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“You swallowed hard. You felt distant, like nothing really mattered anymore. It was just him. Only him.
The thought made your heart pump blood with a certain, awful dread. A lingering sense of wrong. That nothing good could ever come out of this; a tragedy waiting in the wings for its sacred cue.”
*+* AU where Stewart isn’t having an affair with Charlotte Randall, but still gets bitten. The subsequent reaction he has is a lust ridden madness for a certain someone he’s been seeing on and off. I played around a lot with that “turning into a werewolf by proximity” here as well as the nighttime amnesia that happens in the film. Everyone go listen to Teeth by Lady Gaga rn. Enjoy! *+*
Tags: Phone sex, dirty talk, masturbation, oral sex, fingering, p in v sex, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, choking, coming inside, biting, depictions of blood, angst, hurt/comfort
You’d known Stewart Swinton for around two months now.
He frequented the coffee shop you worked at, and on his fourth visit — all eyes on you — asked you out. You obliged, digging that blond do of his and his fancy way of dress, paisley ties and suede shoes. It was pretty clear from the get go however, that this was more of a casual thing — a fuck buddy if you will. He’d call you up every now and then, and if you had nothing to do, you’d invite him over or he’d send you a cab and have his way with you in his high rise apartment. You’d leave all smiley and he’d wave goodbye to you, smitten and half dressed, Clinique’s Black Honey smeared all over his neck. But like all things in life, the passion didn’t last forever. A couple of days would go by and the hook up was a done deal.
Supposedly, it didn't matter very much to you and neither did it really to him. Busy lives of yours led to a mutual agreement on pleasure.
That was until about three nights ago.
The first night, he’d called you up like usual, but this time it was way later than he normally did — and after not speaking to you for almost two weeks. Clicking your dainty, brass lamp on, you picked up the clattering telephone and croaked a quizzical hello into the speaker.
He said your name with a certain breathyness.
“Stewart?” you said, shifting in your sheets.
“Hey, how are you? I’ve really missed—”
“It’s one in the morning Stew,” you groaned, flicking your eyes to the glowing, red digits on your clock.
“Really? Shit, I’m sor—” he sounded utterly confused.
“…I’m sorry,” he finished, like he was suspicious of his own apology.
“What do you need?” you muttered.
“You,” he replied, quick and simple.
“What?” you scrunched your brows in the dim light.
“I just—” he paused, breathing weirdly.
“I just miss you…are you um free tomorrow?” he said a little shakily.
You sighed, putting a hand to your temple, “no I’ve got a double shift tomorrow, I’m sorry, Stew.”
Hesitation edged around the corners of your words, trying to be polite, “I’ve um…missed you too.”
There was an awkward pause as Stewart failed to respond to this inconvenience of his. Just thick, frantic breathing filled up the receiver, then a small whimper reached your ears.
It sounded upset.
“Are you all right there?” you inquired, still half asleep and very puzzled.
“…I’ve thought about you every night since—”
“Since what?”
A pause.
Then the tiniest, most unstable, breath of a “…fuck.”
You heard a muffled click and a stiff silence as he hung up the phone.
Staring at the wall, you laid in bed bewildered, genuinely unsure if you were dreaming or not. After letting out a huff of a laugh, you clicked the phone back down and turned around, letting sweet sleep lull your eyelids shut, shushing your mental inquiries and letting you forget all about the peculiar conversation you’d just had.
In the morning, as you recalled the whole debacle, you assured yourself that Stewart was probably drunk or high or whatever when he had called you. It’s not like he actually cared about you or anything, right? This was typical wealthy bachelor behavior; the man has too much to drink and suddenly he’s professing his utter need for you over the phone. Heading to work, you put the whole thing behind you. Unfortunately, your shift was on the shittier side that day. After two batches of burned milk, three spills, six rude customers, one screaming child, and enough boiling coffee beans filling up your nose to last a lifetime, you finally clocked out and headed back to your apartment.
Very tense and irritated, you resolved to take a steaming shower and crack open a pint of strawberry ice cream, lounging on your bed and watching whatever corny soap opera they had playing on your color tv, trying to remember that quitting your job isn’t a luxury you can afford right now.
Sedated on creamy, pink sweetness and grating laugh tracks, your lids grew heavy — and still in your damp, lavender bathrobe, you drifted off to sleep.
That’s when you were awoken by the telephone ringing. Again.
You jolted awake and registered how the tv bathed the dark room now in ghostly glow, a pale blue. Muting the television, you checked the time.
2:04 am
Having a sneaking suspicion who it was, you picked up the phone.
The way he called out your name confirmed it deliciously.
“It’s me alright, Stew,” you said, exasperated.
“Hey! How have yo—sorry it’s late um…are you doing good? I called you because I’ve um, been feeling very…” he laughed nervously, “…strange lately…very strange at night,” he said slowly.
“Hmm…and why out of all people are you choosing to tell me about it?” you responded a little more playfully than you’d like to admit. This time for some reason, you didn’t feel as sleep fuzzy as the night previous, you understood his spoken conversation perfectly — like you were wide awake now.
“Because I can’t stop sweating, and it’s like I don’t feel tired at all and I feel really good and the only answer my mind can seem to formulate, can make sense of—is you…” he explained passionately.
“…your face, your voice, yo—your body,” he whispered.
You gazed at the silent, moving figures illuminated on your tv screen.
“Huh. Is that so?” you raised a brow.
“Listen, I'd really like to see you, as soon as possible. I need to—” he swallowed hard.
A grin spread on your face as the figures ceased to matter anymore. He sounded desperate almost. It was fascinating.
“You need to what?” you murmured, intrigued.
