Dys

This video is something you had never seen before or even thought was possible. You watch, mesmerized by the way the woman’s stomach subtly shifts a visible bulge as he stretches her out.

Heat pools instantly between your thighs, making your breath hitch and a dizzying sensation of fullness hit your gut. He's always so careful with you, so agonizingly gentle, as if you’re something precious he might break if he breathes too hard. But looking at this... a dark part of your brain wonders what it would feel like if he didn't hold back.

"Holy shit..." you whisper to the empty room.

Your hand moves instinctively, fingers sliding down to find slick heat. The video is playing on a loop. Bulge. Stretch. Deep. Repeat. You watch it while your imagination runs wild, replacing the stranger on the screen with the man who owns your heart. You’re picturing his heavy weight pinning you down, his eyes blown wide, filling you until you can’t even scream.

You’re chasing a peak that feels miles away until, suddenly, it isn't. You hit your first orgasm with a stifled gasp, back arching off the mattress, only to find yourself immediately chasing the second one, body trembling and spent in the wake of the first.

By the time the second wave of pleasure ebbs away, you’re a puddle of limbs and heavy eyelids. You’re half conscious, drifting in that beautiful limbo between wakefulness and dreams. In a daze of post orgasmic euphoria, you squint at the screen, your thumb hovering over the comment section.

"How do I send him this without actually sending it to him 😳"

You tap 'send' with a clumsy thumb. You meant to just post it as a thought, a digital scream into the void. But as your eyes flutter shut, your hand twitches a final, involuntary spasm of exhausted muscle. Your thumb slips. It slides across the 'Share' icon, hovers over the very first contact at the top of your recent list, and taps.

Sent.

You don't hear the subtle whoosh of the outgoing message.  Delivered directly to the man who at this very moment is probably staring at a security feed or sipping red wine.

Sylus.

You just fall into a deep, blissful sleep, completely unaware that you've just lit a fuse.

🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛

“Come on, sweetie, don’t give up on me now" Thrust. The impact is heavy, forcing a breathless gasp from your lungs. “You can take it, can’t you?”

He isn't being the gentle, careful man you know. Not today. His hand is hooked firmly behind your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, forcing you to watch the unmistakable, fat bulge stretching the skin of your lower abdomen, proof to just how deep he’s buried himself inside you.

“You wanted this, now you have to take it and you are going to watch.”

And there it is. The reality of it. It’s visceral. It’s exactly what you saw in that video, but it’s a thousand times more intense because it’s him. It’s real.

Your vision swima and just as the shock of it all starts to settle, he shifts. He changes the angle of his hips in a calculated move that hits your G spot dead on. An uninhibited scream tears from your throat, echoing through the room.

“I've been trying to behave,” he says, and the words come out rougher than he probably intended, an edge of frustration bleeding through his usual composure “But you make it so difficult... fuck... by sending me your filthy little thoughts.”

His hand settles against your belly, firm and heavy, and the second he presses down, your body reacts with a sharp inhale. You tense instinctively, muscles coiling around him, but you don't pull away. You can't.

“Can you feel me here?” he asks, breath coming in uneven bursts. He’s buried balls deep and for a split second, you see a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. You make a face, a strange, overwhelmed expression of fullness, and he looks like he might actually pull back to give you a moment to breathe. He thinks he’s pushing too hard.

He’s wrong.

Don't you dare.

Driven by a desperation you didn't know you possessed, you move your hips in a searching rhythm, pressing his hand down harder against your stomach. You want the pressure. You want to feel the exact point where he meets your skin from the inside.

He lets out a loud groan at the sensation. Your narrow walls clamp down on him, tighter than they've ever been. Every millimeter of space between you feels like it’s disappearing, leaving nothing but friction and heat.

You don't have the words to tell him that you never want him to stop, so your body does the talking. You cling to him, legs wrapping around his waist as he holds you there, keeping you exactly where you are until your breathing turns unsteady.

Until your body softens in momentary surrender and tightens again a second later, as if you're fighting a war with yourself, trying to decide whether to let go or to hold on tighter.

In the end, you don't choose. You do both.

The world dissolves into a hot haze of pleasure. It couldn't be called an orgasm because this feels like a total system failure. You’re sobbing his name or maybe you’re just gasping for air, you can’t tell anymore as waves of pleasure crash over you, violent and unrelenting. Your pussy seizes around him in long pulses, milking him, begging for the very thing that’s pushing you past your limit.

He follows you a few seconds later, burying himself soooo deep you feel the hot rush of him filling you.

Slowly, the fog begins to lift, leaving you in a state of blissful, heavy lethargy. The hand that was just pressing so ruthlessly into your belly softens, fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin.

"You really are a menace." he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.

The shame you expected to feel, the embarrassment of that accidental video is nowhere to be found. Instead, there is only a sense of immense satisfaction.

"Next time," he whispers into your hair "don't bother sending a link. Just tell me. I'll give you everything you desire. Every single time."

