I sitting and chatting with lovely @lulaaaaaaw and have idea.
Since the high school and uni I love vikings (eve I wrote bachelor thesis about them 💋) and also I statred watching the last kingdom which is better and more darker than vikings. Believe me gurls it's candy shop there!
So what if.....
Jimmy Crystal Vikings x Fem princess of England
Finan (we love Mark Rowley since SAS @bluntfriend) x Fem Vampire with Dracula
i saw that you’re taking requests… might i suggest… INCEL JIMMY‼️👀
basically, jimmy is a nasty incel who spends his days gaming, watching porn and jerking off. he’s a virgin, women don’t want him, and he hates them for it. oh and he’s like really fat, hairy and stinky… that part is so important
one day, he sees reader. reader is (plenty to choose from) an influencer/a streamer/a retail worker/a waitress/a barista
if she’s a waitress, for example she’s super nice to jimmy (of course it’s her job) but jimmy takes that as a hint, because no woman is ever nice to him.
if she’s a streamer, for example jimmy sees her stream and decides that she’s not like the other whores, she’s different.
anyways, he figures out her social media, starts heavily stalking her, eventually figures out where she lives.
kidnaps her, brings her to his filthy apartment/basement.
for the smut… GRAPHIC NONCON‼️ like i’m talking GRAPHIC, reader cries and screams, is completely disgusted by jimmy and doesn’t warm up to him at all.
really sloppy, forced kissing and jimmy kissing her all over, blowing raspberries on her belly etc. like body worship
jimmy forcing reader to rim him by sitting on her face… unwashed ass… if ur really brave you’ll add in some scat but i TOTALLY GET if not :3
jimmy making reader suck his cheesy dick🤤 and i’m talking CHEESY the smegma is there
jimmy going down on reader, taking forever to find her clit and being frustrated about it.
jimmy sucking on reader’s tits and demanding that she’d be his mummy. when she doesn’t obey he starts crying, suckling harder
and finally, fucking her in missionary, forcefully kissing her and drooling all over her. and like he’d be crushing her with his weight, round belly and chest smushed against hers.
in general he’d say things like ”you’re not like those other bitches” and ”the guys you used to date are just asshole chads, i’m better” so INCEL BEHAVIOR
ik this is A LOTTTTTTT but you know… if ur into it👀
Whoa!
First I'm keen you give me request I feel honored? I can figured out something, maybe stalker Incel jimmy but for me it's must be good with myself and mine feeling of writing and characters I bring. It's challenge but I can figure out something. Lemme know if you ok with that hon. It's gonna be stalker Jimmy, with some kinks but not hardcore couse I don't feel it I can croos my line 💋
Pink and purple neon sliced through the smoke, stinging my eyes. The world had technically ended twenty-eight years ago when the Bone Temple exploded, but now? Now, things were just mixed. Cybernetic monstrosities, rogue robots, and retinal scanners shared the streets with the infected, who were bought and sold like slabs of meat. In the middle of this beautiful, chaotic hell, there was me. Sunshine.
I didn't remember where I came from or how I survived. All I knew was that the devils ruled this crazy cyber world. And he was the worst of them. Jimmy Crystal. Oh, pardon me. Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal. He demanded the full title, always.
I worked as a stripper at the Glass Glass, the only club left that featured real, breathing human dancers instead of cold, hollow holograms. Humanity was scarce, but people still needed to feel. They needed to touch. Jimmy was no exception.
The rumors said he belonged to some twisted cult, that he danced with Old Nick himself, and carried a mountain of bodies on his conscience. I didn't care. He gave me good tips, and in this world, that’s what kept you alive. Sure, he was eccentric—stalking around in a purple velour tracksuit, dripping in heavy gold necklaces, rings on every finger, and a literal tiara perched on his blonde hair. The other girls were terrified of him, of his erratic moods and that sharp, sadistic smile. But I wasn't. My kindness seemed to be the only thing that could anchor a monster like him. Whenever his heavy boots stepped into the club, his raw Scottish accent would echo over the bass: “Sunshine, lass.”
Until tonight.
Tonight, the Glass Glass was wild. I gripped the chrome pole, sliding down it with a slow, practiced grind. The cyber-mirrors were active, broadcasting my silhouette to the patrons.
Ding. Ding.
A high-roller token hit the stage. A half-cybernetic corpo rat in a synthetic tie was staring at me, drooling. I stepped closer, biting my lip provocatively, letting the neon catch the curves of my body. Dropping to my knees, I arched my back and began to shake my ass, slow and hypnotic. I giggled at the sheer desperation in his eyes.
"Enjoying the show?" I purred.
Before he could answer, the air in the room shifted. Cold. Violent.
"Not as much as you're going to enjoy mine, lass."
The raw, Scottish growl cut through the music like a blade. I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat.
