escapes his lips, the words laden with a heavy irony. “If He's watching, He's witnessed far worse. I doubt He’d blink at this.” 

With deliberate ease, his hand on your jaw tilts your face upward, compelling your gaze to meet his. The grip on your wrist tightens just enough to serve as a reminder of his presence, a tether that holds you firmly in this charged moment. “Disappointing a man who lives in a stained-glass world is a small price to pay for living your own life. Don’t you think?” His eyes drift down to your mouth, anticipation flickering like the flames in the fireplace that crackles nearby, casting dancing shadows across the room. 

You whimper softly, barely able to voice your doubts, “But I want to be married... Leon.” The protest is a fragile whisper, a final, trembling defense gazing up at the weight of the moment. Yet, instead of retreating, Leon’s expression shifts into a slow, predatory smile that curls at the corners of his lips, a smile that fails to reach the intensity of his stormy gaze, which remains locked onto you. 

“You will be just not to some boy from a pew. You'll be married to the darkness. To the job. To me. That’s the only vow that matters now.” 

His hand glides from your jaw down to the side of your neck, his thumb pressing gently against your pulse point, feeling the frantic rhythm racing beneath your skin. With a fluid motion, his other hand releases your wrist, sliding around your lower back and pulling you flush against him. The hard planes of his body are a stark contrast to your own softness, igniting a confusing mix of heat and apprehension within you. “This is your wedding night, (Y/N). Right here. And I'm not asking for your hand,” he states coldly, a hint of possessiveness lacing his voice. “I’m taking it.” 

He delays the kiss, holding you in this suspended moment, allowing the weight of his words to settle around you like a heavy cloak. Outside, the city lights blur into a distant watercolor painting. Still, inside, the only sensations that feel real are the heat radiating from his body, the firm but gentle pressure of his hands, and the cold silver band of your purity ring pressing against your skin, a faint reminder of your past. 

For a long moment, the only sounds that break the silence are your soft, uneven breaths, echoing alongside the crackle of the fire. Leon’s body feels like a solid wall of heat and muscle against yours, unyielding and steady. His hand on your back is firm, an anchor, while his thumb continues its slow, rhythmic pressure, heightening your awareness of your fluttering pulse beneath his touch.

“That's it. Just breathe. It's just fear. And fear…” He shifts, his hips pressing against yours, making you acutely aware of the hard ridge of his erection through his trousers. “It's just excitement waiting for permission.

He finally pulls his head back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes a stormy abyss, dark and unfathomable, pupils dilated to nearly swallow the vibrant blue of his irises. The playful mockery that once danced there has vanished, replaced by an overwhelming, almost visceral hunger that sends shivers down your spine. “Give me permission. Say yes,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear, igniting the air between you with a palpable tension. 

His hand, which had gripped your neck with a mix of power and tenderness, now glides down your skin, fingertips tracing the delicate curve of your collarbone, then drifting lower, lingering at the top button of your blouse. He doesn't dare undo it; instead, he simply rests his fingertip there, creating a silent but burning question that hangs in the air like thick fog. The atmosphere crackles with suspense, heavy and intoxicating, punctured only by the erratic rhythm of your breathing and the gentle crackle of the flames, a backdrop to the chaos swirling inside you. With every unsteady rise and fall of your chest, you sense the war waging within—fear, desire, uncertainty.

Leon observes you closely, an incomprehensible expression etched on his features, his patience unwavering. The fingertip resting against your button feels like a brand, a promise of something more tantalizing yet terrifying just beyond your grip.

“Silence is an answer too,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost swallowed by the crackling fire’s warmth. “It usually means 'I’m scared.' But it never means 'no.'” His hand shifts, moving away from your collarbone, not to untie your blouse but to drift upwards, once again tracing the gentle slope of your jaw before his thumb finds the softness of your bottom lip. He applies the slightest pressure, parting your lips with a tender insistence. “Let’s start small. Just a kiss. A taste.” His eyes are entrancing, locked onto yours as if he’s captured your very soul within their depths. “Let me have that. Let me have your first kiss. Then you can decide about the rest.”

Leaning in closer, his lips hover mere millimeters from yours, an electrifying proximity that leaves your heart racing. The intoxicating scent of him; rich notes of whiskey, smoke, and the clean warmth of his skin—envelops you, intertwining with the frantic pulse of your breath. In this single, suspended moment, the world outside fades into obscurity, reduced to just the two of you, suspended in time.

“Just a kiss,” your whispered words echo like a surrender, a subtle breach in the fortress you've built around your heart. Leon's eyes sparkle with a dark triumph that sends a thrill coursing through you, yet his expression remains surprisingly gentle, almost reverent. He doesn’t rush; he savors every second, his thumb still grazing your lower lip, feeling the tiny tremors of anticipation that course through you. “Just a kiss.” He repeats softly, closing the infinitesimal distance that separates you.

When his lips finally meet yours, it's a revelation. They are unexpectedly soft, an enchanting contrast to the coarseness of his hands and the undeniable strength of his body. The kiss begins as a tender exploration, his lips moving against yours with slow deliberation, as if he’s sealing a pact between you, an unspoken agreement that carries a weight of longing.

His hand shifts from your lip, cradling the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, holding you gently but firmly in place. He pulls back slightly, just enough to murmur against your lips, “See? Not so bad, is it?” Before your mind can catch up to your racing heart, he kisses you again. This one is different—deeper, more fervent. His tongue grazes the seam of your lips, a silent plea for entrance. The hand at your back pulls you tightly against him, banishing any gap between your bodies. The cold metal of your purity ring presses insistently against the small of your back, a haunting reminder of the life you momentarily leave behind.

His mouth swallows the gasp as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding past your lips with an easy, practiced confidence. It's - invasion, gentle one, coaxing rather than taking. The hand tangled in your hair keeps you anchored, while the one on your back roams lower, splaying over the curve of your hip, pulling you flush against the hard line of his arousal.

The world narrows to the heat of his mouth, the scent of his skin, the solid reality of his body against yours.

Leon breaks the kiss, pulling back just enough to gaze deeply into your eyes, his breath coming in quick, heated bursts. “There. Your first kiss. And you're still standing. Still pure.” The last word slips from his lips with a teasing, almost wicked undertone, as his thumb brushes softly along your cheek, igniting a warmth that spreads through you. His eyes are heavy-lidded, darkened with an insatiable hunger that lingers just beneath the surface, only partially quelled. The flickering firelight dances in the depths of your gaze, capturing the shimmering silver of your earrings and highlighting the deep crimson smudge of your lipstick now imprinted on his mouth.

“Now... let's try for a second. And this time... don’t be afraid to kiss me back.” 

With that, he draws you in again, capturing your mouth with a fierce urgency, this kiss becoming a blend of passion and command. It feels like a lesson, an exploration, an enticing test all rolled into one. His hand, warm and possessive, glides from your hip to your front, his palm pressing against your lower stomach—an electric sensation that sends shivers coursing through you. As you respond hesitantly, your inexperience seems to spark amusement in him; a low, approving hum resonates from his chest, vibrating between you, amplifying the electric connection that binds you in this stolen moment.

His hand on your stomach slides upward, slowly, deliberately, until his palm rests just below your breasts. He doesn't grab you, but the intent is clear, the pressure of his hand a promise of what's to come. The kiss intensifies, his tongue gliding with a languid assurance that sends shivers down your spine and leaves you momentarily breathless. Each gentle caress is electric, igniting a warmth that spreads through you as he explores the depths of your mouth, savoring every moment.