The problem with being in love with a man like Xavier is that your brain is constantly a minefield of "what ifs."

He’s incredible, truly, but you’ve noticed the way he pulls back sometimes. When he’s brooding or when that possessive jealousy starts to prickle at him, he becomes almost too careful. Like he’s afraid he might actually break you if he lets go of that restraint.

So, naturally, you’ve been doing a little "research" to keep the inspiration alive.

Now, you’re sitting on the edge of your bathtub, scrolling through your feed, a habit that’s becoming a bit of a vice, when a video catches your eye. A girl pinned to a mattress, her head pressed down by her partner as he fucks her from behind. Hard. The sound of her moans echoes in your ears through your headphones and suddenly the bathroom feels about ten degrees too hot.

God, yes.

You quickly save the link to your "later" folder, a digital stash of things you want him to eventually try, and then scribble a quick, thirsty comment on the video "This but with my boyfriend dressed as Lumiere 🤤 " and set your phone down.

Buzz. Buzz.

A notification lights up the screen. It’s him.

[Xavier]: Found a new hot pot place. Apparently, the broth is spicy enough to kill a Wanderer. Want to go tonight? Please say yes so I can stop thinking about food and start thinking about you.

A soft laugh escapes you. He’s so predictable, yet so devastatingly charming when he wants to be. Your answer is an immediate "sure" because you’d say yes to a lukewarm bowl of water if he was the one serving it.

But he always forgets to look at the menu and ends up ordering something way too spicy or something you're not in the mood for, so you look for the restaurant's menu.

You see the link. Tap it. Copy. Paste. Add "Look at the options! The spicy broth looks insane." Send.

Funny thing is, you don't actually copy the menu's URL, you just cut it. You don't even realize you just sent him the very un culinary link to the video you were just watching to fuel your own delusions.

Little typing bubbles appear. They dance for a long time. They disappear. They reappear.

He's so indecisive.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

"Lumiere?" the name sounds like a curse "You wanted Lumiere to pin you down?"

Your face is pressed so firmly into the mattress that the fabric feels like a part of your own skin, the scent of laundry detergent mixing with the heat of the moment. Every time he thrusts into you, the world tilts, your vision blurring into white light and dark shadows. The Xavier who kisses your forehead and cuddles with you is buried somewhere deep inside the man currently fucking you breathless.

"Xavie..." you try to speak, but his name dies in your throat as he shifts his weight.

"Tell me," he demands, losing the battle with his own restraint. He hits you hard, a deep, soul shaking thrust that forces a broken moan from your lips. "Tell me you don't need a costume to feel this."

You try to answer, to tell him he's being ridiculous...

Smack!

The sting of his palm against your ass makes you gasp, your fingers clawing at the mattress for purchase.

"You sent it to me on purpose," he mutters as he leans down, his chest pressing hard against your back. "You wanted to see me like this, didn't you? You wanted to see if I could be as rough as him."

He doesn't want an answer. He doesn't wait for one. He just wants to hear you whimper his name when he hits that perfect spot.

His hand presses your face down even harder into the mattress, muffling your cries. It's everything you were craving when you were scrolling through your phone earlier, but the reality is a thousand times better.

You start to move, trying to meet him halfway, trying to grind back against him to find the friction that will push you over the edge.

"Faster..." you beg, trying to turn your head to tell him that there is no Lumiere, there is only him, but he just presses you back down, his thumb grazing your hip bone with trembling pressure.

"Shhhhhh, just a little bit more," he lets out a long groan, his forehead dropping to rest against the back of your neck for a fleeting second before he surges upward again. "You should see the way your pussy is taking my cock right now, so greedy. Just for me."

His hand shifts. It leaves the back of your head to find the column of your throat. His thumb and middle finger curl around your neck not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he is in total control.

He stills for a heartbeat, his middle finger softly tapping the pulsing vein in your neck. "Every beat belongs to me tonight"

You just nod, a jerky movement, because you are standing on the very edge of a precipice, and the fall is coming. The tension in your lower belly is wound so tight it’s almost painful.

"Say it," he breathes, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his words a warm, humid ghost of a sensation, his control fraying at the edges.

"Yours," you finally whisper, like secret you’ve been holding in your lungs for far too long, finally allowed to breathe.

The moment the word leaves your lips, he loses the last of his mercy.

He pulls back almost entirely, leaving you aching and empty for a fraction of a second only to drive back in, bottomless and bruising. It’s a cycle of withdrawal and overwhelming fullness that leaves you reeling.

"Give me what's mine" the command vibrates through your entire body.

The world dissolves into white light as your head falls forward, muscles spasming in the violent quake of your climax, but he catches your hair, tugging just enough to force your head up, his face inches from yours, his eyes dark and swirling with a hunger that could swallow the stars.

"Good girl," he whispers against your parted, trembling lips.