“I need to…bite that small neck of yours,” he confessed.
Eyes widening, your heart began to thrum, an indescribable excitement flooding your senses. Your chest began to rise up and down with fervor against your fluffy bathrobe, sinking deep in the blue buzz of the room.
“Yeah…? And then what?”
You heard Stewart’s breathing pick up.
“…and then I’d rip all your clothes off and fuck you raw.”
You let out a thick exhale, dripping with lust, arousal flooding your pulse points.
“I’d put my mouth all over that trembling pussy of yours, lap at your cunt over and over again,” he breathed.
“The things I’d do to you baby…” he whispered, a licking sound coming from the phone, the one of his tongue slicking over his bottom lip.
He kept on, a slight clinking sound reaching your ears in the background. It seemed like Stewart had shifted in his bed or couch or wherever he was.
“I’d—I’d kiss you all over, god I’d lick you all over.”
He let out a very distinct sigh — an unmistakable exhale.
“Are you pleasuring yourself?” you whispered, thrilled.
“I want you. I want you here with me right now. Please I need to feel you and—and taste you, baby,” he softly moaned.
“Stewart…” you exhaled, inexplicably overtaken with his voice in your ear.
“Touch yourself,” he murmured.
And as if he had cast some sort of spell on you, you did exactly what he asked of you. You switched hands on the phone and undid the knot in your robe. Spreading it open, you lay there on your bed, exposed.
“…would you fuck me hard?” you grazed your nipple.
“I’d make you cry out my goddamn name baby, I’d sink my fucking teeth into you,” he replied, another lick in your ear as he covered his hand in saliva.
Stewart’s breath had picked up horrendously, he was panting now, a different wet sound coming through — the one of his stiff cock being stroked again and again.
You licked your fingers and crept a hand down to your clit.
“I bet it would feel so good baby, your big cock inside me,” you moaned, slipping two fingers within.
“Fuck—” Stewart groaned, sounding completely out of breath, sounding…wild.
You whined, working yourself up to an incredible state of arousal, hips rolling amidst the sheets.
“Please honey, I need to see your face. I need to—I need to have you. I want you, I want—fuck, I’ve got to—I need it so bad,” he hopelessly rambled, all moans and pants.
“…oh baby,” you breathed, fingers wet with slick as you rubbed your pulsing cunt.
“I need to fucking ravage you, devour you like—like…you’re mine. You’re mine, you know that? I’d do anything for you, mmm fuck—I’d let you do anything to me, I want you to use me, to suck me, eat me up and fuck me, I want you to—” he continued, the lewd slapping of his hand on his cock incessant.
“I’m yours baby—all yours,” you moaned, furiously pleasuring yourself.
He whimpered your name, something small and shattered which jut out harshly amidst his ravenous groaning.
“Stewart…” you breathed, close to reaching your climax.
“I’d do anything for you. I’d do everything for you. I’d fuck you for hours. I’d tie you up and make you cum over and over again. I’d make you mine. I’d fucking kill for you—please, baby…please, please, plea—please,” he pleaded frantically, his voice breaking with every desperate promise.
“—Iloveyou,” you said quickly, orgasming before you had any time to regret the words.
Stewart heard your loud cry through his receiver, stuck on your confession. He touched himself faster and faster, enamored.
“I adore you…” he whimpered, sounding like he was on the verge of something devastating.
As you came down from the orgasm, you heard his hopeless moans, strangled sounds as he came all over his hand, streaking his stomach with semen.
And for a while it was simply breathing, soft sounds as you both attempted to recover.
“…when can I see you?” he finally said small.
“I get off at four tomorrow,” you gazed at the ceiling, something unfamiliar imbuing your demeanor as you caught your breath.
“I’ll meet you at midnight,” he said with such assurance, such intensity, it made you softly laugh at the unusually late meeting time.
“Okay, I’ll see you then mister Swinton, sweet dreams,” you teased.
He sighed dreamily and you could just picture the hazy smile on his face.
“I wish I could kiss you goodnight,” he whispered.
“…me too,” you said, suddenly feeling very weird.
“I love you,” he breathed.
You paused. What the fuck?
“I love you too,” you muttered, confused.
Click. Stewart had hung up.
You thumped the phone back down and furrowed your brows, feeling strange. Your eyes flicked down at your shining, blue, naked body and suddenly felt scandalized. You covered yourself up. Phone sex. You’d never done anything like that before.
What…just…happened?
It’s like he had bewitched you somehow, whirled you into a lustful, filthy spell. One where his dirty words lulled you into some erotic trance that made you purr them sweetly back into his ear. The things Stewart breathed into the receiver were scandalous, unhinged, obsessive, nothing like the dirty talk he’d murmur in your ear all the times before. He said he had loved you—post orgasm. That’s supposed to be when you say the things you really mean with clarity, not some impulsive promise let out seconds before you cum.
Something was off, very off.
Stewart had changed. Drastically. And you weren’t sure if it was for the better or for the worst.
As you laid in bed, a strange anxiety crept in at your sides, feeling dizzy in that hazy, glowing luminance of the television. It gnawed at your insides, made you sweat and sweat, acutely aware of every minute sound in your apartment, the ticking of the black clock on the wall, the difference in drip of the stainless steel faucet in the kitchen and one the bathroom, your ceiling fan whirring incessantly, slicing through air, your fucking breathing like a biblical wind in your ears.
Stricken, you got up and simply sat in bed, eyeing your surroundings, feeling as if everything looked a little too sharp — shadows and reflections poking at your retinas.
