Drive like i do ☐

​The buzz of the fluorescent light overhead was the only thing competing with the distorted bass thumping through the brick walls. The underground pub’s bathroom smelled of stale beer, damp air, and Matty’s expensive cologne—a mix that, at this point in the night, was completely intoxicating.

​The moment the door slammed shut behind you, Matty didn't waste time looking for the broken latch; he simply jammed the sole of his boot against the wood, using his own weight to seal the entrance. His eyes were dark, blown out with adrenaline, his hair a wild, chaotic mess.

​There were no words. He cornered you against the cold porcelain sink, trapping you between his body and the metal rim. When his hands—large, veiny, and still a bit unsteady—slid straight up to your neck to force you to look at him, you knew whatever patience he had left had been completely abandoned back at the bar. His mouth crashed onto yours with an almost violent urgency, tasting like whiskey and the cigarette smoke from five minutes ago. His fingers tangled into your hair, tugging just enough to pull your head back and deepen a kiss that was purely possessive. You could feel the suffocating heat of his chest rising and falling hard against yours, promising that neither of you was walking out of that bathroom unscathed.

​The kiss broke with a sharp, ragged gasp as his hands slid down from your neck to your hips with a force that knocked the breath right out of you. Matty hooked his arms under your thighs and, with one brutal tug, hoisted you clean off the floor, slamming your back against the bathroom wall. A muffled gasp left your throat from the shock, but he didn't give you a second to process it; he immediately stepped closer, burying himself between your open legs and pressing the hard, heavy ridge of his erection straight against your center, using his own body weight to pin you to the wall.

​The contrast between the freezing wall against your back and the scorching heat of his body made you shiver. Matty dropped his head, burying his nose into the crook of your neck, his breathing heavy and erratic while his hands gripped the backs of your thighs, squeezing the flesh roughly. Without wasting a single second, he slid his hand up under your skirt, bunching the fabric up around your waist in one rough movement. His other hand hooked into the waistband of your panties, ripping them down and out of the way with a sharp, impatient tug.

​The sudden rush of cold bathroom air hit your bare skin, but the chill vanished instantly against his heat. Your cunt was already soaking, visibly throbbing with need, and your clit was completely swollen, slick and aching for him.

​"Fuck... you’re so fucking ready for me right now," he muttered against your skin, his voice low, thick with alcohol and absolute possessiveness. "Look at me. I told you to look at me."

​You obeyed, meeting his dark, blown-out eyes beneath the flickering light. Matty let out a faint, wicked smirk—dangerous and completely self-assured as he watched you tremble under his touch.

​"You’re going to do exactly what I tell you to do, do you understand me?" he commanded, his fingers digging deeper into your thighs as he deliberately rolled his hips against yours, forcing a ragged sigh from your lips. "You don't make a single sound that isn't my name, and you’re going to let me completely ruin you in this fucking bathroom. Wrap your legs around my waist. Now."

​You wrapped your legs around his waist, squeezing him tight against you, while your arms locked around his neck to keep from falling. Matty let out a low growl of pure satisfaction as he felt you mold yourself to him.

​"Fuck, you’re soaking..." he gasped against your ear, brushing his lips against your earlobe while his long, possessive fingers started moving inside you without an ounce of gentleness. "That’s my girl. I knew you’d get this fucking slutty for me the second I touched you."

​You threw your head back, letting out a moan that bounced off the walls, but Matty bit down along your jawline, his other hand gripping your hip to stall your movement.

​"What did I tell you about making noises?" he whispered, his voice broken and commanding, letting out a rough groan of his own as he pushed a third finger inside, stretching you. "I told you I only want to hear my name. Tell me who’s touching you. Say it."

​"Matty..." you begged, digging your nails into his shoulders from the sheer intensity of it.

​"Good girl. You’re going to be so fucking marked by me you won't be able to think about anyone else," he growled, urgently unbuttoning his jeans, freeing his hard length right against your wetness. "Now you’re going to open up wide for me and take all of it. Don't move, I've got you."