He thrusts one last time, deep and final, spilling molten heat as your name breaks from his lips, torn in half by bliss before he presses a kiss between your shoulder blades. For now, the jealousy is gone. There is only the quiet, heavy reality of being his.

The video catches your eye instantly. The lighting is a soft purple, casting a surreal glow over the two people on screen. A girl is on top, her movements slow and agonizingly deliberate as she drags her pussy over her partners cock, the rhythm of it making your cunt clench.

Tonight you are in a "no filter" mood. You need to share this. You need to tell Tara.

With a smirk, you tap the share icon, copy the link, and switch over to your messages. You find Tara’s profile pic or so you think and start typing with the kind of unhinged energy only a best friend can appreciate.

You and Tara have long since abandoned the concept of "boundaries" when it comes to your filthy late night chats.

“Omg Tara, look at this. Raf’s cock is so pretty, I swear if he’d just let me do this to him, I’d never leave the bedroom again 🥵💦”

You hit send with a satisfied whoosh and let out a long, dramatic sigh. Silence follows. For a few minutes you go back to scrolling, blissfully unaware that you have just dropped a digital bomb into the inbox of a man who is already struggling to maintain his composure.

Your phone vibrates.

It’s not a "LOL" or a "Damn" from Tara.

It’s a notification from Rafayel.

Rafayel: Is that so?

Your heart skips a beat. You frown, squinting at the name at the top of the chat.

Wait.

Your face goes from pale to a shade of red that would put a sunset to shame. You stare at the screen, wanting to physically crawl inside the phone and disappear forever. You want to delete it. You want to throw the phone out the window. You want to move to a different planet.

But then, the little typing bubbles appear again.

Rafayel: Don't just sit there blushing, cutie. I'm coming to your place and you are going to show me exactly what you want"

🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧

You’ve lost track of time. Your thighs are starting to ache, every muscle in your legs feels tight, strained from holding yourself upright, yet you keep moving. You have to. The friction is the only thing keeping you grounded.

You’re straddling him, your knees digging into the soft linens, focused on the way your cunt drags over his cock. Slippery. Hot. Wet.

Every time you slide down, the underside of him, that thick ridge presses ruthlessly against your clit. You can feel the vein running along his length pulse in perfect synch with your clit. 

Thump thump. Thump thump. 

"Slow down..." he groans, gripping your hips "You're going to... fuuuuck... you're going to kill me"

The friction is creating a heat of its own, a sliding friction that makes your head spin. You watch slightly delirious, as the light from the moon filters through the window, catching the sheen of sweat on his pale skin and the way his hair is plastered to his forehead. He looks wrecked. He looks beautiful. He looks like he belongs entirely to you.

But his hands are far from weak. They are heavy weights anchored to your hips, and he uses them to sabotage you. Just when you think you’ve found a rhythm that might actually save you, he tightens his grip, forcing your hips to slow, dragging the slide of your pussy out into a long, shallow glide.

It’s cruel. A sadistic kind of torture, making the night feel endless, as if the clock has stopped just to watch you suffer.

He wants to stretch this out. He wants to milk every drop of anticipation from your veins until your entire body begins to tremble, not from pleasure, but from the weight of the climax that refuses to arrive. He wants to push you to that edge where even your silence sounds filthy, where the quiet between your breaths is thick with the unspoken things you want to do to him.

Once he’s satisfied with the slow pace, his hands begin to wander. They trace the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, the swell of your breasts, learning your body the way a sinner learns to pray. Like hunger learning the art of restraint just long enough to make the eventual feast mean something.

You slide back just a fraction, settling the heat of your pussy directly over his balls and then you reach down.

Your fingers wrap around the base of his cock, just like you saw in that video. You begin to stroke him while simultaneously rotating your hips in a circular grind over the heavy fullness of his balls.

The sound that tears from his throat is something unhuman, a vibration that feels like it's coming from the depths of the ocean.

Your name is caught between his teeth in a soft, sinful exhale. He sounds undone, completely unraveled by the sight of you taking exactly what you claimed you wanted in that accidental text.

He’s right there, on the edge of an unravelling collapse.

And because you are just like him, a creature of beautiful, chaotic impulse, you don't let him have it. Not yet.

You release his cock, hand slipping away just as the tension reaches its peak, and drag your soaked cunt back up the entire length of him in one loooong slide.

It feels like a collision of two fires.

In your desperation to feel everything you let your entire weight drop. The clench of your pussy as you cum wraps around the underside of his cock, squeezing him with a force that leaves him absolutely helpless.

He has no choice but to follow you into the fire.

Spurts of his cum paint the pale skin of his stomach, the liquid warmth spreading in thick, white streaks, pooling in his belly button.

For a few seconds, neither of you moves. There is only the sound of your breathing and the humid scent of your shared exhaustion.

“Was that pretty enough for you, cutie?” he teases, though his hand trembles slightly as he reaches up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His thumb lingers on your cheek, like he’s constantly checking to make sure you haven't vanished into the night. "Or do we need to do it again?"