“That's it. There's no wrong way. Just feel it.” His gaze sweeps across your face, lingering on your flushed cheeks and the way your wide, dark eyes glisten with a mix of surprise and desire. A slow, predatory smile spreads across his lips, captivating and teasing. His thumb glides over the remnants of your smudged lipstick, leaving a trail of warmth. “You taste like heaven and sin all mixed—a perfect combination,” he murmurs, his voice a husky whisper that sends shivers down your spine.

Leaning in closer, he dips his head again, but this time his lips find the delicate skin of your neck. Warmth radiates from his touch, each kiss insistent and electrifying. His tongue flicks out, tasting the salty sweetness of your skin, igniting a fire deep within you. The gentle scrape of his teeth grazes against you, a teasing hint of bite that makes you gasp and jump in response. 

As if sensing your reaction, his hand on your stomach moves slowly, deliberately, his fingers finding the first button of your blouse. The soft fabric yields beneath his touch, the atmosphere thick with anticipation and the promise of what’s to come. “Let's lose this shield, too.” 

“Leon! I… Leon,” you breathed out, tilting your head back to seek his gaze, but your words trailed off into an unsteady whimper as his teeth sank into the tender flesh of your neck. The pressure was teasingly firm—just enough to spark a rush of sensation that radiated through your body, igniting a warmth deep within. His shoulder swallowed the protest that formed on your lips, the words dissolving into incoherent murmurs, lost among the weight of the moment.

With a practiced touch, Leon’s fingers danced down the delicate line of your blouse, effortlessly undoing the first button with a soft pop. Instantly, the cool air of the penthouse enveloped the newly exposed skin, a stark and invigorating contrast to the fervent heat emanating from his mouth and roaming hands.

He lifted his head, locking his gaze onto yours, a fire smoldering in his eyes. “Shhh. ‘But’ is just the chain talking again. I’m here to cut it loose,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. His hand ventured to the second button, then the third, each soft click echoing in the charged atmosphere as he methodically parted the fabric. With every button he undid, more of you was unveiled to the flickering firelight, and to his insatiable desire.

Finally, he pushed the blouse wide open, revealing the simple yet elegant bra underneath, almost a contrast to the fiercely charged situation. “Look at you,” he breathed, his eyes roaming your form with palpable hunger. “All that training, all that strength… hiding beneath a schoolgirl’s uniform. It really is a shame.”His palm slides over the fabric of your bra, cupping your breast. His touch is firm, possessive. He watches your face, reading every flicker of fear and reluctant arousal. “Tonight, you graduate.” He said with finality, as if writing your destiny. 

You whined softly, “Leon...but marriage, please.” The whine is weak, a last, fading echo of a protest that's already lost. Your eyebrows furrow, but the expression is one of confusion and conflict, not defiance. Leon's hand stills on your breast, his thumb stroking slowly over the fabric. He keeps his hand in place, yet leans back slightly, allowing you to see the full intensity of his gaze. His face reflects a blend of impatience and an almost palpable pity, as if he struggles to comprehend your situation while grappling with sympathy.

“Marriage is a piece of paper. It's a ceremony for people who need permission. You don't need permission from a priest or the government. The only permission you need is from yourself. And you're giving it to me right now. I can feel it.” His hand moves from your breast, but only to slide up to your shoulder, pushing the blouse down your arm. The fabric catches at your elbow, baring your shoulder and the strap of your bra. His other hand comes up to trace the line of the strap, his finger hooking underneath it.

“This is more real than any vow you could say in a church. This heat. This want. He leans in, his lips brushing your ear again. I can smell it on you. That little virgin pussy is already getting wet for me, isn't it? Thinking about what it will feel like to have a real man inside it for the first time.” 

The vulgarity of his words, so stark and crude in the opulent room, sends another shock through you. He says them with a casual certainty, as if stating a simple fact. His finger, under the strap, slowly and deliberately pushes it down your shoulder. The room's heavy silence swallows the soft, startled squeak. The bra strap slides down your shoulder, baring the smooth skin. Leon's eyes darken as he watches the fabric give way, his gaze hot and possessive. He takes his time, relishing the slow unveiling and the gradual surrender that feels almost sacred. The fire crackles and pops with a fierce intensity, sending flickering shadows leaping across the walls. These shadows dance over the intricate religious paintings, transforming the sorrowful saints and the vigilant archangels into silent observers, their painted eyes seemingly filled with profound understanding. Is God, in His infinite wisdom, bearing witness to this unfolding sin? Or is He, like everyone else in this moment, turning away in sorrow, unable to bear the weight of it all?

“There. That's the first step. No going back now.” His hand moves from your shoulder to the back of your bra, his fingers finding the clasp with an easy, practiced familiarity. He locks his piercing blue eyes onto yours, a mix of unspoken challenge and unshakeable promise swirling between you. The cool metal of the clasp presses against your skin, a tangible reminder of the boundary that now stands between you, as if it were the last defense before crossing into the unknown. You can sense the weight of the moment, heavy with anticipation and the thrill of possibility. “Ready for the second?” 

With a soft click, the clasp comes undone. The bra loosens, but he doesn't pull it away yet. He lets it hang for a moment, the pressure of the fabric the only thing keeping it in place. His other hand slides around to your front, his palm warm against your stomach, his fingers splayed low, near the waistband of your trousers. “Your heart's beating so fast... like a little bird's.

But you're not a bird. You're a predator. Just like me. It's time you started acting like one.” 

You began to shake your head, “Leon, no, please...I can't do this.” The slight shake of your head is a feeble, quivering gesture, the last flicker of your will slowly eroding beneath the oppressive aura he exudes. Your whispered plea floats delicately in the stillness, a fragile barrier against the encroaching tide of his presence. Leon, however, does not withdraw his hands; instead, he freezes them in place, his palm resting heavily and warmly on your stomach, fingers still entwined in the loosened straps of your bra. His expression doesn’t morph into one of rage; rather, it deepens into a dangerously soft look, tinged with a possessive understanding that sends a chill down your spine.

“You can. You are. Right now. Look at you. You're shaking, but you're not pushing me away. Your body is telling me 'yes' even if your mouth is saying 'no.'” 

He leans in closer, his lips softly brushing against your temple, sending a warm shiver down your spine. His breath, warm and inviting, radiates against your skin, igniting a flutter of excitement within you. The hand resting on your stomach moves in languid, soothing circles, as if trying to erase every ounce of tension. “That 'can't' is just the last echo of the little girl who believed in fairy tales,” he murmurs, his voice low and rich with sincerity. “I'm here to embrace the woman now—the one who knows exactly what she desires. And believe me, I know what you want.” His fingers tighten gently around the strap of your bra, not to pull it away, but to offer a tender yet insistent pressure that both reassures and excites. Meanwhile, his other hand glides from your stomach to the small of your back, pressing you firmly against the undeniable evidence of his growing desire, deepening the connection between you in this intimate moment.

“Let her out, (Y/N). Just let go.” 

“I'm scared…”

The whispered confession lingers between you, raw and honest, a fragile thread woven from vulnerability. It’s the first genuine emotion you’ve unveiled, stripped of deflection and rules, revealing the truth beneath. Leon's intense gaze, usually sharp and unwavering, softens just a fraction, though the possessiveness within it remains unyielding. He nods slowly, as if your admission is precisely what he anticipated. “I know you are,” he murmurs, his voice unexpectedly gentle—a low, rumbling balm intended to soothe even as it constrains you. “That’s good. Fear means it matters. It signifies you’re on the brink of crossing a threshold from which there’s no return. And that’s the essence of it.”