​Matty shifted his weight, holding you up with just one arm locked tight under your thighs, while his other hand guided his erection right against your entrance. He was so fucking huge, throbbing and radiating a heat that made you gasp before he even started to push. Before pushing inside, he deliberately rubbed the thick, blunt head of his penis up and down against your swollen clit. He smeared his own warm pre-cum all over you, using it as a slick lubricant, dragging it through your wetness until you were begging, crying out from the torturous friction right before he finally buried himself inside.

​"Stay still..." he growled close to your ear, his voice completely broken as he pushed forward.

​He buried himself inside you in one fluid, deep thrust, stretching you to your limit. You let out a muffled scream against his shoulder as you felt his length filling you completely, burning you up inside with an intensity that was almost overwhelming. Matty froze for a second, cursing under his breath while his muscles tensed up as he felt how tight you were holding him.

​Almost immediately, he started to move. The pace was wild, hard, and relentless, slamming his hips against yours over and over, making the sound of your bodies impacting echo through the stall. To keep you from escaping the intensity, Matty dug his teeth hard into the curve of your neck, biting your sensitive skin just as he let out an excited, low, primitive groan right against your ear.

​His long, slender fingers dug bruisingly deep into the flesh of your ass, squeezing and pulling you even closer against him, his grip so fierce it was bound to leave dark marks on your skin by tomorrow. He anchored you under his weight, completely obsessed with the way your bodies crashed together.

​"Fuck, you're so tight... you're going to make me come right here if you keep squeezing me like this," he groaned, sinking his teeth a little deeper, tasting you, while his thrusts became faster, deeper, and completely out of control, taking over your breath and your body entirely.

​"You feel that?" he panted, his voice ragged and uneven, each word punctuated by the brutal snap of his hips. "That's me ruining you. That's me claiming every fucking inch of you in this shitty bathroom like I own it."

​He didn't slow down. If anything, he got rougher—more feral—chasing the high only your body could give him right now. His forehead pressed against yours as sweat dripped from his curls onto your cheeks.

​"Say my name again," he demanded between gritted teeth, eyes wild with lust and something dangerously close to obsession. "Louder this time."

​You didn't wait for him to ask twice. You locked your arms tighter around his neck and cried out his name right against his ear, repeating it like a plea while his pace became completely feral. Matty let out a choked curse and, without slowing down his brutal pace, slid his free hand down between your thighs. His long fingers, hot and slick with your own wetness, found your clit. He started rubbing you with fast, rhythmic, desperate movements, syncing every stroke of his fingers with the hard, deep thrusts of his hips inside you.

​The double stimulation was too much. You felt the tension building heavy in your stomach like a wave about to break, forcing you to arch your back against the wall.

​"Come on, baby. Let go for me," Matty begged between feverish kisses, his voice cracking with the effort of holding back his own release.

​His fingers worked you ruthlessly now—no teasing left in him, just pure urgency to feel you shatter around him. The wet sounds of your bodies colliding mixed with the loud thump of bass from outside and your ragged breathing filled the tiny bathroom.

​"That's it... fucking come for me..." he choked out.

​Your walls didn't just flutter; they clamped down hard, convulsing in tight, violent spasms that completely trapped him. The sensation of you shattering around him was the exact trigger he couldn't fight. Matty let out a loud, strangled groan, his eyes rolling back as his control snapped entirely. With one final, brutal thrust that buried him to the absolute hilt, he froze against you

​You felt his entire body turn to steel, his back arching as a violent tremor rippled through his muscles. Right then, deep inside your center, his erection began to throb with a massive, heavy force. You felt the first sharp pulse of his climax, and then a thick wave of scorching, overwhelming heat flooded your insides, burning you with pure pleasure. Every single pulse of his length pumped more of his blistering heat deep against your cervix, filling you up completely.

​Matty dug his teeth desperately into the crook of your neck, his breathing a loud, ragged mess as he rode the wave of his own release.

​ "Feel that? Feel how hard I'm leaking inside you. You're taking every fucking drop of me. You're mine... all fucking mine in this shitty bathroom."