As you nervously failed to understand what was happening, your hands swiftly ran over the fuzz of your bathrobe, trying to straighten the way the cloth draped on your thighs in anxiety. Confused and in need of some air, you walked over to the window, lifting up the glass. The nightly breeze hit your face and a mild buzz filled your ears. It sounded like some crazy, convoluted noise, and as you stood there trying to not freak the fuck out, you closed your eyes and simply listened.
And barely coherent, ever so small, you could make out different voices — like if a thousand conversations were happening at once and you were some radio tower, able to tune into them all simultaneously.
Frightened, you quickly shut the window.
This had to be some sort of weird, extremely specific type of exhaustion side effect. It was probably that goddamn job of yours that worked at your nerves and irregular sleep from being woken up at all random times of night from Stewart. It had to be.
As you stood there, gazing at the sea of blinking lights, mismatched columns and columns of buildings and skyscrapers, you came across a new problem. Something else washed over you that set you on edge even worse.
An insatiable need to see Stewart.
No, not to see Stuart. To feel him close against you, have him all over you, smearing what was his with yours, have him inside you, have him take you whole and wreck you, only to kiss you and put you back together again with his sweat, slick and hot against each other in the dead of night.
You swallowed hard. You felt distant, like nothing really mattered anymore. It was just him. Only him.
The thought made your heart pump blood with a certain, awful dread. A lingering sense of wrong. That nothing good could ever come out of this; a tragedy waiting in the wings for its sacred cue.
Morning came around and you found that you had overslept to your dismay. Coming to work late, your mind still lingered on the essence of Stewart. His suggestive promises. His needy tone. A disembodied voice begging to make himself real. The rest of the shift was a dream, strangely not there, for lack of words. A face, an order, an exchange, a cup, a liquid, a machine, another exchange, a thanks, another customer.
Whatever sort of physical transformation that you underwent last night had dampened as the early hours of the morning dragged by. It was still there, in the depths of your senses, but not as strong as it was when the moon hung high in your window the night previous.
When you finally got home, at close to five in the afternoon, you decided to call Stewart again, simply wanting to hear his voice and landing on confirming your rendezvous as an excuse.
Leaning on the kitchen pillar, you dialed his work number on your wall mounted telephone, hoping he hadn’t left the office yet.
“Hello?” he responded on the third ring.
“Hi! Stewart!” you let him know it was you cheerfully.
“Oh. Hi there, how ya been?” he chuckled.
“Good! How’s work?”
“Well, looks like I’ve been given the shitty, short end of the stick,” he sighed, “it’s hard to explain.”
“Oh I’m sorry,” you sympathized.
You fingered the spiral telephone cord.
“Well, you can tell me all about it tonight,” you said, a smirk creeping up your face.
“Oh really?” you could hear his voice shifting, interested and gaining warmth.
“Yes sir. You can profess your deepest, darkest secrets to me in the midnight hour—when I come over,” you teased.
He laughed, “midnight? Why so late?”
Your smile lingered, “what do you mean?”
“Well don’t you think midnight’s kind of late to start the hook up? Oh god, I probably sound so boring right now. Jeez, when did I get so old?” he replied, amused.
You tensed your brows.
“But you told me midnight?”
A pause.
“What?” he said.
“When you called me last night—y’know, when we spoke to each other,” you said all coy.
“What are you talking about?” he said, perplexed, “I don’t remember doing that.”
Another pause.
“Are you playing a joke on me?” you nervously laughed.
“No! No, I’m not,” he assured.
“Stewart, don’t lie to me. You called me on the phone late last night — just like how you fucking did the night before,” impatience rose within your voice.
“Woah, calm down. Listen, I truly do not recall ever calling you—I was asleep the whole night! I’m sorry but I think you’re mistaken…er, listen, I need to take care of some things before I leave the office so—I’ll ah, call you, maybe,” he said, uncomfortable.
You furrowed your brows, “you asshole.”
He didn’t reply and this time you hung up the phone, angrily clanking it against the wall.
Why the hell was he denying that he ever spoke to you? It made absolutely no sense.
That was his fucking voice on the phone. His promises. His panting. His moans.
This felt like some cruel prank. One that tugged at your heart strings, playing with them carelessly like a child and smiling as you winced. Now that you figured you weren’t going to meet up with Stewart at midnight, your mood fell sullen and hurt. God maybe he was hammered…completely wired out of his mind. What if he was one of those high functioning addicts or something? Is that too completely insane of a thought? Guess it would explain his erratic breathing and the slew of crazy things he said to you.
Still disappointed, but consoling yourself that you maybe at least dodged a bullet or something, you let the day pass by. You took a shower, got dressed and ate take out from your favorite Thai place, painted your nails, called a friend, read this month's edition of RockVideo and watched some more television.
You went to bed at ten, trying to ignore the tinges of loneliness that nipped at you, wishing that maybe Stewart was—
God, no.
You refused to let yourself get so wound up over this guy. This wasn’t even supposed to be a serious thing. It’s just a fling. It’s nothing. Stewart is nothing.
You tried to remedy your heartache with these thoughts but it was too late to console yourself. The phone call from the night before had done too much damage.
Drifting off to sleep, you laid in bed, finding yourself undeniably in love with young, blond, publishing executive, Stewart Swinton.
At twelve am sharp you were awoken.
Like the previous times, you jolted into consciousness, the apartment completely dark, and as you blinked furiously into the black void that was your room, you were befuddled.
Not because of the fact that you were awoken, but because of what awoke you.
Your phone wasn’t ringing.
Your door was being knocked on.
Clicking your lamp on, you heard the clattering sound of a fist against wood and a wave of fear overtook you.
Who the hell comes knocking on the doors of young women living alone at midnight? People who are no good, I’ll tell you that.