It’s late, way past the time Zayne would usually be nudging you to sleep but he’s still tucked away in his office, probably buried under a mountain of medical charts or surgical reports.

Your eyes are glued to your phone screen, watching a VIDEO of a girl grinding against a man’s thigh, bodies pressed together, his hands steady even as she buries her face in the crook of his neck. The guy in the video is wearing pajamas that look disturbingly similar to the ones Zayne is wearing right now.

Suddenly, the empty space in your bed feels a little too vast, your mind drifting to the office down the hall, aching to be that girl, to climb onto his Zayne's lap while he’s buried in medical charts and just... fuck yourself stupid.

You want to reach down and touch yourself but you’re a loud sleeper and an even louder moaner. If you start now, there’s no way he won't hear you through the walls, and you aren't quite ready for that kind of intimacy yet. So, you settle for a bit of digital venting. With a flushed face, you type out a quick comment on the video: "God, I wish I could do this while he's working..."

You go to save the link to your "Filthy Things" folder for a proper session tomorrow morning, but just as your thumb hovers over the screen, your phone starts vibrating. It’s Simone. She’s calling, probably to gossip about something trivial. In your rush to swipe the call and answer her, your finger taps the wrong folder.

And because Zayne is a man who is always, always connected to his devices for work... he’s going to see the notification the exact second it pops up.

🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺

It didn't take long. After that little "digital accident," the silence between you two wasn't awkward so much as it was heavy. Charged. He didn't even tease you about the comment. He didn't even blush. He just looked at you with those piercing eyes, a tiny, knowing quirk at the corner of his mouth, and silently commanded you to come to him.

And now, here you are. Perched on his lap, doing the same thing you saw on that video. Your lower half is completely bare, your thighs hugging his muscular one as you press yourself flush against him.

The friction is driving you completely insane.

Zayne, however, is a man of terrifying discipline.

His left hand is braced on your lower back, while his right hand moves across his keyboard. He’s actually working. He’s reviewing files, typing out notes, behaving as if you aren't currently trying to melt into his lap. Every so often, he’ll pause, not to stop you, but to lean in. His breath, cool and smelling faintly of mint, brushes against the shell of your ear, sending a violent shiver down your spine.

"Ah... Zayne..." you whimper against his neck as you press yourself harder against him. The sound is loud, far too loud for his quiet office and you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

"Hush now," he doesn't even look away from the monitor, though you notice the slight tightening of his jaw. "I need to focus. These reports won't write themselves."

He’s being difficult. He’s being a tease. And you love him for it.

You try to be "good." You force yourself to still when he has to write something long on his computer. You sit there, trembling slightly, waiting for him to acknowledge the havoc you're wreaking on his concentration.

A moment passes. The only sound is the soft click clack of the keyboard. Then, you feel his hand slide from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you just a fraction of an inch closer, a subtle command for you to keep going.

"Good girl," he whispers, the words a warm caress against your ear.

His expression is completely professional, but the way his fingers linger on your skin tells a completely different story. He’s still working, yes but he’s also letting you feel exactly how much of a distraction you really are.

Every time your thighs tense up, every time you desperately bite your lower lip to stifle a moan that threatens to shatter the silence, the air thickens with indecency.

He’s struggling. You aren't blind. You can feel the insistent twitch of his cock beneath you, reacting to every open mouthed kiss you press against the pulse of his neck, the sharp line of his collarbone, and the smooth expanse of his Adam's apple. He’s trying to maintain that surgeon’s calm, but his body is betraying him with every shuddering breath you take.

You’re right on the edge. Your clit is catching perfectly against the fabric of his pajamas, the material already damp and clinging to you from the amount of arousal you're leaking.

"Look at me."

His voice cuts through the air, forcing your gaze up. He wants to see the exact moment your eyes glaze over, the moment your breath hitches and tells the truth that your lips are trying so hard to hide.

When his hand slides up to cup your jaw, it isn't the gentle, comforting touch you're used to during a quiet movie on the couch. It's different. It's possessive. It’s a disciplined kind of dominance, a reminder that while he is the composed Zayne in the daylight, there is a much darker man caged behind that professional composure and you are the only one who knows how to let him out.

"You are close, aren't you, love?" he whispers, his lips hovering so close to yours that you can feel the heat of his breath.

You can barely manage a nod, your lungs feeling too small for the air you're trying to pull in. You're breathing directly into his slightly parted mouth.

"Cum for me, then," he exhales, a rare flush creeping up his cheeks, betraying just how much this is affecting him too.

He shifts his thigh, bouncing it up and down in a rhythmic motion that catches your clit perfectly.

The world tilts. You feel your eyes lose focus and you can't tell if it's the shaking of your limbs or the pounding of your heart that's making you tremble so violently.

"Zaynie... Zayne..."

His name becomes your entire vocabulary, there are no words left, only the sound of his name on your lips and the crashing sensation of finally, finally letting go.