​His hips gave a few more involuntary twitches, pushing impossibly deeper to empty himself completely into your twitching walls. He stayed suspended there, his forehead dropping onto your shoulder, trembling slightly while his erratic heartbeat thudded hard against your chest, leaving both of you completely ruined under the flickering light.

​When the haze finally cleared and his strength gave out, you both slid down the tiled wall, collapsing onto the cold bathroom floor. Matty sat back against the wall, pulling you tightly against him until you were settled completely in his lap. Your head slotted perfectly into the hollow space between his neck and his collarbone, your chest heaving as both of your ragged breaths filled the quiet stall. Right there, inches from your face, you could still see the heavy, frantic pulse beating against his neck.

​Slowly, his long fingers brushed a damp strand of hair away from your cheek, tracing a soft, lingering caress across your skin. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in so close that there was no space left between you, before leaning down to press a soft, grounding kiss against your forehead.

​He held you like that for a long moment, his chest rising and falling against yours, before he spoke, his voice still low, rough, and thick with a quiet sort of gravity.

​The echo of the slammed door still vibrates through the flat’s walls when you hear his heavy footsteps thudding across the living room. There are no lights on; only the flickering glow of the muted tv illuminates the line of white powder left on the coffee table. You didn't have time to clean it up. You didn't have time to hide the trace of your betrayal.

​Before you can even stand up, Matty’s hand clamps around your throat. His grip is iron—cold and lethal—forcing you backward until your spine cracks violently against the wall. The impact knocks the wind right out of you, but your heart is doing triple-time, accelerated by the bootleg gear running through your veins and the addictive panic of having him pinning you down. You hear the heavy, metallic click of a weapon. Out of his waistband, he pulls a compact handgun—small, sleek, but terrifyingly lethal. He doesn’t hesitate. He presses the freezing metal of the barrel directly under your chin, forcing your head up at a sharp angle. Slowly, deliberately, he drags the gun upward, the cold steel scraping a cruel path along your jawline, trailing over your lips until it forces them apart. With a brutal nudge, he shoves the barrel straight into your mouth, resting it heavy against your tongue.

​"Look at me," his voice is a low, gravelly growl, pressed right against your ear. "Take a proper look at it, love. Feel how heavy it is. It's fully loaded, and the first bullet inside it is meant for the next bastard who dares to sell you rubbish behind my back."

​He stares down at you, his dark eyes completely blown out, searching your face for a lie to tear apart. He twists the barrel slightly against your teeth, making you taste the oil and steel before he violently yanks it out of your mouth.

​"Whose is it?" he snarls, the rage boiling over. He carelessly chucks the gun, letting it thud heavily onto the sofa nearby. His hands fly straight back to your body. "I asked you a bloody question. Whose fucking gear is that?"

​Your hands claw at his wrists, not to pull away, but to anchor yourself to him while your toes barely scrape the floor. Matty isn’t just your boyfriend; he’s your keeper. He’s the one who decides when you get high and when you crash, and you’ve just let another man into his territory.

​"You weren't back..." you manage to gasp, a broken smirk slipping out from the sheer euphoria of the rush. "You took too long, Matty."

​That snaps it. A muffled curse slips from his lips and, with a brutal twist, he spins you around, slamming your chest flat against the wall. You feel the crushing weight of his body pinning you, rendering you useless. With one hand, he keeps your head shoved hard against the cold plaster, while his other hand starts tearing at your clothes, rifling through your pockets, shoving his rough fingers under your fabric to see if you’ve got any more of the gear that didn't pass through his hands.

​"If I find out that bastard put a finger on you, I’ll bury him alive," he snarls, ripping the collar of your top to check down your chest. "And you, I’ll lock you away so you never see the bloody daylight. You’re mine. Have you got that? Mine."

​It’s in that savage yank, as the fabric gives way and your trousers drag down a fraction, that he stops dead. ​Matty’s breath hitches, turning into a sharp, animal huff against the nape of your neck. His hand, which a second ago was roughing you up with relentless force, freezes. The elastic of your knickers is exposed, and right there, on the high curve of your hip just above your arse, the dark, purplish bruises stand out—the perfect shape of his large, possessive fingers. It’s the map of last night. The physical proof that he claims you until it breaks you.