You sat in bed frozen.
What the fuck would you even do? Your door didn’t even have a peephole, and there was no way you were going to simply open the door, or call out who it was and let them know you were presently awake and conscious in the apartment. Maybe if you ignored the knock, they’d go away.
“Hello?” a voice called out your name.
It should've sounded faint and muffled through the walls of your bedroom, through the thick wood of the door.
But it was clear as day.
Stewart sounded clear as day.
Heart thrumming and completely surprised, you got out of bed. Creeping towards the door, flicking the lights on, you only undid the latch of the doorknob, letting the door get caught by the strain of the chain when you creaked it open.
And there he was, in the sliver of the doorway, tall over you and flicking his gaze into your eyes.
“Hello…” he grinned, suave.
“Swinton, what the fuck are you doing here?” you furrowed a brow.
“I’m meeting you at midnight. Remember?” he kept that sharp grin and flicked his eyebrows up to punctuate his sentence.
He looked…different. His eyes were lighter from what you could tell, amusingly lighter.
“I called you about that today and you were a real jerk to me over the phone, y’know,” you scolded.
He tensed a brow, taken a back, “I’m sorry, baby—I must’ve…um, I must’ve made a…mistake.”
You rolled your eyes, “don’t baby me.”
“Look love, I can explain it all to you. Just please let me in,” he said, softly.
“I want to see all of you,” he whined in a murmur, resting his blond head on the door.
You hesitated, feeling like he shouldn’t be let in, yet lost in those sparkling, golden eyes.
Slowly undoing the chain, you promised yourself that this was the last time you were going to see him, call this whole ordeal off tonight, wholeheartedly lying to yourself with a passionate brow.
You swung the door open.
There he stood in a thin, cashmere long sleeve in muted blue, scuffed jeans, and those chocolate, suede loafers of his.
He gave you a once over, muttering a “god…” under his breath, shakily taking in your suggestive, champagne colored, night slip.
“Now, can you tell me why exactly you—”
He swiftly shut the door and pulled you close against him, cutting you off as he met your mouth with such a passionate need it made your head spin. His hand crept down your back to your ass and palmed it, lips hot against yours.
You made a surprised noise against his mouth and pushed him off.
“Jesus, what is wrong with you?” you cried.
His face fell as he staggered back, “are you upset?”
“Yes! Stewart, can you please tell me what the hell is going on with you?? You’re acting completely insane!”
You crossed your arms, “I mean, you wake me late at night twice with your stupid calls, have phone sex with me, deny it the day after, then fucking show up to my door anyways and kiss me like nothing?”
You thumped down on the couch, upset, “you’re seriously messing with my head and it isn’t fair.”
A slight pause as you debated saying it.
“It’s like, do you even love me like you said you did? All the things you said to me, were they even real? Is this just some dumb game to you?"
You brought your hands up as your face trembled, feeling awful, “—no forget it, this is just something casual, nothing more, I know…God, I feel so fucking stupid.”
Stewart beheld your frowning face, your glistening eyes, and became distraught at the fact that he had somehow caused this, though he had no memory of even calling you this afternoon…what did he do this afternoon?
Concerned, he stepped over and sat next to you.
Wrapping an arm around your frame, he spoke softly, “hey…don’t cry…I’m so sorry, honey…I just—have trouble remembering what I…do…sometimes. I haven’t been all there lately. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings sweetheart,” he explained gently.
Your gaze was fixed on your carpet, sniffling and despite wanting to slap him, you found yourself leaning into his embrace, resting your head on his shoulder, feeling his mouth kiss your head. He kept it there as he spoke.
“…I don’t know what the fuck I said to you earlier, but I meant every word last night,” he whispered.
Silence.
“…really?” you said, barely audible.
Stewart caught it immediately.
You felt him shift, an absence of where his body was pressed against yours as he brought himself off the couch to his knees in front of you.
He took your hand and breathed your name.
“I love you. Endlessly. I really do…you’re all I can think about, honest to God.”
And there it was again, growing was that hazy feeling that glimmered and dripped down thick within you, made you do and say things that only he could bring out of you.
You gazed at him with teary eyes and crept a hand to his sandy head of hair. Stewart melted into your touch and let out a soft sigh, fluttering his blond eyelashes as your fingers came down to cup his jaw. He brought his head down and rested it on your knee, simply content with looking up at you there, towering above him on the couch.
“Anything I have is yours to take,” he breathed.
“…oh Stewart,” you said, letting out a small sob of a laugh and wiping a tear off your cheek, slowly being won over.
“Please don’t be upset, sweet. I want to make you feel good. I can’t stand to see those tears,” he murmured, tensing a blond brow and giving your knee a gentle kiss, then taking your hand and kissing your knuckles.
You smiled at his sweet kisses, noticing now how his hand in yours was covered in bandages.
“What happened to your hand?” you inquired, concerned.
Stewart kept on kissing your hand, bringing it to his nose occasionally. He replied casually.
“Someone bit me.”
You pulled your hand away from his grasp and brought his head to face yours, “what?”
He kneeled there, face framed by your hands, smiling as if he were wagging some imaginary tail, “I really wanna kiss you right now.”
“Stewart, are you okay? Who bit you?”
“My asshole mentor at work, y’know Will,” he said, coming to furrow a brow, pouting.
Stewart had mentioned the man before, random tid bits here and there about how Will was blocking him from a very valuable position at the publishing house and how the man had lost his “spark,” needed some time off and to take things slow. It was in his best interest.
“Will Randall? What—why did he bite you?” you said perplexed.
He shrugged, “ran into him on the street one night walking home and he seemed really strange. He growled at me and bit my hand, then ran away, was probably mad that I replaced him at work, that bastard.”
