winnie

“What else could you possibly want from me?” Mattheo’s voice cracked like thunder through the empty Slytherin common room, low and dangerous. The firelight flickered across his sharp features, casting harsh shadows under his cheekbones and turning his dark eyes molten.

Your blood was already boiling. Heat flared across your cheeks as you whipped around to face him, the argument that had erupted ten minutes ago having successfully driven every last person from the room. No one was surprised anymore. Most were shocked the two of you were still together at all.

“I want you to try,” you snarled, eyes narrowed into slits. “You put zero fucking effort into this relationship. You just expect me to stay, to keep forgiving you, like it’s all just going to magically work itself out.”

Mattheo’s jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscle jump. He stalked toward you, tall and predatory, until the heat of his body bled into yours. “Maybe if you weren’t constantly riding my ass about every little thing, I would want to fucking try.”

The words landed like a slap. You hid the sharp pang in your chest, shoving hard at his shoulders instead. “Yeah? Then why don’t you just leave?” Your teeth ground together, tears stinging hot at the corners of your eyes no matter how viciously you tried to blink them away. You spun on your heel, making it only a few furious steps before his fingers locked around your wrist like a vice.

He yanked you back and shoved you onto the sofa. Your back hit the velvet cushions with a soft thud, anger and hurt pulsing wildly through your veins. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” you snapped, chest heaving.

“Just shut up for once,” Mattheo growled. His hands were already moving, furious and impatient. He popped the button of your shorts open with a sharp tug, dragging the fabric down your legs along with your panties in one rough motion. Cool air kissed your bare pussy, making you acutely aware of how shamefully wet you already were.

You didn’t stop him. You told yourself it was pure fury. That you were too angry to push him away, to let him win, but your body betrayed you. Instead of fighting, you glared up at his stupid, beautiful face, lips pressed into a tight line so you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing any noise you make.

Mattheo made a low, guttural sound in the back of his throat as he stared at your dripping cunt. The hungry noise sent an involuntary roll through your hips, your body arching toward him before you could stop it.

“Maybe I should leave,” he muttered darkly, even as his fingers dug bruisingly into your hips, yanking you to the edge of the cushions. The thick, flushed head of his cock nudged against your slick folds, teasing your entrance with shallow, torturous rubs that coated him in your arousal.

“Then go,” you said coldly, keeping your face like stone. You crossed your arms over your chest, the motion deliberately pushing your breasts higher in the thin tank top, the soft swell of your cleavage drawing his hungry gaze like a magnet. You turned your head to the side, staring hard at the stone wall instead of his stupidly perfect face.

Why does he have to look so infuriatingly handsome even when you hate him?

Mattheo’s hips rolled faster, rutting his thick cock along your sticky folds with increasing pressure. A low, amused chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Aw, who would fuck you then?” The smug lilt in his voice made you want to slap the smirk right off his lips.

You forced a sweet, venomous smile instead. “I’m sure I could find someone, they’d probably be better than you.”

His eyes flashed with dark possessiveness. In one sharp motion he gripped your thighs, spreading you wide open and slammed into you to the hilt. The sudden, burning stretch ripped a choked moan from your traitor throat as your walls clenched greedily around his cock, every thick inch dragging against your sensitive inner walls.

“Better than me?” Mattheo snarled, pulling out almost completely only to thrust back in harder, setting a punishing rhythm. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed through the empty common room, filthy and loud. “No one else gets this pussy this fucking wet. No one else makes you shake like this.”

You bite your lip hard, trying to hold back the desperate sounds climbing up your throat, but each deep stroke punched the air from your lungs. Pleasure sparked hot and electric up your spine. Still, you refused to give in completely.

“Maybe they wouldn’t talk so fucking much,” you shot back breathlessly, nails digging into his forearms as you rocked your hips up to meet his brutal thrusts. Your tank top had ridden up, exposing the underside of your breasts, and Mattheo’s gaze kept dropping to the way they bounced with every fast snap of his hips.

He leaned down, teeth grazing your jaw before biting down on the sensitive spot beneath your ear. “Such a bitch,” he growled against your skin, the word vibrating through you. One hand shoved your top higher, palming your breast, his thumb flicking over your hardened nipple. “You’re dripping down my cock and still trying to pick a fight. So fucking stubborn.”

“Fuck—you—” The insult fractured into an accidental moan as he angled his hips and hit a devastatingly good spot inside you again and again. Your back arched off the cushions, pussy fluttering and squeezing around him. Heat coiled tighter and tighter in your belly, threatening to snap at any given moment.

Mattheo’s pace turned feral, the couch creaking beneath you both as if you couldn’t be walked in on at anytime. Sweat slicked your joined bodies, the air thick with the musky scent of sex and the crackling fire. He pinched your nipple hard, making you cry out, then soothed it with a rough swipe of his thumb.

God, he was fucking huge. No matter how furious you were, your mind kept slipping under the relentless stretch of his thick cock splitting you open. Your heavy-lidded eyes locked onto his dark, burning gaze. The lewd, wet sounds of him pounding in and out of your dripping hole filled the room like filthy music, obscene squelching mixed with the sharp smack of his balls hitting your ass.

He bottomed out on every savage thrust, his hand sliding up to wrap around your throat, pressing just enough pressure against your throbbing pulse to make your head spin. The controlled dominance sent sparks racing through your veins.

“Say it again,” he growled, voice rough and dangerous, thumb stroking the side of your neck. “Say how you’ll fuck someone else while I’m buried in your fucking guts, baby.”

With his free hand he hooked one of your legs higher, looping it around his hip. The new angle forced his fat cock impossibly deeper, the head dragging against that devastating spot inside you with every stroke. The intense fullness was overwhelming. You instinctively tried to squirm away, your body attempting to escape the overwhelming pressure but he held you still, giving you nowhere to go.

“Maybe if I fuck someone else,” you gasped out between broken moans, nails raking down his back, “you’d finally try harder—”

Mattheo’s grip on your throat tightened fractionally, a dark, possessive snarl tearing from his lips. He slammed into you harder, hips snapping with punishing force, driving his cock so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach.

“Bullshit,” he hissed, leaning down until his forehead nearly touched yours, sweat dripping from his hair onto your chest. “Fuck someone else and see what happens to them, you’re all mine even if you’re fucking crazy.”

Your back arched violently off the cushions as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core, white-hot and vicious. Every brutal thrust sent shockwaves through your body. Your walls fluttered and squeezed around his thick length, the wet sounds growing messier, louder, as your arousal dripped down your thighs and onto the velvet beneath you.

“I—fucking—hate—you,” you managed to choke out between broken moans, the words slurring as your mind frayed at the edges.

Mattheo let out a deep, dark chuckle that vibrated against your sweat-slicked skin. Drool slipped from the corner of your parted lips as he fucked you even harder, the wet slap of his hips against your ass echoing through the room. A satisfied, almost cruel smirk tugged at his mouth when your eyes rolled back, his bitchy, stubborn girl finally fucked dumb — even if you were still trying to fight him with words.

“I know you do,” he purred, voice low and rough with lust. His hand stayed firm around your throat, thumb pressing just right against your pulse. “Cum for me anyway, princess.”

The condescending endearment, paired with the relentless drag of his fat cock against that perfect spot inside you and the tight press of his thumb pressing against your clit, finally shattered you completely.

Your orgasm crashed over you like lightning. A sharp, broken cry tore from your throat as your pussy clenched violently around him, pulsing and fluttering in powerful waves. Pleasure ripped through every nerve, white-hot and overwhelming. Your thighs shook uncontrollably, toes curling, while fresh slick gushed around his cock with every deep, punishing thrust. Drool trailed down your chin. Tears slipped from the corners of your eyes as you came hard, soaking him and the couch beneath you.

Mattheo’s thrusts stayed punishing even as your legs shook violently around his waist, your glassy, unfocused eyes finally dragging back to his. His hand loosened slightly on your throat, keeping just enough to keep your gaze locked on him while his other hand left your throbbing clit to cradle your jaw. His calloused thumb swiped slowly across your wet bottom lip, smearing the drool there.

“I would try harder if you’d just give me a fucking chance, you know? I am trying, but you just see everything I’m doing wrong.” His voice was still rough with anger, matching the fire in your chest, but his eyes had softened as he stared into your wrecked, fucked-out expression. “You think I want to lose you?”

A low, broken moan slipped from his lips when your sensitive walls clenched weakly around him again. The sound sent fresh heat licking across your skin, even as your abused cunt fluttered in protest at the overwhelming fullness.

“I can’t fucking stand you most of the time,” he rasped, hips snapping forward in one final, deep thrust that made you yelp, “but I love you all the time. So please—” Another hard thrust cut off his own words. “Give me a fucking fair chance.”

He bottomed out one last time, burying himself as deep as he could go. His full weight crashed down onto you as broken, guttural moans spilled hot against your ear. You felt his thick cock throb and swell inside your slick heat, pulsing as thick ropes of cum flooded your belly. The warmth of it filled you until you felt swollen and claimed, his spend leaking out around his length with every twitch of your overstimulated walls.

Mattheo gave a few more weak, lazy thrusts, grinding his cum deeper as he rode out the last shocks of his orgasm. Only when he finally began to soften did he still, staying buried inside your twitching pussy.

He lifted his head, dark eyes searching yours for a long moment. Then he pressed a surprisingly sweet, lingering kiss to your sweaty forehead, his breath warm against your skin.

You still don’t know how you ended up here, quiet, book-obsessed, everyone-hating Theodore Nott trembling in your arms. But you’re not about to question it, not when he looks this good.

Theo’s back is flush against your chest, skin fever-hot and slightly damp. His head has fallen back onto your shoulder, exposing the long, pale column of his throat. His thick-rimmed glasses sit crooked on his nose, fogged at the edges. Every shaky inhale makes his chest rise and fall in quick, uneven bursts. Your hands roam freely over his toned torso, fingertips tracing the lean muscle he hides under those oversized Slytherin sweaters, and he shudders like he’s never been touched before.

Because he hasn’t. Not like this.

“F-fuck…” The curse slips out of him, raw and stunned, as your lips drag slowly down the side of his neck. You taste salt and clean skin, feel the frantic flutter of his pulse under your tongue. Another pathetic, broken moan vibrates against your mouth when you suck lightly just below his jaw. His hips jerk up hard, cock straining against the thin fabric of his boxers, desperately seeking your hand.

You let your fingers drift lower, teasing along the waistband, brushing just above where he needs you most and his breath hitches sharply.

“P-Please—” His voice cracks, embarrassed and needy all at once. “I-I’ve never… you know I haven’t…” He swallows hard, cheeks burning even in the low light. “Just—touch me. Please.”

His hand weakly grabs at your wrist, not to stop you, but to guide you lower, fingers trembling. In the mirror you watch everything: the way his thighs twitch, the wet spot already darkening the front of his boxers, the helpless roll of his hips every time your nails graze his skin.

Dorky, stuck-up, hates-everyone Theodore Nott is falling apart in your lap, and the sight is addicting.

You want to taunt him, make him feel as small and stupid as he made you feel two days ago in Potions when he’d sneered at your answer like you were dirt beneath his perfect shoes. But the words stick in your throat. You’re too fucking entranced by the sight of him, his long lean body sprawled between your thighs, flushed and shaking.

You let him drag your wrist down to the aching bulge straining against his boxers. The heat of him burns through the fabric, thick and insistent. Then you swat his hand away, forcing his fingers to fist uselessly into the sheets instead. Your mouth returns to his neck, lips brushing the frantic flutter of his pulse as you palm him firmly through the thin cotton.

Theo’s breath hitches hard, a broken sound that goes straight between your legs. His eyes flutter shut the second you squeeze.

“You look so pretty like this,” you murmur against his skin, voice low and sweet. His cock twitches violently in your hand at the praise, hips jerking up like he can fuck the words out of you. “All desperate and pathetic. I should leave you like this, make you watch in the mirror while I touch myself. You don’t deserve my hand, do you, Theo?”

His eyes snap open, wide and glassy behind those crooked glasses. For the first time, you see real panic flicker across his face, the threat of tears shining in the low light. His throat works around a swallow.

“Gods, I hate you,” he rasps, voice wrecked and cracking. But even as he says it, his hips roll helplessly into your palm, chasing friction like a starving man. “Please… don’t. I can’t—shit”

He cuts off with a choked whimper as you finally slip your hand inside his boxers. Your fingers barely wrap around his thick girth, hot velvet skin stretched tight and throbbing. He’s leaking steadily, slick precum coating your palm as you smear it down his length in one slow, torturous stroke.

Theo keens high and pathetic, so unlike the arrogant prick from class that it makes you dizzy. When you squeeze tightly at the base and hold him there, denying any more movement, another broken whine spills from his lips. His thighs shake, muscles jumping under smooth skin. In the mirror your eyes devour everything, the power trip you’re on satisfying in a way you never thought it would be. The way his cock jerks in your fist, the fresh bead of precum that wells up at his flushed tip, the helpless twitch of his hips as he fights not to thrust.

He’s barely holding it together, and you’ve only just started.

“How’s a pretty boy like you still a virgin?” you wonder aloud, voice husky as your hand picks up speed. Your fist glides slick and tight along his throbbing length, thumb swiping over the sensitive head with every stroke. You watch in the mirror as a deep flush crawls up his neck and across his sharp cheekbones.

“I—ngh, fuck—” Theo’s voice cracks, hips stuttering up into your grip. He’s not sure how he hasn’t come undone already. The twist of your wrist at the top makes his cock jerk hard, leaking fresh precum that coats your fingers and fills the air with the faint, musky scent of him. His head falls back against your shoulder again, lips parted as a raw, broken moan spills right against your ear all low and wrecked, so needy it sends a bolt of heat straight to your core.

You grind your hips against his lower back just once, letting him feel the soaked heat of your cunt through your thin panties. His eyes fly wide open behind fogged glasses, staring at your reflection in shock.

There’s no way he did that to you… right?

The intrusive thought about what the hell he’s supposed to do after this. How the fuck he’s supposed to touch you, please you, not embarrass himself completely. His thought shatters when you start jerking him fast and earnest. Your grip is perfect, fast and unrelenting, fist sliding wetly over every thick inch of him. Theo’s thighs tremble violently, muscles taut, toes curling into the sheets as his whole body bows against you with the overwhelming pleasure.

“Fuck! W-wait I can’t— I’m—” His words dissolve into another pathetic whimper, glasses slipping further down his nose. His cock pulses dark and glossy in your hand, his chest rising and falling rapidly, the helpless twitch of his hips as he chases your fist. You want to see him lose it. You need to watch perfect, arrogant Theo Nott come apart because of you.

Your eyes light up with wicked delight as you stop your hand completely, gripping him tight at the base. Theo’s face twists in panic, hips bucking desperately into nothing.

“No—fuck, please don’t—” A low, frustrated groan tears from his throat, but it cuts off sharply when you slip out from behind him and settle between his spread thighs.

At this new angle, the mirror gives him the filthiest view. Your perfect ass arched high in the air, skirt ridden up so short it barely covers anything. The soft pink of your soaked pussy peeks out, glistening and tempting just out of reach. His cock twitches hard at the sight, another pathetic bead of precum rolling down the flushed head.