You are flicking through a never ending stream of mindless clips and memes. It’s supposed to be a quiet afternoon, just a bit of scrolling to kill the time until Caleb comes back, but then there...

A VIDEO pops up. It’s not your usual aesthetic travel vlog or a cooking hack.

You freeze, your heart doing a weird, little skip in your chest. You know you should probably swipe past it, but your eyes are glued to the screen. It’s a girl, her lace panties completely drenched. The guy in the video isn't even taking them off, he’s just sliding the tip of his cock against her through the wet lace.

A sudden warmth blooms deep in your belly, spreading down until it feels like you’re melting into the cushions. God, you’ve been craving that. The teasing, the slow, agonizing buildup. You’ve spent so much money on delicate, expensive little sets, thinking maybe Caleb would appreciate the way they look on you, but hes a fucking dog. He doesn't do "slow." He usually just rips them or tugs them off with impatience, going straight for the heat of you. You just want him to play with you like that. To linger.

Your inhibitions are a little frayed from the visual, and before your brain can catch up to your impulse, your thumbs are flying. You tap the comment section, the screen a mess of unhinged messages from strangers, and you add your own little confession: “I really need him to play with me like this, but he prefers to eat it raw from the start😢”

You hit send, a tiny, embarrassed flush creeping up your neck, and immediately swipe the video away, feeling a bit silly for being so vulnerable to a bunch of internet strangers.

You toss the phone onto the cushion next to you a second later, completely oblivious to one mortifying detail. He’d logged into his account on your phone earlier when his own battery died, and you hadn't bothered to switch back.

In his office, the most dangerous man in Skyhaven is about to watch, in explicit detail, how you want to be ruined.

🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷

It turns out your assessment of him was spot on. The man is a fucking dog.

He hasn't taken your underwear off. That’s the part that’s driving you absolutely insane. The delicate lace is currently soaked, clinging to your pussy like a second, translucent layer of skin. He’s been working his tongue against the fabric, licks so long and heavy they feel like they’re reaching deep inside you. You’ve already been hit by two earth shattering, toe curling orgasms, your vision blurring every time his mouth finds your clit through the damp cloth. He hasn't even slowed down. If anything, it's getting worse.

“This is the reason I usually take off those pretty panties you wear” he presses his face into you, his broad tongue sweeping up in one stroke against your entire slit. You let out a choked, broken sound, fingers tangling desperately in his dark hair, trying to push him away just to catch your breath.

“Your scent is so fucking addictive,” he groans against your skin, “Especially after wearing them all day... knowing you've been walking around, smelling like this, just waiting for me.”

Then, he says something that makes your heart skip a beat not out of fear, but out of pure shock.

“You have no idea, do you?” he pants, nose brushing against your clit. “Last two years of High School... I spent them stroking my cock raw just to the smell of your panties. Thinking about you. Wishing you were right there."

Your vision blurs. Your hips jerk upward involuntarily as a third wave of pleasure crashes over you. You cum hard, your entire body shaking as you spill yourself directly onto his tongue, voice breaking into a high, desperate sob of his name.

He doesn't pull away. He just drinks you in, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he tastes exactly what he's been craving.

The moment your legs stop trembling he hooks his fingers into the soaked gusset and drags it to the side, baring your swollen folds and your pulsing clit, sensitive from his relentless attention.

He doesn't thrust in. He doesn't go for the full stretch you’ve been silently praying for. Instead, he slides the drooling tip of his cock over your slit. He isn't even entering you yet, he's just... slapping it against your clit, teasing the very edge of your tolerance.

You wanted the lace, the play, the slow burn... but God, you also wanted him to fuck you until you couldn't remember your name. You wanted the stretch.

But Caleb is a man who listens. Or rather, he's a man who has spent a lifetime studying every detail of your desires and right now he is giving you exactly what you asked for.

He leans down, his eyes dark, watching the way your face contorts with pleasure and frustration. He doesn't give you the release of a full thrust, he just feeds you the tip. He slides just the head of his cock into your pussy, a teasing invasion that barely makes a dent.

The reaction is instantaneous. Your walls react to him like a living thing, clenching around him, desperately trying to suck him deeper, to pull the rest of him in. The sensation is so perfectly matched that a synchronized moan breaks from both of you.

He pulls out just a fraction and then he thrusts the tip back in. Over and over again.

“Please,” you whimper, the word sounding pathetic even to your own ears. “Baby, please...”

You’re trying to force him to go deeper. But he’s in total control. His left hand is working the length of his cock, pumping with a desperate rhythm, while his right hand finds your clit.

His eyes are pinned to yours, watching every flicker of emotion on your face as if he’s trying to memorize the way you fall apart.

And then, the teasing ends.

His mushroom tip, still nestled just inside your entrance, begins to pulse. Warm, thick spurts of cum hit your sensitive walls, flooding the tiny space he’s occupied.

