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hold your breath, dim the lights. | zayne/mc

» summary: “You know what happens to bad girls with wandering hands,” he warns you, voice a whisper as he noses against your hair, breathing in deep of your scent. Your pulse thunders, mouth going dry. You catch sight of the moment of no return, the precipice on which you’ve dragged both him and yourself. And decide all at once to leap. “I don't think I do, actually,” you respond with a careless shrug, sure of your victory.

» pairing: zayne/fem!reader

» rating: explicit

» wordcount: 5067

» content warning for dom/sub, restraints, bondage, teasing, gags, clothed sex, vaginal sex, choking, finger sucking, dirty talk, 'sir' kink, use of 'good girl', cock warming, spanking, spit kink, unsafe sex, creampie

» author's note: title is from the song hushh by aviva

» ao3

You were used to waiting in his office. Familiar, if not friendly; a spartan room that didn't have much by way of personal effects, a necessity more than a comfort despite the fact Zayne spends much of his time here. You’d already tapped away at your phone until your various gachas no longer held interest, had peeked through the books on the shelf. Nothing of note, aside from a couple about dreams and gardening of all things. Mostly medical journals and studies, filled to bursting with jargon you could barely wrap your head around. Had poked around his desk, clearing away some chocolate wrappers and a long-forgotten coffee, eyes glancing over the screen of his laptop and he really had to come and check on you right that moment, didn't he? A stern look for your troubles, his hand snapping the top down just as you’d caught a peek of a corner of his wallpaper featuring a familiar background of the photobooth you frequent and what you were confident was the fall of your hair.

Ha. Sap.

He’d grabbed a file, pressed a kiss to your head and whispered behave before leaving once again. Unspoken apologies and promises in his eyes all the while; he’d take you out tonight, once things settled and he could give you his full attention. It was a nice, lovely sort of promise; one that you’d clung to whilst whiling away the hours counting the number of tiles on the ceiling.

You were bored, alright? Day off spent in his office, mostly alone; he’d had two surgeries and several patients to check on, thus leaving you to your own devices. It was nice, to entrench yourself in that which he cares most for: his work. You respect him and what he does, love his dedication and tenacity. But it would still be nice, you think, small pout curving your mouth, if today of all days you’d be given the gift of his full attention.

You know, you know; work comes first, always. Especially work as important as his. Saving lives, just as you do; tireless and thankless.

You’re still a little impatient to have him all for yourself, is all.

The sun has dipped below the horizon when he finally frees himself of the shackles of obligation. Linkon is bathed in bright lights, a stark contrast to the dusky sky; your eyes trail over the neons of a city coming alive through the large windows, a wistful sigh dancing free of your mouth.

You vacate his chair when he returns, closing the door with a finality that has butterflies dancing in your stomach.

Zayne makes a small gesture, shaking his head sharply to the side when you move to take your place on the low couch across the room. Confusion colours your expression, head tilted to the side; but Zayne simply smiles, takes your hand, and pulls you down onto his lap when he sits down.

A blush dusts your face as you make yourself comfortable, Zayne’s arms coming around your waist to hold you in place, chin on your shoulder. His eyes dance over the jerky handwriting on a loose slip of paper, a pen in his hand; he’s still working, but you don't miss the way his entire body relaxes the moment he has you in his arms.

It’s quiet enough that you can hear the rush of traffic from the streets below, muted conversations from the hallway as nurses pass. Zayne circles a phrase on the form, signs his name at the bottom. His signature is neat, simple; unphased by your staring he puts it to the side and grabs the next sheet. A low pile sits pride of place atop his desk, and you groan quietly as you realize you’ll be here for a while yet.

Still, small mercies. You can feel Zayne’s chuckle rumble against your back, feel a lightning-quick press of his mouth to the curve of your shoulder.

“Behave,” he tells you again, flipping through a stapled report that has his brows furrowing.

You will not, you think; not when he pulled you into his lap so effortlessly and smoothly that your pulse still flutters from it. Not when you’ve missed him all day. The evening is quiet, and yet charged with things left unsaid; you shift in his lap, thighs rubbing together impatiently. The movement has him inhaling sharply through his nose, hand moving to press over the top of your thigh and stilling your motion. His fingertips find the hem of your skirt, just a small brush of skin-on-skin; but still it makes you stiffen, his fingers curling to fist over the fabric. Your breath is shaky, his other hand motionless over the monotonous paperwork.