Then your warm, wet mouth seals around him.

Theo’s eyes roll back, a strangled moan ripping from his chest as your lips stretch around his thick girth. Your throat flutters and struggles, tight and hot, the obscene little gag vibrating straight through his cock and making his toes curl hard into the sheets. When you look up at him through your lashes, eyes watering but hungry, he loses it completely.

“Shit—I-I can’t, wait fuck—” The words barely tumble from his lips before thick, heavy ropes of cum flood your mouth. He comes harder than he ever has in his life, hips jerking uncontrollably as you swallow around him, throat working greedily. Unabashed, broken moans spill from his perfect mouth, louder and needier than he’s ever allowed himself to sound.

His hand flies to your hair, fingers knotting tight in the strands as he shoves your face down further, burying himself deeper into the wet heat of your throat. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you take it, humming around him while he rides out every pulsing wave. The salty-musk taste of him coats your tongue, and the desperate, trembling way he holds you there like he’s terrified you’ll stop makes heat pool even hotter between your thighs.

Theo’s glasses are completely fogged now, chest heaving, body shaking with aftershocks as the last of his release spills down your throat.

His grip in your hair finally loosens, fingers trembling as he releases you with a shaky exhale. His hand drops to the sheets like he’s burned you, embarrassment flooding his features.

“I—fuck, I’m sorry,” he rasps immediately, voice hoarse and cracking. His cheeks are scarlet, eyes wide and glassy behind the crooked glasses. “I didn’t mean to— I lost control, I’ve never… shit, that was too rough. Are you alright?”

You pull off his softening cock with a wet pop, gasping softly to catch your breath. Your throat feels pleasantly used, lips swollen and shiny. An easy, satisfied smile curves your mouth as you lick a slow stripe across your lower lip, savoring the salty taste of his release. Theo watches the movement like he’s hypnotized, another faint twitch running through his spent cock.

“Will you say sorry for embarrassing me now?” you ask sweetly, climbing up into his lap. You straddle his thighs, knees sinking into the bed on either side of his hips, and press your chest to his. The heat of his skin radiates through your thin top.

His face turns an even deeper shade of red, ears burning. He can’t meet your eyes at first, gaze flicking nervously to the mirror where he catches the reflection of you in his lap—flushed, lips glossy with him, looking far too pleased.

Your hands tangle in his hair and pull, tilting his face up, and lean in. The kiss is slow and deep, tasting like his release mixed with the sweet fruity gum you’d been chewing earlier. Theo makes a soft, surprised sound against your mouth, hesitant at first, then melting into it with a needy little sigh. His hands settle shyly on your waist, thumbs brushing uncertainly over your ribs like he’s still afraid he’ll do something wrong.

When you pull back just enough to breathe, he chases your lips for another kiss, mumbling against them, “M’sorry… for what I said in class. I didn’t mean it. You’re… brilliant. And I’m—fuck, I’m so sorry.”

The apology is soft, embarrassed, and genuine, his posh accent thicker with nerves. He kisses you again, slower this time, like he’s trying to prove it. His tentative tongue brushing yours, hands tightening just a fraction on your hips as he starts to relax beneath you, ready for whatever else you have planned for him.

Your thighs tried to snap shut again, trembling with the effort, but his big palm shoved them wider, pinning you open while two thick, ringed fingers slammed back into your dripping cunt. The wet, obscene sound of it filled the room, mixing with your broken moans and the low buzz of the toy waiting on the nightstand.

Pretty crocodile tears spilled down your flushed cheeks, catching on your lashes before sliding into your hair. Your whole body burned, overstretched and aching in the best-worst way, every drag of his knuckles against your walls sending sparks up your spine.

“Can’t?” Mattheo’s voice was dark velvet edged with venom. His eyes, usually so wickedly warm for you, were sharp and mean now, drinking in every twitch and gasp like he owned them. “Can’t what, baby? Can’t take my fingers? Can’t take what you fucking earned?”

He curled them cruelly against that spot inside you, scissoring just to watch your back arch off the bed. He had no intention of stopping—not unless your safe word tumbled from those puffy, bitten lips. He was going to wring you dry tonight, fuck the jealousy out of his veins until you were a sobbing, soaking mess beneath him. And even then, he wasn’t sure the rage would leave.

The memory flashed behind his eyes again: that boy’s hands on your waist, the way you’d smiled up at him, all sweet and fluttering lashes while you let the conversation stretch on. You’d fed it. You’d let him think he had a chance.

Your head thrashed against the pillow, eyes wide and glassy as Mattheo reached for the buzzing toy. The low vibration hummed through the air like a threat.

It had been bait.

And Mattheo had bitten—hard.

You should be grateful he was here, buried between your thighs and punishing your pretty little cunt instead of rotting in Azkaban for what he’d almost done to that pathetic boy.

You were certain you couldn’t survive another orgasm. The moment the buzzing toy pressed firm against your swollen clit, a raw wail tore from your throat only to be swallowed by the thick magical bubble he’d cast around you. Searing pleasure-pain exploded through your body like lightning, white-hot and merciless. Your hips jerked wildly, trying to twist away, but the knot in your stomach only tightened further, that familiar, devastating coil winding tighter with every brutal pulse.

“I-I’m sorry! I was being—”

Your desperate apology shattered into a pathetic little hiccup as his dark eyes locked onto yours, unblinking. He could see the safe word hovering right there on your tongue, and his lips curved into that cruel smile. The one that promised he’d break you tonight and enjoy every second of it.

But you didn’t say it.

Instead, you collapsed back against the pillows as another weak, shattering orgasm ripped through you. Your whole body trembled violently from head to toe, thighs quivering uncontrollably around the relentless toy. Heat flushed down from your cheeks, blooming across your chest and stomach in deep, rosy waves as your bound hands twisted uselessly against the enchanted restraints, fingers flexing like you could somehow push him away.

“You’re too smart to be this fucking stupid, princess,” Mattheo tsked, the disappointment in his voice laced with dark satisfaction. His fingers finally slipped from your abused cunt with a wet sound that made your cheeks burn hotter, but the toy stayed right where it was. Enchanted to keep buzzing mercilessly against your oversensitive clit, wrecking every raw nerve ending without mercy.

He rose slowly, peeling off his shirt with deliberate movements, revealing the toned, scarred skin you loved tracing with your fingertips in gentler moments. Scars from battles, from curses, from a life that made him dangerous. His cock sprang free as he shoved his pants down, thick, flushed dark red, and leaking steadily at the tip, hard enough to look almost painful.

“But that’s okay, baby,” he murmured, voice low and rough as he stroked himself once, twice, eyes never leaving your wrecked form. “You’ll give in eventually. You always do.”

Mattheo climbed back onto the bed, knees sinking into the mattress as he gripped your thighs and shoved them wider, folding you open like he owned every inch. He dragged the thick head of his cock through your folds, coating himself in your mess, deliberately bumping the buzzing toy still tormenting your clit. Your hips jerked violently, a broken sob tearing from your throat as fresh tears spilled down your temples.

“Mattheo—please—too much, I can’t—”

“You can,” he snapped, notching himself at your entrance. “And you fucking will.” And with one brutal thrust, he buried himself halfway inside you.

The stretch was devastating. Even after his fingers and the toy, his size split you open, forcing your walls to yield around the thick girth. A sharp cry ripped from your lips, muffled by the magical bubble as white-hot painful pleasure flooded your body. You felt every vein and ridge as he worked deeper, slower this time, savoring the way your pussy fluttered and clenched around the invasion.

“Fuck, so tight,” he hissed through gritted teeth, eyes dark and mean as he watched your face contort. “Even after I wrecked you, this greedy hole still has to fight to take me. That’s my girl.”

He bottomed out with a final snap of his hips, the head of his cock pressing so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach. The toy kept buzzing mercilessly against your clit, and the dual sensation made your vision spark white. Another orgasm crashed over you almost immediately—weak and pathetic, your walls spasming so hard around his cock that he groaned, hips stuttering.

But he didn’t stop. His hips snapped in deep, punishing strokes that dragged against every oversensitive inch inside you. The wet, filthy sound of his cock slamming into your soaked cunt filled the room, mixed with your hiccuping sobs and the relentless buzz.

“You let him touch you,” Mattheo snarled, leaning down to bite at your neck, hips snapping harder. “Was it worth it, princess? Ya think I’d just let it go?”

“I-I’m sorry!” The words finally broke free on a wail, your bound hands twisting uselessly as another brutal thrust made your back arch clean off the bed. “Mattheo, please! I was being stupid, I didn’t mean it— I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

Your voice cracked into desperate begging, tears streaming freely now. “Don’t be mad at me… please don’t be mad. I only want you. Only you. I swear—”

He slowed, just slightly, hips still grinding deep as he studied your wrecked face. The mean glint in his eyes flickered with something softer bleeding through, even if the jealousy still burned hot beneath it. His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing away a rogue tear.

“Yeah?” His voice was still rough, breath hot against your lips. “All fucking mine. Say it while I’m buried inside you.”

“I’m yours,” you sobbed, clenching around his cock as another wave of overstimulation threatened to pull you under. “Only yours. Please… m’sorry.”

Mattheo cursed under his breath, forehead dropping to yours. The punishing rhythm eased into something slower and deeper that was still overwhelming, but no longer cruel. “I’m still very mad,” he admitted, voice low and raw. “But fuck… you sound so pretty when you beg.”

With others, he was the picture of a calm, pleasant boy — listening intently to your elder brother Daeron’s stories, fishing at his side with easy laughter. He could be good.

Except with you.

The confusion of why he had chosen you, of what you had done to deserve his hatred, cut almost as deeply as his cruelty itself. Hair-pulling, pinching bruises hidden beneath your sleeves, the sudden isolation as the other ladies slowly turned their backs on you after speaking with him. You never learned what lies he whispered, only that they were effective.

Yet among all the humiliations, one memory had burned itself into your mind like a brand:

“One day, when we are older, I will make you my wife,” he had promised, his intense violet eyes fixed on your face, hungry for the first sign of tears. “I will plant the strongest dragon in your womb, even if it has to claw its way out with teeth and talons, tearing you apart from the inside. You were made for it, sweet sister.”

He was cruel, and terrifyingly clever in his torments. No one in the castle was blind, yet somehow no one seemed to notice the depth of your fear. And you dared not tell your father, Maekar, because Aerion had made sure you understood the consequences.

“If you tell anyone, little bird,” he had whispered once, his voice sickeningly sweet, “I’ll know. And you know how unhappy that would make me… don’t you?”

In a final act of desperation, you had broken. You confessed everything to your father between heaving, inconsolable sobs. He believed you — of course he did. No girl wept the way you wept without reason, so he helped you in secret.

You were sent to the Citadel of Oldtown under the guise of visiting your brother Aemon. A convenient excuse.

Aerion had not been fooled. Rage had poisoned his blood as he watched you slip from his grasp. But he waited. He was not a patient man, yet for you — his sweet, tearful little bird — he would learn.

What he didn’t know was that in those long years away, you had grown stronger. The septas in Oldtown had taught you what your own never could: temperance, silence as armor, and the quiet power of a steady mind. His words were no longer daggers — merely the ravings of a sick boy.

You had never felt more ready to face him.

Now a woman grown, you were returning home. And this time, you would not break. Or so you thought.

────୨ৎ────

You returned at dawn, accompanied only by the steady rhythm of hooves, the song of early birds, and the crunch of carriage wheels over the stony path. The castle was still quiet; few had come to greet you. Your arrival had been kept deliberately discreet.

Maekar received you at the gates with a rare, soft smile. He had missed his sweet girl — even if you were now a woman grown. He did not regret sending you away from the grasp of his twisted son. Aerion, no doubt, was still out in the training yard, swinging steel in the cool morning air. He had not been told of your return.

Would he even recognize you?

Your body had blossomed with soft, feminine curves. Your posture was straighter, more regal, and your once fearful eyes now held the sharp violet intelligence the septas had carefully cultivated. You looked every inch the princess you were meant to be.

That day you wandered the castle gardens, then the long halls. Servants stared openly at your elegant figure, stunned by the transformation. You had never carried yourself with such quiet grace.

Yet as your fingers brushed the ornate handle of your chamber doors, a strange chill crawled down your spine. A warning. You ignored it, turned the knob, and stepped inside.

Everything was exactly as you remembered — until your gaze landed on the bed.

Aerion rose swiftly from where he had been sitting on your mattress. He turned to face you, visibly startled by the intrusion into what had clearly become his private sanctuary in your absence.

Silence blanketed the room as he stared at you like a vision, like something holy.

“Sister,” he breathed, the word almost reverent.

His violet eyes traced over you slowly, hungrily, drinking in every changed detail. You were still his little bird, but the fledgling had grown magnificent wings.

You held his gaze without flinching. “Brother.”

His jaw tightened. Even your voice had changed — steady, no longer trembling. For a moment his stare burned across your skin, intense enough to feel like a physical touch. You braced yourself for the first cruel remark...

But his voice came soft.

“I missed you.”

Your hands, folded gracefully over your belly, clenched hard. You had expected mockery, venom, anything but this. Your lips parted and closed again. One sentence, and already your hard-earned armor felt paper-thin.

What's the proper reaction to a caress that should've been a blow?

“You’ve grown beautiful,” he continued, stepping around the bed with slow, deliberate care. “Breathtaking.”

Your heart twisted painfully. His tone was so gentle it hurt.

“What?” you whispered shakily, betraying yourself.

He took another step closer and you retreated one.

“I’ve come here from time to time,” he murmured, “when your absence became… unbearable.”

He took another step and your back hit the door. Your hands curled into fists, wrinkling the fine fabric of your dress. Your vision blurred, and your delicate fingers felt wet when you brushed your cheek. You didn't even know you started crying until now.

You turned your face away, desperate to hide the tears already spilling down your cheeks. Damn the Seven. Damn your own weakness.

A firm yet gentle hand caught your wrist, stopping your escape. When you looked back at him, his pupils had swallowed nearly all the violet, dark with something dangerous.

“Little sister,” he soothed, voice dripping with false comfort that didn’t match the hunger in his eyes. “Why are you crying so easily? Did you miss me that much?”

A broken sob slipped from your lips. Heat flooded your cheeks as more tears fell. Aerion leaned in, pressing his mouth to your wet skin, licking the tears from your skin with a soft, pleased sigh.

“That’s it,” he whispered against your flesh. “Let them fall for me.”

His hands settled possessively on your hips as he kissed away every tear, tracing down a path over your wet skin until he reached your lips. The kiss tasted of salt and growing desperation. His tongue claimed your mouth with increasing hunger, devouring every shaky breath and whimper.

Even after all these years apart, you were still his favorite crybaby.

“You confuse me,” you protested weakly against his lips, voice trembling. “You’re playing with my mind again.”

“You confuse yourself, little bird. You always have.” He smiled against your mouth, arrogant and satisfied, though you couldn't see it. “You always think the worst of me.”