​You feel the furious tension in his body mutate into something else. Something thick, hot, and a thousand times more dangerous. Matty lets out a low groan and slides downward, dropping to his knees on the floor behind you. Your legs shake, weakened by the coke and the sudden rush of heat flooding your spine at the feeling of him so low, so utterly ruined by his own chaos. His hands, strangely slow now, settle onto your thighs to keep you steady as he leans into your skin. The first kiss he presses against the bruise is almost a punishment; he digs his lips in hard, making you let out a strangled whimper from the sharp sting of the soreness. But straight after, the tip of his tongue traces the mark, licking the injury with a sick sort of devotion, as if he’s trying to cure you or taste his own property.

​"Mine," he mutters against your skin again, his voice vibrating right through your bones while his fingers dig into your flesh right beside the old marks. "It hurt, didn't it? It hurt, and you still went and found someone else. You know you drive me fucking mental. You know if you leave, I’ll burn this whole bloody city down with you inside."

​Your hands press flat against the wall to keep from collapsing, arching your back, surrendering completely to the erotic degradation of having the street's worst monster on his knees, kissing your wounds, trapped in the exact same addiction as you.

He lets out a dark, ragged breath against your skin before standing up. The sudden lack of his body heat leaves you shivering against the wall, your cheek pressed flat against the cold, rough plaster. You can hear him moving behind you, the frantic, sharp rustle of plastic. He’s digging into his jacket, pulling out his own reserve—the pure stuff he keeps only for himself, the gear he never sells to the street.

Before you can even turn your head, his hand gripping your jaw from behind forces your face right back against the wall. His fingers dig into your cheeks so hard it hurts, pinning you flat.

​"Look at me," he commands, his voice dropping to a dangerous, jagged whisper near your ear.

​You strain your neck, your cheek still scraped against the cold wall, just enough to see him out of the corner of your eye. Matty has poured a heavy mount of the white powder directly onto his thumb. His hand is steady, but his eyes are wild, completely consumed by a desperate, toxic need to reclaim what’s his.

​"You want to get high so badly, love? You want to look for it elsewhere?" he snarls, his chest heaving against your back as he shoves his coated thumb right under your nose, forcing it against your lips. "Inhale. Take it from me. Every single fucking drop of it comes from me from now on. Sniff it."

​Your heart batters against your ribs like a trapped bird. Driven by the sheer dependency and the intoxicating terror of him, you breathe in sharply, taking the hit straight from his skin. The rush is instant, a burning, chemical wave that hits the back of your throat and fires straight to your brain, making your vision blur.

​But Matty doesn't give you a second to process the high.

​The moment the powder leaves his skin, his hand flies back to your hair, fisting the strands to tilt your head back at a brutal angle. He leans in, completely desperate, completely feral, and buries his face in the crook of your neck.

​He doesn't just kiss you; he bites.

​His teeth sink deep into the sensitive flesh of your shoulder and neck, biting down so violently that a sharp gasp of pain and pleasure rips from your lungs. It’s too hard, borders on agony, but it’s the exact brand of ruin you crave. He holds you there, pinning your lower body with his hips, marking you bloody, while the fresh gear takes over your senses, blurring the line between the pain in your neck and the euphoria in your head.

​"You’re going to ruin me," Matty whimpers against the bite, his teeth still grazing your pulse point as his hands slide back down to your hips, gripping the bruises he made before. "You're going to bloody ruin me, and I'm going to let you."

The fresh gear is burning through your veins, but the heat radiating off Matty is a thousand times more suffocating. You feel his desperation mutate into a violent, almost animal urgency. From behind, with quick, clumsy movements loaded with a savage anxiety, his hands drop back down to your hips. His fingers hook into the elastic of your knickers that was already exposed, ripping the fabric all the way down in one sharp, brutal yank. He discards the obstacle entirely, leaving you completely bare while he keeps pinning you, smashing his hard pelvis right against your arse.