The corpo rat was already on the floor. Jimmy had smashed his face into the cyber-mirror. Blood and shattered glass spilled from the man’s nose and cheeks, mixing with the neon light on the floor. The man groaned, but Jimmy didn't even look down at him. He just wiped a drop of rogue blood off his gold rings, his piercing eyes locked entirely on me.
I swallowed hard, the heat of the stage suddenly turning into ice. The crowd in the immediate area went dead silent, stepping back. Nobody intervened when Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal was on a tear.
"Jimmy..." I breathed, my chest heaving as I stayed on my knees, looking up at him.
He stepped over the groaning corpo rat, his heavy boots leaving bloody prints on the stage. The gold chains around his neck clinked musically, a stark contrast to the absolute fury rolling off him. He stopped right at the edge of the stage, towering over me. He tilted his head, the tiara catching the purple neon.
"What did I tell ye about shakin' what’s mine for the trash, Sunshine?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft, dripping with that thick Scottish brogue. He reached out, his gloved hand gripping my chin tightly, forcing my face up. His thumb pressed hard against my bottom lip, right where I had bitten it for the other man. "You look at me like that. Only me. Understand?"
I shuddered, the dominance in his voice sending a thrilling, terrifying spike of adrenaline through my veins. I was entirely at his mercy here, exposed and submissive under his heavy gaze.
"I was just doing my job, Sir," I whispered, playing into the game, my voice trembling just enough to feed his ego.
A dark, slow smile spread across Jimmy’s face. He liked the title. He liked the fear, but more than that, he liked the absolute control he had over me.
"Your job is to please me," he murmured, his grip softening just a fraction, tracing my jawline with a gold-ringed finger. He reached into his pocket and tossed a thick stack of high-value cyber-credits onto my lap, burying me in wealth. "Clean yourself up, lass. You're coming to my private room. And you're going to remind me why I haven't burned this entire club to the ground yet."
I swallowed hard, my throat feelin' dry as I stared at the shimmerin' pink glass of the private chamber’s entrance. I stepped inside, the air suddenly thick and heavy. Jimmy was there, sprawled across the plush velvet sofa, a crystal glass of amber alcohol in his hand. He didn’t look up immediately, but the atmosphere in the room shifted the moment I crossed the threshold.
I moved to the center, wrappin' my hands around the cold metal of the private dance pole.
Finally, his eyes flicked to mine. That sadistic, lopsided smile slid across his face.
"Ye’re a real piece of work, Sunshine," he rumbled, his thick Scottish accent rollin' over the words like gravel. "Dancin’ for other men? Right in front o' me? Have ye no sense o' shame, lass?"
"I… uh… I…" My heart hammered against my ribs. "It wasn’t like that, Sir."
Jimmy’s brow furrowed, his expression darkenin' into somethin' predatory. He tossed his drink aside, the glass rattlin' on the table.
"Not like that? Then what was it, eh? Enlighten me, if ye think ye can talk your way out o' this."
I didn't answer with words. I gripped the pole, locked my gaze onto his, and dropped low, lettin' my hips sway in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. I knew the white fishnets were a weakness of his—I saw his pupils dilate as he watched the movement.
A guttural, aggressive groan ripped from his throat. In a flash, he was off the sofa, his hands latchin' onto my waist with bruisin' force. He hauled me off the pole and slammed me down onto his lap. I let out a sharp, involuntary moan, my hands flyin' to his shoulders.
He didn't waste a second. His hand shot up, fingers closin' around my throat—not hard enough to choke, but enough to claim ownership. I could feel his hot, ragged breath against my skin, smellin' of spirits and smoke. He leaned in, his tongue tracin' a slow, wet line from my collarbone up to my jaw, his eyes burnin' with a mix of madness and hunger.
Then, with a blur of motion, he pulled a jagged blade from his tracksuit and held it right before my face, the metal glintin' under the pink neon.
"Old Nick was whisperin' in my ear," he growled, his voice a gravelly, terrifyin' purr against my ear. "Told me I oughta carve ye up for the disrespect, lass. Told me to let the blood flow for the sins ye've committed tonight."
He let the blade hover just millimeters from my cheek, his thumb caressin' my skin with terrifyin' tenderness.
"But I’m a merciful king, aye? And I’ve got other plans for ye tonight."
He crushed his lips to mine, the kiss hungry, sloppy, and tasting of expensive, bitter spirits. It wasn't a gentle greeting; it was a territorial claim.
"Mphm!"
I choked on a gasp as his hand tightened around my throat, his grip unforgiving. My eyes flew open, locking with his—his gaze was wild, manic, and absolutely possessive. He pulled back just an inch, his eyes raking over my flushed face.
"Wet," he murmured, his Scottish lilt thick and guttural, vibrating against my skin. "Aye, you’re very wet, aren't ye, lass?"