Biting down on your bottom lip, you purposely shift your hips back and forth, back and forth; the swell of your ass grinding gently over his lap.

The effect is instant; Zayne’s hand on your skirt tightens until his knuckles bleed white, a rough cadence of your name spilled against your hair when he turns his head sharply to look at you. But you refuse to meet his eye; feigning innocence, you brush your hair back and tap the toe of your shoe on the floor, ignoring the burning stare on the side of your face and choosing violence instead.

Your hips move as you shift your weight from leg to leg. Purely virtuous, you lean forward until your elbow lands atop the desk, chin cradled in your palm. If your back arches in a fetching manner, if the press of your ass to his groin is suggestive, why - it’s all a happy coincidence.

Zayne sees right through you, as he always does.

“You’re distracting me.” Not a question, nor an accusation: a mere statement of fact. Your smile is saccharine as you glance over your shoulder, meeting his gaze that burns with untapped fire.

“Am I?” You ask with gently furrowed brows, inquisitive and entirely too pleased with yourself. Your free hand moves to cover his with a small hum beneath your breath, slotting your fingers between his and slowly dragging his palm up your thigh. The fabric of your skirt bunches, skin on shameless display. When you seek to move his hand inwards towards the apex of your thighs, Zayne goes still. Pulls his hand free from yours to instead press his palm flat to your stomach.

His patience is at an end as well, it would seem.

He pulls you until your back is flush with his chest, head tilted back on his shoulder. Your breast heaves though your smile is wide, anticipation hot in the air.

“You know what happens to bad girls with wandering hands,” he warns you, voice a whisper as he noses against your hair, breathing in deep of your scent.

You pulse thunders, mouth going dry. You catch sight of the moment of no return, the precipice on which you’ve dragged both him and yourself. And decide all at once to leap.

“I don't think I do, actually,” you respond with a careless shrug, sure of your victory.

His hand twitching minutely is your only warning. He moves fast, grabbing your wandering hands and gripping your wrists tight enough a gasp rips free of your throat. He pushes them down, using your own body against you as he grinds the heels of your palms over your mound; close, but not quite where you need it most. Your answering laughter is breathless and musical, hips shifting purposely over his groin until you can feel the hard rise of his erection digging into you.

Zayne is not long idle; he keeps both of your wrists trapped in one large hand, the other pulling impatiently at his tie. “You need another lesson in patience, it would seem,” he murmurs, mostly to himself; he refuses to rise to your bait, back straight and legs firmly still even as you feel his cock twitch. His tie comes loose, the sound of the fabric pulled free making your toes curl.

You bite down on your lip as he maneuvers until the pale blue fabric is wound over your wrists, pulled taut and knotted until you’re bound, fingers lacing together instinctively. The knot is loose, you’d be able to slip free of it easily; unspoken communication passes between you that he would do nothing to you that you would not desire. The trust implicit makes your head spin, tied and vulnerable as you are.

“Hands on the desk,” he instructs, his palm flattened over your spine. He pushes you forward leisurely until you obey, folded hands landing noiselessly where he wants them. The press of silk catches on the edge of the desk, saving you the ache.

“Good girl,” Zayne whispers, smoothing his hand up and down your back. The words of praise send a frisson of delight through your veins, cunt clenching instinctively as your back arches seductively for him, legs falling open over his lap.

Your breath comes in pants as you feel him move; unable to see what he plans, all you can do is squirm atop his thighs as desire coalesces in your core. The sound of his belt coming apart, the pull of a zipper. Your skirt is pushed up and out of the way to bunch at your hips, a dexterous finger hooking into the top of your panties. You inhale sharply, lifting your hips to allow him the freedom to pull your panties down until they stretch between your spread thighs.