His hand, warm and reassuring, glides along your back, moving upward to cradle the base of your skull. His fingers weave through your hair, a tender but possessive touch that amplifies the sense of intimacy. As the loosened bra slips down your arms, it reveals your skin to the flickering firelight, bathing you in a soft, golden glow. The cool air kisses your bare skin, eliciting a shiver, but the heat radiating from his body, combined with the intensity of his gaze, creates an overwhelming warmth that envelops you.

“But you're not alone. I'm right here,” he promises, his voice steady and calm, a steady anchor amidst the swirling chaos of your emotions. “I’ll guide you through every second of it. I’ll make it good for you. I promise.” He leans in again, and this kiss is unlike the others. It’s not a fierce demand or an exploration; it’s slow, deep, and enveloping. It’s designed not only to calm your racing heart but also to ignite a rousing spark of desire. His tongue meets yours in a languorous dance, a deliberate intimacy that seeks to soothe your fears while simultaneously fanning the flames of your arousal.

As he breaks the kiss, his lips linger just above yours, a tantalizing breath away. “Just keep your eyes on me. Don’t think about tomorrow. Don’t think about Father Ruiz. Just feel this. Right now. With me.” 

“But then...I won’t be pure for marriage, Leon,” you whisper, your voice trembling, laced with trepidation. “No one would want me.” 

The fear in your words is tangible, a last-ditch effort to cling to the life you've been conditioned to desire. Leon’s expression remains stoic, yet a newfound intensity ignites within his eyes—a mix of triumph and something darker, a steely resolve to dismantle the last vestiges of your ingrained beliefs. He holds you there, half-undressed and trembling in his warm embrace, the firelight casting flickering shadows across your bare skin, painting you in shades of gold and crimson.

Leon’s voice drops to a low, lethal whisper, each word coated in gravity. “Pure for what marriage? For some faceless stranger who will never grasp the darkness lurking in your soul? The horrors you’ve witnessed in the shadows?” His thumb glides gently along your cheek, a gesture that feels more like a possessive mark than a mere comfort. “You really think a husband would look at you after a mission and see anything other than the monster you occasionally have to become? I see it. I see every fragment of your truth. And still, I want you. More than any boy from your church ever could.”

His hand shifts from your cheek, sliding down to rest over your chest, his palm in direct contact with your racing heart. He can feel its frantic rhythm pulsing beneath his fingers, an echo of the tumult within you.

“That ring... It's meant for a girl who’s no longer alive. The woman you’ve transformed into... she belongs with me. In the darkness of this world, where you’ve already surrendered yourself to my claim.” He leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a fleeting touch, more a whisper of a kiss than anything substantial. “And believe me, (Y/N)... after tonight, the only man who will ever truly possess you... It’s me.” 

“But what if I regret it?” The question slips from your lips, soft and tentative, a delicate thread of doubt woven into the charged atmosphere. Leon’s gaze remains unwavering, intense as he listens, mulling over your concern as if it were the most critical inquiry he’d ever faced. The flickering firelight casts his features in stark contrast, revealing sharp lines and shadowy contours, a blend of danger and allure. His hand stays pressed over your heart, heavy and unyielding, a weight that grounds you amidst the chaos swirling around you.

"You won’t," he declares, his voice steady and unwavering, as if he’s stating an undeniable fact, a law of nature like gravity itself. “Regret is reserved for mistakes. This isn’t a mistake. This is an awakening.” His hand, which had been resting lightly on your hip, slides sensually around to the small of your back, pulling you against him with an intoxicating urgency. The unmistakable firmness of his body presses against your lower stomach, a heat that ignites your skin.

"I’ll ensure that you become devoted to me," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. "I’ll ruin you for anyone else, so completely that even the thought of another man’s touch will feel like betrayal. A betrayal of me. To yourself.” He lowers his head, and his lips find the delicate spot where your neck meets your shoulder. This time, instead of biting, he places a lingering, slow kiss there, his tongue tracing a heated and tantalizing line along your skin. A delicious shiver courses through you, igniting your senses. 

“Feel that fear? It’s the last remnant of the girl you once were. Let me free you from it,” he whispers against your skin, his words laced with promise and danger, beckoning you closer to the precipice of desire.

“Leon...then would we…” You asked, while furrowing your eyebrows. The unfinished question hangs in the air, a hesitant, breathless thing. You can feel the tension coiling in your body, the war between a lifetime of conditioning and the raw, undeniable pull of the man holding you.

Leon's eyes gleam in the firelight, seeing the crack in your resolve, the unspoken curiosity. He doesn't smile, but satisfaction radiates from him.

“Would we what? Say it, use your words, tell me what you’re thinking,”  His voice is a low, intimate prompt, his thumb stroking the bare skin of your side where your blouse hangs open. 

His hand on your back slides lower, his fingers splaying over the curve of your backside, a possessive, grounding pressure. He shifts his hips, making the hard ridge of his erection press more insistently against you. The message is clear, crude, and impossible to ignore. “Would we be together? Is that what you're asking?” 

He leans in, his lips brushing your ear, “After I've been inside that tight little virgin cunt? After I've made you come apart on my cock? After I've filled you up?” The vulgar words are a deliberate shock, meant to shatter the last of your innocence. He pulls back just enough to see your reaction, his gaze dark and hungry. “Yeah. We will. In every way that matters.” 

The kiss you begin is a languid, tentative exploration, a delicate surrender that conveys emotions deeper than words ever could. Your eyelids flutter shut, and your entire being is enveloped in the unexpected warmth of his lips brushing against yours. You are blissfully unaware of the subtle movement of his hand; the gentle way his fingers slide around your ring, coaxing the silver band from your finger with a soft, almost reverent touch. It slips off, leaving a faint, cold imprint on your skin—a reminder of the past now severed.

As Leon withdraws from the kiss, there is a moment of stillness. He holds the ring up between his thumb and forefinger, the metal gleaming in the light, an unspoken declaration hanging in the air. “There. No more chains,” he states, his voice steady yet laced with an underlying intensity. He doesn’t hastily tuck it away or carelessly toss it aside; instead, he gently closes his fist around it. The sight of his knuckles turning white conveys an urgency, as if he is trying to absorb the weight of its significance, the power it symbolizes, melding it into his very being. Then his free hand cups your bare breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple, making you gasp into the renewed contact. “Now... let's get you out of the rest of these clothes. I want to see all of you.” 

He doesn't wait for permission. His hands are suddenly everywhere, pushing your blouse the rest of the way off your arms, working the button of your trousers. The warm glow of the firelight flickers and dances across your newly revealed skin, casting an enchanting warmth that accentuates every curve and contour. The shadows on the wall unite, swirling into an abstract figure that seems to pulse with life. Your fingers tightly grasp the fabric of his shirt, clinging to it like a lifeline, desperate for an anchor amidst the ebb and flow of the moment, as he efficiently undoes the fastening of your trousers. The sound of the zipper is loud in the quiet room. He pushes the material down your hips, the cool air a shock against your heated skin. You can feel the rough texture of his shirt under your fingertips, the solid muscle of his chest beneath.