Before I could breathe, he slid a gold-ringed finger into the tight line of my panties. He didn't stop there. With a sudden, savage movement, he grabbed the blade he’d been brandishing and hooked the tip into the lace at my hip. With one clean, aggressive pull, he tore the white fishnet and the lace beneath it, exposing me to the cold air of the private room.
He didn't stop; he ran the flat, cold side of the knife blade slowly down the sensitive skin between my legs, tracing the shape of me until he reached the lace again, pressing the metal firmly against me.
"You’ve been a bad, bad girl," he growled, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register that made my blood run cold and hot all at once.
"And you know well that when a lass acts out, she deserves a punishment."
He leaned in close, his nose brushing against mine, his eyes gleaming with a sadistic, twisted pleasure.
"Please, Sir..." I gasped, my voice trembling, tears pricking at my eyes from the sheer intensity of the sensation. "I... I’ll never do that again, I swear..."
He jammed the dull, cold steel of the blade between my legs, and a sharp, shuddering moan tore from my chest. My fingers dug deep into his velvet-clad shoulders, my knuckles turning white as I fought to steady myself against his relentless dominance.
Jimmy let out a harsh, jagged laugh, his eyes darkening with a feverish, cruel delight. He leaned in, his stubble grazing my ear as he whispered, "Oh, aye? You’re beggin’ now, are ye? I love that, lass. I love hearin’ you plead when you know you’re mine."
He held the handle of the knife with a steady, practiced hand, the cold metal shifting inside me. He began to twist it, the flat, rounded pommel of the blade pressing firmly against my sensitive folds, working them in a rhythmic, deliberate massage that forced me to arch my back against him. Every time I whimpered, he’d press harder, his thumb tracing the lace he’d torn, ensuring I couldn't escape his touch.
"You’re beggin’ like a good little thing," he crooned, his Scottish brogue thick and syrupy, dripping with malice and desire. "But you know the rules, Sunshine. A dance for another man... that’s a debt you’ve gotta pay. And I’m the only one who collects."
He increased the pressure of the blade, his movements becoming more frantic and demanding. The contrast between the cold metal and the heat of his skin against mine was maddening, leaving me completely undone.
"Does it feel good, being broken in, lass?" he growled against my neck, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine.
-You think you can dance for others huh? Your mine!
“Yes, yes Sir” - I moaned loudly and started bucking my hips into a blade. It was a strange cold feeling but I liked it.
My eyes were open when he dig not one not two, but three fingers inside you and burred them deep
"Yes... yes, Sir!" I shrieked, the sound muffled by my own gasps as I began to buck my hips against the rhythmic slide of the steel. It was a bizarre, chilling sensation—that razor-cold metal tracing my heat—but it sparked a fire in me that I couldn't extinguish.
Jimmy’s eyes widened, his nostrils flaring as he watched me fall apart for him. He moved faster, his movements jagged and unrelenting. To get better access, he splayed me wide with his gold-ringed fingers, his grip bruising against my inner thighs.
SLAP.
The sharp, stinging impact of his open palm against my sensitive skin made me cry out, my head whipping back.
"Count, lass," he hissed, his Scottish accent like a serrated blade. "Count the payment for your sin."
"O-one," I sobbed, my voice trembling.
He struck me again, harder, the heat radiating where he hit. "Two."
With every strike, the contrast between the freezing blade and the burning sting of his palm sent waves of liquid pleasure through me. I was melting, my body betraying me, soaking the velvet of his tracksuit. By the time I reached ten, the world was a blur of neon and pain. Tears tracked through my smudged mascara, leaving dark, ruined streaks down my cheeks.
"Good girl," he growled, the praise dripping with possessive malice. "Now... come for me."
I didn't have to be told twice. My control shattered. But Jimmy wasn't finished with the game. Just as I crested, he shoved not one, not two, but three of his fingers deep inside me, burying them to the knuckles, anchoring me to his lap. He felt me spasm and collapse around him, a shuddering, ruined mess.
He leaned forward, his face inches from mine, his blue eyes icy and burning with a terrifying, absolute claim.
"You think you can dance for another, eh?" he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that echoed in my bones. "You think you’re free to be looked at by the likes of that rat?"
He twisted his fingers inside me, making me gasp and arch my back.
"Look at me, Sunshine. Keep your eyes on me! You’re mine. My little toy, my little prize
He didn't slow his pace; if anything, he became more relentless, his fingers pumping in and out of me with a rhythmic, demanding force that left me gasping for air. The sensation was overwhelming, a tidal wave of friction and heat that climbed higher and higher until my head fell back, my eyelids fluttering toward the white, and my vision splintered into shards of neon light.
"Look at ye," he rasped, his Scottish brogue thick with a mix of cruel adoration and unbridled lust. "Like a fallen angel, darlin'. Old Nick himself would love ya, aye... he'd love to drag a prize like you down to the depths."