Stewart pulled his head away from your grasp, seemingly unbothered with the attack he just described; he resumed kissing your knees, sniffing his way up till he was at your thighs, pressing his mouth to your soft flesh over and over again.
You sat there confounded. Could this be the “since” that Stewart had mentioned earlier? But what did a bite from a coworker have anything to do with being madly in love with someone? And who the fuck bites someone out of contempt? It was too much to think about, especially with Stewart’s mouth trailing higher and higher up your legs.
“Stew!” you giggled, pushing his head away from your upper thighs, his hands hiking your night slip up ever so.
He giggled back and rested his chin on your knee again, cocking his head with a cute “…please?”
This was the most peculiar series of events that had ever happened to you. The tiniest inkling of sense would tell you that Stewart wasn’t trustworthy. Lying? Memory loss? Weird appearance? Bite marks?
But so late into the night and his touch so warm and passionate on your skin, that spell of want sparkled over you and you found yourself unable to resist him.
He kneeled there, antsy and awaiting your response, murmuring into your skin, “let me taste you, hun…”
You met his eyes and a smile bloomed across your lips, “alright.”
He grinned and took to kissing and licking and sniffing your legs once more. The sniffing was unusual, but you didn’t seem to care. Stewart spread your knees a little wider and teased your inner thighs with his mouth, making your breath hitch. He tugged your body forward, making you slip a little on the couch as he brought your crotch closer to his face. Completely exposed with the slip ridden up on your legs, he sniffed your panties, teasing your pulsing clit with his nose. You let out some flustered sounds at his intensity, how passionately he was examining and touching your most sensitive areas.
Stewart pulled your panties to the side and gave you a lick, wet and warm.
“Hmm, you taste good—like…” he gave you another lick.
“…orchids on a dewy day,” he murmured and kissed your clit, you let out a little exhale of a moan in response.
Stuart kept lapping at your pussy, sighing his own sounds of satisfaction, like he was eating something delectable. As you brought your head up, pressing it against the couch cushions to moan, you felt him pull away to swiftly slip your panties off.
Now in his clutch, Stewart gave them a quick, last, little sniff before he tossed them away, putting his focus back between your legs. He wrapped his arms around your thighs and lifted them so that your legs lay hooked around his shoulders.
Smearing his lips around your wet sex, he continued to murmur things as he ate you out, taking in the sweet scent of your cunt, “jasmine soap, lavender cream, mmm…coffee.”
Face painted in pleasure, you put your hand back through his blond waves, ruffling his hair as he dipped his tongue inside. Lewd sounds filled your apartment, the ones of delicious moans and scandalous licking and popping noises as Stewart sucked on your swollen clit. He spit at it and eyed its glistening contours with a suggestive gaze, coming back down and flicking his tongue on your flesh, digging his stubble specked mouth in deeper with a hopeless hunger.
“Fuck, baby…mmplease I’m so close,” you breathed, tightening your grip on his scalp.
Stewart moaned with pleasure at the way you tugged on his golden locks, intensifying the grip he had on your thighs as you squirmed in his hold.
You brought a hand to your mouth to muffle your moans as he made you climax, clamping your calves around his neck in bliss as Stewart kept devouring that flushed, sticky pussy of yours.
As you came down from that erotic high and eased your legs around his neck, Stewart popped up and manhandled you to lay beneath him on the couch, kissing you over and over with that damp face of his.
You kissed him back, feeling the scruff of his stubble against your face and creeping your hands around his back, tugging his long sleeve up his torso. Stewart sensed this and broke away to straighten himself up and yank it off his body. Now bare, you took in his naked, flexing torso and realized that, for some reason, you’d never really noticed just how much chest hair he had. It grew in golden tufts around his pecs, thinning down his stomach and forming a suggestive, swirling happy trail that led past the denim waist of his jeans.
Stewart never took his eyes off you as he slipped off his sweater. He came back down and murmured something above you, “I’ve been thinking about fucking you every night for a week now.”
“Why didn’t you call the first night?”
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“To take it further. I know this wasn’t meant to be anything real but I can’t stop dreaming about you lying with me in bed through the morning, not having to leave and doing anything you’d like with me, no matter the time and place. I can’t imagine my time without you anymore.”
He pressed a warm kiss to your lips, then trailed his mouth down your neck, licking and nuzzling its sweet spots.
“Mmm, I love you,” you breathed.
He came up to your ear and licked its lobe.
“…I worship you, angel.”
Suddenly, he was shifting on the couch and tucking his arms under your waist and picking you up, like fucking lifting you up off the couch. You giggled at this strong, sporadic act all the way to your bedroom where he gently laid you down on your bed, kissing your forehead as he did so.
Stewart stepped to the foot of the bed now, kicking his shoes off and unzipping his jeans, eyeing you like a predator does his prey, with a lustful gaze that worships to the point of desecration, partakes in something filthy to prove the pureness of his devotion. Something shifted now that you were in the bedroom; he was no longer a smiling puppy desperate to please you, now he was something worse, stronger, dangerous — and it might’ve had to do with the fact that the moon shone bright and full in the darkness, pooling in light from your bedroom window.
He crawled atop the bed and prowled through the sheets, not taking his golden irises off you lying there in your silky, champagne slip. You were something shiny and white he could sink his claws into, as if the wolf slipped past the chained gate and into the sheep’s pen; you, a fresh, spring lamb; a beauty just begging to be made a meal for the jaws of the beast.