He kneels slightly to help you step out of the pants, he said, “That's it. Hold on to me. I've got you.” Once your trousers and underwear are pooled around your ankles, he guides you to step out of them. You stand before him, completely bare except for your socks and jewelry, the diamond earrings and diamond cross, a stark contrast to your nakedness. The firelight paints your body in warm tones, highlighting the gentle curve of your hips, the triangle of hair between your legs. His eyes roam over you with a possessiveness that feels like a physical touch.

“God, look at you... Perfect. All that training, that strength... and this softness. All for me.” Leon whispered to himself. He reaches out, not to touch you intimately yet, but to trace the line of your collarbone with one calloused finger, down between your breasts, over your stomach. His touch is deliberate, worshipful almost, but with an undercurrent of sheer hunger. “Now it's my turn.” 

His hands glide to the hem of his shirt, lifting it over his head in one seamless, graceful motion. The flickering firelight dances across the hard contours of his chest and abdomen, illuminating the scars that etch a narrative of a life steeped in conflict. He stands before you, a striking figure of sinewy muscle and weathered skin, a living testament to the tumultuous world he has vowed to shield you from. 

You find yourself captivated, your heart racing against your ribs, akin to a frantic bird trying to escape its cage. The sight of him, bare from the waist up, is nothing short of intoxicating. Scars crisscross his torso—each one a pale, jagged line that whispers secrets along his ribs, a puckered mark near his shoulder that silently recounts a story of pain and survival. The firelight sculpts his physique, enhancing the powerful definition of his muscles, and drawing the eye along the dark trail of hair that leads tantalizingly down towards his still-fastened trousers. 

He is a monument to a life spent in the shadows, and as he gazes at you, his eyes hold a fierce intensity, as if you are the most precious trophy he has ever fought to claim.

“See? No more hiding. For either of us.” 

His hands go to his belt buckle, the metal clicking open with a definitive sound. He undoes the button of his trousers, then the zipper, the rasp loud in the tense silence. He pushes them down, along with his briefs, kicking them aside. He stands before you, fully erect, his arousal stark and undeniable. The size of him, the sheer reality of it, makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Leon!” You let out a sharp yelp, your eyes widening in shock at the sudden sight of him standing there, completely vulnerable. The gasp escapes your lips, a reflexive reaction that overwhelms you as your hands instinctively fly up to shield your eyes. The movement is one of pure instinct—a last effort to block out the raw, undeniable reality of what’s about to unfold. Leon remains still, not reaching to pull your hands away; instead, he allows you to make that choice—whether to look or to hide. 

The air is thick with tension, punctuated only by the crackling of the fire that dances between you, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Your breath comes in quick, anxious bursts, echoing in the silence that feels almost electric.

“Shy? After everything we've been through?” His voice is low, almost teasing, as he tilts his head, revealing a smirk that twists his lips with mischief. “You can look, (Y/N). It's just a part of me—the part that’s going to be inside you very soon.” With deliberate slowness, he steps forward, and you can feel the heat radiating off his body, warm and intoxicating, even with your eyes covered. The scent of him envelops you—clean sweat mingling with the rich aroma of leather and pure masculinity—an overwhelming sensation that ignites something deep within you. “Take your hands down. I want to see your eyes when I touch you for the first time. I want you to see me.” His hands settle on your wrists, not forcing them down, but applying a gentle, insistent pressure. His touch is warm, his grip firm. “Don't be afraid of it. It's just flesh and blood. Like yours.” 

Your hands gradually descend, revealing wide, startled eyes locked on his unwavering gaze. The flickering firelight dances within their depths, transforming them into twin points of incandescent flame, shimmering with a mix of trepidation and newfound fascination. You avoid diverting your attention to his body for the moment; your focus is anchored on his face, where an intense, possessive certainty radiates. He meets your gaze with unwavering conviction, his own eyes a dark abyss filled with an emotion that transcends mere lust, hinting at something much deeper. 

“That’s better,” he murmurs, his voice low and rich, laced with approval. “Now... look.” His hands glide from your wrists, gently trailing down your arms in a deliberate and tender caress, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake, a path marked with goosebumps that ripple across your skin. He doesn’t force your gaze away; instead, he patiently holds your stare, his own gaze unwavering, until the pull of your curiosity—or perhaps his silent command—compels you to glance downward finally. The sight is intimidating, visceral. He is fully erect, thick and veined, a stark symbol of the act that will irrevocably change you.

“See? Nothing to be scared of. It's going to make you feel good.”  His thumb strokes the inside of your wrist, right over your pulse point. “I'm going to make sure of it.” He steps closer, the air between you crackling with an electric tension as his body hovers just inches from yours, radiating warmth that feels almost magnetic. His hand glides from your arm to rest on your hip, fingers embracing the gentle curve of your waist, their touch both gentle and possessive. As his thumb brushes over the tender skin of your lower stomach, a shiver of sensation dances through you, awakening every nerve with a tantalizing softness. “Now... touch me.” 

He doesn't guide your hand. It's another test, another step he wants you to take on your own. His gaze is heavy, expectant. The air in the room is thick with the scent of smoke, leather, and the heady, primal smell of arousal. “Leon, I... I don't know how.” You confessed softly. The confession is soft, almost lost in the crackle of the fire. Your uncertainty hangs in the air, a stark contrast to his raw confidence. Leon's expression doesn't shift to impatience; instead, a slow, predatory smile touches his lips. He seems to relish your hesitation, seeing it not as a refusal, but as an opportunity to guide you, to claim another part of your initiation.

“You don't have to know how.” His voice is a low, reassuring rumble. “I'll teach you. There's no right or wrong way. Just your way.” His hand leaves your hip and closes gently around your wrist. His grip is firm but not forceful, guiding your hand downward. He moves slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. The air hums with tension as he brings your fingertips to rest against the warm, hard plane of his stomach, just above the coarse trail of hair. “Start here. Just feel.” He said while looking at your soft hand. His skin is hot and surprisingly smooth over the rigid muscle. He lets your hand rest there for a moment, his own hand covering yours, a steadying pressure. Then, he guides your hand lower, inch by deliberate inch, until your fingers brush against the base of his erection.

The contact is electric, and you flinch instinctively, but his hand holds yours firmly in place. His breath hitching slightly, “That's it. See? It's just skin. It won't bite.” He moves your hand slowly, wrapping your fingers around him. The feeling is alien…the heat, the hardness, the soft skin over steel-like tension. His own hand remains on top of yours, showing you a gentle, rhythmic motion. “Just like that. Easy. You're doing perfectly.” 

He studies your face closely, his gaze piercing as he takes in the swirl of emotions reflected in your wide eyes—fear, curiosity, and a hint of shock dancing together. With a gentle yet deliberate motion, he raises his other hand to your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your jawline in an intimate gesture. “Now you understand how this works,” he murmurs, his voice steady and confident. “And tonight... tonight, you’re going to discover so much more.”

“It's so warm and...big.” Your whispered observation, a mixture of awe and trepidation, seems to please him immensely. A low, rough sound escapes his throat, part laugh, part groan. His hand remains over yours, maintaining the slow, guiding pressure as you hold him. The sheer size and heat of him is undeniable, a physical promise of the intimacy to come.

His voice thick with arousal, “Yeah, it is. It has to be. To fill you up properly. To make sure you feel every inch.” He slowly removes his hand from atop yours, leaving you holding him on your own. His gaze is heavy, watching your reaction as you feel the weight and pulse of him in your hand. His other hand slides from your cheek down your neck, over your collarbone, and comes to rest on your other hip, pulling you a fraction closer.