“Stop. I’m... I'm tired from the journey. I need to rest,” you said sharply, finally pushing him away with the little dignity you had left. His closeness was doing something to your body and mind. Something you'd rather not think of. “Please.”

Aerion let you go, but not before offering a crooked smile that showed the sharp edge of his teeth.

“Rest well then, sweet sister.” His voice was velvet, and his steps, casual. Like he wasn't drinking your tears and devouring your salty tongue seconds ago. “Pleasant dreams.”

You finally exhaled. But rest wouldn't come easy. You kept thinking about his hands on your hips and his lips on yours, and guilt crawled up your neck, leaving you breathless. Your damned body wanted to feel him again, even if it meant spilling your tears one more time.

────୨ৎ────

Several days passed with torturous slowness.

The old feeling of being unsafe in your own home had returned, gnawing at you just as it had when you were a little girl. Only now there was no violence, no insults — and somehow, that made it worse.

Aerion had become attentive. Almost chivalrous.

During feasts, his hand no longer pinched your thigh under the table to make you stammer and flinch in front of potential suitors. Instead, it rested there with firm, possessive weight — a silent reminder of his presence. A claim.

When you walked through the halls, he no longer shoved you or made you stumble. He offered his arm with unexpected gentleness and escorted you to your chambers like a true knight. The change was so jarring that even Maekar, in his confusion, had begun to wonder if you had exaggerated everything.

You weren’t crazy.

Why was this happening?

Aerion had always been twisted, but this new version of him terrified you more than his cruelty ever had. Did he even remember the insults? The threats? The promise he had made with that hungry look in his eyes — that one day he would make you his wife and force a dragon into your womb?

If his behavior could change so drastically, perhaps all those memories had faded for him. Perhaps they had never mattered as much as you thought.

Or perhaps… it had all been in your head. Perhaps he had only been a little rough, and your childish mind had turned it into something monstrous. Maybe. Maybe...

That night, the flames in the hearth cast a comforting warmth through your chambers. You had changed into your nightgown and were kneeling on the bed, softly reciting passages from The Seven-Pointed Star, just as the septas had taught you to do when your mind felt overwhelmed.

You didn’t hear Aerion slip into your room like a shadow. He closed the door behind him with barely a sound.

His hand settled on your shoulder, pulling you from your prayers. His low voice sent a shiver down your spine.

“What are you whispering, sweet sister? Prayers?” he murmured, his warm breath brushing the nape of your neck. He was right behind you on the bed.

Your body went rigid, frozen like a fawn before the hunter.

“Just… passages from a book,” you answered quietly. You both knew he didn’t care about the answer.

His hand slid slowly down your arm as his lips replaced it, pressing a lingering, open-mouthed kiss against your warm skin. His fingers traced lower, over your waist, his thumb brushing just beneath the curve of your breast through the thin fabric of your nightgown.

“Recite them for me,” he whispered, his voice dark with amusement. “Tell me everything they taught you out there. I bet it was all nonsense. Nothing has changed, has it?”

You found yourself nodding before you could stop, as if your body obeyed him on instinct.

“I knew it,” he growled softly against your skin.

His mouth moved hungrily along your shoulder and neck, kissing and licking, drawing a startled gasp from your lips that quickly melted into soft, helpless sighs. Your back arched as you pressed against his chest, and you could feel something hard poking your lower back with every small movement.

His hand slipped between your thighs, pushing the silk of your nightgown aside. His fingers brushed over your slick folds and found your swollen little bud before teasing your entrance.

“Why are you doing this to me?” you asked shakily, your voice breaking as two long fingers pushed inside you.

“Doing what?” he teased against your ear, voice mocking and low. “Making you feel good?”

Your cheeks burned. Your eyes grew glassy as his fingers curled inside you, stroking that sweet spot with devastating precision. A broken moan escaped your lips, your hips moving instinctively to meet his hand.

“Are you going to cry for me again?” he asked, voice thick with arousal. “If I fuck you with my fingers, little bird?”

He thrust his fingers deeper into your cunt, pumping them in and out with a wet, obscene rhythm. Your moans grew louder, more desperate. Your hips rocked shamelessly against his hand as pleasure overwhelmed you.

“That’s it… just like that,” he groaned. “Gods, I’d love to see the septas’ faces if they saw you riding my fingers like a common whore.”

A shaky sob tore from your throat as the first tear slid down your cheek — not from fear, but from your own shameful pleasure and weakness.

“Don’t… don’t say that,” you whimpered pathetically, your pussy clenched around his fingers. “They did what they could.”

“And it was nothing,” he replied, biting back a darker urge. He wanted to flip you over, smear his cock with your tears, and fuck you until the only name you could remember was his. But not yet.

He doubled his efforts, fucking you harder with his fingers until your hips lifted off the bed with every thrust. You had to brace yourself against the sheets to keep from collapsing.

“Sister,” he whispered against your ear, voice rough with barely contained hunger, “my promise still stands. I’m going to make you my wife. I haven't forgotten.”

And in that moment, you finally understood the truth. You had never been crazy.

Dressed was perhaps an understatement. You did at one point indeed have clothing on. A pretty little black dress that skimmed mid thigh and had pockets you couldn’t stop talking about all afternoon the day you got it.

This dress though; tossed on the bathroom floor. Along with your heels. Along with your underwear. Along with your dignity.

“Fuckin’… Theodore!”

A sharp snap of his hips sent you forward, hand bracing the vanity sink as your eyes began to roll into the back of your head. One of his hands had woven into your hair; forcing you to look up at the reflection of your naked bodies in the mirror, his other hand; shifting to prop you knee up on the vanity edge to have each thrust go deeper.

This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. Theo often liked to ruin your plans. It turns out that, that’s what ex boyfriends do best. Adore you. Court you. Love you. Leave you. Still manage to have you screaming at them and begging for more.

He’d swung past your dorm to drop off some books that he’d found in the middle of packing his trunk for the summer break. Was it a convenient excuse? Maybe. Had he heard you were heading out? Absolutely. Did he know it wasn’t just your friends that you were meeting for drinks, but that new boy you fancied? Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

So, Theo decided to do what he did best. Fuck you senseless to the point that you’d either be late with bruises all down your neck that makeup wouldn’t hide and you’d be forced to indulge your friends with the details of what had just happened or, stay in and spend the night with him instead.

Little shit.

“Uhh – forgot how fucking tight this pretty little cunt was.”

Your brain couldn’t function to long enough to come up with a reply; instead, a moan just ripped through from the back of your throat as you slid back and lifted your ass a little higher to deepen the thrusts. Panting like a dog in heat as your tits began to spill out of your bra with how rough he sent you forward.

Theo’s hand on your thigh slid up gently, slipping between your legs to toy with your soaked clit as your body withered. Voice whimpering. Your phone on the vanity had begun ringing – friends calling through to the point it almost vibrated itself onto the floor.

The mirrors reflection showed the time. 8.01.

You were late, but fuck – you were oh so close.

Trying to prop yourself up, you failed when you felt your clit get pinched. The sensitive bundle of nerves throwing your body into euphoric overdrive as Theo sunk his teeth into the crook of your neck.

No one talked to you. A few people glanced your way, recognized you as Lana's roommate, and then looked past you. You were invisible unless you were standing next to her. It was a specific, grinding loneliness that had become familiar over the months.

You hated them all. You hated the drunk girl who shrieked every five seconds. You hated the guy in the corner trying to start a keg stand. You hated the way the smoke machine made everything smell like burnt plastic. You hated the way your skin crawled with the weight of a secret you couldn't shake.

It had been two weeks since the apartment. Two weeks since Aerion had left you on the bathroom floor. Two weeks of him showing up at the apartment like nothing had happened, sitting on your couch, drinking from your mug, touching Lana's shoulder with that casual, proprietary ease. Two weeks of watching him watch you, his blue eyes tracking your every move with a knowing, private smirk. Two weeks of lying awake at night, your thighs pressed together, replaying every filthy second.

Nothing had changed. That was the worst part. He was still her boyfriend. You were still the roommate. The dynamic was exactly the same, except now there was a razor wire of shared knowledge strung between you, invisible to everyone else, cutting you both every time you got close.

You needed air.

You pushed through the crowd, muttering "excuse me" and "sorry" until you burst out the front door. The cold hit you like a slap, sharp and clean. The porch was crowded with smokers and couples making out against the railing. You didn't stop. You rounded the side of the house, following a small gap between the building and a overgrown hedge, until you found a spot that was almost private.

It was a small alcove where the exterior wall of the house met a wooden fence. An old, rusted pipe stuck out from the siding. The ground was dirt and dead leaves. The light from the house barely reached here, casting everything in dim, shadowy blue. You could still hear the muffled thump of the music, but it was distant now, bearable.

You leaned back against the cold siding, the rough texture digging into your shoulders through your jacket. You fished a cigarette from your pocket, a habit you'd picked up in the last two weeks, another thing Aerion had infected you with, and brought it to your lips.

You flicked the lighter once. The flame caught, small and orange.

And then he was there.

Like he'd materialized from the shadows themselves. One second, you were alone. The next, his hand was closing over yours, the one holding the lighter, and his thumb pressed down, extinguishing the flame.

"Don't," Aerion said, his voice a low, rough murmur. "You'll ruin your lungs. They're useful."

You didn't startle. You didn't pull away. Some part of you had known he would follow. Had been waiting for it.

"I didn't see you inside," you said, your voice flat.

"I know." He took the cigarette from your lips, tucked it behind his own ear. "I saw you leave. You looked like you were about to chew through the drywall."

He was standing close. Too close. You could smell him...cigarette smoke, cheap cologne, and that underlying musk that was just him. He was wearing a dark jacket, unzipped, a white tank underneath. His hair was messier than usual, and his blue eyes had that glazed, hungry look you recognized from the bathroom mirror.

"You followed me out here," you said.

"I did."

"Why?"

He smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of someone who knew exactly what he was doing. "Because I wanted to be alone with you. And because I know you hate parties. And because I've been watching you all night, standing in corners, looking miserable and beautiful, and I wanted to see if you'd crack before I came to find you."

"I haven't cracked."

"Not yet." He stepped closer. His chest almost brushed yours. "But you will."

Your heart was hammering, a traitorous, eager rhythm. The cold air did nothing to cool the heat spreading through your veins. "Lana's inside."

"Lana's inside getting drunk and telling everyone how she's dating me. She's not thinking about you. She's not thinking about me. She's thinking about how good she looks in that dress and how many people are watching her." His voice dropped, became intimate, venomous. "She doesn't see us. She never does."

He reached up, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. The touch was featherlight, but it burned.

"You've been thinking about it," he said. "My mouth on you. My cock inside you. You've been lying in bed at night, touching yourself, thinking about it."

It wasn't a question. You didn't answer. You didn't have to.

"I've been thinking about it too," he continued, his hand sliding down to cup your jaw, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "Every time I sat on that couch. Every time I kissed her goodnight. Every time I heard you breathe in the next room. I've been thinking about bending you over the kitchen table and fucking you until you forget your own name."

"You're disgusting," you whispered, but your voice cracked.

"I'm honest." He leaned in, his lips hovering a millimeter from yours. "And you're wet right now. Aren't you?"

You didn't answer. Your breath came faster.

"Don't lie to me," he murmured. "I can smell it on you. I can taste it in the air. You're soaked, and you hate yourself for it, and you want me to do something about it."

His mouth brushed yours, a ghost of a kiss, then pulled away. You almost chased it. You caught yourself, but barely.

"Say it," he said, his voice a low, rough command. "Say you want this. Say you want me to fuck you against this wall where anyone could see."

"Aerion—"

"Say it." His hand tightened on your jaw, not painful, but firm. "I need to hear it. I need to hear you admit that you're just as fucking depraved as I am."

The words stuck in your throat. But they were there, crawling up from some dark, honest place inside you.

"I want it," you breathed. "I want you."

The sound he made was almost animal. A low, rough growl that vibrated through his chest. He crushed his mouth against yours, and this kiss was nothing like the first one. It was hungrier. More desperate. His tongue pushed into your mouth, and he tasted like whiskey and need. His hands were everywhere, your hips, your waist, sliding up under your jacket to grip your ribs through your thin top.

He broke the kiss, gasping. "Turn around."

You did. You pressed your palms flat against the cold siding, your back to him. The rough texture scraped through your shirt. You heard him spit, a wet, lewd sound, and then his hand was on your hip, yanking your jeans down just enough to expose you to the freezing night air.

"Fuck," he hissed, his fingers sliding between your legs, finding you soaked and ready. "Look at that. You weren't lying. You're dripping. You're fucking dripping for me in your best friend's boyfriend's hand."

He pushed two fingers into you without warning, deep and rough, and you bit your lip to keep from crying out. The stretch was sharp, perfect. He fucked you with his fingers for a few strokes, cruel and fast, then pulled them out.

"I need to be inside you," he said, his voice strained, the arrogance cracking. "Right now. I can't wait."

You heard his belt unbuckle. The rustle of his jeans. Then his hands were on your hips, positioning you, and the blunt head of his cock was pressing against your entrance.

"Tell me you want it," he said, his voice a ragged plea. "Tell me you want my cock."

"I want it. I want your cock, Aerion. Fuck me."

He pushed in.

The stretch was exquisite, burning. He was thick, and he filled you completely, inch by inch, until his hips were flush against your ass and he was buried to the hilt. He paused there, his forehead dropping to the back of your head, his breath hot and ragged.

"Fuck," he groaned. "You feel so good. So fucking tight. Like you were made for this. Made for me."

He started to move. Slow, deep thrusts at first, each one pressing you harder against the cold wall. The friction was maddening. The risk of it, the open air, the distant music, the possibility of someone rounding the corner, sharpened every sensation to a razor's edge.

"You feel that?" he grunted, his hand coming around to press flat against your lower belly. "You feel me inside you? I'm so deep. I'm so fucking deep in you."

He picked up the pace, his hips slapping against your ass with a wet, obscene rhythm. The sound was loud in the quiet night. Anyone walking by would hear it. Would know.

"Look at you," he hissed. "Taking it. Taking all of it. Bent over for me like a good little slut."

"Don't call me that," you gasped, but your hips pushed back against him, taking him deeper.

"Don't lie to me." He leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, his mouth at your ear. "You love it. You love being my slut. You love that I'm fucking you while she's inside telling everyone about her hot boyfriend. You love that I chose you. That I'm inside you."

His hand slid down, finding your clit, rubbing rough, tight circles. The pleasure spiked, electric and overwhelming.

"Come for me," he commanded. "Come on my cock. Let me feel you."

The orgasm built, coiled, and then shattered. You bit down on your own hand to muffle the cry as your body clamped down around him, waves of pleasure pulsing through you. He kept fucking you through it, his thrusts becoming erratic, desperate.

"That's it," he groaned. "That's it. Fuck."

He pulled out suddenly, spinning you around. Before you could process, he had you pressed against the wall again, facing him this time. He lifted one of your legs, hooking it over his arm, and pushed back inside you in one smooth motion. The new angle was deeper, and you gasped, your hands flying to his shoulders.