Your pussy clenches around the tip of his cock, trying to suck every last drop out of him while his hand squeezes the rest of his length, forcing the remainder of his seed into you, filling you up until his cum starts to leak out.

He finally collapses against you, the weight of his body pressing you deep into the mattress.

"You're so loud when you're happy," he murmurs before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple, then your cheek, before finally settling his lips against yours in a kiss that tastes of salt and everything you are to him.

He pulls back just a bit, his gaze dropping to where the soaked lace of your panties still clings to your thighs, then back up to your eyes. There’s a flicker of that obsessive intensity returning to his expression.

"There isn't a single thing in this world you could ask for that wouldn't make me crawl to you. So don't hold back, Pips."

"hah! this-this is enough. i'm dripping, zayne." you insist. he hums in thought before reaching down to your quivering entrance. your hips lift involuntarily as he circles the slick smothered hole. "i can take you," you chase his withdrawing fingers. and then he pulls his hand away entirely.

"perhaps i should offer you a preview before you overestimate your body's abilities." his brows furrow in concern at you. zayne tugs the waistband of his underwear down to let his cock spring free, the elastic keeping his leaky pink tip pressed against his abs. your pussy twitches violently at the sight of him.

your hand shoots out to grip him before you can stop it. to feel the heavy weight of him in your palm. he's hot and throbbing in your fist.

"i-mmh-only wish for you to enjoy this." he murmurs as he pulls you closer, burying his face in your neck. his fingers find your clit, rubbing soft circles on it while your pussy lips split around his thigh, hole clenching around nothing.

"so don't worry. i'll give you whatever you want." a broken moan escapes him as you give him a slow pump. he pulls away to look at you. and then at the obscene mess you've made on his thigh.

find all my drabbles here | masterlist

Zayne was surprisingly very, publicly, physically affectionate with you. Small touches here and there on your little dates, or kisses goodbye when he had to leave for work. He minded less so when Caleb was around. And Caleb was always there, an inevitable constant, so it made sense if he was there for everything.

Which is why he is here, kneeling on the floor of your living room, watching Zayne fuck you like he has all the time left in the world.

Caleb grips at his jeans so tightly he thinks he’ll rip right through them. He isn’t allowed to touch, not yet. His eyes are trained on the way Zayne disappears into your dripping cunt over and over again, a slow, steady rhythm that keeps you wanting. He knows that Zayne is hitting you deep, by the way you moan his name every time he fills you.

Caleb doesn’t know how it got to this point.

(A lie. He remembers the exact time and day he first caught the two of you fucking. In the kitchen, over burning eggs and spilled milk. His mechanically altered brain catalogued the memory into his hard drive after three weeks of jerking off to it every night.)

He thought you, the Li’s, would be more… coy about sex in general. Zayne used to burst into bright red flames if you even held his hand in front of Caleb, before you got married. The quiet, stern doctor couldn’t handle a little bit of skin contact.

Now, Caleb thinks it might’ve been for a different reason altogether.

It just kept happening— “getting caught”.

Innocent gestures at first. Kisses to your palm, and bounding hugs after a long day. Then it was making out in the car, Zayne’s hand under the table during a fancy dinner, you under his desk in the office during a lunch date. Caleb was there for all of it, when time would allow.

It reached a point where Caleb didn’t mind it anymore (he doesn’t think he was ever bothered by it, actually, which says more about his person than he’d like to think about.)

It was, probably, the insane level of attraction he had to the both of you. The closest people to his heart, together romantically and physically. It made sense to him that he would be turned on by the sight of you, instead of scared away.

The fact that you allowed him to be a part of it, only meant that you were all the same type of crazy.

He liked watching, and you and Zayne loved to be watched.

Fuck, his dick fucking hurts.

“Zayne,” you cry again, a long, pitiful whine that sends a tingle down Caleb’s spine. You bounce lightly on the man’s lap, energy running low as you get closer to your peak.

Zayne grips under your thighs, encouraging you to keep going, his own hips pushing up as he brings you down.

Both of you are still clothed, with only the buttons undone and belts unbuckled. The only article of clothing fully removed was your shirt, which is tossed onto the floor. Your pretty skirt is hiked up and panties pushed to the side, enough for Caleb to see.

Zayne checks to make sure, too, glasses askew as he peers over his shoulder to meet Caleb’s watchful eye. The other man smirks, and it makes Caleb twitch in his jeans.

“What’s wrong, my love?” Zayne asks you. A rhetorical question. A mean question. He knows, always knows, when you’re close, and when to push you past your limits.

He holds you loft, until all that’s left inside of you is the head of his cock. You try to push down, but Zayne stays firm, and you can only cry. “Wanna come.”

“I know,” he whispers in your ear. He sounds apologetic, like he isn’t the one keeping you from the very thing you want. “But you’ll have to be patient.”