You hear the heavy metal rattle of his fly zipping down. There is no foreplay. No gentleness. Matty shoves one of his heavy boots between your feet to force your legs apart, and with a rough, desperate thrust, he buries himself inside you all at once, straight against the wall.

A shattered gasp rips from your throat as your body is completely filled by him. The initial sting melts instantly into the electric rush of the cocaine, blurring your mind. Matty begins to hammer into you with a relentless force—a fast, merciless rhythm that scrapes your chest and your cheek against the cold plaster of the wall with every single impact.

​"Fucking whore... you’re my fucking whore," he growls into your ear, his breath ragged, completely out of his mind. His words are filthy, violent, meant to break you. "You like it when I ruin you like this, don't you? You love it when I treat you like absolute rubbish. Open those bloody legs wide for me. No one else touches this body, do you hear me? No one. If another bloke looks at you, I’ll kill him, and if you let him touch you, I’ll break you first. You’re mine until you fucking die."

​The rush has you so high that you try to turn your head, trying to form a word—maybe to provoke him further, maybe to scream his name. But Matty doesn't let you. His free palm clamps straight over your face, catching your jaw in an iron grip and forcing your head back, stretching the muscles of your neck out to the side at a painful angle that forces your mouth open for him.

He leans over and destroys your mouth with a kiss. It’s a filthy, desperate, incredibly wet kiss. Your tongues clash and tangle with pure fury, a mess of spit and possession while his hips keep slamming into you from behind, driving into you without mercy. The rhythm is chaotic, deafening. ​And right there, in the dead middle of the frenzy, the madness takes over you completely. You sink your teeth deep into his bottom lip, biting down until the skin splits wide open.

The hot, metallic taste of his blood floods your mouth instantly. Far from scaring you, a twisted, sick, deeply toxic smirk spreads across your stained lips as you pull back a single millimetre. You look at him out of the corner of your eye, savouring it, showing him that you can play just as bloody rough. ​Matty goes rigid, but he doesn't pull away. Quite the opposite. A savage grin distorts his face, and he lets out a low, gravelly laugh that makes the hairs on your arms stand up.

​"Is that what you want? You want to play dirty, you little slut?" he spits, and as he opens his mouth you can see his tongue completely coated in blood, dyed the thick red currently welling from his torn lip.

​Before you can even catch your breath, he forces you right back into the kiss. He smashes his mouth against yours, dragging his bloody tongue against your own, forcing you to swallow his blood while sharing the metallic taste of his own pain. The kiss becomes a slick, viscous, red disaster; blood runs down your chins, staining your neck, your chest, and the hands you have pressed flat against the wall, while he keeps fucking you with a rhythmic violence that feels like it’ll never end. You are trapped in a loop of flesh, gear, and blood, utterly destroying each other in the dark of the flat. The cocaine makes the rush a thousand times more volatile, turning your nerve endings into live wires. Inside, you are completely dripping, slick and overflowing against his thick length. As Matty hits you at that relentless, punishing angle, the friction triggers an electric swell deep in your core. The orgasm is building fast, threatening to shatter you from the inside out, and because he’s buried so deep, he can feel your slick walls starting to ripple and contract around him, tightening like a vice.

​He groans into your mouth, a desperate, feral sound. While his teeth keep mauling your lips, his bloodied thumb breaks away from your jaw and shoves right into your mouth. He rakes his thumb in and out against your tongue, mimicking the brutal pace of his hips, smearing his thick, hot blood all over your lips, your chin, and your cheeks, painting your face in his own violence while he devours you.

Suddenly, he tears his mouth away from yours. With a sharp, aggressive movement, he forces your arms back behind you. He is so much bigger than you, his massive frame towering over your petite body as he easily gathers both of your tiny, slender wrists into the palm of a single hand. He squeezes them together, his grip completely engulfing your thin bones, and pulls upward with such ruthless force that it wrenches your whole upper body forward. Your face slams hard against the cold wall. Your breasts are crushed flat against the rough plaster, the friction burning your skin, while your nose and forehead take the brunt of the impact.