You’re wet already; cool air on your intimate reaches making you shiver. Zayne’s hands linger on your exposed skin; palm roving over the swell of your ass, gripping a tight handful that has your thighs tensing beneath his ministrations. He hums beneath his breath at the sight of obscenity, giving way to a low groan that has you certain he’s using his free hand to grip himself tightly. The image of his hand fisted around his leaking cock makes you writhe; eager and desperate to have him inside you.

Patience is a lesson to be taught. One Zayne is intimately familiar with when it comes to you.

His hand leaves you, leaving you cold; long enough that you begin to shift your hips, silently begging for him to return. A sigh is your only answer, a part of you confident he’s probably shaking his head at you.

In a blink, his open palm comes down on the side of your ass in a sharp crack. It jolts through you, making you gasp. Not hard enough to burn, not yet; the skin tingles, and Zayne immediately rubs over the spot to soothe the ache. He pauses a moment, waits for you to nod your head, before he swats the other side. Sharper, this time; enough to have you flinch forward, halfway off his lap.

“Hands,” he reminds you, grabbing a fistful of flesh that spills between his fingers to drag you back. His voice has gone low, rumbling deep in his chest. The sound makes your stomach flip, teeth sinking down onto your bottom lip as you obey and keep your bound hands steady on the desk.

“Good girl,” he says again, voice dripping sin. You wonder if he’s smirking or serious, and despite the danger you turn your head to check; too bold by half, but if there’s anything you delight in the most it’s pushing his buttons.

His hand comes down on your ass, harsh this time. It rips a too-loud moan from your throat, the sharp burn of it bleeding through your nerves. Still, Zayne is calm, calculated; he rubs the mark he’s left lovingly, gaze locked on his work.

“Eyes forward,” he tells you, leaving no room to argue.

“But -” You argue regardless, his immediate answer a sharp smack to your steadily darkening skin, mottled and flushed and pretty as a painting.

You bite down on your words, swallowing them back until they disappear. Your head nods in acquiescence before it falls forward, back arching further in an open invitation. Not content to give him the last word, however, you smile secretly to yourself before dealing the decisive blow. “Yes, sir.”

The answering silence is deafening. Zayne’s breath comes out shaky, and for a moment you think you can hear him swallow. He spanks you again, simply because he can; sharper this time, hard enough it burns and you can feel the heat of instinctive tears prickle the back of your eyes.

He doles out your punishment silently, spanking you in different places, bruising your ass until you writhe from even the lightest touch. Your chest heaves by the time your mental tally reaches twenty, skin aflame and cunt dripping on his pristine trousers.

“Please,” you whisper, voice hoarse from crying out. Tears gather in your eyes, spill down your cheeks; it aches but in the best way, pleasure-pain that makes you ready to beg for his mercy.

“Hmm?” Zayne responds, nonchalant as he rubs an open palm over your heated skin, thumb sweeping gently between your cheeks until you moan. “I don't think I caught that.”

Fire burns in your face, but you’re too keyed-up to care. “Please, sir,” you beg, words dripping like honey from your mouth. “Please stop. I need you.” The words come out in a whine, Zayne’s equally cruel and kind hand coming down on your bruised ass to hear you whimper for him.

“Hmm,” he says again, considering. Your nails sink deep into the back of your hand, hips lifting to ease the burden and to entice him forward. “Are you going to be good?”

Relief washes over you, like sinking into a warm bath. “Yes,” you respond, too quickly, head nodding eagerly. “Yes, I’ll be good, I can be good for you, please -”

The sweet crooning of your desperation makes him groan, his palm moving from your ass to follow the path of your spine, until his fingertips dance on the back of your neck. The touch is soothing, grounding; your muscles tremble from the teasing, from the convalescence of pleasure and pain and the sheer need to come apart from his hand alone.

A kiss, whisper-soft, is pressed to the arch of your spine. He whispers to you as he taps a finger on your hip, urging you off his lap. You stand on shaky legs, leaning your weight on his desk and exposing yourself fully to him. You feel your forgotten panties slip down your legs, caught on your ankles that threaten to fold at any moment. “Sweet girl,” Zayne says, words lingering softly in the air, “I need you to sit quietly. Can you do that for me?”