“Get used to the feel of it. Because soon…” He leans in, his lips brushing your ear, his voice dropping to a possessive whisper. “It's going to be buried so deep inside that tight little cunt, you'll forget what it was like to be empty.” His crude words send another jolt through you, but your hand doesn't pull away. The initial shock is giving way to a hesitant, fascinated exploration. Your thumb tentatively strokes the velvety skin, feeling the powerful thrum of his heartbeat there and watching your every move. “That's it. Explore. It's all yours tonight.” Leon whispered. 

You pull your hand back, the sudden loss of contact leaving your fingers tingling. You gaze up at Leon, your heart racing, the vibrant energy coursing through you akin to the dizzying sensation of standing precariously at the edge of a cliff. Leon’s eyes are deep, dark pools filled with intent, searching you, deciphering the silent acquiescence that your body exudes. He takes his time, not rushing; with deliberate slowness, he steps forward, closing the small gap between you until his bare chest nearly grazes yours. The warmth radiating from him envelops you, a tangible force that stirs something primal within.

With a tender yet commanding touch, Leon reaches out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for just a moment against the soft skin of your temple. “Waiting for instructions? Good girl. That's how this starts,” he murmurs, his voice low and sultry. His hand trails smoothly from your hair down to your arm, a slow, possessive caress that ignites the nerves beneath your skin. His gaze leaves your eyes, skimming down your figure with a voracious hunger, an appraisal that sends a flush creeping up your neck and across your cheeks.

He takes your hand again, but rather than guiding it back to himself as you might expect, he turns it over with a subtle authority, exposing your palm. Leaning in closer, he brings your hand to his lips, where he kisses the center with deliberate slowness. His mouth is warm and inviting, and the sensation of his tongue darting out to taste your skin sends a shiver up your spine. “But the lesson's over for now. It's time for the main event,” he says, the promise in his words hanging heavy in the air like an unspoken thrill.

He gently releases your hand, allowing his own hands to find their place on your hips, his grip both firm and reassuring. With measured slowness, he guides you backward, each step deliberate, until the backs of your legs come to rest against the plush edge of the large chaise lounge, its sumptuous velvet upholstery offering a tantalizing contrast to the warmth of your skin.

“Lie back,” he commands softly.

There’s no force behind his words; the weight of his hands is enough to coax you into compliance. You yield to the invitation, sinking into the chaise, the velvet enveloping you in a soft embrace that feels almost luxurious against your heated body. The firelight casts your naked body in a warm, golden glow, highlighting the delicate lines of your DSO-trained form. Leon stands over you for a moment, a predator surveying his prize, his erection standing thick and demanding against his stomach. Leon kneels on the chaise, one knee between your legs, “Let's see how ready you are for me.” 

His hand slides up the inside of your thigh, a slow, deliberate journey. His calloused fingers are a rough contrast to your soft skin. He doesn't stop until his fingertips brush against the damp curls between your legs. You gasp, your hips bucking involuntarily at the contact.

“Just as I thought. Soaked. That scared little pussy is already begging for it.” His fingers part you, a gentle but firm pressure. He leans down, his face close to yours, his eyes holding yours captive. “Keep your eyes on me.” 

“Okay…okay,” You whispered, your gaze locked onto his, as if willing the final barriers to dissolve between you. Your eyebrows knitted together, not in defiance, but in a blend of fear and unwavering determination. Leon’s demeanor transformed; the air of predatory patience quickly evaporated, replaced by an intense, ravenous hunger that burned in his eyes. He remained silent, a chilling intensity radiating from him, his concentration razor-sharp, as though nothing else in the world existed outside of this moment. He spreads your legs wider with his knees, “That’s my girl.” 

His fingers slide deeper, exploring your folds with a practiced, deliberate touch. The calloused pads of his fingers are rough against your most sensitive flesh, a shocking contrast that makes you jolt. He finds your entrance and presses one finger gently, not entering, just testing the give. A low, approving sound rumbles in his chest. He could feel the small pink flesh begging to be ruined by a man like him. 

“So tight. Like a fist.” His voice is thick with arousal. “It's going to be a hell of a fit.” He leans down closer, his sturdy frame enveloping yours as he hovers just inches above you. The musky scent that clings to him—an intoxicating blend of aged whiskey, the heat of his sweat, and an undeniable essence of raw masculinity—fills the air around you, wrapping you in a heady embrace. His other hand comes up to cup your breast, his thumb circling your nipple, making it peak into a hard bud.

“Leon! It... feels weird,” You yelled out, your voice trembling with a mix of surprise and vulnerability. Instinctively, your legs snapped shut, a reflexive motion aimed at protecting yourself from the invasive sensation that coursed through you. The sudden movement caught his hand between your thighs, but to your astonishment, Leon didn’t withdraw. Instead, he let out a deep, resonant chuckle that rolled through his chest, sending vibrations straight into your own. The sound was dark and captivating, unexpectedly wrapping around you. His other hand continues its slow, maddening circles on your breast.

“Shhh. I know it feels weird. It's supposed to. It's new. Your body doesn't know what to do with it yet. But it will.” He let out a soft laugh. He applies a gentle, insistent pressure with his knees, coaxing your legs to part again. His trapped hand doesn't move; his finger remains pressed against your entrance, a persistent, warm pressure. “That 'weird' is just the feeling of waking up. Of that little pussy realizing what it's for.” He leans down, his lips brushing yours. “Let it happen. Open for me.” 

His thumb on your nipple presses harder, a sharp, pleasant pain that makes you gasp. At the same time, the finger at your entrance pushes forward, just the tip breaching you. The sensation is a shocking mix of stretching pressure and a deep, unfamiliar thrill. Your hips buck involuntarily. He lets out a soft groan, feeling the tightness of your pink muscle suffocating his finger. Leon watches your face intently, “See? Not so bad. Just the beginning.”

“It's... a lot…” 

Your body is tense beneath him, like a bowstring drawn to its utmost tension. Leon takes in your words and your response with a deep, possessive satisfaction that dances in his eyes. Instead of relieving the pressure, he leans into it further, his presence enveloping you. His finger presses deeper, an unhurried yet relentless exploration that elicits a breathless gasp from your lips. The stretch is undeniable, a burning fullness that is both alarming and, against your will, intensely arousing. “I know it's a lot. It's supposed to be. I'm not some boy who's going to tiptoe around you. I'm going to take all of you. Every. Tight. Inch.” Leon stated while looking down at you. His thumb on your nipple rolls it firmly, sending a jolt straight to your core. His finger inside you crooks slightly, pressing against a spot that makes your eyes widen. A sharp, involuntary sound escapes your throat—part gasp, part moan.

A sly, predatory grin curled at the edges of his lips, exuding an air of intoxicating confidence. “And you’re going to absolutely love it,” he murmured, his voice dripping with a tantalizing allure. “Your body already craves it. Just listen to what it's telling you.” Leon's tone was soft, almost hypnotic, drawing you in closer as he spoke. He begins to move his finger, a slow, shallow thrust in and out. The friction is wet, slick with your own arousal, a crude confirmation of his words. The sensation is overwhelming, a confusing mix of pleasure and the sheer, shocking reality of being penetrated for the first time. His eyes are locked on yours, watching every flicker of fear and fascination cross your face.

“Okay…” You whimpered softly, the sound escaping your lips like a delicate plea. Your fingers dug into the hard muscle of his forearm, clinging to him as if he were the only solid anchor in a world that seemed to tilt dangerously off its axis. That soft whimper, laced with a mixture of vulnerability and yearning, was all the permission Leon needed. 