I couldn't help the sound that tore from my throat—a shattered, broken moan that echoed against the small, cramped walls of the room. The tide of pleasure hit me, a violent, electric surge that radiated from where his fingers were buried deep inside. I lost all ability to hold myself together; my body began to tremble, every muscle locked in a frantic, uncontrollable spasm.
"Oh yes! Oh, yeeeeees!" I cried out, my voice cracking under the intensity.
Jimmy’s expression shifted, his face twisting into a mask of triumph as he watched me completely unravel. He didn't pull back—he pressed deeper, feeding on my reaction, drinking in the sight of his "Sunshine" broken and gasping on his lap. He thrived on it, the way I completely surrendered to the punishment and the pleasure alike.
"That's it, lass," he growled, his voice a low, vibrating rumble against my skin. "Give it all to me.
He didn't give me a moment to catch my breath. His fingers coiled into my hair, pulling sharply until my head tilted back, exposing my throat to him. He dragged me off the sofa and across the floor, forcing me onto the small, circular platform at the base of the pole.
When the haze of the orgasm finally started to recede, I cracked my eyes open. His purple velour jacket lay on the floor, and his white tank top was damp with exertion. His trousers were slung dangerously low, exposing the raw, thick dick. I wasn't sure if my body could handle more, but the electric charge between us was intoxicating. Even through the fear, a desperate, dark craving pulsed in my stomach, demanding more of his sadistic attention.
"Do the pose," he rasped. His Scottish brogue was heavy, thick with the weight of his command.
My knees hit the platform with a dull thud. I reached up, my palms sliding against the cold metal of the pole, and twisted my torso. I arched my spine, letting my weight shift until my curves were perfectly displayed for him. I felt like a sacrificial offering, waiting for the blade.
Jimmy loomed over me, his silhouette casting a long, jagged shadow across the neon-soaked room. He paced slowly, He didn't touch me yet; he simply let his gaze crawl over the reddened skin of my inner thighs and the ruined lace of my lingerie.
"Aye, look at ye," he murmured, his voice a low, vibrating growl that seemed to echo inside my very bones. "A broken little doll, waitin' to be told her worth."
He stepped between my splayed legs, his knees pinning my thighs into the platform. He reached out, his calloused palm tracing the line of my hipbone, his heavy gold rings scraping ever so slightly against my skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
He tightened his grip on my hair just enough to command my absolute attention.
"Look at me," he demanded, his blue eyes flashing with a terrifying, possessive intensity.
The friction was maddening, his heavy, thick cock stretching me to my absolute limit. I gasped as he hit every sensitive pussy nerve, his rhythm brutal and calculated. He knew exactly how to make me unravel, and I loved every agonizing second of it.
He lunged forward, teeth baring as he sank them into the soft skin of my shoulder. The sting was electric—a sharp, searing heat—and before the pain could even register, I felt his tongue dragging over the puncture, lapping up the tiny, crimson beads of blood. The taste of copper and sweat was intoxicating. His pace accelerated, his hips slamming into mine with a relentless, mechanical force. My body was a ruin of pleasure, my walls spasming and hungrily swallowing him, clutching at him as if I couldn't bear to let him out.
"Aye, that's it, lass!" he growled, his voice a guttural, primal sound vibrating against my neck. "Swallow it all! You’re mine, you hear me? Only mine!"
The room blurred. The pink and purple neons danced behind my eyelids, dissolving into white-hot flashes. I couldn't stop the moans; they ripped from my throat, raw, sloppy, and unbidden. My head was spinning as his pace became manic, a desperate, driving rhythm that left me no room to breathe.
Suddenly, he gripped my hips, his gold-ringed fingers digging into my flesh, and he thrust deep, burying himself to the hilt. A low, animalistic snarl tore from his chest as he surged, spilling his white sperm into me, filling me until I felt like I was being claimed from the inside out. I collapsed against the pole, my knees giving out as a tidal wave of pleasure shattered what was left of my composure.
He didn't pull away. He held me pinned, his chest heaving, his breath ragged and hot against my ear. As his pulse began to slow, he leaned in, his lips wet and stained, and pressed a firm, territorial kiss against the mark he’d left on my shoulder.
He pulled back just enough to catch my gaze in the cyber-mirror. His face was a mask of dark, triumphant hunger, his eyes burning with an icy, possessive flame. He reached down and roughly dragged his discarded purple velour jacket off the floor, wrapping it around my shoulders, effectively cocooning me in his scent—the smell of expensive alcohol, steel, and him.
He swept me up into his arms, ignoring the mess we’d made, ignoring the club outside.
He buried his face into the crook of my neck, his hand clamping onto the base of my skull with a cruel, possessive force that left no room for resistance. Im his Lilith, His my Devil. And Lord have mercy. I burn the whole world after him.