Stewart stopped right above your frame, face to face, and he simply stared at you. He took in the features of your face, your perfect eyes, nose and mouth; he wanted to kiss that mouth, press his against yours all sweet like, see those lips widen and smile, open and laugh, open and…
…and take his aching, stiff cock, drool dribbling down the side, like a canine with its beloved tennis ball.
Then he realized he was grinding his throbbing bulge against your thigh and it felt amazing; he groaned and whined with the friction, so desperate to hump your leg like a hound in heat.
“I need you, I really, really…” he trailed off to moan, overwhelmed, heart thrumming with every desire to wreck you inside and out.
“God, fuck me Stewart,” you purred.
He crashed his mouth into yours, mouthing what you swear was a “thank you” on the way there.
Stewart messily met your mouth and started to yank his boxers off, discarding them somewhere by the carpet.
He kissed your collarbones, trailing his lips down further and further till he reached the satiny border that was your slip. Palming your breasts, Stewart decided that, despite giving him “easy access,” keeping the garment on wouldn’t do because he wanted to see that gorgeous body of yours all the way, and right now he couldn’t be bothered to waste time and let you lift yourself up to take it off.
No, what he did instead was suck on your neck and tear it apart with eager claws, letting it split in jagged edges right down the middle. Now freshly exposed, Stewart came down and grazed your nipple with his tongue, moving to tantalizingly tease your other. You gasped, slightly frightened at this violently erotic act, feeling him coming to kiss you on the cheek with a breathy “I’ll buy you another.”
His mouth came back down to lick and suck on your breasts, excited fingers creeping down to slip into your warm cunt; you whined in pleasure, completely in the palm of his hand.
Stewart broke off, still fucking you with his fingers, “I’ll buy you four more. I’ll get you whatever you want. I’ll buy you all of fucking New York baby.”
You breathed in and out feverishly, overtaken with pleasure as he ensured you soaked yourself between the legs. Stewart took in this dirty image, your hair shining in the moonlight, the slip in shreds around you, his hand’s tight grip moving so good inside your pussy.
“Look at you, God you’re perfect,” he murmured.
Stewart slid his hand out and gave himself a couple of strokes, smearing your slick all over the head of his cock, painfully erect already. He lined himself up with you and wasted no time pushing himself inside, you took in air deep, feeling him fill you up so deliciously.
Knees deep in the sheets, Stewart steadied himself with your bent thighs and worked himself up to a mild speed, eyeing the way he fucked you before tilting his jaw up with pleasure at the ceiling. You moaned with tense brows, watching the way his abdomen rolled down as he thrusted into you. He grabbed your left leg and pulled it up high, resting your ankle on his shoulder.
“God, you feel fucking. heavenly baby,” he expressed with emphasis back up the ceiling.
He brought his head down with a heavy exhale, coming to kiss your ankle, sucking and sniffing its skin as he kept your gaze, feeling playful — suddenly he gripped onto it and decided to begin driving himself into you; he smiled in satisfaction at your subsequent reaction.
Your hands grasped onto your bedsheets, feeling yourself shift against the mattress as he slammed into you hard every time.
“Mmm fuck, please—please yes, fuck, you feel so—fuck, oh my—” you cried out, seemingly forgetting you had next door neighbors.
“Moan for me baby,” he muttered as he fucked you.
You furrowed your brows and gazed up at him, letting sweet seductive noises out, palming your breasts and tilting your head back in pleasure.
Stewart let go of your leg and brought himself down to kiss your mouth, tonguing you in a nasty manner as he slid himself in and out. He pulled away and grinned, his canines looked extra sharp tonight.
“How many times do you think I can make you cum?” he whispered suggestively.
Eyeing him through your lashes, you let out another whine, already losing yourself with his cock deep inside you.
He kept your gaze, “don’t you think you deserve it? For me to fuck this pussy till you forget your own name?”
Failing to give a response, you saw Stewart straighten himself up — and it wouldn’t have really mattered if you had said anything, because soon after his hand was wrapping itself around your neck.
A steady pressure built itself on your larynx as he fucked you hard and fast. You gasped and whimpered, letting out squeaky moans as he ravaged your insides, your eyes trying not to roll upwards in ecstasy.
“There we go…that's my girl—bet that—feels—amazing—honey,” he cooed, though his gentle speaking was more like attempts at being soft spoken through helpless grunts and groans.
Your hands came up to grip onto his forearm, your features contorted with overpowering feelings of pleasure. Swinton only added flame to the fire by creeping his fingers back down to play with your clit.
God you were done for.
Stewart sensed you were close and let go of your neck, allowing you to briefly catch your breath before you were cumming all over his cock, arching your back and whining loudly. The sight turned him on immensely and after he pushed you a little further by rubbing your clit just a bit more, he swiftly grabbed your wrists and brought them upwards at the sides of your head, pinning you down.
Close atop you, he continued to push himself inside, but slowed down, focusing on kissing and licking that pretty little face of yours. His tongue streaked up your cheek, on the curve of your jaw, in and around your ear. Completely helpless, all you could do was moan, feeling the warm flesh of his tongue lick you all over as if you were some decadent treat.
“That pussy of yours is so wet honey,” he whispered, feeling your gushing flesh wrap around him so warm and tight.
“Yeah? Does it turn you on when I pin you down and fuck you like this? Such a gorgeous, sweet girl you are, moaning like a whore in my ear, God what’d I do to just keep you here with me forever, hearing you feel so good in my embrace—fuck, I’m so hard for you honey,” he moaned.
“Mmmstewart,” you trembled in his grasp.
“I think I’d give up everything to feel you this close against me,” he murmured, kissing your cheek.
“Please, I’d let you do anything to me,” you murmured shakily, completely enamored to the highest degree.