Your arms wrap tightly around Zayne’s shoulders, a nonverbal plea to appeal to his soft side. It doesn’t work. Zayne’s eyes never leave Caleb, and his smile grows. He knows that look, a mirror image of your own mischievous grin when you have a bad (or really, really good) idea.

“Caleb, you’ve been a good boy.”

Caleb nods, not trusting himself to speak without stumbling over his words.

One of Zayne’s hands glides up to your ass, pulling at one cheek to expose you even further. Caleb’s eyes widen, following the trail of juices that leak out of you and stain the seam of Zayne’s slacks. He slips out of you, heavy dick bobbing against his thigh, and you are left gaping. “I think you deserve a treat.”

Oh, all thoughts of anything else are dashed from his mind. It’s only you and Zayne and all the fucking cum dripping onto the floor and he would lick every last drop off of the hardwood, if Zayne asked him to. His body moves before he can register, and his mouth dives deep into your waiting cunt.

“Caleb!” you gasp, and Zayne pinches the meat of your ass.

“That’s not my name.”

Caleb groans, tongue gliding over your puffy folds, drinking up every sound that you make and he’s careful to remember not to touch himself. He drinks you up straight from the source, then follows the seam of your pussy down to your throbbing clit. He flattens his tongue over it, pulsing lightly, waiting for your moan of approval. You do your best to grind on his face, even though Zayne is still holding your hips up to keep you from coming too quickly for his liking.

Caleb couldn’t pinpoint it until now, that he likes to be used. Or, more so, be useful, even in the bedroom. A plaything, a means to an end, for you, for Zayne, because he loves you both. You mean more to him than his own pleasure, and he wants to help his favorite people reach the end, even when it’s Zayne’s name you are calling in lieu of his own.

And you keep saying it, Zayne Zayne Zayne, until he lets your hips drop and Caleb’s tongue sucks roughly at your clit, his nose buried so deep into you that he forgets to breathe, and your first orgasm of the night rushes through you like a tidal wave.

Your body shakes under the force of it while Zayne sings you praise and Caleb shoves two fingers into your fluttering hole, giving you something to clench around. When Caleb pulls his mouth away to watch all of your juices coat Zayne’s hardness, thumb replacing his hot tongue on the sensitive nub, he takes the opportunity to do what he’s meant to— clean up the mess.

Caleb grabs the shaft with his other hand, more roughly than he should have (curse this prosthetic sometimes), and takes half in one fell swoop. He can’t help it. Zayne is modestly big, curved up at the end, thick at the base. Picture perfect. He doesn’t know how he can take so much into his throat at once- maybe it’s the adrenaline, the overwhelming lust, he doesn’t fucking care, because Zayne moans so loud and you follow his lead, it’s like Caleb’s own personal choir.

His hand strokes what his mouth can’t reach yet, the head already pressing the soft spot in his throat. He times it so that he thrusts his fingers into you at the same time he pushes in with Zayne, and he’s a proxy for your two bodies to fuck through him.

His eyes fall shut as he loses himself to the motions, only feeling the two of you everywhere. The sounds you make, the pleasure you feel, is because of him, and it only encourages him to keep going.

You come again, not as intensely as the first, but it has you crying helplessly. You find the last of your strength to pull off of Caleb, lying heavily on top of your husband, body melting into his while you catch your breath. If Caleb looks up, he can see you kiss at Zayne’s face and neck, smearing spit into his exposed skin. Zayne strokes your thighs, then your hips, then finally wraps his arms around your waist, helping you come down with such a soft touch and that easy, proud smile.

“You’re a good girl,” he says to you, sweet and slow as syrup. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

You are completely entranced by him, only focused on him and his sugary words. You still blush at the sound of them, as if you didn’t just come all over another man’s face, who is still kneeling under you. You haven’t looked at Caleb once. Your back is to him while Zayne takes the credit, and it’s that thrill of faux jealousy that makes Caleb hump at the air.

Caleb wants to be acknowledged, too. He wants to be good, has been good all this time. Caleb wants to prove to Zayne just how good he is.

So he licks up the length of Zayne’s cock, following the vein on the under side to the bulbous tip. He sucks at the head with the same fervor he did with your clit— it ilicits the same long moan but not enough to make him come like you. Caleb swirls his tongue around, poking at the slit, lips pursing like he’s making out with Zayne’s cock.

Fuck, he really wants to kiss you. And maybe he’s being greedy now, because he imagines you kneeling down here with him, and how pouty you’d be if Caleb was hogging your husband’s heavy dick in his mouth while you run your spit down the shaft and meet his lips at the tip.

It only spurs him on. Caleb’s favorite pastime is teasing the hell out of you, after all. He tries to work down as far as he can, inch after inch disappearing into his hot mouth, until Caleb can almost reach the base. His head bobs there for a long moment, just feeling the weight of him, the taste of you still on his tongue.

Zayne bucks up forcefully, suddenly, jostling Caleb and causing him to gag. He pulls off just in time to gasp a lungful of air.