I have terrible heat in my country so I cannot think straight, but don't worry, in the middle of the week it's getting colder so my dirty mind is coming to work. So hide your daughter's cause Jimmy and Cook smuts coming🔥
“Cook’s a very, like, larger-than-life character… Selfish, completely selfish, but in a fun way as well. You can look at Cook and laugh with him and at him, instead of hating him for how selfish and unsympathetic and inconsiderate he is. As long as it’s party time for Cook, then it doesn’t really matter.” - Jack O’Connell
The cheap neon light from the motel sign buzzed outside the window, casting a sickly greenish glow across the peeling wallpaper. Lion Kaminski sat on the edge of the saggy mattress,unwrapping the blood-stained tape from his knuckles. His body throbbed from the beating he’d taken in the ring, but the win was in the bag.
The motel room door burst open, and Stan walked in, practically radiating high-energy sleaze.
"Presenting the man of the hour! The champion!" - Stan cheered, stepping aside with a theatrical flourish.
Behind him stood a girl who looked entirely out of place in a run-down dollar-motel. Her silver hair caught the neon light, framing a sharp, striking face. A dark, intricate dragon tattoo coiled its way up her tight, disappearing beneath a dark pink, alternative outfit that looked part punk, part high-end seduction. She just stand behind.
Lion froze, his eyes darting from her to his brother.
"Stan, what the hell is this?"- Lion grunted, standing up from the bed.
"It's a celebration, kid! VIP treatment,"
Stan said, leaning in and lowering his voice, though not quiet enough.
"Paid for by yours truly. The best money can buy. She’s all yours tonight."
"No. Absolutely not," - Lion protested immediately, his voice rising, thick with frustration. He pointed a taped finger toward the door.
"Get her out of here, Stan. I don't want a hooker. I told you, I just wanted to wash the blood off and sleep. I'm not doing this."
The silver-haired girl didn't flinch or look offended; she just tilted her head, a faint, amused smirk playing on her lips as she watched the brothers bicker over her presence
She stepped fully into the dingy motel roo, her dark eyes locking directly onto Lion's tense, battered face.
As she looked at him, the gears in Lion’s head suddenly shifted. The initial anger faded, replaced by a look of sheer, stunned disbelief. His eyes traveled from her sharp silver hair down to the dark dragon tattoo on her neck, and the realization hit him like a physical blow.
He knew her.
She wasn't just some random girl from a street corner. She was the girl from that premium cam site and OnlyFans page he spent late nights staring at on his phone when he couldn't sleep. The one he secretly threw his hard-earned fight money at, donating to her streams from time to time just to hear her say his username.
Stan, completely oblivious to the sudden, heavy tension in the room, rolled his eyes and clapped Lion on his sore shoulder.
"Oh, come on, Lion! Don't be a damn baby," Stan scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. "It's a gift from your big brother. I busted my ass setting this up."
Lion's throat went completely dry, his eyes glued to her. "Stan, seriously, I..."
"No 'buts,' kid. Look at her!" Stan grinned, leaning in and gesturing toward her alternative, dark pink look. "I know your damn taste. It's exactly that weird, premium anime shite you're always clicking on when you think I'm not looking. See? Your big bro takes care of you. Now shut up, relax, and enjoy the win."
The heavy wooden door clicked shut behind Stan, leaving the room dead silent except for the low buzz of the neon sign outside.
You didn't look bothered at all. You just smiled, the sharp tips of your long, dark pink nails clicking together with a rhythmic, teasing sound.
"Hi," you murmured, your voice smooth and completely relaxed. "I'm Chi-chi."
Lion’s throat felt like sandpaper. He knew exactly who you were. Of course he knew. Seeing you on a tiny, cracked phone screen in the dark was one thing, but having you stand right here in his crummy motel room was entirely different. His jaw tense, his eyes traced the sharp line of your silver hair down to that familiar dragon tattoo.
You took a slow, deliberate step closer to him, the fabric of your alternative outfit shifting over your skin. With a playful glint in your eyes, you turned your back to him for a brief second, shaking your hips in a slow, teasing sway that highlighted every single curve.
You turned back around, looking up at him through your lashes.
"Can I sit?" you asked softly, gesturing toward the edge of the saggy mattress.
Lion swallowed hard, his knuckles still wrapped in bloody tape. He cleared his throat, trying to find his voice.
"Yeah," he rasped, his usual tough-guy exterior completely crumbling. - "Yeah, go ahead"
You let out a soft, amused giggle at his obvious nervousness, the sound cutting right through the tense air of the room. Moving with effortless confidence, you slid onto the edge of the mattress right next to him.
The scent of your perfume—sweet, with a sharp, dark edge—instantly overwhelmed the smell of stale sweat and cheap motel cleaner.
You leaned in closer, tilting your head up to inspect his battered face. Your dark eyes traced the swelling on his cheekbone and the raw skin of his knuckles.
"You won your fight," you murmured, a teasing smile playing on your lips. "That was cute."
Lion's breath caught in his throat. He looked like he was staring at a ghost, his broad shoulders locking up as you sat close enough that your bare skin almost brushed his arm.