He looked into your eyes. That was the detail that undid you. He didn't look away. His blue eyes were locked on yours, pupils blown wide, his face a mask of fierce, raw need. He fucked you like that, staring into your soul, each thrust a confession.

"I want you," he said, his voice breaking. "I want you so fucking much it's killing me. I think about you constantly. I dream about you. I fuck her and I close my eyes and I imagine it's you."

You couldn't speak. You could only hold his gaze, let him see everything...the shame, the want, the terrible, undeniable truth.

"Say it," he said, his pace quickening. "Say you're an animal."

"I'm an animal," you breathed.

"Say you're my animal."

"I'm your animal."

A shudder ran through him. His grip on your thigh tightened. "Again."

"I'm your animal, Aerion. I'm yours."

He kissed you, deep and desperate, his tongue tangling with yours as he fucked you harder. The wall scraped your back. The cold bit at your exposed skin. The risk of discovery hung over you both like a blade. And none of it mattered. There was only him. Only his eyes. Only the feeling of him inside you, claiming you, ruining you.

He broke the kiss, gasping for air. "I'm going to come," he said, his voice strained. "I'm going to come inside you, and you're going to take it."

"Yes," you said. "Yes."

He drove into you, harder, faster, his rhythm losing all control. His eyes never left yours. The connection was brutal, intimate, overwhelming.

And then you heard it.

Footsteps. Voices. Coming around the side of the house.

Your blood turned to ice. You tensed, your hands flying to his chest to push him away. "Aerion—"

He didn't stop. He didn't pull out. Instead, he moved. In one fluid motion, he shifted, his body pressing you harder against the wall, caging you in. His arms braced on either side of your head. His broad shoulders blocked you from view. His body was a shield, hiding you from whoever was approaching.

"Don't move," he breathed against your ear. "Don't make a sound."

He was still inside you. Still hard. Still thrusting, slow and deep, as the voices grew closer and closer. A guy and a girl, their words slurred with alcohol, their footsteps crunching on the dead leaves just on the other side of the hedge.

"—swear I saw Jake puke in the potted plant. The big one by the stairs."

"Fucking classic. He's such a disaster."

They were going to round the corner. Any second. They were going to see you, Aerion's body blocking yours, but not enough. The angle was wrong. If they looked past him , they'd see your bare legs, your jeans around your thighs, the unmistakable position of two bodies pressed together in the dark.

You tried to push him off. Your hands pressed against his chest, shoving. "Aerion, stop, they're going to see—"

He didn't stop. He didn't even slow down. His hand clamped over your mouth, firm and unyielding, and he drove into you harder, deeper, his eyes never leaving yours. The thrust was brutal, a deep, grinding push that stole your breath and made your eyes roll back.

"Shh," he breathed, his lips brushing your ear. "Don't move. Don't make a sound. Let them pass."

His hips kept moving. A slow, relentless rhythm, fucking you in silence as the voices grew nearer. The risk was obscene. The thrill of it, the sheer, depraved danger, sent a jolt of electricity through your veins. You were going to be caught. You were going to be exposed. And a dark, shameful part of you wanted it.

The girl's voice again, closer now. "Did you hear something?"

Your heart stopped.

The guy laughed. "Probably a raccoon. This neighborhood's full of 'em."

Footsteps paused. You could see a shadow shift at the edge of the alcove, the silhouette of someone peering into the darkness. Aerion's hand tightened over your mouth. His hips kept moving, slow and deep, fucking you with a patience that was more cruel than any frantic pace. He was enjoying this. The danger. The control. The way your body trembled against his, caught between terror and arousal.

"Nah, nothing there," the guy said. "Come on, let's go find another beer."

The footsteps receded. The voices faded back into the ambient noise of the party. You were alone again.

Aerion didn't remove his hand from your mouth. He didn't slow his pace. He looked down at you, his blue eyes glittering with a dark, satisfied triumph.

"See?" he murmured, his voice a low, rough purr. "I told you. I'll take care of you."

He pulled his hand away, replacing it with his mouth. The kiss was deep, possessive, tasting of victory. His tongue pushed past your lips as he fucked you, a wet, consuming claim. When he broke away, he was breathing hard, his forehead pressed to yours.

"You liked that," he said. It wasn't a question. "You liked almost getting caught. You liked me hiding you. You liked knowing that anyone could have seen you, seen us, and I still wouldn't have stopped."

"I didn't—"

"Don't." His voice was sharp, cutting. "Don't lie to me. Not now. Not when I'm inside you. I felt it. You clenched around me when you heard their voices. You got tighter. Wetter. You were scared, and you were turned on, and you fucking loved it."

You couldn't deny it. The truth was written in the way your body responded to him, in the fresh pulse of wetness that coated his cock with every thrust.

"Admit it," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Admit you're a dirty little slut who gets off on almost being caught."

"Aerion—"

"Say it." He thrust deeper, harder, punctuating the command. "Say. It."

"I'm a dirty little slut," you gasped, the words torn from you.

"Whose slut?"

"Yours."

He groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through his chest. "Fuck. Yes. You're mine. You're so fucking mine."

He pulled out suddenly, spinning you around again. He pushed you forward, bending you over a low wooden fence that bordered the property. The wood was rough, splintered, digging into your palms. The position was degrading, completely exposed. Your ass was in the air, your cunt still slick and open from him.

He didn't enter you immediately. Instead, he knelt behind you. You felt his breath, hot and ragged, against your wet folds. Then his mouth was on you, devouring you from behind. His tongue pushed inside you, deep and searching, tasting his own precum mixed with your arousal. He ate you like a man possessed, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, his nose pressing against your ass as he buried his face in you.

"Oh, fuck—" you gasped, your fingers scrabbling against the fence.

He didn't let up. He licked and sucked and bit, his tongue fucking you with a filthy, relentless rhythm. The sounds he made, wet, slurping, animalistic, were obscene in the quiet night. He pulled back just long enough to spit on your cunt, a thick, wet glob, before diving back in, using his own saliva to lubricate his assault.

"You taste so fucking good," he said, his voice muffled against your flesh. "I could eat you for hours. I could fucking drown in you."

He stood up abruptly, his hands replacing his mouth. He spread your folds open with his fingers, exposing you to the cold air, admiring his work.

"Look at you," he said, his voice thick with awe and disgust. "Soaked. Open. Used. You're a mess. My mess."

He lined himself up and pushed back inside you in one brutal stroke. The angle was different from before, deeper, hitting a spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. He fucked you with a punishing rhythm, his hips slapping against your ass, the sound echoing off the walls of the house.

"You're going to take it all," he said, his voice a low, vicious snarl. "Every drop. Every inch. And when I'm done, you're going to walk back into that party with my come dripping down your thigh, and you're going to smile at her, and you're going to pretend you don't have me inside you."

He reached around, his hand finding your throat. He didn't squeeze, just rested it there, a reminder of his control. His other hand slid down your belly, fingers finding your clit, rubbing harsh, fast circles.

"Come for me again," he commanded. "Come for me while I fuck you from behind like the animal you are."

The orgasm built like a wave, crashing over you with brutal force. You cried out, a broken, keening sound, your body convulsing around him. He didn't stop. He fucked you through it, his pace increasing, his breathing ragged.

"That's it," he groaned. "That's my good little slut. Squeezing my cock like you never want me to leave."

He pulled out again, and before you could register the loss, he was spinning you around, dropping you down to your knees. He took himself in his hand, stroking fast, his eyes locked on yours.

"Open your mouth," he said.

You did.

He came on your face.

Hot, thick ropes of come painted your lips, your chin, your cheek. He aimed deliberately, marking you, his breath hitching with each pulse. When he was done, he looked at you, kneeling before him covered in his release, and his expression was one of pure, dark worship.

"Beautiful," he breathed. "You're so fucking beautiful like this."

He leaned down, his tongue extending, and licked his own come off your lips. The kiss that followed was sloppy, shared, tasting of salt and bitterness. It was the most intimate thing you had ever done.

He stood up, pulling you with him. He used his thumb to wipe a stray drop from your chin, then pressed his thumb into your mouth. You sucked it clean, your eyes never leaving his.

"Good girl," he said, his voice soft and cruel.

He pulled up your jeans, fastening them with a practiced efficiency. He straightened your jacket, smoothed your hair. He was dressing you, cleaning you, preparing you to go back inside like nothing had happened.

"Your turn," he said, gesturing to his own face. "Fix me."

You reached up, your fingers trembling, and wiped a smudge of your lipstick from the corner of his mouth. He caught your hand, pressed a kiss to your palm.

"Tonight," he said, his voice low and urgent. "After she falls asleep. My car. Behind the diner. One in the morning."

"What?"

"You heard me." He released your hand, stepping back. "I'm not done with you. I'm never going to be done with you."

He turned and walked away, disappearing around the corner of the house. You stood there, alone in the dark, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, his taste still on your tongue.

You waited a full five minutes before walking back inside.

The party was still going. The bass still thumped. Lana was still laughing, a red cup in her hand . She looked up when you approached, her eyes glassy with alcohol.

"Hey! There you are! I was looking for you." She smiled, oblivious. "You okay? You look flushed."

You forced a smile. "Just needed some air."

She nodded, already distracted by someone calling her name. "Okay, well, don't disappear again! I want you to meet some people!"

She turned away. You stood there, in the middle of the noise and the heat, and felt the ghost of him still inside you. His come was drying on your face, hidden under the dim light. His scent was all over your skin.

And you were already counting the hours until one in the morning.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The word pounded through Mattheo’s skull like a war drum as he stared down at you, completely wrecked by the sight.

Your plump, spit-slick lips were stretched obscenely wide around his thick cock, the veined shaft disappearing inch by inch into the hot, wet heat of your mouth. Your cheeks hollowed tightly with every greedy suck, creating a perfect, sinful seal that made his thighs tremble. Those pretty eyes—fuck, those eyes—locked onto his without shame, lashes wet, pupils blown wide with lust as you took him deeper.

You were humming around him, the low vibration buzzing straight down his shaft and into his tightening balls. The sound was obscene, wet and filthy, mixing with the lewd, rhythmic gluck-gluck-gluck of your throat working him. Saliva dripped from the corners of your stretched lips, sliding down his length in shiny rivulets before dripping onto his heavy sack.

This wasn’t supposed to be you.

Not the sweet girl he’d known for years. Not his best mate’s little sister. Not the one person in the world he was never, under any circumstance, supposed to touch.

Yet here you were, on your knees in the dark, gagging softly as you forced the swollen head of his cock into the tight clutch of your throat like you were starving for it. The wet heat, the swirling tongue, the way your throat fluttered and squeezed around him was too much. Too fucking good.

Mattheo’s fingers tightened in your hair, hips twitching with the urge to thrust deeper and fuck your face properly. His heart hammered against his ribs as the quiet house pressed in around you both. Theo’s room was just across the hall. If his best friend woke up, if he heard the slick, sloppy sounds of his sister choking on Mattheo’s cock…

He was so fucking dead.

But even that lethal risk couldn’t make him stop you. Not when your tongue pressed flat against the underside of his throbbing dick and you moaned like sucking him was the best thing you’d ever tasted.

A low, needy moan vibrated around his cock as Mattheo accidentally thrust up hard into your mouth, the swollen, leaking head forcing its way deeper until it bullied past the tight ring of your throat and lodged itself at the very bottom. Your eyes watered instantly, throat convulsing and squeezing around the thick invasion, but the sound you made was pure filthy bliss.

His eyes snapped wide with panic, darting toward the closed door as his hands fisted tighter in your hair. He shoved your head down roughly, pinning you there with your nose pressed flush against his pelvis, your throat bulging visibly around every throbbing inch of him. You couldn’t make a single sound now—just wet, choked gurgles and the frantic flutter of your throat muscles milking his cock. Air was a distant luxury. All you could feel was the burning stretch, the salty taste of his precum sliding straight down into your stomach, and the heavy, musky scent of his skin filling your lungs.

Mattheo’s ears strained for any noise in the sleeping house. The creak of floorboards, Theo’s door opening, footsteps. His heart slammed violently against his ribs as he imagined having to spit out some bullshit excuse for why his best friend’s little sister was on her knees with her throat stuffed full of his cock.

But the house stayed deathly quiet.

Only the obscene, muffled sounds of your throat struggling around him and the wet gluck-gluck of saliva bubbling past your stretched lips filled the room. After a few long, torturous seconds, he finally released you with a shaky breath and a mumbled, “Shit-sorry, princess…”

Guilt flickered across his face as he watched you pull back, gasping and coughing, strings of thick spit connecting your swollen lips to his glistening, vein-ridged shaft. Your chest heaved, tears streaking your flushed cheeks, but the hunger in your eyes only burned hotter.

It didn’t slow you down for a second.

Your mind was blank except for one filthy obsession: how much deeper you could force his thick, pulsing length down your tight little throat. How full you could make yourself. How ruined you wanted him to leave you.

don’t steal this softclementineblog

“Think you can be quiet f’me, princess?”

Mattheo knew he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t be risking everything just to find out how his best friend’s sister’s cunt would feel choking his cock. He should pull his soaked, throbbing dick from your greedy mouth right now, tuck himself away, and disappear downstairs to the guest bedroom like a smart man. Never come back to the Nott family home again.

But restraint had never been his fucking strong suit.

And fuck, you looked so eager. Those wide, glassy eyes staring up at him like sucking his cock was the highlight of your little life. Only a year younger than him, you’d always been strictly off-limits. Theo’s soft, sweet, innocent sister. He’d spent years pretending you were nothing more than that. Pretending he didn’t notice the way your tits strained against your tops or how your ass filled out those little skirts.

Not this version of you.

This filthy, cock-hungry version that had just taken him balls-deep down your throat like a seasoned whore. Girls had tried for years to swallow him whole and never managed half of what you just did. Theo’s precious sister had clearly been up to a lot more than homework and innocent study sessions, and Mattheo could confirm it firsthand—the way your throat fluttered and milked him like it was starving.

He’d been here the entire first week of holiday, fighting the growing tension. He’d felt your hungry stares every time he yanked his shirt off to dive into the pool, the way your eyes dragged down his abs and lingered on the bulge in his swim trunks. You’d pranced around in the tiniest fucking bikinis, nipples hard against the thin fabric, hips swaying like a tease every time you walked past him. At dinner you’d pressed your bare thigh against his under the table, soft and warm and way too fucking close.

He’d been good. He’d ignored it all.

Until tonight. Until you showed up at the guest room door in a tiny tank top and panties, batting your lashes and whispering about a “noise in your closet.” The second the door clicked shut behind him, you were on your knees like a bitch in heat, yanking his pajama pants down and swallowing his heavy cock before he could even curse.

“I can be quiet,” you nodded, voice husky and dripping with lies, spit still glistening on your swollen lips.

Mattheo let out a dark, breathless chuckle, thumb brushing roughly over your bottom lip as his thick cock twitched in front of your face, veins pulsing, head shiny with your spit.

“Yeah?” he murmured, voice low and dangerous. “We both know that’s bullshit, baby. But go on… show me how quiet you can be while I ruin that pretty little pussy.”