He clamps his thick fingers tighter around your wrists, deliberately crushing the purple bruises he’d left on your fragile skin the night before, leaving them angry, throbbing, and bright red.

​The sharp burst of pain combined with the overpowering rush of the gear causes a tear to slip from your eye, cutting a clean line through the blood smeared across your cheek. But you don't sob. You don't beg. Instead, a breathless, broken laugh bubbles up from your chest, and your lips curl into a wide, venomous smile against the drywall. You love the weight of him crushing you. You love the agony of it.

​"Is that... all you've got, Matty?" you wheeze out, your voice laced with pure, unadulterated malice and ecstasy. "You're fucking weak."

​The moment the words leave your mouth, you tilt your head down just enough and spit. A thick, dark glob of his own blood splatters onto the dusty floorboards right beneath your face, a visceral, crimson stain marking your defiance.

That completely snaps the last thread of his sanity. Matty lets out a roar, a sound of pure, unbridled fury and desperation. While keeping both of your tiny wrists pinned helplessly behind your back with one hand, his other hand shifts, reaching up to fist itself brutally into your hair. He uses his grip on your strands to yank your head back at an agonizing angle, exposing your throat while his hips begin to batter into you with a speed that makes the room spin.

​Your hips hitch frantically against the wall, your clit buzzing, on the absolute precipice of a violent release. Matty feels you trembling, feels the heat pouring out of you, and his grip on your wrists goes completely rigid as his own climax hits him like a freight train.

​"You're twitching, love... you're fucking choking me," he snarls against your neck, his voice dropping into a dark, guttural rasp, thick with filth and malice. He rams his pelvis hard against your arse, pinning you so deep you can barely breathe. "Yeah, take it. Take every fucking drop of it. I’m going to fill you so full of my fucking cum it’s going to leak down your thighs, you hear me? I’m going to coat your insides, breed you like the dirty little whore you are, and mark you so deep you’ll never get the fucking smell of me off you."

​He gives one last, massive, depraved shove, his hips slamming flat against you as his own release rips through him.

The past few days had been a heavy, suffocating blur. Depression had a way of shrinking your world until you felt completely isolated, locked inside your own head. You hadn’t reached out to anyone, shutting your phone off and burying yourself beneath the blankets because a dark, persistent voice kept whispering that it wasn't worth the trouble. That you were just a burden.

​But Saturday morning brought a quiet crack in the darkness.

​The heavy wooden door to your bedroom creaked open, moving painfully slow. George was trying his absolute best to be stealthy, but his tall, broad frame and the sheer size of his boots made it an impossible task. The old floorboards groaned loudly under his weight with every hesitant step he took, completely betraying his attempt at a silent surprise. ​The noise gently pulled you out of your heavy, dreamless sleep. Fluttering your eyes open, the first thing you saw through the dim morning light was George, moving toward you with a slightly clumsy care, looking so incredibly large in the cozy space of your room.

​As soon as he noticed your eyes were open, a soft, apologetic smile spread across his face. He moved to the edge of the mattress, and the entire bed sank heavily under his weight as he sat down beside you. Before saying a word, he leaned over, his hair brushing against your cheek as he pressed a long, warm, grounding kiss right against your forehead.

​When he pulled back, he carefully extended his hands. In one, he held your absolute favorite coffee from Starbucks, the warmth radiating through the cardboard sleeve, and in the other, a fresh, golden croissant, still warm from the bakery.

​"Morning, love," he murmured, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble, thick with sleep and endless tenderness. "I hope I didn't wake you up too early.”

You looked up at him, the weight of the last few days making your chest tight, and for a moment, the words trapped inside your throat wouldn’t come out. "George, I... you didn't have to do this. I've just been... not really feeling like myself lately. I didn't want to bother you."

​George didn't press for details, nor did he make you explain the heavy cloud hanging over your head. He just looked down at you, his soft eyes instantly softening even more with complete understanding. He got it. Instead of asking questions, he simply reached for the remote on the nightstand and turned on the television, scrolling quietly until he found a comforting, familiar movie to play in the background. ​With a gentle sigh, he kicked off his heavy boots and stretched his long legs out onto the mattress, sliding down until he was lying right beside you.

