You don’t know when it changed. When your fear shifted into something murky and warm, something that spreads through your veins like honeyed poison. It started with his voice. The way he talked to you—so calm, so sure. Then his hands. His touch. His promises. The way he made you feel like the only thing in the world he craved.

And now?

Now, that man is between your thighs, making you feel a kind of pleasure you never thought you’d survive.

His mouth is obsessive. His tongue glides through your folds like he’s savoring something delicate, something divine, like you’re the finest cut he’s ever had. And God help you, your body responds to it. Back arching. Toes curling. Lips parting to moan his name like a prayer.

You’re not tied up. Not this time. You don’t have to stay. But you’re not going anywhere.

Because Steve is devouring you like he’s starving, and you’re the only thing that’s ever truly fed him.

And maybe… you want to be consumed.

You moan as his tongue flicks against your clit—slow, wet circles that make your thighs quiver around his head. His hands are gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you open, holding you still, like you’re a meal he refuses to let slip away.

“Easy, Peach,” Steve murmurs against you, voice thick with hunger, lips brushing your soaked skin. “Let me enjoy you.”

And God, he does. Every lick, every kiss feels like worship. He’s not rushing it. No, Steve Kemp eats pussy the way he carves into a rare steak—focused, reverent, starving. His tongue dips down, savoring everything you give him, then drags back up, slow and sinful, until he finds that swollen spot again and stays there, flicking, sucking, pulling sounds from your throat you didn’t know you could make.

“You know how long I’ve waited for this?” he groans. “How long I’ve thought about the way you’d taste? How many times I’ve had to settle for something else before I found you? Something less… sweet?”

He moans into your cunt like he’s the one being pleasured, like the taste of you is addictive—euphoric. His eyes flick up, catching yours through the mess of your thighs and his hair, and the look in them makes your breath hitch.

Like he’s in love.

“You’re my favorite, Peach,” he says, voice all low heat and ruined devotion. “My girl. Always so good for me, aren’t you?”

Your hips jerk up, needy, desperate. And he smiles against you—fucking smiles—and tightens his grip.

“Yeah,” he breathes, tongue pressing flat and firm, sliding slow and delicious across your clit again and again. “Be good. Let me eat, baby. Let me take every drop.”

And you do.

You sob his name as your orgasm crashes through you, back arching off the bed, legs shaking uncontrollably. But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even pause. He just moans like he’s tasted something divine and licks you through it, deeper, messier, more possessive.

You try to pull away, overstimulated, dizzy—but he holds you there.

“You’re not done,” Steve whispers, kissing your swollen pussy like an apology and a threat all at once. “You’re never done ‘til I say, Peach. And I’m still hungry.”

You’re trembling—your thighs shaking from the orgasm, your lips parted in a soft, broken moan—but he’s already back between your legs, licking into you like it’s the first taste all over again.

His tongue is ruthless.

He starts slow—broad strokes from your entrance to your clit, licking up everything he made you spill. But it doesn’t take long before the rhythm changes. Becomes needy. Desperate. He latches onto your clit with a filthy groan, sucking it into his mouth, flicking the tip of his tongue back and forth until your hips buck off the bed.

“That’s it,” he growls, voice muffled between your legs, “Give it to me, baby. Let me have it.”

Your hands shoot down to his hair, gripping tight as your body jolts beneath him, overstimulated nerves screaming—but he doesn’t let up. His hands are holding you down, fingers digging into your thighs, and his mouth works you like he’s possessed.

“Fuck, Steve—I can’t—” You sob, voice cracking.

“Yes, you can,” he pants, breath hot and messy against your drenched cunt. “You’re my good girl, remember? My sweet little Peach. You give me everything.”

And you do.

You fall apart on his mouth again—harder this time. Hips jerking, back arching, a strangled cry breaking from your lips as your orgasm crashes over you, wetter and rougher than before.

And Steve? He fucking moans. Loud and wrecked, like he’s the one coming, like he’s in heaven with your slick soaking his face.

“Oh, fuck yes—look at that,” he groans, pulling back just enough to see the mess you’ve made of him. His chin is dripping. His lips are shiny. His tongue flicks out to taste the corner of his mouth and he hums like he just had the best meal of his life.

“You made such a mess, Peach. Soaked me. God, you taste like something I’d kill to keep.”

And you know damn well he means it. He would do that.

He leans in and licks you one more time—slow, tender, obscene.

You flinch, overstimulated and dizzy—but he only grins, eyes full of worship and madness, before kissing the inside of your thigh, your mound, your still-twitching clit.

Your body’s still shaking, chest rising and falling in erratic little gasps, but Steve finally pulls back from between your thighs—only to hover over you, mouth glistening with your slick, cheeks flushed, pupils blown.

He looks completely wrecked.

Like you wrecked him.

And he’s not done. Now he wants to fuck you full.

“God, look at you,” he breathes, cupping your face, thumb dragging softly across your cheek. “So fucked-out. So pretty. You have any idea what you do to me, Peach?”