His gaze deepened, turning dark with an intensity that made your heart race, the last flicker of patience in his eyes evaporating, replaced by a fierce, predatory intent. “Good girl,” he murmured, a trace of dark amusement dancing in his voice. “Now... let’s get you ready for the main course.” 

With deliberate slowness, he withdrew his finger, the sudden absence of pressure causing a gasp to escape your mouth, a blend of surprise and longing swirling within you. But he doesn't pull away. His hand moves lower, his thumb finding the sensitive, swollen bud at your apex. He presses down, a firm, circular motion that sends a shockwave of pure sensation through your entire body. Your back arches off the chaise, a silent, involuntary plea. “So responsive. Every part of you is begging for it.” He said in a hungry tone. 

He shifts his weight, positioning himself more fully between your spread legs. The blunt, hot head of his erection presses against your entrance, a promise of what's to come. He doesn't push in yet. He just rests it there, letting you feel the immense pressure, the undeniable reality of his size against your most intimate flesh. He leans down, his lips brushing your ear, “This is it, (Y/N). The point of no return. You ready?” 

His question is rhetorical. His hips push forward, just an inch, and the tip of him breaches you. The stretch is immediate, intense, a burning fullness that steals your breath. It's more than you expected, more than you could have imagined. “It hurts, Leon! No, stop, it hurts!” You immediately yelled out. Your scream is sharp, raw with genuine pain, a sound that cuts through the heated atmosphere of the room. Your body goes rigid beneath him, your nails digging harder into his arm as you try to push him away, to close your legs, but his weight and strength are immovable. The initial, shocking stretch is a burning, tearing sensation that feels like it might split you in two. Tears spring to your eyes, blurring the intense, focused look on his face.

His voice emerged as a low, strained command, a resonant whisper that seemed to fill the space between you. His body remained tense, suspended at the threshold, yet he didn’t pull away. “Shhh, I know,” he murmured, his tone imbued with a mixture of empathy and determination. “I know it hurts.” With careful deliberation, he brushed the tears from your cheek using his thumb, the gesture unexpectedly gentle against the backdrop of such intensity.

He stayed right where he was, his presence a steady anchor as you adjusted to the invasive pressure. The tension in his muscles was palpable, each one coiled tight with the effort it took to maintain his self-control. Leaning down, he brought his forehead to rest against yours, his eyes locking onto yours with an unnerving intensity that seemed to bore into your soul. The world outside faded away as he said, “This pain... It's the last thing holding you back. Let me take it away. Let me in. All the way.” The warmth of his breath mingled with the electricity in the air, creating a cocoon around both of you. His hips push forward another fraction of an inch, a slow, relentless invasion that makes you cry out again, a broken sob this time. The burning intensifies, a sharp, stinging fullness that is utterly overwhelming. But beneath the pain, a strange, deep thrum of sensation begins to pulse, a confusing echo of the pleasure he'd promised.

“That's it. Just a little more. Give it to me. Give me all of it.” 

“Leon, it hurts, please…” You began to tear up. Your whines are high and desperate, tears now tracking through the foundation on your cheeks. Your face is scrunched tight against the searing pressure, your body a tense arch of pain beneath his. Leon's expression is a mask of grim determination, his own jaw clenched. He doesn't stop. He presses forward, another slow, inexorable inch, the thick length of him stretching you unbearably. The feeling is a brutal mix of tearing friction and deep, internal pressure.

“I know, baby. I know. It'll pass. Just hold on to me. Squeeze my arm. Breathe.” 

His hand moves from your hip to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, holding you steady. His thrust is relentless, a slow, measured push that sinks him deeper into your tight, resisting heat. The initial sharp pain begins to mingle with a dull, aching fullness. Your whimpers are choked sobs now, your body trembling violently under his. He pulls back just a fraction, then pushes in again, a shallow, testing movement. “Almost there. You're taking me so well. So fucking tight.” His voice is thick with a mix of awe and sheer carnal hunger. “Just a little more. Give me your virginity. Let me have it.” 

He shifts his hips, angling them slightly, and with one final, firm thrust, he sheathes himself completely inside you. The sensation is overwhelming—a feeling of being filled, possessed, stretched to your absolute limit. The burning pain is still there, a sharp ring at your entrance, but it's now overshadowed by the deep, profound fullness of him buried to the hilt. You feel every inch of him, a hard, pulsing presence where there was only emptiness before. He stays still for a long moment, letting you feel the complete invasion, his body trembling with the effort of holding back.

You let out a loud cry as your back arches, “Leon!” Tears streamed down your face. He holds himself deep inside you, completely still, his body a solid, unyielding weight atop yours. Your cry echoes in the quiet room, mingling with the crackle of the fire. The tears stream freely now, hot and salty, and you can feel the slick, warm trickle of blood mingling with the wetness between your thighs—the physical proof of your lost innocence. Your back is arched, your body instinctively trying to accommodate his full, shocking presence. Leon's breathing is ragged against your neck, his own control visibly frayed.

Leon’s voice is a rough, shattered whisper against your skin, “It's done. It's over. The worst part is over.” He doesn't move, letting your violated cunt adjust to the brutal, bloody stretch of his thick cock buried to the root. The initial sharp, tearing pain slowly diminishes, giving way to a persistent, deep-seated ache that pulses through your body like a relentless drumbeat. Each throb resonates, reminding you of the intensity that came before, as the sensation shifts from a searing sting to a heavy, dull discomfort that wraps around your muscles and bones, lingering with an almost suffocating intensity. Your tight walls clench around him involuntarily, a spasm of raw nerves, and he lets out a low groan, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary jerk that sends a fresh wave of sensation through your sore pussy. “Fuck... you're so tight like a fucking vise. Just relax now. Let your body get used to me.” 

He begins to move, not pulling out, but rocking his hips in a slow, grinding circle. The motion makes his cock rub against something deep inside you, a spot that sends a confusing jolt of sharp pleasure straight through the lingering pain. Your sniffles hitch, a surprised gasp escaping as your body betrays you. “There it is. That's what I was waiting for. Your needy little cunt is waking up. It knows what it wants now.” He whispered with a dark smirk. He pulls back slowly, the drag of his shaft a slick, burning friction. You feel every ridge of him, the sensation so intense it blurs the line between agony and ecstasy. When he's almost out, just the tip remaining, he pauses, watching your tear-streaked face.

“Ready for more?” 

He doesn't wait for an answer. He thrusts back in, a smoother, fuller motion this time, burying himself deep once again. The stretch is still vast and expansive, but the once-formidable, sharp edge has faded, giving way to a heavy, comforting fullness that envelops you. A wet, filthy sound echoes in the quiet room as his balls slap against your ass.

“Leon!” Your cry is sharp, a mix of pain and the shocking, unfamiliar pleasure of his cock filling your aching cunt completely. Your fingers dig into the hard cords of muscle on his forearms, clinging to him as he sets a slow, deep rhythm. The initial thrusts are careful, almost gentle, as he works his way deeper, each movement stretching your tender, bloody flesh. The sound is wet and crude, the slick friction of his penetration echoing his possessive growls.