You didn’t waste a single second. The moment the words left his mouth, you were scrambling to your feet, shoving your soaked panties down your thighs with shaking hands. They clung obscenely to your dripping folds before dropping to the floor with a wet little slap. Your thin tank top flew over your head next, freeing your perky tits, full, soft, and bouncing slightly as your hard nipples tightened into stiff peaks from the cool air and the week-long ache of wanting him.

Mattheo’s dark eyes raked over you like a starving man. Your pussy was shaved into a perfect little triangle above your slick, puffy lips, glistening with arousal that had already started dripping down the inside of your thigh in shiny, sticky trails. The scent of you all sweet, musky, and fucking addictive hit him hard.

“Goddamn… you look fucking sinful,” he groaned, voice rough with lust. The war in his head shattered the second he reached for you, yanking your body against his and crashing his mouth onto yours. His tongue invaded deep, tasting the lingering salt of his own cock on your tongue as he walked you backwards until your legs hit the edge of the bed.

He wanted to flip you over and fuck you like a little whore—ass up, face down—but something twisted in his chest at the thought of treating Theo’s sister that way. At the same time, he knew if he fucked you face-to-face, staring into those needy eyes while buried balls-deep, he’d never be able to stop.

Your sharp intake of breath went straight to his throbbing cock as he spun you around and bent you over the bed. You arched instantly, pushing your ass up high like an offering, wiggling it teasingly in the air. Mattheo spread your cheeks wide with both hands, a low, filthy moan ripping from his throat at the sight.

Your tight little asshole winked at him above your dripping cunt—pink, glistening, and clenching with need. Thick strands of your arousal stretched between your thighs, practically begging to be used.

He slotted his heavy, veined cock between your soft asscheeks, using your slick to coat every inch as he pressed them together around his length. He thrust slowly at first, gliding through the warm, slippery valley, the fat head nudging teasingly against your asshole with every stroke—just to test how quiet you could really be.

You failed almost immediately, a needy whimper slipping out.

“Fuck it,” he growled.

His restraint snapped. He lined up and slammed into your tight pussy in one brutal thrust, burying every thick inch to the hilt. Your walls stretched obscenely around him, fluttering and squeezing as he bottomed out, the head of his cock kissing your cervix. The wet, squelching sound of your soaked cunt taking him was pornographic.

A sharp squeal nearly tore from your throat before his large hand clamped roughly over your mouth, muffling it into a desperate, vibrating moan. Your pussy spasmed hard around the sudden stretch, gushing around his cock.

Mattheo’s jaw clenched. He needed something to bite, something to keep himself from groaning loud enough to wake the entire fucking house—because your cunt felt like wet velvet heaven, hotter and tighter than anything he’d ever felt.

“Be. Quiet.”

Mattheo’s voice came out in a low, dangerous growl, barely above a whisper as his hand gripped the soft, plump flesh of your ass hard enough to leave marks. He brought his palm down with a sharp, warning smack—crack—watching the supple cheek ripple and jiggle deliciously under the force. The sound was way too loud in the silent house, but the way your cunt reacted made it impossible to regret.

You clenched violently around his thick cock, walls pulsing and fluttering like a greedy little vice, your hips pushing back desperately as if begging for another slap. Your pussy gushed fresh slick down his shaft, dripping messily onto the sheets.

“Dirty fucking girl,” he groaned, voice wrecked with disbelief and raw lust. “Who would’ve thought Theo’s sweet little sister was such a filthy slut?”

He’d thought about fucking you—how could he not? You were always around, teasing him with those innocent little smiles and tight clothes. But never like this. In his fantasies you were shy, blushing, pliant. Not this. Not arching your back like a whore, taking every inch of his fat cock in one brutal thrust and moaning like it was the best thing you’d ever felt.

It looked obscene. Filthy. Your tight little pussy stretched impossibly wide around his girth, the puffy pink lips gripping his veined shaft like a cock sleeve every time he pulled back. A shiny ring of your cream coated his length, strings of it stretching and breaking with every movement.

You clearly didn’t think he was moving fast enough.

With a needy whimper muffled against his palm, you started fucking yourself back onto him—hard, fast, and deep. Your perfect ass bounced and jiggled with every filthy slap of skin on skin, cheeks rippling as you impaled your dripping cunt on his cock over and over like he was nothing but a toy for your greedy hole. The wet, squelching sounds of your soaked pussy were loud and shameless, obscene in the quiet room.

Even with his big hand clamped tightly over your mouth, you twisted your head, fighting to look back at him. Your big, glassy eyes locked onto his, desperate, lust-drunk, and utterly shameless as your cunt swallowed him whole again and again. Fresh juices squirted out around his pistoning cock with every thrust, soaking his balls and ruining the sheets beneath you.

Something primal snapped inside Mattheo.

The fear of Theo waking up vanished in a haze of pure, animalistic lust. At this moment, he wouldn’t stop even if his best friend burst through the door. He didn’t give a single fuck. He was going to pump you full of his cum—flood your greedy little womb until it leaked out of your ruined cunt—and then he’d fuck you again. And again. As many times as his balls could manage, for as long as his cock stayed hard.

If Theo killed him for it… so fucking be it.

With a feral growl, he flipped you onto your back in one brutal motion. He shoved your thighs wide apart, knees pushed nearly to your chest, completely exposing your dripping, stretched pussy. He slammed his throbbing cock back into your tight hole with zero mercy, bottoming out in a single savage thrust. The wet schlick of your soaked cunt swallowing him echoed obscenely in the room.

He lost all control.

Mattheo pounded into you relentlessly—fast, deep, and punishing. The bed squeaked loudly beneath you with every brutal snap of his hips, the headboard knocking against the wall in a rhythm that would surely wake the house. Your desperate gasps and whimpers spilled out despite your best efforts, muffled only slightly by his hand or your own bitten lip.

“If I find out who taught you to fuck like this,” he snarled, teeth bared as he railed you into the mattress, “I’ll skin the bastard alive, princess. I fucking promise you that.”

Your eyes widened, a fresh gush of arousal flooding around his pistoning cock as you thought of all the names he’d have to cross off. The dark, possessive jealousy in his voice only made you clench harder.

Mattheo snarled at your expression and fucked you even faster, inhumanly deep, his heavy balls slapping wetly against your ass. The obscene squelching of your creamy cunt filled the room as you suddenly shattered—squirting hard all over his toned abdomen, your juices spraying messily with every punishing thrust.

You couldn’t believe this was finally happening.

You’d been dreaming of Mattheo Riddle for years—touching yourself to the thought of him, disappointed by every other boy who couldn’t measure up. And fuck, he was big. Huge. His thick cock stretched you so wide it felt like he was carving out your insides, rearranging your guts with every brutal stroke. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. All you could do was babble incoherent, cock-drunk nonsense as your pussy throbbed and spasmed around him.

You were so blissed out you didn’t even realize tears were streaming down your flushed cheeks until you tasted the salt on your lips. Your body shook violently with every thrust, tits bouncing, nipples aching.

Mattheo looked so fucking hot it was disorienting. Sweat slicking his brow and chest, dark curls a wild mess, that terrifying, murderous glint in his eyes as he stared down at you. He wasn’t just focused on your fluttering, squirting cunt. He was mentally planning exactly how he’d murder every ex who’d ever touched what was now his.

“Fuck… you feel so goddamn good,” Mattheo groaned, voice wrecked and barely coherent. His head fell back, exposing the strong, sweat-slick column of his throat as his eyes squeezed shut in pure ecstasy. Every brutal thrust made his breath hitch, ragged and uneven. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt anything better in his life. No girl had ever taken him like this. Most squealed and cried after barely half his cock, forcing him to hold back. But you? You were taking every thick, veined inch like your cunt was made around him.

His heavy balls slapped wetly against your soaked ass with every punishing thrust, the plap-plap-plap of skin on skin loud and filthy in the quiet room. He was so deep he could see the obscene bulge in your lower belly, rising and falling with each stroke. The thought of knocking you up—leaving you swollen with his baby, his last name—flashed through his mind and made his cock throb violently inside you.

Fuck. He needed to get out of here before he really lost it and proposed on the spot. Then he’d definitely be dead.

“Harder—Matty, harder! Please, please!” you begged, voice breaking into desperate, breathy whimpers. Your nails dug into his back as you tried to pull him impossibly deeper.

“Want your cum, Matty… please, fuck! Cum inside me—I want it please!”

“Such a dirty fucking mouth for such a pretty little thing,” he snarled, eyes rolling back as your filthy pleas snapped the last thread of his control.

He collapsed forward onto you, hips stuttering violently as he buried himself impossibly deep. A guttural, broken groan tore from his throat while the biggest load of his life erupted endlessly into your spasming cunt. Thick, hot ropes of cum pumped deep into your womb, flooding you until your belly swelled slightly from the sheer volume. It felt warm, sticky, and filthy—claiming you from the inside out.

When he finally pulled back just slightly, it gushed out around his still-throbbing cock in creamy white waves, mixing with the mess of your orgasms. The obscene sight of his cum leaking from your ruined, stretched hole made him twitch again, already thinking about round two.

And before the night was over, there were two more rounds each filthier and more desperate than the last. Round two had you riding him until your thighs gave out, your soaked cunt creaming down his shaft while he choked back groans into your neck. Round three was brutal, him pinning you against the wall with a hand over your mouth as he fucked you senseless from behind, pumping another thick load deep into your already overflowing pussy.

By morning, Mattheo sat at the breakfast table looking thoroughly fucked-out. Dark circles under his eyes, curls a wild mess, but wearing the biggest shit-eating grin on his usually brooding face.

“What’s got you so chipper?” Theo asked, completely oblivious as he sipped his coffee.

Mattheo shoved a massive forkful of pancakes into his mouth, still tasting you on his tongue. “Had a good dream. Slept really good.”

His eyes drifted across the table to you just as you walked into the kitchen. Your legs were visibly trembling, knees weak and unsteady with every step. You were trying so hard to hide the limp, but he could see the way your thighs pressed together like you were trying to keep something from slipping out. Your eyes were bloodshot and groggy from zero sleep, lips still slightly swollen from choking on his cock for hours.

Only Mattheo knew that underneath those baggy pajama shorts, your poor little pussy was still leaking his cum. Thick, sticky globs of it were probably sliding down your inner thighs right now with every movement.

“Looks like you two had opposite nights,” Theo joked, chuckling into his coffee as he flipped a page of The Daily Prophet.

Mattheo’s grin widened. He caught the murderous little glare you shot him across the table and had to bite back a laugh.

“Yeah, apparently so,” he drawled, voice low and teasing. “Wanna swap beds tonight, sweetheart? It’s real comfortable.”

“Fuck off,” you hissed, cheeks burning as you reached for a glass of water.

Mattheo should be furious. He knows he should be. But the thought dissolves the second he feels the slick, velvet heat of your cunt swallowing another inch of his thick cock. Every slow roll of your hips parts your tight walls around him with obscene, wet sounds that echo in the dimly lit room—filthy little noises that make his abs clench and his wrists strain uselessly against the enchanted binds.

He looks devastating like this, dark curls damp with sweat, full lips parted, those big brown eyes blown wide with lust as he stares up at you. His gaze is locked on the place where your bodies meet, watching in helpless fascination as your glistening pussy stretches around his girth, taking him so fucking deep.

“Are you sorry now, baby?” you purr, voice dripping with mock sweetness.

Sorry?

The word barely registers through the fog of pleasure. Mattheo’s hips twitch upward, chasing the tight, dripping friction, but you lift yourself just enough to deny him. A low, guttural groan rips from his chest as your soaked walls drag torturously along every veined inch of him.

Right. The fight. The sharp words that had led to you pushing him down, tying his wrists to the headboard while he was still half-hard and lazy from the shower.

He tugs hard against the magical restraints, the ache in his shoulders nothing compared to the throbbing need pulsing between his legs. “No,” he growls, voice rough and stubborn, eyes narrowing even as his cock twitches hard inside you.

Your movements slow to a maddening crawl—barely rocking now, just enough to keep his fat cock nestled deep, kissing your cervix with every teasing shift. The denial makes his jaw clench, a frustrated snarl curling his lips.

The argument had been your fault—at least that’s what he kept telling himself. You’d convinced yourself he was staring too long at the pretty bartender in Hogsmeade, the way his dark eyes had dragged slowly up and down her body while you were mid-sentence. Never mind the ridiculous sparklers glittering in her hair or the crowded pub. He’d looked. And that had been enough.

But none of that mattered now.

Mattheo had already been denied his third orgasm, and he was falling apart beneath you. Sweat glistened across his forehead and chest, a few salty drops sliding down the sharp cut of his jaw. Every frustrated roll of his hips made his abs flex hard under glistening skin, the defined ridges tightening and rippling in a way that made you want to sink your teeth into him.

“If you say so, pretty boy,” you whispered, voice sweet and cruel.

A broken, pathetic moan tore from his throat at the pet name. His thick cock throbbed violently inside your soaked, creamy cunt, stretching you open with every desperate twitch. He bucked up hard, trying to bury himself deeper into that slick, velvety heat, but you kept control—hovering just enough to deny him the friction he craved.

“Ah—fuck!” His teeth clenched so hard the muscle in his jaw jumped. “Just fucking move already.”

His tone was raw anger, edged with frustration, but his big brown eyes told a different story—dark, glassy, and pleading like a desperate, needy dog. His wrists strained violently against the enchanted binds, veins standing out along his forearms as another bead of sweat rolled down his temple. The wet, obscene sound of your dripping pussy sliding lazily along his swollen cock filled the room, teasing him mercilessly with every slow grind.

“You think that pretty bartender would fuck you good?” You rolled your hips in a slow, deliberate circle, letting him feel every inch of your dripping cunt squeezing around his thick cock. “Think her pussy would feel better than mine, baby?”

“You’re fucking crazy,” Mattheo whined, the words cracking into a desperate moan. His hands twitched violently against the enchanted binds, fingers flexing uselessly as he fought to touch you.

You wanted to snap back, but your second orgasm was already building fast and hot, electric pressure coiling low in your belly. Mattheo’s dark eyes watched with raw envy as your hand slid down your sweat-slicked body to rub tight, messy circles over your swollen, puffy clit.

“Please—no, please,” he begged pathetically, voice breaking. “I’m sorry! Okay? I’m fucking sorry. I’ll wear a blindfold in public, I’ll do whatever you want—just please don’t cum again. Don’t make me hold it, baby, please—”

That admission should have been enough. But mercy wasn’t on your mind tonight.

You sank down hard, taking every thick inch of him until your ass met his hips and the fat head of his cock pressed brutally against your cervix. A visible bulge swelled in your lower stomach. You pressed your palm over it, feeling the hard, throbbing shape of him so deep inside your guts.

Mattheo’s eyes rolled back, a wrecked groan tearing from his throat as overwhelming pleasure short-circuited his brain. His toes curled tightly, thighs trembling beneath you.

“Princess—baby, please, I-I can’t—”

“You can hold it for me, can’t you?” you whispered hotly against his ear, lips brushing the sensitive shell. Your breath made him shiver hard, goosebumps racing down his sweat-drenched chest and arms. His cock pulsed angrily inside you, dangerously close to the edge.