You can feel the heated tip of his cock nudging at your soaked folds when you rock back on your heels, teeth sunk snugly into your bottom lip. He teases you, cockhead catching on the rim of your cunt until you moan, loud and uncaring who hears. Words are difficult to form, lost as you are in the haze. Only two remain in your addled mind: “Yes, sir.”

Twin hands grip to your hips, yanking you down in a rush. His cock slides home, splitting you open until he’s nestled to the hilt deep inside you. The stretch burns pleasantly, rocking a gasp from between bitten lips, his instruction to keep quiet immediately forgotten. Zayne’s answering moan is a balm to your ears, however, at the sweet glide of his thick cock into you. You feel full, nearly sated; the pressure and pleasure from it has your bones turn molten, lazing back on his lap. Knees spread obscenely over his thighs, head lolling to the side on his chest. Your breath ghosts over his neck, sweat lingering on both of you.

His chest heaves with every breath, hand flattening over your abdomen. Wordless, he pushes down, hard enough that for a moment you wonder if he can feel himself buried within you.

The pressure makes you writhe, cunt clenching around his cock like a vise. It feels like heaven, an ache so desperate you can practically taste it, lingering heavily on your tongue. He refuses to move, however; content to remain stock-still, simply basking in the enveloping warmth of your cunt as he listens to your moan.

Zayne noses at your crown, mouth leaving a lingering kiss to your hair. You bring your still-bound hands to your chest, fingers twining uselessly together. You’re spread open over him, laying back into his warmth and feeding on his desire. The pressure builds in your core, hips shifting impatiently in an attempt to get him to move, an approximation of his name falling from your mouth.

You manage to keep yourself quiet -sort of- and still -decidedly not- for perhaps five minutes. Five torturous minutes of Zayne looking over his paperwork, a palm over your mound and fingertips just between your soaked folds. Touching your clit, frustratingly still; he doesn't move, doesn't bring you to the edge. Just holds you there, in a perpetual state of sweat-slicked desperation. Even with his cock buried deep inside your slick cunt still he doesnt move, refuses to fuck you in earnest. Simply sits, patient as a saint; smirks a bit, when he shifts his weight and lazily moves his hips upwards to spear himself impossibly deeper within your dripping heart and causing a litany of moans to fall from your open mouth. A plea of his name intermixed with your whining, Zayne sighs when he can feel the tension rise to higher tides.

“You never learn,” he says to you, not unkind. You can practically taste the fond exasperation as he presses another kiss to your heated skin. You can only groan, clenching around him in your own woeful attempt at a tease, head tilting until you can press your mouth to the sharp line of his jaw.

“Then teach me, sir.” Your reply comes quick and bold, a declaration from your smiling mouth as you feel his abdomen tighten against the small of your back, his cock twitching.

“Hopeless,” he whispers, all fondness and no bite. Zayne moves, reaching down before easing you to standing; you do so on legs that tremble, but his hands grip tight to your hips to steady you. He mirrors your movement, still inside you and if that doesn't make the knot in your gut tighten and curl. He stands at your back, hips pressed flush to yours, and moves a hand to your shoulder until he can press you down.

The side of your face meets his desk, the wood cool and soothing on your flushed cheek. Zayne towers above you, keeping you steady and still. From this angle you can just barely see his face, see the light dusting of pink on his cheeks and the way his mouth is dropped open, a vision of hunger. His eyes are heavy-lidded, gazing fervently at you with naked desire. And then he smirks, the smallest curve of his lips, and you know you’re in danger.

“Perhaps this can help you keep your mouth shut,” he muses, and it’s only then you see the hand at your shoulder move into your line of sight. Sitting pretty in his palm, damp and balled up, are your panties; he must've grabbed them before moving. Your face flushes anew, embarrassment making you clear your throat and close your eyes in an attempt to hide.

“Open,” Zayne says, voice hard as steel once more. Your breath catches in your throat, eyes shooting open to come face-to-face with the evidence of your arousal, the pulse in your cunt making you nearly feverish. You hesitate, just a breath; but Zayne sighs after a heartbeat, beginning to slide slowly out of your needy cunt.