Before he could even process the compliment, you leaned a fraction closer, your long, dark pink nails tapping lightly against your own knee.
"And... thank you for the donates."
Lion froze completely, his face instantly heating up beneath the bruises. His tough fighter persona shattered entirely. He opened his mouth, then closed it, utterly mortified that you actually recognized him from his screen name.
"You... you know about that?" he rasped, his voice dropping an octave as he looked down at you, completely captivated and entirely at your mercy.
"Yes, baby," you purred, a soft, knowing laugh escaping your lips.
"You're at the very top of my fan leaderboard. And the username Lion Boxer? It wasn't exactly hard to piece together once Stan told me who you were."
Lion’s eyes went wide, a dark flush creeping up his neck and flooding his cheeks. The fierce, terrifying boxer who had just pulverized a man in the ring was suddenly completely defenseless. You didn't give him a chance to overthink it. Shifting your weight, you slid off the edge of the mattress and sank onto your knees right between his thighs. You reached up, your long, dark pink nails cool against his heated skin as you gently but firmly grabbed his chin, forcing him to look down directly into your eyes.
"You look so cute," you whispered, your thumb brushing just below the purple bruise on his cheekbone.
Lion let out a ragged, shaky breathhis large hands hovering just over your waist, completely paralyzed by how close you were.
"Chi-chi..." he rasped, his voice thick and rough. You're... you're real."
"Yes, baby,"- you purred, leaning into his touch just enough to let him feel your warmth.-Your Chi-chi is completely real."
Without a single word of warning, you shifted your weight and slid right up into his lap, straddling his thick thighs.
The sudden movement made Lion catch his breath, his hands instinctively coming up to brace against your hips to keep you steady.
Sitting on top of him, you casually reached into the low neckline of your alternative outfit, using your long pink nails to adjust your heavy breasts where they spilled over the edges of a sheer black lace bra.
Lion’s eyes completely locked onto your chest, his jaw dropping slightly as his brain went into absolute overdrive.
The tough-guy fighter was totally paralyzed beneath you.
You looked right back up into his dark, blown-out pupils, a wicked, confident smirk crossing your lips.
"So," you whispered, leaning in close enough that your breath fanned across his lips. "Are we gonna talk... or are we gonna fuck?"
The sudden, sharp grip caught him completely off guard. You reached up, your long nails digging firmly into his hair as you grabbed his scalp and yanked his head back with a harsh, demanding tug, forcing him to look directly up into your eyes.
"I asked a question," you repeated, your voice dropping into a low, commanding purr that brooked absolutely no argument.
Lion swallowed hard, his breath hitching in his throat. The sting in his scalp and the sheer dominance in your posture sent a violent jolt of heat straight to his core.
His large, wrapped hands tightened around your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he stared up at you with dark, completely blown-out pupils.
"We're gonna fuck," he rasped, his voice thick, rough, and entirely certain. "We're definitely fucking, Chi-chi."
"-good boxer," you purred, a satisfied smirk spreading across your lips. You let out a soft, delighted giggle at his obedience and leaned forward, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss right against his forehead, avoiding his bruised cheek.
Lion’s chest rose and fell in heavy, ragged expansions, his hands still gripping your hips like a lifeline. He was completely under your spell, his dark eyes tracking your every single breath. Seeing how intensely he was staring, you canted your hips forward slightly, pressing yourself firmer into his lap.
"Oh... you liked them?" you asked, your voice dropping into a teasing, airy whisper.
Without waiting for an answer, you arched your back and gave your shoulders a soft, deliberate shimmy, shaking your heavy breasts a little so they bounced temptingly within the tight frames of your black lace bra. Lion let out a low, pathetic sound from the back of his throat, his jaw clenching so hard the muscles in his neck strained. His eyes stayed glued to the rhythmic bounce of your chest, his large hands trembling slightly against your skin as he fought the urge to just rip your clothes off.
Even though he had spoken up, Lion was still completely shy beneath you. His large hands stayed glued to your hips, his broad shoulders tensing as a dark flush stayed rooted on his cheeks. He was a powerhouse in the ring, but sitting under your gaze in a dim motel room had him totally overwhelmed and flustered.
Seeing how intensely—and nervously—he was staring, you canted your hips forward a little more. Lion let out a low, choked sound from the back of his throat, his eyes darting down to your chest before he quickly looked up at your eyes again, his jaw clenching hard. He swallowed, utterly captivated but still too shy to just reach out and grab you without permission.
"Yeah," he mumbled, his voice dropping into a rough, quiet whisper as his fingers twitched against your waist. "Yeah, Chi-chi... I like them a lot
You let out a loud, delighted giggle at his shy confession, your heart melting a little at how a guy who just broke someone's ribs in the ring could be so incredibly flustered by you. Reaching up, you cupped both of his rough cheeks in your hands and gave them a playful, firm squeeze, forcing his lips to pout out slightly.