He locks his eyes with you, “That's it... Take it. Take all of me. Your tight little pussy is made for this. For me.” He shifts his angle slightly, and the next thrust brushes against a spot deep inside that makes you jolt. A sudden jolt of pure pleasure ignites within you, slicing through the lingering dull ache. Your body instinctively arches once more, not from discomfort, but in an astonished reaction to this unexpected delight. Each nerve ending seems to awaken, sparking a vibrant energy that courses through you, invigorating and electrifying every fiber of your being. Your cunt clenches around him instinctively, and he lets out a harsh, gratified groan. A predatory grin spreads across his face, “You feel that? That's you, baby. Your body is begging for more. Don't fight it.”

His pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more confident, more demanding. The chaise lounge creaks under the force of his movements. Each drive of his hips is a claiming, a brutal reassurance that this is your reality now. The mix of pain and pleasure is intoxicating, overwhelming. Tears still glisten on your cheeks, each droplet a testament to your earlier anguish. But now, the sound of your whimpers shifts; they soften into a haunting melody infused with an unfamiliar emotion. His mouth hovers near your ear, his breath warm against your skin, and he whispers in a low, possessive tone, “You’re mine now. Every fucking inch. This cunt... this tight, dripping cunt... it belongs to me.” 

You whimpered, the aching pain was lingering deep inside, “Please…. Slower…” He ignores your plea, his thrusts only deepening, each one a deliberate, punishing grind that makes his balls slap wetly against your ass. The pace is relentless, the thick length of him pistoning in and out of your sore, stretched cunt. The initial burning has faded into a raw, throbbing sensitivity. With each brutal stroke, a new, shocking wave of sensation builds—a confusing mix of deep ache and sharp, electric pleasure that makes your toes curl.

“No. You don't get slow. You get what I give you. And I'm giving you everything.” 

One of his hands releases your hip and slides down, his thumb finding your swollen, sensitive clit. He presses down hard, rubbing in a rough, circular motion that wrenches a broken, high-pitched moan from your throat. The direct stimulation on top of the deep, full feeling of his cock is too much, overwhelming your senses completely. His eyes dark with triumph, “That's it. That's my girl. Come on. Let go. Let me feel you cum on my cock.” 

His thrusts become faster, harder, a frantic, driving rhythm that shakes your entire body. The wet, slapping sounds of your bodies meeting fill the room, a crude soundtrack to your deflowering. You can feel a pressure building deep in your belly, a terrifying, unfamiliar tension coiling tighter and tighter with each brutal penetration. Your whimpers turn into ragged, desperate pants. Your cunt is a messy, dripping ruin around him, clenching and fluttering uncontrollably.

Through gritted teeth, his control finally snapped. “Fuck... you're gonna make me cum. Take it. Take my fucking seed, (Y/N).”  You tried to push his lower stomach to slow down his thrusting. “Please, it's too much, Leon.” Your hands push weakly against the hard wall of his abdomen, but it's like trying to stop a freight train. He doesn't slow; if anything, your resistance seems to spur him on. His thrusts become even more forceful, each one a deep, grinding impact that jolts your entire frame. The trickle of blood from your torn pussy mixes with your arousal, creating a slick, filthy mess that coats his cock and thighs with each punishing stroke.

“It's supposed to be too much. I'm ruining you for anyone else. This cunt will only ever remember me.” Leon let out a raspy laugh. His thumb on your clit presses harder, rougher, the friction almost painful, but it sends jagged bolts of pleasure straight to your core. The contrasting sensations envelop you; the profound, overwhelming ache of his possession intertwines with the sharp, electrifying stimulation that prompts an exhilarating tension within you, driving you toward a shadowy brink that eludes understanding. Your body feels foreign, no longer under your own control; it has transformed into a vessel solely for his desires, quivering and writhing beneath his steady command. He leans in closer, his warm breath brushing against your skin, mere inches separating your faces. His eyes blaze with a primal intensity that ignites something deep within you. “You're mine,” he murmurs, his voice a low, urgent whisper. “Say it. Say you're mine.”

His hips slam into you with a final, brutal urgency. You can feel him swelling inside you, the base of his cock pulsing against your tender, bloodied entrance. The pressure in your own belly snaps, and a violent, unexpected climax crashes through you. Your gummy walls clenched around him in a series of tight, involuntary spasms, milking his cock as he lets out a guttural roar. As he gets ready to empty himself deep inside you, his body shuddering, “Fuck! Yes! Take it all!” 

“What... What was that, Leon?” Your scream is torn from you, raw and ragged, as the climax rips through your unprepared body. It's a convulsive, overwhelming wave of sensation-not pure pleasure, but a brutal mixture of sharp, electric release and the deep, aching stretch of his cock still buried inside you. Your cunt pulses and clenches around him, milking his own orgasm as he empties his hot, thick seed deep into your violated womb. An overwhelming sensation washes over you, an invasive grip that feels like a final ownership. Tears cascade down your cheeks, hot and glistening, intertwining with the salty sheen of sweat that beads on your skin. Your body quakes with an uncontrolled tremor, the shock of the moment rendering you vulnerable. Above you, his body convulses, each shuddering breath warm and uneven as it brushes against the vulnerable expanse of your neck, igniting a mix of fear and intimacy that leaves you breathless.

“That... was you cumming. Your body is accepting what it was made for.” He answered you. He pulls out slowly, the withdrawal a slick, messy slide that leaves you feeling empty and sore. Leon looks down between your legs, at the bloody, spent-soaked mess he's made of you.

He collapses beside you on the chaise, one heavy arm thrown across your stomach, possessive even in his exhaustion. The firelight glows on his sweat-sheened skin and the stark evidence of your lost virginity smeared across his thighs and yours. The room smells of sex, smoke, and blood. He turns his head to look at you, his eyes dark and satisfied.

“The little girl is gone. That scream was her dying breath. All that's left is you. And you... You belong to me now.” 

“Leon, it hurts right now,” You admitted as you rubbed your lower abdomen. Your gasps are shallow, shaky things, your body a wreck of oversensitive nerves and deep, throbbing ache. His seed leaks from your sore, well-used cunt, a warm, sticky trickle down your inner thigh, mixing with the blood. Your eyes, clouded with unshed tears, drift down to the silver purity ring that lies on the cold, dark marble floor, its dull gleam a stark reminder of the vast gulf between the person you used to be and the one you have become.

He brushes his hand across your stomach, the warmth of his touch both possessive and grounding, as he murmurs, “It's supposed to hurt. The first time always does.” Following the line of your gaze toward the ring, a flicker of dark satisfaction ignites in his eyes. “Let it hurt. Remember it. That’s the feeling of chains breaking.”

With a fluid motion, he shifts, rolling onto his side to face you completely, his muscular frame looming over you on the chaise. His fingers glide down from your stomach, tracing an unhurried path that sends shivers through your body through the mess of blood and cum, and rest possessively over your tender mound. His touch is not gentle, but claiming, a reminder of his ownership. “Your body is mine now—every ache, every shiver. I'll make it feel good, too. Soon. But right now... You just feel me.” He said. 

You turn into him, burying your face against the solid warmth of his chest, seeking shelter from the overwhelming reality of what just happened. The scent of his skin-smoke, sweat, and the faint, clean smell of his soap-fills your senses, a stark contrast to the raw, metallic smell of sex and blood that clings to both of you. His arm wraps around you, pulling you tighter against him, a gesture that feels both protective and profoundly possessive. His heartbeat is a strong, steady rhythm against your ear, a counterpoint to your own racing, shaky pulse.

Leon’s hand strokes your hair, his voice a low murmur, “Shhh. It's over. You did good.” 