Tears pricked the corners of his big brown eyes, making them glassy and desperate. He’d let you ruin him all night if you’d just let him touch you.

“I-I’ll do anything, sweetheart—nngh, please!”

“Sweetheart?” You laughed softly, cruelly. “I thought I was crazy?”

“You’re both—fuck—I love you, please—!”

You started bouncing.

Lewd, wet squelching sounds filled the room every time you lifted up and slammed back down, your creamy pussy stretching obscenely around his thick, veined cock. Mattheo could see it all—how your slick folds dragged along his glistening shaft, how your stomach bulged with every brutal drop. Your breath came faster, sharper, your walls fluttering and milking him with rhythmic pulses as your orgasm drew dangerously close.

A loud, broken moan tore from Mattheo’s throat, raw and guttural enough to echo through the stone walls and probably wake half the castle. His hips jerked violently upward as his vision whited out completely. Thick, hot ropes of his cum flooded your womb in heavy, pulsing spurts, filling you until you felt impossibly full. So much of it that it frothed and leaked out around where your stretched pussy clenched greedily around his throbbing cock, mixing with your own earlier releases in a messy, creamy puddle that dripped down his balls and soaked the sheets beneath him.

You frowned disapprovingly, refusing to let him ride out the high in peace. Instead, you ground down harder, rolling your hips in tight, deliberate circles so the sensitive head of his cock dragged against your cervix.

“Ah—! No, no, no—fuck, please!” Mattheo gasped sharply, his voice cracking into a high-pitched whine. His spent cock twitched and jerked inside you with painful overstimulation, every tiny movement sending electric shocks through his overworked nerves. His abs were locked tight, thighs trembling uncontrollably beneath you, sweat pouring down his heaving chest.

“Aww, that’s okay baby,” you cooed sweetly, still grinding slow and deep on his hypersensitive length. “You’d hate for me to be unsatisfied, wouldn’t you?”

“Untie me—fuck, I’ll make you cum all night, I just— I can’t—ah! Please!” His words dissolved into another pathetic, broken moan as you clenched around him deliberately. Fresh tears glistened in the corners of his glassy brown eyes, one finally slipping free and sliding down his flushed cheek.

“Oh baby,” you purred, leaning down to lick the salty tear from his skin, “you’re making me cum all night anyway. That’s what bad boys get, hm?”

Mattheo’s head fell back against the pillow, dark curls plastered to his forehead with sweat. His chest rose and fell in ragged pants, every breath shaky as his oversensitive cock continued to pulse weakly inside your soaked, cum-filled heat. The overstimulation was bordering on too much his body twitching and jolting with every shift of your hips, soft, desperate whimpers slipping from his swollen lips despite how hard he tried to bite them back.

Finally, you reached up and released the enchanted binds with a whispered word. The moment his wrists were free, Mattheo’s arms wrapped around you with desperate strength, fingers digging almost bruisingly into your hips and lower back as he pulled you flush against his overheated, trembling body. Another tear slipped from the corner of his eye as he buried his face in your neck, breathing you in like a drowning man.

Lifting you by the waist, Dean positions you over Beau, who’s lying flat on the mattress. You’re already aching, your pussy quivering as you’re suspended over Beau. You can hear him breathing heavily under you, eager to have a taste, and it’s driving you insane.

“Wait-” you call shakily, you’re not fully seated yet but Beau’s already lifting his head, trying to lick at you. “Ahh, Beau.”

“I want you to smother him,” Dean whispers into your ear as he lowers you down fully over Beau. “He can take it.”

“I can, I can take it,” Beau tells you; his breath is hot against your core and you shiver. Strong hands come to spread you open as Beau sucks on your clit. He’s relentless, sucking and flicking his tongue where you’re most sensitive.

Hinging forward, you press your chest against Beau’s stomach, ass rising to the air as your forearms press into the mattress to hold yourself up. As Beau’s tongue continues to move over you, you reach out, lazily dragging your hand along his length and teasing the tip.

From behind, Dean has the perfect view of you spread open, dripping and ready for him. Your hole clenches as you feel Dean’s finger slide alongside Beau’s tongue. You won’t last long like this.

“Dean, please,” you beg, “I won’t last much longer, fuck me. Please,” your voice quivers, and it sends jolts of electricity down their spines.  

“So, so, needy,” Dean teases. He grabs hold of your waist and slowly drags his dick along your folds. “Are you ready for me?”

You whine in response. It’s a redundant question, he knows. Your folds are glistening, drenched in your excitement.

Over Beau’s head, he lines himself up and slowly sinks himself into your wet, hot, pussy. His eyes flutter shut as you squeeze around him. “So tight, so perfect,” he whimpers.

The praise has you pushing your hips back into him. He fills you up completely, thick and veiny. The dual attention leaves you dizzy, Dean slowly rocking into you as Beau’s tongue circles your clit again. Your thighs quivering around Beau’s face.

Tears prick your eyes in frustration as Beau’s mouth leaves yours. You were so close, “why,” you whine. Beau tilts his head up, tongue coming to where Dean disappears inside of you. As Dean plunges into you, Beau licks along the vein of his dick.  

Dean pulls back slowly, letting the tip catch on you.

“Look at our greedy girl clenching around nothing.” You never should have let them know just how much you like it when they’re mean and teasing.

“I know you want to see your boyfriend taste you on my cock,” Dean speaks to you sweetly, a stark contrast to the lewd things coming from his mouth.

“I do,” you whine. You want to turn, but Dean keeps one hand pressed against your lower back. Beau’s got his arms locked around your waist too.

You can hear the sound of slurping, as Beau tastes you on his ‘best friend’.

Desperate for some friction, to be touched, you grind down on Beau’s chin.

“Ow, are we not paying you enough attention?”  

“Please,” you sob. They’ve been edging you for almost half an hour now, bringing you close then leaving you dry. You need to cum.

“Ok, I’ve got you.”

Dean slides back into you as Beau takes your clit in his mouth again. Both moving with renewed vigour and a determination to make you cum.

“I could stay like this forever, buried deep inside you. I never want to leave.”

“Mhm,” Beau agrees around your clit.

Nails digging into Beau’s thighs, your mouth falls open as you wantonly moan.

You can tell Dean’s close as his thrusts get sloppy. He practically folds over you as he buries himself into you.

“F-Fuck, I’m… Fuckkkk.” Dean holds you in place as he squirts ropey cum into you. You feel the coil tightening in your belly, the pleasure rising up your body at the feeling of being so full and so surrounded.

“Yes, yes, I’m gonna-” your words cut off as your orgasm crashes over you. You collapse forward, falling onto Beau as you clench around Dean’s softening erection. He winces, he’s too sensitive but he doesn’t want to come out of you yet.

“That’s it, cum for us,” Dean coos, your body twitching as you come down.

Beau keeps his mouth on you throughout, not sucking, just on you gently. You hiss as Dean slides out, somehow feeling over and under stimulated at the same time. His cum leaks out of you, dripping onto Beau’s face.

You’re given no more time to rest as Dean lifts you by the waist again. You’re not small, but you’re flung around like you’re weightless. The joys of being with athletes, you muse to yourself as you’re flipped over.

There’s a lewd squelch as you’re lowered down onto Beau’s still stiff erection. A mixture of your wetness and Dean’s leftover cum making it an easy slide down him.

You’re spent but you want to do this for Beau. You lean forward, hands resting on his chest as you grind down into him. You rock your hips a few times, Beau’s dick circling around your walls.

Beau looks up at you, dark pupils blown as he takes you in.

“You’re so beautiful,” his voice is strained.

Pulling you down so you’re chest to chest, Beau plants his feet on the mattress and fucks up into you. Each thrust sends Dean’s load deeper into you.

Despite your fatigue, when he hits that sweet spot inside you, you feel the coil start to tighten again.  

Dean’s fingers slide in between you two. He knows just the right amount of pressure to apply, just the right way to circle you, and just the things to whisper to you, to get you to cum again. You cry out against Beau’s shoulder.

Your pussy is swollen and sensitive but Beau’s so close.

“Please… I can’t,” your voice is hoarse, your body is tingling.

“You can,” Dean calls. “You can take it.” He strokes your cheek, it’s soft and intimate. If you really couldn’t take it, you knew the word to say to get all activity to stop. They know you know it, you confirmed it before you started this, so Beau continues pounding into you through your whines.

“I’m almost there,” Beau grunts.

Beau spills inside of you, his cum mixing with Dean’s inside of you. You feel him twitch inside of you as he continues shooting ropey cum into you. You’re sticky, hole overflowing with cum, but content.

As aways, Dean’s ready with a warm washcloth to clean you up.

Beau rolls out of the bed to open the window. He spots your book, the one that inspired today’s activities and smiles fondly.

“This book of yours is incredible,” Beau says, flipping through the pages.

“Yeah, big fan,” Dean smirks, “What’s next?”

“that's it,” he sighed, eyes blazing with something dark. perverse. satisfied. “beg for it. beg for air. for the gift of breathing,” he said, his voice hushed, a wicked, delighted grin on his face. “beg for your next breath,”

then he pressed. squeezed. his fingers dug deeper into the sides of your neck as he rocked his hips into you, making you lose even more precious air. “please—” you squeaked, your hands coming up to grip his larger one. he was just so…so overwhelming. the hard surface of his chest was pressed up against your tits, his body over yours, keeping you trapped. he was all toned, lean muscle—deadly, unmoving. you thought he would crush you. “please aerion—”

“mmhm,” he hummed, his chest rumbling. “say it again. i love hearing my name from such sweet lips,”

your lungs burned, vision blurred as hot tears fell down your face. your cunt was aching, leaking as his cock stretched you. “aerion—” you croaked once more, your nails digging into his hand desperately. “aerion,”

his grin deepened, and then he squeezed harder as he pulled back and drove his cock into you, your heart lurching, your core flooding with heat. black spots—you saw fuzzy black spots at the edge of your vision, your head swimming, and then—

all at once you gasped for air as he let go, your lungs screaming in relief as you coughed, taking in deep, rapid breaths. aerion smirked as he kept fucking you, barely giving you a chance to catch your breath as he pounded you, your gasps gradually turning into soft whimpers and moans. your nails dug into his shoulders slick with sweat, your lips trembling as you tried to bite back your noises.

he snickered into your ear over the sounds of your creamy, wet pussy. “always sound so pretty for me,” he whispered, warm breath hitting your skin. “especially when you're begging.”

the movie was some mindless rom-com you'd picked, the kind where the leads fall in love in improbable ways against a sparkling city backdrop. you were curled up on your bed, tucked against his side, but you weren't watching the screen. you were watching him.

aerion was rigid. not his usual confident, take-what-he-wants self, but a statue carved from pure, undiluted anxiety. his eyes kept flicking from the television to your face, to the hand you had resting on his thigh, back to the television. he'd swallowed about a dozen times in the last ten minutes.

"you hate this movie, don't you?" you whispered, nudging him with your shoulder.

he startled, like you'd caught him doing something wrong. "what? no. it's... fine."

"it's fine?" you repeated, a smile playing on your lips.

"was just thinking," he mumbled, refusing to meet your gaze.

you knew what he was thinking about. the plan. the one you'd made a week ago, before you'd left for summer camp, a plan that had felt both terrifying and thrilling. your parents were out of town until tomorrow.

you were in your favorite soft pajamas, the ones with the little clouds on them. and you were almost certain he had condoms burning a hole through his wallet in his pocket.

you decided to put him out of his misery. you shifted, turning to face him fully, and placed your hand flat on his chest. his heart was hammering against your palm.

"aerion," you said softly.

he finally looked at you, and his eyes were so dark, so full of that intense emotion he always tried to hide. "yeah?"

"do you still want to do it? i want to if you-"

he let out a shaky breath, a sound that was half laugh, half pure relief.

"god, i was trying to figure out how to... i didn't want to..." he trailed off, just shaking his head.

he leaned in and kissed you, and it was different from his usual kisses. it was soft, almost hesitant, like he was afraid you might break.

you kissed him back, deepening it, threading your fingers into his hair. his hands came up to frame your face, holding you gently as he explored your mouth. when you pulled back, you were both breathing heavily.

"okay," he said, his voice a low rasp. he fumbled in his jeans pocket, his movements clumsy as he pulled out his wallet. he shook not one, but three foil packets onto your bedside table.

you burst out laughing. "three, aerion? really?"

his face flushed a deep red, spreading all the way to his ears. "shut up," he grumbled, but there was no heat in it. "i just... i wanted to be prepared. in case... i don't know, in case one ripped or something."

"that's sweet," you said, your voice soft as you reached out to trace the line of his jaw. "it's really sweet."

he captured your hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss your palm. "let me..." he started, then stopped, taking a steadying breath. "let me take care of you."

you just nodded, your throat too tight to speak.

he helped you out of your cloud pajamas, his fingers fumbling with the buttons on your top. his hands were shaking so badly he couldn't get the last one, and he made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. you gently brushed his hands aside and did it yourself, letting the shirt fall open.

he stared at you, his eyes wide and reverent. "you're..." he breathed, but couldn't seem to find the rest of the words. he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the hollow of your throat, then another between your breasts. his mouth was warm and his lips were soft.

he stripped off his own shirt, and you got to touch the hard planes of his chest, the smooth skin stretched over lean muscle.

he shivered slightly under your touch.

when it came to the rest of your clothes, it was a symphony of awkwardness. knees knocked, limbs got tangled, and he nearly fell off the bed trying to get his jeans off. you were both giggling, the nervous tension breaking apart into something warm and comfortable.

finally, you were both naked, the movie still playing forgotten in the background. he knelt over you, just looking, his expression so full of adoration it made your chest ache.

"you're sure?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"i've never been more sure of anything," you replied.

he took one of the condoms, his fingers still clumsy as he tore the foil. he rolled it on with a concentration usually reserved for finals, his brow furrowed in focus. then he settled between your legs, his weight a comforting pressure.

he looked you in the eye as he positioned himself, his gaze searching yours. "okay?"

"okay," you breathed.

he pushed in slowly, so slowly, and the sensation was overwhelming. a strange, stretching pressure that was a little bit painful and a little bit perfect. he stopped, his whole body tense, waiting for you.

"are you okay? did i hurt you?" he asked, his voice tight with concern.

"no, it's... it's just-" you gasped, trying to find the words. "it's just... big."

a flicker of pure, unadulterated male pride crossed his face before he could tamp it down. "yeah?" he breathed, a smug little smile tugging at his lips.

you wanted to roll your eyes, but the feeling of him starting to move, slow and shallow, wiped your mind clean of any witty comebacks. he was trying to be gentle, trying to make it good for you, but you could feel the tension in his thighs, the way his breath hitched every time he sank deeper.

he was holding on by a thread.

it was over almost before it began. with a choked gasp of your name he came, his hips stuttered and he froze, his whole body shuddering against yours. he buried his face in your neck, his breathing ragged and hot against your skin.

for a moment, there was only the sound of his harsh breaths and the distant dialogue from the tv. then he lifted his head, his face a mask of utter mortification.