"You are so damn cute," you cooed, staring at his wide, dark eyes.
Before he could even attempt a clumsy reply, you leaned in. You darted the tip of your tongue out, licking along the seam of his full. Lion let out a sharp, ragged gasp at the touch, and you used that exact split second of surprise to capture his mouth entirely.
You kissed him hungry. Your tongue slid into his mouth, claiming him fiercely.
The shyness in Lion's body instantly snapped. A low, guttural growl ripped from his chest, and his large, tape-wrapped hands locked onto your waist with a bruising grip, pulling your hips so hard against his lap that you could feel every single inch of how desperately he wanted you
The sudden intensity of the kiss left both of you panting, your lips parting with a wet, heavy friction. Lion’s chest was heaving against yours, his eyes dark, blown-out, and fixed entirely on your mouth. The sheer heat of your tongue seemed to finally burn away the last of his nervous hesitation.
Gathering up every bit of bravery he had, his grip tightened on your hips, his large fingers digging firmly into your skin. He didn't look down or flush this time; he looked right into your eyes, his jaw set.
"So," he rasped, his voice rough, deep, and thick with a sudden, heavy confidence. "Are we just gonna keep talking, Chi-chi... or are we actually gonna fuck?"
A wicked, thrilled smile spread across your face at the sudden change in his attitude. The shy boxer was finally biting back
"-mmm, rawr. I like it," you purred against his lips, a wicked thrill shooting through you at his sudden burst of confidence.
You didn't give him a second to change his mind. You leaned right back in and kissed him again—this time, it was completely sloppy and deep. Your tongues tangled hungrily, the wet friction of the kiss echoing in the quiet, dingy motel room. Lion let out a low, needy groan into your mouth, his hands locking onto your waist to hold you steady as you took complete control. While keeping him utterly dazed with your mouth, your long, dark pink nails scrambled down to the hem of his sweaty shirt.
You gripped the fabric firmly and yanked it upward. Lion instinctively broke the kiss for just a fraction of a second, lifting his heavy arms so you could rip the shirt completely over his head and toss it carelessly onto the dirty motel floor.
The moment his bare torso was exposed, you leaned right back in, pressing your chest against his broad, muscular chest. His skin was burning hot, covered in a light sheen of sweat from the fight, and you could feel his heart hammering like a trapped bird right against your ribs
Lion let out a rough groan as his bare skin met yours. The last of his hesitation vanished. His large, heavy hands reached up and gripped your breasts, squeezing them tightly as he buried his face in your chest. He began kissing and sucking desperately right over the sheer fabric of your black lace bra, soaking the material as his tongue lashed against your nipples.
He groaned in frustration, his thick fingers clumsily clawing at the bra's straps and hooks. He couldn't get the damn thing off, the fabric catching on his rough wraps.
"Fuck," he growled out, cursing under his breath as he struggled with the lace.
"Easy," you cooed with a wicked giggle.
You pushed his hands out of the way and expertly unhooked the bra yourself, tossing it to the side. Your heavy breasts spilled free, completely bare in the dim, greenish neon light.
Before you could even draw a breath, Lion surged forward and dived right back in. He took one full breast into his mouth, biting and licking hungrily, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin just enough to make you gasp. He moved from one to the other, marking you, completely obsessed.
"I always love your tits," he rasped out against your wet skin, his voice thick, desperate, and entirely breathless. "Fucking always, Chi-chi."
"Aww, thank you,"- you purred, running your long, dark pink nails through his hair as he worshipped your chest.
Shifting your weight, you slid off his lap and sat back on the edge of the mattress, gently pushing his chest to make him stand up in front of you. Lion stood there, bare-chested, his breath hitching as he looked down at you with dark, completely captivated eyes.
Your hands traveled down his muscular torso, your fingers sliding beneath the waistband of his grey sweatpants. The moment your palms brushed against the thick, heavy length straining against the fabric, a soft, involuntary moan escaped your lips. He was huge.
You looked up at him through your silver bangs, a wicked, teasing smirk playing on your lips.
Oh, Lion..." you cooed, your thumb tracing the hard shape through the cotton. "You liked it, huh? Or maybe... maybe I should just leave, like you said before?"
Lion’s jaw dropped, his hands instantly twitching at his sides. The sheer desperation on his face was agonizingly hot.
"No—Chi-chi, wait, don't," -
he rasped out, his voice cracking slightly as he practically begged you not to move an
"You were not polite," you chided playfully, giving his hip a gentle, teasing pinch with your long nails.
Without giving him another second to sweat, you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers together, tugging them firmly down his thick, muscular legs. They pooled around his ankles, leaving him completely bare and exposed to the dim neon light of the motel room.