A low whine jolts out of you, hips moving back to chase him. He stills, single brow arched, as he waits; swallowing thickly, your lips part, mouth opening obediently for him. Zayne breathes out a wavering good girl, and shoves the fabric between your teeth with little ceremony. The taste of your own cunt sits thick and heady on your tongue, musk filling your senses and making you moan quietly into the fabric.

Spit soaks the panties immediately, spilling between your lips. You can feel Zayne’s eyes on your face, watching rapt the way you struggle to find the balance between embarrassment and desire. Your face is on fire -

“Was that so difficult?” He teases with a gentle hand on the back of your neck, thumb rubbing soothingly at your hairline. You’re wise enough not to attempt speech, using naught but your eyes to stare up at him beseechingly. Tears still cling to your lashes, makeup streaked down your cheek.

“Beautiful,” Zayne whispers, fingers carding through your hair. Somehow, that makes you feel even more exposed; skirt pushed away, writhing on his cock, and it’s the fond affection burning deep in his eyes that makes you wish to hide.

He finds his mercy, hands dropping to grip the swell of your hips. Your bound hands find purchase on the edge of his desk, a breath before he finally, finally begins to move. He rolls himself back leisurely before snapping forward to impale you on his length, the surge of sudden pleasure setting fire to your veins. His head drops and you can see the tensing of his jaw as he begins to fuck you in earnest, cock splitting you open until stars dance on the corners of your vision.

He fills you very nearly to perfection, cunt tightening around his shaft through the burn, chasing the high he brings you as Zayne rocks his hips forward and back. Rough, ruinous; you’re stretched and filled and you feel your spit slick down the curve of your cheek, soaking the desk even as delight dances across your nerves with each and every depraved noise he plucks from your lips. A keen, when he shifts the angle, thrusting hard into that rough patch of skin hidden within you. He throws his weight into it, bracing his hands on the edge of the desk to bow above you, hair falling into his eyes and teeth exposed in a snarl of your name, each time he feels you clench around him.

It’s torture but you know you’ll thank him for it; you cannot find your breath, cannot see or think past the delicious stretch, the rasp of his shirt against your bruised ass; the dance between pain and pleasure as he presses incessant against your sweet spot. Zayne slams himself forward, splitting you open; white-hot pleasure welling up from within every pump, every shift. He takes no quarter as he sets his pace, bruising and fast and refusing to abate as you writhe and arch and moan into your gag.

Stars dance behind your heavy lids as you weakly jerk your hips, meeting his every thrust as your pulse quickens. Your teeth bite down on the ruined fabric each time Zayne fills you, splayed open and cunt dripping from the utmost desperation. You clench hard around his shaft, summoning the energy to curve the corner of your mouth ever so slightly up into the smallest smirk when you catch sight of Zayne’s eyes darkening at the pressure. A facsimile of a grin, lips spread and spit-slicked as they are. He smirks in kind, visibly refined, but you can see the way he begins to come apart at the seams. It causes a bubble of laughter to swell within your breast, drunk on the power and the knowledge that only you can ruffle him to the point of sheer desperation.

Your throat tightens as you choke and nearly gag on the panties, fire in your veins. Your expression crumples into something halfway feral, even as Zayne gradually slows his pace to a lazy roll of his hips. The muscles in your thighs tense in response, a sharp whine of protest as he eases off you. He gives a sharp exhale in answer, reaching to easily pull the panties from your mouth.

You gasp and swallow the spit pooled in your mouth, grateful despite it all to catch your breath. He thrusts into you slowly, dropping your panties somewhere to the floor before running the back of his hand gently down the side of your face. His eyes seek an answer, a worried crease to his brow; but you’re soaked to the knees, denied for too long your release.

“Please,” is all you can manage, a shudder roaming down your spine when Zayne groans. He moves to roll you to your back, pulling out for a beat. You whimper nonetheless at the loss of contact, you cunt painfully empty as he shifts you up the desk until you’re comfortable. He stands between your spread thighs, takes his place before you. Stares down at you with naked affection, thumb swiping over the mess you’ve made on your jaw. You can see the way it affects him, the sheer hunger weighing him down as he gazes upon you.