You can’t even answer. Your lips part, but all that comes out is a shaky breath—and then he’s kissing you. Full and wet, tongue sliding into your mouth, making you taste yourself on him. He whimpers when you kiss him back. Whimpers. Like he’s starved for this too.

“You’re gonna take me now,” he whispers against your mouth. “Gonna let me inside this perfect little pussy, baby. Gonna let me fuck you nice and slow, just like you deserve.”

Your hips twitch beneath him—already aching, already clenching around nothing. You nod, dazed, desperate. “Yes,” you whisper. “Please… Steve, I need—”

“Oh, I know what you need, Peach,” he cuts in, voice like velvet soaked in sin. “You need to be filled. Fucked nice and full. Used by the only man who knows how to love you like this.”

He pulls his boxers down and slides his cock against your slick folds, groaning at how wet you are—how ready. Your body welcomes him like it was made for this, for him, and when he finally pushes inside, it’s slow, deep, deliberate.

You both gasp.

“Jesus—fuck, look at that,” he groans, hips pressing flush against yours. “So tight, baby. Still twitching from coming all over my mouth, and now you’re squeezing me like you don’t wanna let go.”

You don’t. You wrap your legs around his waist, anchoring him inside you, desperate for more. He starts to move—slow thrusts, long and thick, dragging his cock through your soaked, swollen walls like he’s imprinting himself in your body.

And in a way… he is.

“That’s it,” he growls, pressing kisses to your jaw, your ear, your throat—everywhere. “Let me fuck you just like this. Let me take care of you, baby.”

You’re babbling now, fingers digging into his shoulders, overwhelmed by how deep he is, how full you feel, how every thrust makes you melt all over again.

“So good, Steve, please—oh my god—”

“I know, baby,” he breathes, voice breaking with need. “I know. You’re so good for me. My perfect little girl.”

He fucks you through the overstimulation, through the dizzy, sticky bliss that’s still pulsing in your core, and he’s not stopping. His body presses into yours, one hand slipping between you to rub tight circles on your clit again, lips curling when your back arches off the bed.

“One more,” he whispers darkly. “One more, Peach. I want to feel you come on my cock this time. Be a good girl and give it to me.”

You can barely keep your eyes open. Everything feels warm, heavy—your limbs like liquid, your thoughts blurred into static. All you can feel is him. Inside you. Around you. Everywhere.

Steve notices. Of course he does.

“Hey… hey, baby,” he murmurs, slowing his thrusts just enough to make your body twitch at the loss of rhythm. His voice is soft. Careful. His thumb strokes your cheek, tender and reverent.

“You with me, sweetheart?”

You whimper, blinking up at him, your lips parted, trembling. “I—yeah, I just… I can’t—”

And then he’s moving.

He pulls out, just for a moment, and before you can whine from the loss, he’s wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you. Strong, practiced, like you weigh nothing to him. He sits back on the bed, pulls you into his lap, and guides you down onto his cock—slowly, gently, burying himself deep as you sink onto him.

You gasp, legs trembling around his hips, your arms clinging to his shoulders as you try to breathe through the feeling. He’s so deep like this. Too deep. You feel stretched, soaked, broken open—and he’s holding you like you’re precious.

“There we go,” Steve murmurs, mouth brushing your ear. “Got you. Just breathe, baby. I’ve got you now.”

His hands are firm on your waist, supporting your weight, rocking you on his cock with slow, controlled rolls of his hips. It’s almost too much. Your pussy’s raw and sensitive, fluttering around him with every messy, wet glide. But he’s whispering to you. Talking you through it. And it’s ruining you.

“So good for me,” he says softly, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your tears at your temple. “My perfect girl. You’re doing so well.”

You sob, helpless, completely overwhelmed—but you don’t want him to stop. You need him. The slow grind of his cock, the wet sound of your slick coating his skin, the praise filling your ears like a lullaby.

“Just let go,” he whispers, rocking you a little faster, a little deeper. “You don’t have to do anything. Just let me fuck you, baby. Let me take care of you.”

You nod, burying your face in his neck, mouth falling open as another orgasm coils deep in your belly. The drag of him inside you is perfect. The stretch. The pressure. His cock pushing against that sensitive spot over and over while your clit grinds against the rough hair at the base of him—it’s too much. It’s not enough.

You can’t think. You can’t speak. All you can do is feel.

“Come for me,” Steve breathes, voice strained now, fucked-out and tender. “Soak my cock, Peach. Wanna feel you drip all over me. Be good and give it to me.”

And you do.

Your body locks up, trembling in his arms as you come again, walls pulsing around him in tight, messy waves. You cry out into his neck, and he groans at the feeling—deep and broken—clutching you tighter as he fucks you through it, never letting you go.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that. Fuck—fuck, you’re perfect.”

You’re dripping down his cock now, your slick soaking both of you, and he keeps rocking you gently, whispering praises between kisses to your shoulder, your jaw, your throat.