“Are we together, Leon?” you whispered as you buried your face, “Please…” 

His hand lingers in your hair, momentarily pausing as the question hangs heavily in the air between you, fragile and exposed. He exhales slowly, the sound resonating softly in the stillness, as his chest rises and falls rhythmically beneath your cheek. The arm that encircles you tightens its grip, drawing you even closer against his scarred and sturdy frame, a fortress of warmth and strength. “You're mine. That's all that matters. That's all you need to be.” His words are not framed by a simple "yes" or "no," but instead carry an intensity that transcends the ordinary—an assertion of possession that feels more binding and enduring than any typical relationship could promise.

As his fingers resume their gentle caress through your hair, each stroke feels like both a comforting embrace and an indelible mark upon your being. Outside, the city sparkles with myriad lights beyond the elegant French doors, a distant, unfeeling world that holds no relevance in this dark, gothic refuge he has meticulously crafted for the two of you. Time seems to stand still in this sanctuary, where the outside chaos fades, leaving only the profound connection that envelops you both.

After a long silence, his voice softer, but no less intense, “Go to sleep, (Y/N). I'm not going anywhere.” He shifts slightly, arranging your bodies so you're more comfortably tangled together on the chaise lounge. The fire has burned lower, casting long, dancing shadows across the tenebrist paintings on the walls. The evidence of your initiation…the blood, the spend, the fallen ring…is a dark stain on the black marble between you and the rest of the world. His breathing begins to even out into a steady, deep rhythm, but his hold on you remains firm, an unbreakable tether.

“I'm feeling a little sticky, Leon... is it from us?” 

You feel the cold, sticky wetness drying on your inner thighs, a crude mixture of his semen and your own blood. The sensation is unmistakable—the physical proof of what just happened, clinging to your skin like a brand. Leon's chest vibrates with a low chuckle against your ear.

“Yeah, baby. That's from us. That's me, deep inside you. Marking you,” he let out a lazy rumble. “Get used to it.” You're gonna be feeling me on you, in you, a lot from now on.” His hand slides down your back, his palm rough and warm against your skin, coming to rest possessively on the curve of your ass. He doesn't make a move to get up and clean you; instead, he seems to relish the feeling, the evidence of his claim. He shifts slightly, deftly draping the frayed edge of a discarded blanket over both of you. The coarse wool grazes your overly sensitive skin like a thousand tiny prickles, yet his body heat radiates around you, wrapping you in an intoxicating, solid warmth. The penthouse is now enveloped in a tranquil silence, interrupted only by the gentle, crackling whispers of the dying fire casting flickering shadows across the room. In the dim light, the fallen purity ring glints momentarily, a brief flash of silver that is soon reclaimed by the encroaching darkness.

You whisper, “It feels... messy.” The word lingers in the stillness, an honest confession floating in the air. Messy. It’s the perfect word to encapsulate the tumultuous emotions swirling within you, a fitting description of the sticky, cooling fluid leaking from your sore, well-used cunt, for the coppery scent of blood mixed with the musky smell of sex that clings to the air, for the entire raw, overwhelming reality of the last hour. His seed is a warm, wet presence inside you, a constant, physical reminder of his possession.

His lips softly grazed your hair, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. “Life is messy. What we do is messy.” He gestured with his free hand, a sweeping motion that seemed to encompass the raw energy pulsing between you, “This… is the truth. No more clean, pretty lies.”

He shifted again, turning you slightly so that he could gaze deeply into your eyes, his gaze illuminated by the flickering flames. They sparkled like embers, revealing a depth of emotion that made your heart race. His thumb glided over your cheek, gently wiping away a stray tear that had escaped, a tender gesture amidst the chaos of the moment. 

The fierce look in his eyes was no longer predatory; it had transformed into something more profound—an expression of a man who was claiming something precious, something that now belonged to him alone. “You’re not a porcelain doll anymore,” he said, his voice thick with intensity. “You’re a weapon. And weapons,” he continued, his tone steady and unyielding, “get dirty. They get used… And I’m the only one who gets to clean you off.” 

The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy with promise and danger, igniting a fierce longing within you. He seals the promise with a slow, deep kiss, his tongue claiming your mouth with the same possessiveness his cock just claimed your body. It's not soft or exploratory like the first kiss; it's a stamp of ownership. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, his breathing steady. The sticky feeling between your legs is already becoming a familiar, uncomfortable truth.

“Will it always hurt this much?” 

His expression softens infinitesimally, a rare glimpse of something almost like sympathy in his hardened gaze. His thumb continues its slow, possessive stroke along your jawline. The fire casts shifting shadows across the sharp planes of his face. “The first time? Yeah, it hurts. Your body's not used to being opened up like that. To take a man.” His eyes drop to your mouth, then back to your eyes. “But no. It won't always hurt like this. The next time... it'll be different.”

His hand slides from your jaw down your neck, over your collarbone, coming to rest over your heart. He can feel its frantic, rabbit-like beat against his palm. “Next time, the pain will be a memory. And the pleasure... the pleasure will be so much more. I'll make sure of it. You'll be begging for it.” He leans in, his lips brushing yours in a ghost of a kiss, a promise of what's to come. The sticky, cooling mess between your thighs seems to pulse with a dull, persistent ache, a stark contrast to the gentle pressure of his mouth.

“Now sleep. Let your body heal. It belongs to me now, and I take care of what's mine.” 

“Can we get...ice cream after this? I want something sweet after my nap.” 

He emits a low, gravelly sound that borders on laughter, the vibrations resonating through his chest and brushing against your ear like a warm whisper. The request you made is startlingly innocent, a stark contrast to the raw, intense intimacy that lingers between you, suffusing the smoky air with an almost palpable tension. 

As he tightens his arm around you, a sense of security envelops you, grounding you in the moment. He releases a slow, lazy hum of acknowledgment, his voice smooth and inviting, “Ice cream? Yeah. Absolutely, we can get ice cream.”

He shifts, pulling the blanket more securely around your shoulders. The movement makes his spent cock, soft now but still substantial, brush against your thigh, a reminder of the recent, raw connection. The sticky, cooling mess between your legs feels more pronounced with the mention of something clean and sweet. “Sleep first. You've earned a nap. And the ice cream.” He kisses the top of your head, a surprisingly tender gesture. “My good girl.” 

He settles back against the plush leather of the couch, his breathing gradually deepening into the slow, soothing rhythm of impending slumber. The penthouse exudes an enveloping silence, interrupted only by the soft, crackling hiss of embers dancing in the fireplace, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Outside the grand French doors, the city lights twinkle like distant stars, but they seem a million miles away—an entirely separate world. 

You find yourself nestled against him, your body aching with a deep, unfamiliar soreness—a testament to the passion shared, the sweet possession that marks your skin with the memory of his touch. For the first time since that moment when he backed you into that corner, a strange yet profound sense of safety envelops you, surrendering to his unwavering hold.

As you drift into a restless, exhausted sleep, leaning against the solid warmth of his chest, the outside world fades away. Leon remains awake for a while longer, his sharp blue eyes meticulously scanning the dimly lit room, taking in every detail. His gaze settles on the fallen purity ring, an emblem of innocence now set aside, then drops to the sticky, bloody evidence drying on your inner thighs and his own skin. A dark, possessive satisfaction settles deep in his chest. No condom. The thought is a grim, final seal on the bond. His seed is inside you, a permanent claim, and the risk only makes the victory sweeter. He pulls the blanket higher, tucking it around your shoulders, his arm a heavy, unyielding weight across your back.

“Mine, for better or worse.”