"fuck," he whispered, his voice cracking. "i'm so sorry. that's…i'm sorry."

"hey," you said softly, reaching up to push the damp hair off his forehead. "it's okay. it's our first time."

"it was supposed to be about you," he insisted, his voice thick with frustration. "i was supposed to make it good for you."

"it is good," you lied gently.

he just shook his head, his expression devastated. he looked so wrecked, so utterly unlike his usual confident self. then, a spark of determination lit his eyes. "no. we’re not done." he started to pull out, but you stopped him.

"aerion, wait."

"i can make you cum," he said, his voice firm. "i can. just...let me try."

before you could protest, he was moving again, his hips resuming a clumsy, determined rhythm. he shifted his angle, trying to find the spot that made your breath catch, his hand slipping down between your bodies to rub clumsy circles against your clit.

it was sweet, and it was earnest, but it wasn't quite... enough. the pressure was building, but it was a slow, frustrating climb.

"you know," you said, your voice a little breathless. "we could... we could use something else."

he stopped, looking down at you in confusion. "what else?"

you gestured with your chin toward your nightstand. "in the drawer. its purple."

his eyes widened as he processed what you were saying. he slowly pulled out, dealing with the condom before leaning over to open the drawer. he pulled out your small, bullet-shaped vibrator, holding it like it was a foreign artifact.

"you want me to... use this?" he asked, looking from the toy to you, a new kind of nervousness in his eyes.

"yeah," you said, feeling a blush creep up your neck. "if you want to. it feels really good."

a slow, wicked grin spread across his face, the first truly confident expression he'd worn all night. "oh, i want to," he purred, clicking it on. a low buzz filled the room. "show me how."

you took the buzzing toy from his hand, your fingers brushing against his. "here," you said, your voice a little shaky. "just... like this."

you guided his hand, showing him how to hold the vibrator, how to press it against your slick folds. he watched, his eyes dark and intent, as you moved his hand in slow circles. the buzzing against your clit was immediate, a jolt of pleasure that made you gasp.

"right there?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

"mmhmm," you breathed.

he took over, his movements clumsy at first, but quickly growing more confident as he watched your reactions.

he learned you, his eyes never leaving your face as he experimented with pressure and speed. the buzzing was a steady thrum of pleasure, building inside you, a slow, delicious coil of heat.

"you like that?" he asked, a smug satisfaction in his voice now that he knew he was doing it right.

"yes," you moaned, arching your back. "don't stop."

he didn't. he kept the pressure steady, his other hand coming up to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple. the dual sensations were overwhelming, and you could feel yourself getting closer, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak.

he watched you, a predator learning his prey's every tell. the way your back arched, the sounds you made, the way your thighs started to tremble. he was a quick study, his confidence growing with every gasp he pulled from you.

"look at you," he breathed, his voice a low, filthy rumble. he slid two fingers from his other hand down, teasing your entrance before sinking them knuckle-deep inside you. you cried out, your walls clamping down around him. "fuck," he groaned. "tight, too. so goddamn tight and wet…”

he started a rhythm with his fingers, a slow, deliberate curling motion that hit that spot inside you every time, all while the vibrator continued its relentless assault on your clit. he was playing you like an instrument, and you were completely at his mercy.

he leaned down, capturing your mouth in a messy kiss. it was all teeth and tongue. "can you feel how hard you make me?" he growled against your lips, grinding his once-again-hard cock against your thigh.

you could only moan in response, your mind going blank with pleasure. the coil of heat in your belly was winding tighter and tighter, a spring ready to snap.

"that's it, pretty girl," he coaxed, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "let go. i wanna feel you cum all over my hand. i wanna feel this pretty little pussy squeeze my fingers c’mon."

he increased the pressure of the vibrator, his fingers pumping faster, and that was all it took. your orgasm hit you like a freight train, a blinding, explosive wave of pleasure that ripped a scream from your throat. you came hard and fast, your juices flooding his hand.

he didn't stop, drawing out your pleasure until you were a whimpering, oversensitive mess. only then did he slowly pull his fingers from you. he brought them to his face, his eyes locked on yours, and deliberately, slowly, sucked them clean.

“oh my god aerion-”

he smirked around his fingers, slowly pulling them from his mouth with a wet pop.

he tossed the vibrator onto the nightstand, its buzzing suddenly silent in the room. the absence of the noise made your own ragged breathing seem impossibly loud. he shifted, moving over you, his knees nudging your thighs apart. his cock, hard and heavy, rested against your stomach, a hot, insistent weight.

"you taste so fucking good," he groaned, leaning down to kiss you. you could taste yourself on his tongue. he kissed you deeply, hungrily, like he couldn't get enough. "all that just for me hm?"

he reached down, taking himself in his hand, running the thick, swollen head of his cock through your slick folds. he teased your entrance, not pushing in, just letting you feel him.

“condom aerion-” you gasped, your fingers gripping his hair.

he froze. the thick, swollen head of his cock was still nestled against your slick entrance, a tantalizing promise of what was to come.

for a second, he didn't move, his body a tense, rigid line above you. then he let out a harsh, frustrated sigh and dropped his forehead to your shoulder.

"shit," he muttered against your skin. "oh shit, right. fuck."

the foil wrapper crinkling in his hand. he tore it open with his teeth, his movements sharp and impatient. he rolled the condom on, and was back on you in a flash, his body covering yours, his weight a familiar, possessive pressure. he nudged your legs apart with his knee, his cock now sheathed in latex, pressing against your entrance.

"there," he said, his voice a little rough.

he pressed forward, just the tip breaching you. "tell me," he demanded, his eyes dark and intense. "tell me you want it."

you were still floating in the hazy aftermath of your orgasm, your body pliant and eager. "please," you whimpered, your hips rising to meet his. "please, aerion."

that was all he needed. with one smooth thrust, he buried himself inside you to the hilt. you both groaned at the sensation, the perfect, full feeling of him stretching you. he stayed there for a moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing ragged.

"fuck," he breathed. "you are so pretty…"

he started to move then, a slow, deep rhythm that had your toes curling. he was watching you, his eyes dark and intent, as if memorizing the way your face contorted in pleasure.

"you like the way i stretch this little pussy open? mm? my girl?" he asked, his voice a low growl.

you could only nod, your hands clutching at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. he was hitting that spot inside you with every thrust, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your veins.

"say it," he demanded, his hips snapping forward, his rhythm growing more erratic. "tell me this is for me."

"it's yours," you gasped, your voice barely a whisper. "i’m all yours, aerion."

"damn right you are," he grunted, his pace quickening.

you were lost, lost in the sensation, lost in him. you could feel another orgasm building, a slow, delicious coil of heat in your belly. "don’t stop-" you cried out. "please aerion-"

“i know, i know. i’ve got you-” he panted, his fingers coming down to press hard against your clit.

he came with a guttural groan, his hips slamming into yours one last time as he spilled himself into the condom, in you. you followed him over the edge a moment later, your body convulsing around him, a silent scream tearing from your throat as waves of pleasure washed over you.

he collapsed on top of you, his body heavy and spent, his face buried in the crook of your neck. for a long time, the only sounds were your ragged breaths mingling in the quiet room.

finally, he lifted his head, his eyes soft and sated. "told you i'd make you feel good," he said, a smug grin spreading across his face.

you laughed, pulling him down for a soft kiss. "you're very proud of yourself, aren't you?"

"i am," he said, kissing you back, his tongue delving into your mouth.

"you always do, make me feel good-" you whispered against his lips.

he rolled off you, but immediately pulled you into his arms, tucking you against his side. he was quiet for a long time, just stroking your hair, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your scalp. the post-orgasmic haze settled over you both, a comfortable, warm silence.

you could feel his heartbeat against your back, a steady, reassuring rhythm. his hand stilled in your hair, and he shifted, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at you. the smugness was gone, replaced by a soft, almost vulnerable expression.

"so," he started, his voice a little rough. "that was...okay?"

you turned your head to look at him, a small smile playing on your lips. "just okay?" you teased gently.

a faint blush crept up his neck, a rare sight that made your heart flutter. "no, not just okay," he amended quickly, a hint of his usual defensiveness creeping in. "it was...it was good. it was fucking great. but was it...good for you? like, really?"

you rolled over to face him fully, draping an arm over his waist. "it was more than good, aerion," you said softly, sincerity in your voice. "it was perfect."

he let out a breath he didn't seem to realize he was holding, his whole body relaxing. "yeah?" he asked, a small, genuine smile finally touching his lips. "even when i was being a...you know. a bossy asshole?"

you laughed, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "especially then," you admitted. "i like it when you're a bossy asshole."

he leaned down and kissed you again. "it's not just about me getting off. i want... i want you to feel good. i need you to feel good. seeing you like that... it's the best part."

he pulled you closer, his arm wrapping around you, holding you tight. "and the vibrator?" he asked, a hint of his usual cockiness returning.

"you're a very fast learner," you said, your voice muffled against his chest.

he chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. "what can i say? i'm a man of many talents."

the offense was performative, a thin crust over the actual reaction happening underneath, which is that aerion targaryen has just walked into his bedroom and found you (his wolf, his nightmare, the only person alive who makes him feel like he's coming apart at the seams) touching yourself in his bed, and he didn't get to see it from the beginning.

he should have been here for this. he should have gotten to watch your face when you started, should have seen the exact moment you slid your hand down, the first catch of your breath. the way your hips shifted against his sheets. and he missed it, and that feels, somehow, like a personal slight.

"how long have you been—" he starts, and his voice has gone quieter now, lower, the performance dropping. he's still standing in the doorway but his weight has shifted forward. his eyes have gone dark, pale lashes lowered, fixed on your hand. "how long?"

you don't answer immediately. just hold his gaze, your hand still resting between your thighs, not moving. waiting.

"were you thinking about me?" he demands, and it comes out rougher than he meant it to. needier.

you hum. noncommittal.

his jaw tightens. "were you saying my name?"

"...maybe."

"maybe." he laughs, but it's not a joyful laugh. it's the laugh that means he's about to make you regret being coy with him. "show me, then. i want to see what i missed. i want to hear you say it."

and here's where whole thing tilts from offense into something else entirely. because aerion could fuck you right now (he wants to fuck you right now, you can see it in the way he's looking at you, the tension in his shoulders, the way his rings catch the light as his hand flexes against the doorframe) but he doesn't move. he stays where he is. watching.

"go on," he says quietly. "finish what you started."

third: mutual masturbation. or he just fucks you. he's no saint.

aerion tries.

he genuinely, earnestly tries to be patient, to let this play out, to talk you through it the way he's been fantasising about doing since the second he walked in and saw your hand between your legs.

he leans against the doorframe. he watches you touch yourself. he tells you (voice low, mean and shaking slightly at the edges) exactly what he wants you to do. "slower. no, slower, don't finish yet, i didn't say you could finish."

and it works. for maybe ninety seconds it works. you follow his instructions, your hand moving the way he tells you to move it, and he watches with this focused, predatory intensity, and his own hand drops to the front of his jeans (just resting there at first, palm pressing against the obvious line of him) and you can see him fighting it, see him trying to be good, to make this last.

but then you say his name.

just a soft, breathless "aerion" as your hips lift off the bed, and that's it. that's the end of his self-control. his hand is already working his jeans open as he crosses the room, and by the time he reaches the bed he's shoving them down his hips along with his briefs, and he's crawling over you with and his mouth already finding yours.

"you're impossible," he mutters against your lips, one hand batting yours away so he can replace it with his own, fingers sliding into you without preamble. "actually impossible. i was going to—i had a whole—fuck, you're so wet—"

"you were going to what?" you manage, gasping as he curls his fingers.

"i was going to watch," he bites out, sounding genuinely aggrieved about it even as he's sinking two fingers deeper, his thumb finding your clit. "i was going to be good, i was going to let you finish like this and then fuck you after, but you—you said my name—"

"sorry," you lie, not sorry at all.

"no you're not." he pulls his fingers out, and before you can complain he's lining himself up, the head of him pressing against you. "you're never fucking sorry, you do this on purpose, you—"

he sinks in.

all at once. just one smooth brutal slide until he's buried completely, the stretch of him a punishment, and you're making a sound into his mouth that he swallows like he's starving for it.

"there," he breathes, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes gone lavender-dark and slightly wild. "there, fuck, this is what you needed, wasn't it? not your hand. me."

and he's right, obviously, he's always right about this even when he's insufferable about it, but you're not going to give him the satisfaction of saying so. you just wrap your legs around his hips and pull him deeper, and aerion makes this low, broken sound and starts moving.

he fucks you mean. he fucks you like he's annoyed about it, like you've personally inconvenienced him by being so fucking hot that he couldn't keep his hands to himself for two full minutes. his rhythm is rough and uneven, chasing his own pleasure more than yours because he's petty and you ignored him in favour of your own hand, and he's going to make sure you know exactly what you were missing.

except—

except he can't help himself. halfway through he slows down, his forehead dropping to yours, and his hand slides between your bodies to find your clit again because aerion targaryen is incapable of fucking you without making you come. it's a point of pride. and he'd rather die than let you finish yourself off when he's right here.

"say it again," he demands, voice rough.

"say what?"

"my name. say it the way you were saying it when i walked in. i want to hear it."

you smile against his mouth. and then, because you're generous, because he's fucking you so perfectly you can barely think, you give it to him.

"aerion."

he shudders. full-body. his hips stutter, rhythm faltering for half a second before he catches himself and drives back in harder.

"again."

"aerion—"

"fuck, yes, like that—"

and when you come, it's with his name in your mouth and his hand between your legs and his cock buried so deep inside you that you can't tell where you end and he begins. and aerion follows maybe ten seconds later, finishing inside you with a low, guttural sound and his teeth in your shoulder and his rings digging into your hip hard enough to bruise.

afterward, when you're both catching your breath and he's collapsed half on top of you, still inside you because he's clingy even when he pretends he's not, you run your fingers through his sweaty pale hair and murmur, "you know, i was thinking about you."

he lifts his head. eyes narrowed. "obviously you were thinking about me."

"the whole time."

"i know."

"you didn't know. you asked."

"i was—" he stops. recalibrates. "i was confirming."

you grin. "you were jealous of my hand."

"i was not—"

"you absolutely were."

aerion glares at you. then, because he's a bastard, he shifts his hips just enough to make you gasp, still sensitive, and smirks when your nails dig into his shoulders.

"next time," he says, voice low and smug, "you wait for me."

"or what?"

"or i'll make you wait." he kisses you, slow and wet, sucking on your bottom lip. "and i'll make you watch while i finish myself off. see how you like it."

you both know he's lying. you both know he could never have that level of discipline when it comes to you or his pleasure. but you let him have it anyway, because he's pretty when he's pretending to be in control, and because he's going to fuck you again just to prove a point.

he's no saint.

You worked up a sweat and exerted yourself training. There’s nothing ZORO’S more attracted to than strength and you continuing to better yourself makes him proud. What better way to show that than to make you ride the hilt of Wado Ichimonji.

His thumb is pressing against your clit while his free hand grips the sheath from underneath you. ZORO watches the hilt slide in and out of you with a dazed assessment. The sight was almost hypnotic.