His thumb slips between your lips as he eases forward, cock sliding into your cunt easily. Your lips close around him instinctively, giving a firm suck. His answering moan makes his expression fall, his breath coming out in a broken gust. His jaw tenses and you can feel the fire before the burn, his hips snapping forward to impale you on his length.

Your back arches clear off the desk, something deeply erotic simmering the air as you stare directly into his hungry eyes. Your core tightens with every hardened inch sliding home, Zayne’s thrusts audible and obscene to your ears. It sets you alight from the inside out; warmth licking up your spine, teeth biting gently down over his thumb in a silent scream when you clench hard, Zayne’s thrusts turning shallow until the head of his cock pushes insistent, harsh, directly into your sweet spot.

His movements are erratic, your muscles going limp as pathetic whines spill of their own volition. Zayne grits his teeth, doubling down through the haze; he pulls out his thumb but replaces it instantly with two fingers, pushing your tongue down until you threaten to choke. You suck on his fingers desperately, feeling him slam into you; you wonder, distantly, just how many marks you’ll bear from this. In between the smarting of your ass and the press of his loosened belt against your thighs, the sheer savagery of how Zayne stakes his claim. Your vision blurs as you wrap your tongue around his fingers, the tightening of your core threatening to snap.

His fingers drag out of your mouth, gripping tight to your flushed cheeks and forcing your face closer to his as he bends forward, not once slowing his bruising pace. “Let me hear you,” he growls, teeth clenched tight enough to crack. “You have a clever mouth every other time. Show me, sweet girl, just how bad you want me.”

His name is ripped from your throat instantly, halfway to a scream as he yanks you upwards until you’re sitting instead of laying back. Your bound hands grip tight to the front of his shirt, crumpling the fabric as you shake like a leaf in the wind and hang on for dear life. The effect is instant; the shift in angle proves both of your undoing. Zayne fucks upwards into you, a loud cry of your name breaking through his low groans. Sparks dancing on your skin, he wraps his long fingers around your throat and pins you with a look of severity, choking the breath from you.

Foolishly, the remaining air in your lungs expels sharply from a heated gasp. And Zayne is there to steal it; searing his mouth across yours, tongues gliding together as he devours you whole. You give in happily, greedily; giving all of yourself as he breathes life into you, fingertips digging sharp pinpricks into the sensitive skin of your neck. The desk creaks beneath you, the knot in your core ready to unfurl.

His free hand slots between you, and the quick press of the pad of his thumb rolling over your swollen clit is enough to have you fall. Caught betwixt his mouth and his cock, your mouth opens in a scream that Zayne swallows down as you bend and arch, fire licking from his mouth all the way down to your toes. It burns, a delightful delectation that has your arousal spilling from where you join; but it’s enough to ruin you utterly. You crest the edge just as Zayne slams forward, burying himself as deep as your pliant body allows; you come with his name breathed from your mouth and into his, dancing on another scream. Too many sensations at too high a volume, your entire body jerks as wave after wave washes over you. It’s euphoric, ruinous; senses too on-edge as Zayne fucks you roughly through it.

He catches you when you fall; hand leaving your throat to grip tight to your hips. His mouth still on yours, sharing his breath and his rampant desire and everything of himself with you. He holds you steady as his thrusts turn sloppy and desperate, pulling you forward and burying himself right to the hilt. Trapped by him, you clench your aching cunt around him as he thrusts once, twice -

Zayne’s back and shoulders bow forward as he paints your insides with his spend, holding you tight enough to bruise. You tremble violently, feeling the searing heat of his claim so intimately deep within you, pulse pounding far too loud in your ears. Your body filled with aches and pains but still resplendent and radiant, utterly spent and taken. You bite down on your bottom lip as Zayne shudders through his peak, groaning into your mouth that this time, you might swallow his secrets.

You’re not entirely capable of movement, at this point; wrung out and exhausted from the brunt of his affection. But still you reach for him in an open invitation; your heart filled to bursting as you feel Zayne surrender to you instantly. Carefully pressing his weight into you, he keeps you caged and safe beneath his embrace, a whisper of a kiss pressed to your hair as he pulls you to his chest, yanking on the tie around your wrists until it falls loose and you can hold him in kind.

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