“Sorry, puppy,” Zayne says, a little shocked by himself. Caleb realizes that he made Zayne lose control, just for a second. The biggest compliment, according to you, is when Zayne can’t help himself. Long fingers pet at his hair in apology. There is no need for one, Caleb thinks, he takes this as a success.

Instead, Caleb allows himself to rest a hand at the crest of your back, smooth and sweat-slicked. Your face remains tucked in the crook of Zayne’s neck, though you’re much more relaxed than before. He pumps his fist up Zayne’s cock a couple more times, before positioning it in front of your waiting hole.

“Good boy,” Zayne coos, once he realizes what Caleb is doing.

“Thank you, puppy,” you chime in right after, and Caleb presses the head in, watching how you suck him in greedily. guiding you to sink down the entire length slowly. It’s a slow crawl, because this is Caleb’s reward for himself, your pussy stretches around Zayne like it was made for it. It is. You’re perfect for each other in every way. Caleb can never get enough. He’d do anything the two of you ask, as long as he can be with you, as long as he can witness the two of you sink into each other for the rest of his days.

Once you sit fully on Zayne’s weeping cock, a sigh of utter satisfaction leaves your lungs, and Zayne takes it into his with a whirlwind kiss.

Caleb stands on wobbly legs, the hand still on your back helping you rock your body back and forth over Zayne. From here, Caleb can see everything. Zayne’s iron grip around your waist, the hickies you left on his neck. Your tongues exploring each others’ mouths unabashedly, the breaths you exchange in between them. It’s you and Zayne written all over each others’ bodies. Caleb wants to leave his mark, too.

“Please,” he manages to eke out. He palms at the neglected bulge in his pants. Technically it’s not breaking the rules if there’s a layer of clothes in the way, right? “Zayne. Please, I want to-“

“Go ahead, puppy,” Zayne cuts him off, breathless from your kiss. “You can touch yourself.”

And you are back on his lips the moment he finishes that sentence, starved for his attention.

Caleb unbuttons his pants and tugs himself out of his boxers, too impatient for anything else. He spits in one hand, not wanting to be selfish and ask you for yours. He’s greedy, too, jerking himself in stuttering strokes, every pass of his hand like an electric shock of hot pleasure. He does his best to keep some semblance of a tempo, following the way your body lifts up, and smacks back down. Wet plaps echo through your living room, all three of your voices filling the space, and Caleb (almost, not really) feels bad for your neighbors.

Zayne’s cool hand lands on his, the one on your back, threading his fingers in a semi-awkward position, enough to loop the pinkies, but it grounds Caleb, an anchor in the rolling sea. At the same time, you reach a hand behind you, searching for a part of him to grab, landing on his wrist.

Zayne pulls you in tighter, whispering about how good you and Caleb are, how divine you feel, how kind Caleb is to let you come. His hips thrust up into you from below, faster and harder than the teasing pace from before. Your combined juices leave a nasty mix around Zayne’s cock, a frothy ring forming around your cunt.

Caleb can do nothing but whimper, guttural yelps forced from his gut with every pathetic word he cries. "Please, please, Pips. Please come."

He grips tightly around his base, so painfully hard that his skin is turning an angry red, to stop himself from busting too early, waiting for your permission. You turn your head, nodding in time with Zayne’s thrusts, and you must be getting close, too, by the way Caleb can see you squeeze around your husband. God, his resolve is breaking. He strokes his entire length, swiping over the head and gathering the pre-cum to jerk back down.

What breaks him is when your eyes finally meet, your pupils blown wide and empty, with a pleading furrow in your brow. He comes on your back, thick spurts painting your intertwined hands, with a loud drawn out groan.

It sets off a chain reaction, and Zayne releases inside you right after. It doesn't take you long to follow, not with Zayne's rough voice at your ear and Caleb massaging his cum over your skin.

He'll apologize for making such a mess later, but for now he is delighting in the sight. Zayne even has the audacity to untangle his cum-covered fingers and stick them into his mouth.

The three of you stay like this for a while, breathing heavy, relishing in the storm of sweet release.

Your hips twitch, riding the aftershocks, Zayne’s cum leaking from you steadily, still not ready to pull out.

“Thank you,” Caleb manages after a while. “For letting me watch.”

“Of course, puppy,” Zayne replies. “But don’t you want your reward?”

His ears perk up. Reward?

Caleb realizes that you never stopped looking at him. Not since you twisted your body around just to watch him bust a load all over your back.

You pop off of Zayne’s cock, cum spilling from your puffy cunt, and turn around so that you’re facing Caleb now. You position your knees outside of Zayne’s so that you’re properly on display for Caleb’s hungry eyes. Zayne’s hands roam over you, showing off his prize. One tweaks at a hard nipple, while the other spreads your pussy lips wide. Zayne, on the other hand, is already half-hard, cock bobbing back to life between your legs.

“You get to choose who fucks you first, puppy.”