Stewart paused his movement. He kept you there, hopelessly pinned beneath him and simply looked at you with those gleaming irises. He grinned, barring his teeth at you in a wildly sexy manner before licking a slow stripe from your chin to your nose, coming to a furious kiss of his on the mouth. He broke away and his lids dropped as he contemplated something — whatever it was, he quickly shooed it away and gave your nose a small peck on its tip.
“Turn around, ass up baby,” he murmured with another peck, but on your forehead this time, before breaking away and pulling out.
Now on all fours, feeling irrevocably maddened by this incessant lovemaking, you felt Stewart easily slip back in. He held onto your waist and began thrusting into you. How he hadn’t cum yet was a marvel, but an absolute win in your book.
He started off slower, the graphic, moist sound of flesh sliding against flesh filling up your ears, which had increasingly become more sensitive again the more he fucked you, it was like every pant, every moan was so clear, so forceful, completely intensifying the experience.
You found that you yourself were panting too, mouth inexplicably filled with saliva, an insatiable lust rushing within you, despite already having climaxed twice. Somehow, your stamina hadn’t diminished, it grew stronger actually, aided by the pale glow of the moon on your sweat glazed skin.
“Like that sweetheart?” Stewart said, thick and sultry.
“Mmm, yes I do hun, fuck me harder,” you breathed.
“Only if you play with your clit while I do so, pretty girl,” he responded in a fiendish sort of manner.
“Yessir,” you moaned, lowering yourself down further by ceasing to be on all fours and letting the side of your face rest against the cotton of your pillowcase.
Hand on your clit, rubbing small circles, you moaned hard as Stewart sped up, a lewd thwacking sound reaching both your ears as he penetrated you from behind. He smacked your ass and muttered a “you’re so sexy love,” as he desperately plowed into that tight cunt of yours.
Your moans grew more guttural, unleashed and enthralled with how good he used you, stretched you out.
Stewart grabbed your other arm and pinned it behind your back, not stopping or slowing down in the slightest. Overtaken with pleasure, you turned your face to the side and stifled screams of gratification into your pillow, feeling yourself about to cum again.
“C’mon sweet, you can take it,” Stewart grunted.
The air grew hot and sticky with your head shoved deep into your pillow as you neared closer and closer into that burning, euphoria of oblivion.
You found yourself mindlessly mumbling the words, “pleasepleasepleaseplease...”
And for the third time you cried out, Stewart feeling that pussy of yours tense and spasm around him, which did nothing but to motivate his desire to please you till there was nothing left even more.
Feeling his own orgasm rising, Stewart kept fucking you hard till you collapsed onto the bed, weak with pleasure. He kept on, completely atop your backside as you lay flat on the bed, his body in a desperate rhythm against yours, moaning like he’d been celibate for a decade, howling actually. You rested your chin on your pillow, face hot and hair sticking to your forehead in sweet sweat, incoherent noises falling from your lips.
Stewart licked and lapped at your shoulder, your neck, resting his sweaty forehead by yours as he hooked his elbow around your neck, panting in your ear like a dog in heat.
The sex that was happening now could only be described as primal and animalistic, cutting off all composure, hedonism at the highest, hottest degree. The way he fucked you was downright disgusting and the way you liked it was simply sickening.
His elbow left your neck as he grabbed your jaw and yanked it upwards, you met his eyes above yours, your head bobbing as he thrusted into you.
“I’d die for you,” he murmured, reveling in its truth, how madly he was in love with you.
“Cum inside me,” you breathed, smiling and far intoxicated with the potent liquor that was his incessant love.
“Yeah? Fill you up like a good doggy?” he raised a devious, sexy brow, all breathy murmurs, hooking a finger or two in your mouth.
“Please baby,” you grinned suggestively, even letting out a teasing, muffled, “arf!”
Stewart let out an attractive, amused laugh before he let go and dug his face in your neck — licking, sniffing, panting, moaning — as he got closer and closer.
The bed creaked furiously as he sped up, driving his cock so hard and deep in you that you clawed at your pillow case in ecstasy. God, how you aroused Stewart with those moans of yours and — fuck, he was about to cum.
Stewart felt his heart race feverishly, losing control, unable to resist his deepest, darkest thoughts as he tipped over into his orgasm. He tried and tried to not give in but your essence just paired too well with his, a mixing of flesh and scent wasn’t enough, he needed more, wanted to get more, take more, consume, wreck, fuck, lick, love, bite.
He came hard and thick inside you, filling your cunt up with warm ropes of cum, a tight, detrimental grip on you as he spilled himself inside.
You cried out desperately, ferociously.
But not because you’d climaxed for a fourth time, but because Stewart had sunk his canines deep into the flesh of your shoulder as he came.
The pain was searing, wet, and exhilarating.
Perhaps comparable to an orgasm in its own, perverse, twisted way.
Mind reeling, you caught your breath, trying to understand what had just happened with wide eyes gaping at your headboard. Stewart had stopped biting and was still close atop you, panting. With a sting, you felt him gently lick the bite mark, lapping up the blood of broken skin, tasting your coppery essence on his tongue, putting his nose to the scent of all the you that was leaking out from the wound. He gave the bite a kiss and whispered something soft and inexplicably small in your ear.
“I love you.”
Just then, everything made perfect sense. His erratic attitude and behavior, the strange feelings that overcame you when he was near, everything. Something in the print of his canines in your skin inscribed an answer so complex, so wild and unrestrained in your consciousness, it was hard to put into words. You felt enlightened. He had given you a gift, a visual expression of what you meant to his purpose here; it was something deep and profound, sunk below the surface and broke the dermal layer of human attraction; it was vulgar and vulnerable at the same time.