​You were still in your pajamas—a delicate, soft black satin and lace camisole with matching shorts. The dark fabric contrasted sharply against the pale sheets, and though you felt vulnerable, the warmth radiating from his body made the cold room feel instantly safer.

​As the opening credits of the movie began to roll, George shifted closer. One of his hands, warm and slightly calloused, found its way to your bare shoulder. His long fingers began to trace slow, soothing circles against your skin, smoothing away the tension before gliding gently inward to follow the delicate line of your collarbone. You let out a shaky breath, finally melting under his touch, as he leaned down to press a succession of soft, feather-light kisses along your shoulder, slowly working his way up the sensitive curve of your neck. ​He pulled back just an inch, enough to look down into your eyes. When he smiled, his eyes crinkled at the corners, crunched up and warm, and you could see that endearing, familiar little gap between his front teeth. It was a expression that always made him look so soft, so completely yours.

​"I just want to take care of you," he murmured against your skin. His voice was incredibly deep and gravelly, a low rumble that resonated through his chest, yet it carried an unexpected, velvety softness meant only for you. "Let me just make you feel better for a little while. You don't have to carry it all by yourself."

The movie playing on the television faded into mere background noise, replaced entirely by the sound of the rain tapping against the window and the heavy, synchronized rhythm of your breathing.

​George’s hand left your collarbone, starting a slow, deliberate descent. His touch was feather-light, barely skimming the surface of your skin, yet it left a trail of electric warmth in its wake. He moved down your chest, tracing the edge of your black lace camisole, before sliding down to your stomach. You involuntary held your breath as his palm smoothed over your skin, dipping just beneath your belly button, teasing the waistband of your satin shorts.

​He hadn't touched anything intimate yet, but the agonizingly slow pace was already working you up. A deep, blooming ache settled in your lower belly, and a sudden flush rushed through your veins. Instinctively, your hips tilted upward, pushing forward in a subtle, desperate plea to bridge the small gap between your body and his touch.

​A soft, low rumble vibrated in his chest at your reaction—a sound of pure appreciation. He slid his hand lower, his fingers trailing down the bare skin of your inner thighs, spreading them slightly with the gentlest pressure.

​He leaned down, his lips brushing right against the shell of your ear as his warm breath fanned over your skin. "You feel so warm, love... so beautiful," he whispered, his deep, gravelly voice dripping with adoration. "Just lay back"

Instead of finding the words, you simply let out a small, shaky whimper against his neck, nodding your head slowly against his chest. Your fingers tangled tightly into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him just a fraction closer, letting your body answer for you. Propping himself up on one elbow, he hovered over you, his gaze shifting down to the delicate fabric of your pajamas. With slow, reverent movements, his fingers hooked beneath the hem of your shirt, sliding it up over your ribs to expose your chest to the cool morning air. George leaned down immediately to chase away the chill, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. His lips moved toward your breast, his breath fanning over you just a second before his teeth found your already erect nipple, catching it in a tiny, devastatingly soft bite. As he did, a low, gravelly rumble vibrated deep within his throat—a quiet, breathless sound that was half-sigh, half-sexy chuckle, thick with appreciation.

​He lingered there for a moment, his tongue swirling playfully over the tip, making your toes curl against the sheets, before he began tracing a slow line of wet kisses down the center of your stomach.

​Your hips flexed instinctively as his breath moved lower, his hands reaching out to anchor you. His palms spanned nearly the entire width of your hips, holding you firmly yet gently against the mattress as he moved between your thighs. He parted the soft lace of your shorts, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of your pubis first, peppering it with soft, feather-light kisses before his lips nudged against your clit.

​He pressed a tender kiss right there, making your breath hitch. "Do you like that, love?" he murmured, his deep voice muffled against your skin, sending a physical jolt through you.

​You could feel yourself growing slick and wet beneath his gaze, completely opening up for him. "Yes... please," you breathed out, your voice trembling and entirely undone.