“You’re getting better. You haven’t collapsed yet.”

Your thighs shook around his waist as the praise ran through you, your nails digging crescents into his shoulders as you hold onto him. He’s making you work for it. You’re trying to remain composed, but the combined length of Wado’s hilt and the pressure of ZORO’S thumb is driving you crazy.

ZORO shifted the sheathed sword in his grip and the top of the hilt pressed into your gummy walls just right. You nearly fell apart right there and then. Your head fell onto his shoulders and you keened. “ZORO, please-“

“Not giving to you. You got to take it.”

ZORO circled the hilt inside of you and that pushed you over. Your hips stuttered and bucked as your climax washed over you. ZORO finally moved his thumb and drew it out. Your chest heaved with each pant and your thighs ached.

The minute the seventh year's hand looked too comfortable, the air started to feel stale.

Theo Nott never came to parties. He lived in the library until the candles guttered, voice soft, eyes skittering away whenever you caught him staring. Tonight he stood half-hidden by an arch, sleeves shoved to his elbows to reveal veined forearms, ink still staining his fingertips from his last tutoring session. His glasses caught the light like warning beacons, framing those big green eyes you'd started falling into. The glass in his hand trembled; the liquid inside hadn’t touched his lips, he was just holding it to keep his hands occupied, speaking of hands. His eyes seemed to be trained on the guy next you's hands, how they seemed to think they had any right to be on you.

Your friends had laughed when you told them about Theo.

“Theodore Nott? Like TA Theo? Big brown glasses Nott? He probably blushes if he even thinks of the word pussy.”

They’d never seen him like you did: pretty green doe eyes blown wide when you sink onto him, lashes fluttering, lips parted on a stuttered p-please, you feel so good—. They’d never seen the glazed look that took over when you rolled your hips, when his whole world narrowed to the wet heat of your cunt. They'd never felt his soft touches as he led you through Hogsmade, how he made efforts against his anxiety to go out more just to be around you.

The Ravenclaw’s thumb brushed your pulse, reminding you he was still there. “Restricted section’s a bit quieter if—”

But Theodore was already moving before his sentence could even reach your eyes.

One second he was twenty feet away; the next his hand locked around your wrist, knuckles white. No words. Just the crack of his restraint snapping. He dragged you through the crowd, his cashmere button up brushing your arm, cedar and parchment and rage flooding your nostrils as you breathed him in. Your heart slammed against your ribs, equal parts terror and thrill. You hadn't meant to upset him, but you can't lie and say you aren't intrigued to see what he's going to do.

The corridor swallowed you. Dust tasted like old secrets. A storage door yawned open, crates, broken quills, one guttering lantern, and Theo shoved you inside. The lock clicked like a gunshot, the only sound his rapid breathing as his eyes narrowed on you.

"Y'kay Teddy?"

His mouth crashed into yours before he could blush at the nickname. Not the shy, reverent kisses you knew, the ones that tasted like please never stop. This was teeth and desperation, tongue shoving past your lips like he needed to own your breath. His hand fisted your hair, yanking until your scalp burned; the other pinned your hip to the crate, fingers digging bruises through wool.

“You let him touch you,” he snarled, voice shredded glass. “Why can't every bloke in this castle get it through their heads, you're fucking mine.”

The words cracked open something raw, his possessive words sending vibrations straight through you. Heat flooded your cunt, slick and sudden. You whimpered, lashes fluttering as you gazed up at him, he growled, the sound itself almost making you moan.

Skirt rucked up. Panties ripped down your thighs with a sound like tearing paper. Cool air kissed your soaked folds; you shivered, dripping onto the stone. Theo’s breath hitched as he tried to control himself, a breathy whimper slipping out before he could stop it, those pretty green eyes fluttering at the sight of you glistening.

“F-fuck, so wet baby,” He cut himself off, jaw clenching. “On your fucking knees.”

You dropped without thinking. The stone bit your skin, but you sank willingly, mouth watering at the sight of him, belt clinking, zipper rasping, cock springing free, huge, flushed an angry red, veined and thick enough that your jaw ached just looking. Precum pearled at the slit like tears. He was shaking from anger or need, you aren't sure. He guided himself to your lips, slow, reverent, smearing the salty substance across your open lips before snapping his hips forward, remembering this is a punishment.

“Nngh—so warm, fuck—” The whimper cracked high and broken, his eyes rolling back, caught in the wet heat of your mouth before he caught himself. His hand tightened in your hair. “Take it, baby. All of it.”

Tears streaked your cheeks, mascara smudging, but you hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper, the salt of him flooding your tongue. His size bullied the back of your throat, mushroom tip rutting as far as it could. You choked around him, lungs squeezing at the lack of breath, gags you can't control adding to the pretty brunette's ecstasy. His thighs trembled under your nails; the power shifting only slightly until he thrust hard again and stole it back.

He yanked out with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting you, softly smacking his length against your pretty red cheeks before hauling you up. He spins you around so fast your head swims. Your chest hitting the crate, nipples dragging over rough wood, skirt bunched like a belt around your waist. His big palm cracked across your ass, hard, fire spreading instantly across your cheek as your startled gasp lingers into the air.

“Count.”

“O-one—” Smack. “Two—” By five you were sobbing, cunt clenching around nothing, slick painting your thighs in glossy streaks. Theo’s breath stuttered, a soft, desperate sound escaping as he watched you drip.

“Merlin, you’re dripping, I can feel it on my fingers—” His voice cracked, hips jerking involuntarily. His fingers dip down to tease your entrance, gathering your slick teasingly before popping his fingers into his mouth, the sucking sound is lewd and dirty, your cheeks burning as you watch him moan at the taste. “Beg.”

You've never needed to hear him twice. “Please—Teddy—need you inside, need you to fill me up—”

He slammed home. Your toes curling and eyes rolling at once, his arm moving to bend your knee, keeping it held against the crate with his hand.

The stretch burned so good you saw stars, tip bullying its way into your mushy walls. No condom, never with you, because “n-need to feel you clench around me bare, p-please—” and you’d nodded every time you heard him beg so pretty. He was massive, splitting you open, the blunt head kissing your cervix with every thrust. He set a brutal pace, hips snapping, balls slapping your clit with every thrust. The wet schlick-schlick-schlick of your cunt was obscene, echoing off stone, mingling with your broken moans and his ragged curses.

“Mine,” he snarled, teeth grazing your shoulder, leaving marks. “This pussy is fucking mine. Say it.”

“Yours,” you sobbed, voice shredding. “Only—fuck—only yours— feel you in my— ahh tummy”

He groaned at your admission, one hand moving to press against the bulge in your stomach, the other releasing your leg to find your puffy clit, rubbing rough, perfect circles. Pleasure coiled tight, taking almost no time to snap. You came with a wail, gushing around him, walls fluttering so hard his eyes rolled back, a broken moan tearing from his throat as your velvety walls milked him.

“Fuck—so tight, I-I can’t—” He whimpered, hips stuttering, lost in the feel of you, before he growled and fucked you through it. But he didn’t stop. He pulled out with a filthy squelch, your cunt gaping, empty, clenching around nothing.

“No—no, please—”

“Shh.” Two thick fingers shoved back in, curling hard, thumb grinding your clit. You screamed, oversensitive, thighs shaking, but he didn’t stop. Just pumped faster, knuckles slapping your swollen lips, the wet shlick-shlick louder now, your juices coating his wrist.

“Too much—Teddy—!”

“Take it,” he rasped, voice cracking, eyes glazed with awe. “Look at you—fuck—still gushing for me.”

Another orgasm crashed through you, sharper, painful, your vision whiting out as you squirted around his fingers, soaking his arm. He groaned, low and wrecked, finally pulling free to slam back in, cock dragging through the mess he'd made you.

“Gonna fill you,” he rasped, voice cracking. “Paint you inside so you feel me for days, feel like mine for days.”

"P-Please."

Your weak begging was all he needed. One last thrust, deep, punishing, and he spilled with a guttural sound, pulsing hot and thick, flooding you until it leaked down your thighs in slow, filthy rivulets. He stayed buried, chest heaving against your back, the tremor in his arms the only apology he’d give.

Slowly, the storm ebbed. His grip softened to reverence, fingers tracing the bruises he’d left like they were constellations. He turned you to face him, your body spent and exhausted, pressed his forehead to yours, breath shaky, those pretty green eyes glassy with aftershocks as you moved to push his glasses up.

“I saw him touch you and I just—couldn't control anything,” he whispered, voice cracking, eyes flicking back and forth to search your own eyes, see if you're angry with him. “Just wish everyone knew you’re mine.”

You kissed him, slow, filthy, tasting salt and sex and him. “I know I'm yours.”

His laugh was breathless, wrecked. “Shouldn't have been mad with you, if i wasn't such a dweeb I'd had confronted him.”

You smiled, warm and forgiving, legs still jelly, his cum sliding warm down your skin. “I want you as you, Teddy.”

Outside, the music thumped on. In here, you were marked, claimed, his, and tomorrow he’d be begging again. Just the way you like.

aerion is a dragon in human form. he can feel the fire in his flesh, the fury, the power. he is the last hope for his family's legacy and the return of the dragons. and yet his father will not grant him the valyrian wife he needs to bear his dragonlings. aerion alone is denied the right to a mate. valarr and daeron have wives. even maekar had remarried to a pretty young thing closer in age to aerion than to his father.

so aerion will just have to put his heirs in their wives.

true, he could easily find some dragonseed in flea bottom or seduce some lord's maiden daughter, but that is too easy. he wants his seed to take root in as much of the targaryen family tree as he can. truly, he's doing it for the good of his house, giving them as many dragons as possible. and not one of his three intended have yet swelled with child and delivered healthy babes, so really, they should be grateful he has chosen them.

he claims valarr's wife first.

she hasn't yet managed to give the young prince his heir. valarr plants his seed, but it doesn't take; if it takes, it does not grow long, before the child is lost. it isn't her fault. she's doing her duty. her body is trying to grow the future king of westeros. valarr is to blame. he isn't strong enough. man enough. he might look gallant on a steed and have fair manners, but he's failed in that most basic purpose of a prince, to father more princes.

that's what aerion tells her, with gentle, comforting voice so as not to frighten her. perhaps valarr can never give her a child. and yet he must have an heir, or else his legacy will pass to his brother. valarr's line ended. failed. but aerion could give her that child. what did it matter which targaryen put the baby in her? valarr need not ever know. and it would be such a relief to him, a joy even, to have a son. doesn't she want valarr to be a father and feel like a real man? doesn't she want to do her duty to house targaryen by giving it the heir it needs?

aerion coaxes his way into her bed. angles her knees up and bent, hips up, into a mating press, to get his cock in as deep as possible. he takes her like this every time without fail. this isn't about perversion or desire, though he does insist on making her cum every time. he tells her it helps with procreation if the woman cums, but really it's about control. he's forcing her body to admit to enjoying this. that as much as she acts detached, even disdainful, she craves his touch. and he gets the satisfaction of knowing he's stolen valarr's bride and she loves it when he fucks his baby into her, filling her womb the way valarr can't. valarr has everything, but he'll never have this, not truly. sometimes he fantasizes about valarr returning to her earlier than expected and finding another man's seed dripping from her, some remnant of aerion that had just gone too deep for her to clean away; aerion knows that can never happen, it would ruin everything, but he still enjoys the fantasy.

aerion breeds her as often as he can for a month, just to be certain it takes, before moving to his next chosen mate.

daeron's wife is trickier. valarr's wife had a reason to give in to aerion and he knows she will never reveal the truth, for her sake and the sake of her child. daeron and his wife have shown no real interest in having children. daeron has never cared for legacy. he has never done anything for his house. in truth, it's better he never has children; he isn't worth of continuing his line. aerion might try to directly seduce her, but that path presents risks. daeron's wife is harder for him to read. and if she did rebuff him, it could risk exposing his seduction of valarr's wife. aerion can't risk that. aerion will have to be clever.

at the next feast, aerion pays a servant to ensure her wine glass is never empty and is always filled with the strongest vintage. he doesn't have to do anything to daeron; daeron puts himself into a near stupor on his own. aerion arranges for her to receive what she thinks is a message from daeron telling her to meet him back at their chambers, with the candles unlit. aerion watches her flush, and sway, and knows she's ready for him. she leaves the party. aerion ensures daeron is kept occupied and follows after her.

she ought to have easily recognized that the man who entered her rooms was not her husband, even in the dark, what with aerion's much shorter and leaner frame. but he's made certain she's too drunk. still, to be cautious, he bends her over the bed and takes her from behind with only his cock and hips making contact with her. aerion makes her mewl and moan for it. he's not got much time, but he again needs that satisfaction of knowing his chosen enjoy being bred by him. aerion doesn't stop until you've taken three loads and are nearly asleep. he knows by the time daeron stumbles in, and wakes beside her the next morning, he'll just have assumed he'd fucked her and forgotten it in his wine-addled state.

aerion pulls the same trick twice more. he'd like to keep going, increase his chances, but he can't risk being caught. he'd prefer for all his women to be carrying his babes at the same time, purely for the pleasure of seeing the overwhelming proof of his virility, but aerion is patient. daeron's wife is like to still be fertile for several years. he can take his time with her, if need be, but he will see her swollen with his child.

maekar's wife is aerion's favourite and he has been saving her for last. he's wanted her the moment he laid eyes on her. it wasn't right, that his father should take a second wife, when aerion was still denied his first. aerion might have forgiven it if he knew it to be an old man's lechery. but no, his father had lain with her only once, to consummate the union. otherwise he ignored her and she was left to her own devices. she had confessed as much to him, once, and looked so embarrassed for it, so innocent, so underappreciated, that it had made aerion long to take her then and there.

but aerion waits. he earns her trust. he becomes her confider, her friend. the only targaryen who really pays her any attention at all. she's just so alone, apart from him, she tells him. and aerion answers, of course he's there for her. they are family. step-mother. and aerion watches the disappointment in her expression, the frown, the longing, and he knows he has her exactly where he needs her.

aerion reassures her in between kisses that this isn't wrong. she was meant to be his wife. maekar had stolen what rightfully should have been his son's. aerion is only taking back what is his. he just wants to please her, love her, after she's been cruelly neglected for so long. trust him. he knows what's best for her, he's the only one who really cares about her.

aerion makes her ride him. she struggles to take him, but he insists. she needs to ride her dragon. and aerion finds that so long as he rubs her needy, neglected little clit just right, she'll do whatever he says. keeps bouncing on his cock until she's shaking. even then aerion doesn't let up, but instead holds her up with his hands while he bucks his cock into her, again and again.

over the next fortnight, he takes her all the ways he's been dreaming of for so long.

it isn't long until the court learns that valarr, daeron, and maekar's wives are all expecting their first child. it nearly makes aerion roar with delight. he's done it. he's done exactly what a dragon is meant to. he's claimed. he's bred. he's made three little dragons to continue his family's legacy.

as the three ladies grow larger, and often accompany one another to share their pregnancy pains, the court notes that prince aerion is unusually attentive, almost always to be found in the same room in a protective, guarding stance.