“My sweet, sweet girl. My beautiful fucking mess. You were made for this, you know that? Made to be mine.”

Your body is limp in his lap now—soaked, shaking, pliant in his hands.

But Steve’s still inside you.

Still hard. Still rocking into you with slow, deep thrusts that punch soft whimpers out of your throat every time he drags against your overstimulated walls. Your thighs are twitching, your breath broken, and your cunt’s still fluttering around him—gripping him like it doesn’t want to let him go.

That makes him lose it.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps, voice cracking as his hips stutter, grinding up into you like he can’t stop. “Oh, baby—fuck, you feel too good. Too fucking good.”

You moan when you feel him twitch inside you, and he lets out a desperate sound—his hands clawing at your waist, holding you down as he starts to thrust harder, chasing his own ruin now.

“I’m gonna come,” he groans, nose buried in your neck, teeth grazing your skin like he’s barely holding himself back from biting. “Gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna fucking breed you.”

Your breath hitches, cunt clenching down tight around him at those filthy words, and he growls.

“Oh, you like that,” he pants. “You want it. Want me to come inside this perfect little pussy. Fuck, Peach—gonna make you mine. Make sure no one else ever gets a taste.”

You can’t answer—you’re too far gone, too fucked-out to do anything but moan for him, nails dragging across his back as he fucks you with messy, frantic thrusts. You’re both soaked—his cock sliding in and out of you with loud, sticky sounds, your slick dripping down over his thighs—and it’s perfect.

It’s his.

You are his.

“Mine,” Steve groans, arms locking around your back, crushing you to his chest as he finally breaks. “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

He spills deep inside you with a guttural moan, hips jerking, cock pulsing as thick heat floods your cunt. You feel every throb. Every drop. His breath is ragged against your neck, arms shaking from how tightly he’s holding you.

But even as he comes down, he doesn’t let go.

He stays buried deep inside you, wrapping himself around your body like he’s trying to keep you in place forever. His cock softening slowly, leaking into your overstimulated pussy, mixing with your own mess as he presses soft, almost innocent kisses to your cheek.

“You did so good, baby,” he whispers, voice barely audible now, soft and dazed. “So sweet for me. So perfect. My precious girl.”

You can feel his cum dripping out around him, sliding between your thighs—but he just hums, kisses your temple, and pulls you tighter into his chest like it’s his right.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he whispers, lips pressed to your ear, breath warm. “You’re mine now, Peach. Always.”

And somehow—through the haze, through the wreckage of your own body—you find yourself nodding.

Because you already are his.

You’ve been his since the first taste.

You don’t know how long you stay there—collapsed in his lap, his cock still buried deep inside you, your skin flushed and damp, your thighs sticky with a mixture of sweat, spit, and cum.

His arms are wrapped around you. Tight. Possessive. Like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip even an inch.

“You did so good for me, Peach,” he repeats, whispering against your hair, breath still heavy. “So fucking good. I knew you would. I knew you were mine.”

Your heart is pounding in your chest—but not from fear. Not from anything that makes sense.

It should be fear.

Because this man… this thing… has killed. Taken. Kept. He stole you. Locked you in this house. Fed you lies and soft kisses and dinners you don’t ask questions about.

He should make your skin crawl.

But all you can feel is warmth. His voice in your ear, his cum still inside you, his hands petting down your spine like he’s comforting you after something holy.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he says softly. “No more bad days. No more pain. Just this. Just me. You don’t need anything else.”

Your stomach twists.

This is wrong.

He’s wrong.

You should hate him.

But your body—wrecked and trembling in his lap—wants to melt into him all over again. Wants more of his voice, his touch, the safety of being wanted this much. Even if it’s sick.

Even if it’s a lie.

“You’re gonna stay with me, Peach,” he murmurs, still stroking your hair, as if you have any choice. “Gonna build you a room right next to mine. Maybe not even that—maybe I’ll just keep you in my bed. So I can taste you every night.”

Your breath hitches. You’re too sore to move, too overstimulated to think, but the words sink in. So does the truth of them. He means it. Every word.

He’s not going to let you go.

And what’s worse—what makes shame coil hot and low in your belly—is that some part of you wants that.

You don’t want the outside world. You want him. His mouth, his voice, the way he holds you like you’re breakable and holy and his.

“You’re not scared of me anymore, are you?” he asks softly.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

He smiles.

“Good.”

Then he lifts your chin with two fingers, eyes locked on yours, pupils still blown wide.

“I’m never letting you go,” he says, soft as silk, sharp as a blade. “I’d kill for you. I’d die for you. And if you ever try to leave me…”

He kisses your cheek, slow and gentle.

“…I’ll make sure no one ever finds the pieces.”

Your heart stutters.

Fuck.

You should be running. Screaming. Scratching at the walls.

But instead, your body leans into the kiss. Into his touch. Into the lie you’re too tired to fight anymore.

Because you’re not just his prisoner.

You’re his favorite.

⋆⁺₊✧ MASTERLIST