Stewart had shown you his teeth.
He pulled out, allowing you to turn over on your back and face him, feeling all of the warm him dribbling out between your legs. You grazed the red bite mark with your finger and sucked air between your teeth, feeling it grow tender and spread a putrid sort of feeling within you, one of a pain so great it made your body tingle and buzz, ache and shiver.
You bounced your dilated pupils between his with quick, shallow breathing, a look of need within you, a wish for guidance.
Stewart gazed down at you and his eyes seemed to soften at the edges, a bit of worry lapsing through them. A sneaking image of you pushing him away in horror flashing through his mind.
You furrowed a brow and grabbed his neck, bringing him down to kiss you soft and slow. Stewart let his body press back against you, feeling your heart beat close against his. He melted into you with a relief, a love so great he could spend lifetimes searching in others for a fraction of what he felt for you, only to be met with disappointment every time. You kissed him again and again, not wanting to let go, afraid. Stewart held you tight, letting your worries soak up within him.
“Please stay,” you pleaded softly in between a kiss.
He nodded immediately, his thumb grazing your cheek as he cupped your jaw.
The moonlight shone bright and cool in your bedroom, wrapping you and Stewart in a cloak of soft security. The moon seemed to sooth the twisting and turning that raged inside you right now — she smoothed over the edges and molded you into something new.
Stewart pulled away and looked into your irises; they’d been melted down and recast into a gleaming, priceless gold.
He smiled.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.
His thumb traced your brow, entranced by your glow in the blue haze of the bedroom, mouthing your name like a pretty secret he’d like to keep to himself.
“I love you more than anything else in the world,” you responded, reveling in its truth like he had before.
“It’s maddening isn’t it?” he grinned.
You nodded, bringing your hands up into his hair, passing a thumb on his brow, mimicking his loving touch.
“…is there a cure?”
He shook his head, “I don’t know. Only you’ve been able to relieve me, make me feel better.”
“Hm, I don’t think I want it actually…” you murmured, contemplative.
A wave of fear lapsed over you.
“Stewart, will I even remember this tomorrow? Will you?” you spoke tiny.
Stewart shifted and brought his head to rest atop your chest, hearing your heart speak beneath your ribcage.
“I hope we do, I really do…”
“We have to,” you replied, determined.
You frowned.
“I want to.”
You played with his golden hair as he lay there curled next to you, head resting on your bare chest as it rose and fell, both gazing out into the starry night, two bodies warm and breathing, resting in communion.
“Can I see it?” you asked, touching his wrapped hand that lay on your navel.
Stewart nodded his soft locks against your body and gently lifted himself up, offering you his hand.
You took it and showed care in unraveling the bandage. Slowly, you both beheld his bruised, purple bite.
Lifting it up to the light, you twisted his hand and examined the darkened marks on it’s backside, on the inside of his palm. You had the strange urge to put it to your nose. Sniffing it, it smelled like damp skin, like medicine and antiseptic.
Stewart watched as you brought it to your mouth and gave it a kiss, feeling his tender flesh ache under your soft lips. He was touched. What had made him brutish, unchained, had corrupted him, you met with compassion, with love under your lips.
His eyes flicked back to your bite and he pulled away from your hold, getting up from the bed and disappearing to the bathroom. Still bare as ever, he returned with an armful of medical supplies. Stewart noticed your quizzical look.
“I don’t want yours to end up looking like mine,” he said quietly.
With the focus of a surgeon, he cleaned the wound and cut a square bandage, taping it down to your shoulder.
You thanked him warmly and gave him a nice kiss on the forehead.
Then, you returned the favor and applied more antiseptic to his bite, meaning to wrap his hand with fresh bandages.
Stewart stopped you and took the bandages out of your hand, instead he grabbed your discarded silk and tore a piece off with his teeth. He handed that to you instead.
Noticing your hesitation he said, “it won’t make any difference to the wound, it will to me.”
So you wrapped the silk around his hand and secured it with a knot.
He examined his hand now, how it shimmered in the light when he flexed his hand.
“Much better,” he smiled.
You grabbed the supplies and haphazardly put them back in the bathroom, returning to the warm, cushy spot that was your bed. Stewart laid there, staring out the window, not bothering with any garment of sorts to cover him up. Something had changed in his demeanor now; he seemed grieved, all the excitement and lust drained from his person. Guilt saturated him instead, drenching him in a feeling so heavy all he could do was frown.
Crawling back in bed, you slipped under the sheets and settled atop the mattress.
“I don’t know how this will end,” he murmured, eyes on the city lights outside the window.
“It frightens me,” he sighed.
“Get under the sheets,” you coaxed.
He broke away from the window and shifted himself under the sheets.
“Don’t worry about it, Stew” you assured him, pulling him close.
“I shouldn’t have done that to yo—” he began, troubled.
You captured his lips in a kiss, cutting him off.
“You did it because you loved me,” you whispered.
“Don’t apologize for loving me.”
Stewart gazed hard into your eyes and was suddenly overwhelmed with the want to cry. To sob the words “I’m sorry,” all over your tainted body, kissing it again and again. He didn’t let the tears spill however, he simply kissed you again, and hugged you, burying his face in your neck, breathing you in to help calm him down.
“I’m the morning after we wake up, if we don’t remember anything and part ways, I promise to find my way back to you,” you murmured.
Stewart nodded against your neck, breathing shakily, feeling tired of that endless ache stir within him and simply longing to fall asleep in the safety of your bare body pressed so nice against him. It’s all he wanted. It’s all he needed.
You felt your neck grow wet.
You kissed his trembling head. The moon watched you two, happy, as if she’d been planning this for a while.
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