​Hearing your answer, George leaned back down and took your center directly between his lips. He began to suck softly, his tongue licking upward in slow, rhythmic strokes. Every time he swirled his tongue against you, he let out those low, guttural rumbles deep in his throat, sending intense, physical vibrations directly against your most sensitive spot.

​The sensation was overwhelming. Your hips arched pushing blindly against his mouth as you chased the relief of his tongue. A loud, unchecked moan escaped your lips. Satisfied with your reaction, he slid his tongue lower, smoothing a long, wet stripe down to your entrance, finding you completely soaked and ready just for him. George’s dedication to making you forget everything else was unwavering, his focus entirely narrowed down to the space between your thighs. He dipped two of his long fingers into the slick warmth at your entrance, coating them completely in your heat. Then, without breaking the rhythm of his mouth, he lifted his hand up, bringing his glistening fingers right to your lips.

​"Taste yourself for me, love," he murmured against your skin, his voice a dark, muffled rumble.

​You opened your mouth instinctively, wrapping your tongue around his fingers, licking your own sweet, heavy juices from his skin. The taste, combined with the sight of him looking up at you through his lashes, sent a massive jolt of arousal straight to your core. Your hips twitched uncontrolably against his face.

​Satisfied, George brought his hand back down. He always kept his nails short and perfectly trimmed just for you, knowing how sensitive you were. He slowly slid one long finger inside your tight, soaking depth. At the same time, his lips locked back onto your little bundle of nerves, pulling it into his mouth with a firm, steady suction.

​A ragged gasp tore from your throat. Your hands flew to his head, your fingers tangling tightly into his hair, feeling the familiar, slightly coarse texture from all the times he’d dyed it.

​He kept his pace agonizingly deliberate at first. His finger stroked in and out, slick with your own wetness, before he added a second one, increasing the speed just a fraction. He synchronized the motion of his fingers with the deep, rhythmic pulling of his mouth, driving you absolutely wild. Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, George hooked his fingers upward inside you, deliberately bedroom-mapping your shape until he pressed firmly against your G-spot.

​The heat exploded from deep within you, a sudden, blinding wave of friction that made your entire body go taut. Your hips arched completely off the bed, pinning his mouth even tighter against you as the internal pressure began to coil rapidly, bringing you right to the absolute edge of a shattering climax.

​As your body began to tremble on the brink of release, George looked up at you, his eyes crinkled and full of an overwhelming warmth. He didn’t demand anything from you; instead, he kept his fingers hooked upward, stroking that sweet spot with a steady, grounding rhythm as his mouth maintained its gentle suction.

​"Let it go, sweet girl," he murmured against your skin, his deep voice carrying a soft, protective undertone that completely disarmed you. "Just let it happen. I’ve got you."

​The release hit you in violent, beautiful waves. Your muscles clamped tightly around his fingers as a deep, breathless cry escaped your lips, your hands gripping his shoulders for dear life. You completely flooded against his mouth, your body pulsing through an intense, lingering climax that seemed to wash away days of heavy, stagnant sadness. George didn't pull away for a single second. Instead, he leaned into the rush, worshiping you through the peak and tenderly licking away every drop of your sweetness, taking care of you until the very last contraction subsided. Slowly, the room stopped spinning. George slid out from between your legs, his movements careful and unhurried. He climbed back up the mattress, his tall frame sliding under the heavy white feather duvet, and immediately pulled the plush, warm blanket up to your chin, wrapping you in a cozy cocoon.

​He opened his arms, and you didn't hesitate to slide right against him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. The bed sank comfortably under his weight as he secured you against his broad chest.

​With the movie softly playing in the background and the rain continuing to batter heavily against the windowpane, George began to stroke your hair. His large hand moved in slow, repetitive lines from the crown of your head down to your shoulders, untangling any stray strands with absolute patience. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss into your hair, inhaling deeply.

​"You're so safe with me, you know that?" he whispered into the quiet room, his gravelly voice vibrating beautifully against your cheek. He shifted slightly just to look down at you, that adorable little gap between his teeth showing in a gentle, reassuring smile. "You don't ever have to hide away from me when things get heavy. I love you, okay? Always."