𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃

Simon's body was trembling, every muscle coiled tight. A need had been building within him for what had felt like hours, a need you refused to let him satisfy.

"Please," he rasped. "Please, let me come."

“Not yet,” you said, your voice like silk. One hand traced up his thigh while the other wrapped around his aching length. “You can hold it, baby."

A shuddering groan slipped from between his lips as your thumb circled his tip, his sensitivity instantly heightened.

"If you come without permission," you murmured, breath hot against his ear. "I'll have to punish you."

Warmth instantly crept up his neck at your words. It wouldn't be the first time you had threatened to punish him.

“I can’t,” he gasped.

But, his words were his own demise, and his body seemed to have a mind of its own. The steady press of your thumb to the underside of his cock was enough to push him over the edge.

“Fuck—” he choked out as thick ropes of come painted his torso.

A panicked sound quickly escaped from his throat as soon as he felt your hand pull away, the sudden absence leaving him unsatisfied.

“What did I say, Simon?” you murmured, firmer this time as he writhed.

"I'm s–"

His words dissolved into a moan as you flicked his nipple. Pain and pleasure surged through him, intensifying the lingering tremors of his orgasm.

You leaned in, your voice low and commanding.

“Turn over.”

He remained silent save for his uneven breath, fully aware of what came next.

You were going to punish him.

Simon was kneeling before you in the dimly lit office, his body tense with a mix of both desire and restraint.

Your teeth had already left marks blooming along his throat, and his jeans strained painfully against him.

“You’re not leaving me like this,” he rasped, his voice cracking under the weight of everything. “Please, don’t fucking leave me like this.”

“Why not?” you purred, a slow grin curling on your lips as you leaned back in your seat. “You’re a hell of a sight, Riley."

A frustrated growl tore from his throat.

“Stop playing games,” he bit out, his fingers digging into your thighs hard enough to leave bruises, yet his eyes were desperate as they met yours.

You stifled a laugh, watching as this supposedly terrifying soldier crumbled into a pleading mess right at your feet. It was pathetic and perfect all at once.

But you reveled in it, and without hesitation, you slid your foot forward, nestling it between his legs just enough to brush against his aching bulge.

He hissed at the sensation, his teeth gritting together, but you cut him off before he could speak.

“Grind,” you commanded, your voice sharp, leaving no room for disobedience.

He blinked, his head jerking up. “You can’t be serious,” he muttered, disbelief written all over his face.

“Deadly,” you said as you nudged your foot again. “You want to come? Then this is how you do it.”

For a moment he just stared at you, battling between his pride and need, but fuck, he was desperate.

He began to rock his hips against your foot with shaky urgency, chasing release only you could give him.

“Good boy,” you whispered, your gaze fixed on his trembling form, your fingers threading through his dark hair.

A low, guttural groan rolled from him, his brows drawn tightly together, and every ragged breath was a plea.

“Are you gonna come, Riley?” you teased, yanking his head back just to watch him unravel.

“Please,” he whimpered, caught on the brink of shame and arousal.

"Such a needy mess," you murmured, your fingers now tracing his jaw like he was nothing more than a toy. "Come for me."

That was all it took.

A deep moan ripped from his throat, his body tensing as his orgasm hit. Heat spilled through the front of his pants while his cock throbbed in unison to his staggering breaths.

“There you go,” you praised as you released his hair with a satisfied smile.

He slumped forward into your lap, his eyes fluttering shut as he basked in the post-orgasmic bliss and whispered:

Simone was perched on the edge of the bed, her gaze hard as stone and her mind racing.

“If you make it too tight, I’ll rip your fucking throat out,” she warned as you closed the distance, the dark rope coiled in your hand.

A slow smile tugged at your lips because you recognized this as another one of her defenses.

“Take off your clothes,” you said quietly, stopping in front of her. Your words left no room for argument and she knew it.

For a moment, her body tensed, then slowly she surrendered. Her hands moved deliberately, peeling away each layer of clothing until she stood bare.

Your gaze traveled over her unhurried as you took in every curve. The intensity of it all made her nipples harden into aching peaks, while her clit throbbed with need.

“Get on with it,” she snapped, breaking your moment of visual indulgence.

You gave a single nod, and that was enough.

As you began wrapping her, she examined how each coil settled perfectly against her skin, pressing gently into her chest and arms, serving as a reminder of the choice she made.

When the last knot was tied, you checked the tension with careful fingers. “How’s that?”

Her wrists flexed once behind her back, feeling how the rope bit into her skin before easing again.

“It’s fine,” she murmured, offering nothing more.

With each breath, her chest heaved, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders giving her the look of a barely restrained beast.

"You look beautiful like this," you whispered as you tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, your fingers lingering on her cheek.

She swallowed, and her eyes narrowed, as your words settled over her.

“Shut up and do something,” she grumbled, tugging at the ropes once more, her thighs brushing together.

You let out a low, mocking chuckle as you tipped her chin up.

“Not yet, love,” you murmured as you leaned closer. “I get to play with you first.”

Simon lay beneath you, his breath catching as the first drop of red wax seared his chest.

"Fuck, that's hot," he hissed.

You tightened your hold on the candle as you responded sharply, "I didn't say you could speak."

He glared up at you, his hands squeezing your hips in retaliation, yet he stayed silent.

"Open that mouth again, and l'll find a better use for it."

Any retort he had died unspoken on his tongue as you brought the candle lower, the golden hue of its flame dancing over his abdomen making him bite the inside of his cheek.

"Good," you breathed, your words like a praise; soft yet cruel. "Keep behaving, and I might let you come."

As another drop of molten wax traced a line down his abs, he stiffened, while his cock twitched in response.

A wicked smile tugged at your lips as you watched him struggle to maintain his composure. Somehow, the weight of your gaze felt both comforting and hotter than the wax itself.

His mind fogged over, and he was unable to focus as you moved the candle again, the wax now poised just above the tip of his cock. His teeth sank into his bottom lip, and the coppery taste of blood flooded his mouth.

When the wax finally dropped, he tensed, his fingers digging into your skin as a low, guttural groan tore from his throat.

"Fuck," he bit out as he reached his peak. Thick ropes of come shot across his stomach, mingling with the dark wax.

His head tipped back, pain and pleasure merging into one as his hips bucked violently into the empty air.

You stifled a laugh as you watched him squirm. "What a mess."

He looked up at you, his chest heaving.

Sex with Simon is a slow, deep, and consuming experience.

It's the kind of lovemaking that binds your souls together because he never rushes it. Every touch lingers with purpose. His fingers trace the soft curve of your arm, sliding up your shoulder until they catch the rapid flutter of your pulse.

His lips drift over your heated skin: your cheek, your jaw, your chest, every patch of flesh within his reach. And his teeth, oh fuck.

His hands explore every inch of your body, tugging at your clothes until you're left bare, and his nails leaving a trail of gentle marks behind.

His body hovers over yours, serving as a solid wall radiating heat and raw, undeniable need.

His hips drive into you with a slow, measured rhythm: in and out, in and out, until he hits that perfect spot inside you that sends tremors down your left thigh, tremors he soothes with steady hands.

When you're both utterly wrecked, he tends to you with his mouth. His tongue laps up every inch of cum that drips out of you, savoring every drop like it's a fucking delicacy.

With him, sex is a decadent indulgence. Each motion is a perfectly orchestrated symphony that leaves you hungry.