You didn't make him wait. Leaning forward on the edge of the mattress, you wrapped your hand around his thick base and leaned in, your silver hair falling over your face as you darted your tongue out. You started licking right up his shaft, tasting the heat of his skin, running your tongue along the whole length of him with long, wet strokes.
Lion let out a loud, strangled groan that echoed off the cheap motel walls. His hands instantly flew to your shoulders, his knuckles white as his fingers dug into your skin just to keep his knees from buckling completely under the intense, sudden pleasure.
You looked up at him through your silver hair, your teeth sinking into the sensitive skin of his hip in a sharp, sudden bite that made him hiss and jump slightly.
"Mmm, you're gonna come in a while," you purred, looking at how much he was trembling.
With a wicked smirk, you gathered a bit of moisture in your mouth and spit directly onto the hard head of his shaft, smoothing it down with your thumb to slick him up. Lion let out a ragged, trembling gasp, completely overwhelmed by the raw, degrading filth of it.
You let out a soft, pleased moan, arching your back into his palm.
"Mmm..." you whispered, looking up into his dark, blown-out eyes with a teasing smile.
But the shock didn't last long. The fighter in him surged right back, and before you could slide your mouth back down his length, you felt his large, heavy hand slide up your inner thigh. His rough, tape-wrapped fingers hooked firmly into the edge of your panties, pressing hard against the damp heat building between your
"Kitty's fucking starving, Chi-chi," he rasped, his voice rough, desperate, and completely stripped of his earlier shyness. "Stop teasing me and let me eat."
A sharp, thrilled laugh left your throat at his sudden growl.
"Oh, is that so?" you whispered.
You didn't waste another second. You surged up from the bed, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and dragging him down into another wild, messy kiss. But the moment his weight shifted forward, a playful power struggle sparked between the two of you. You tried to twist, intending to pin him back down or keep him completely beneath your control, but Lion wasn't the same hesitant guy from a few minutes ago.
He was a boxer. Fighting for position was exactly what he was trained to do. Stan might have been his trainer, and you might have been his obsession, but right now, the raw adrenaline of the ring took over.
You wrestled against his heavy chest, laughing and gasping as you tried to keep the upper hand. But with a low, grunt of effort, Lion used his sheer mass to completely overwhelm you. He caught your wrists in one giant hand, pinning them back, and with a sudden, decisive shift of his weight, he drove you down onto the mattress.
Before you could even recover your breath, his thick legs slid between yours, blocking any chance of escape and forcing your thighs wide apart. You were completely pinned beneath his massive, sweating frame.
He leaned all his weight down, his breathing incredibly heavy, and buried his face right into the crook of your neck. His lips brushed your earlobe, and he rasped a filthy whisper directly into your ear:
"I'm gonna teach you a lesson for teasing me so much."
His hand slid down your belly, his rough, tape-wrapped fingers slipping past your panties to sink two fingers deep inside you. You let out a sharp, breathless gasp, arching your back off the bed as he immediately began to move inside you, demanding and heavy.
Lion didn't look away for a second, his dark eyes locked onto your face, watching your every reaction. He leaned down closer, his breath hot against your lips as he started dirty talking, his voice thick with months of built-up frustration.
"You have no idea how many times I sat in my room watching you online," he confessed roughly, driving his fingers deeper, making you whimper. "Staring at my screen, watching you show off... dreaming about finally getting my hands on you like this. And now you're right here under me."
With a sudden, rough surge of dominance, Lion let go of your wrists and grabbed a firm handful of your silver hair, guiding you to roll over onto the mattress. Before you could even protest, you were positioned face down, ass up, completely exposed to him.
He didn't hesitate. Raising his large, heavy hand, he brought it down in a few sharp, resounding spanks right across your bare cheeks. The loud smack echoed through the quiet room, leaving a stinging, deep heat behind.
"Fuck, your ass is fat," he growled out, his voice thick with a mix of awe and pure lust as he stared down at you.
Instead of being intimidated, the sting only made you wilder. You let out a delighted, breathless giggle, arching your lower back and deliberately shaking your hips a little, letting him see exactly how much you loved the control he was taking. Twisting your neck around, you looked back over your shoulder through your messy silver bangs, your eyes locked onto his dark, blown-out pupils with a wicked teasing smirk.
He spread your ass cheeks with his large, tape-wrapped hands, exposing you completely to the dim motel light, before suddenly driving his length forward in a full, heavy push that buried him completely inside you. The sudden fullness was staggering. You gasped, your hands instantly flying forward to grip the cheap, rough sheets as a loud, breathless moan tore from your throat.
"Lion—!" you gasped out, your knuckles turning white as you tried to catch your breath under his crushing weight.
But he cut you off instantly. Leaning his massive torso over your back, he clamped his hand firmly over your mouth, muffling your voice as he began to move. He drove into you with a heavy, relentless rhythm, his hips slamming hard against yours with the same raw power he used in the ring.
"Don't say my name like that, Chi-chi," he growled in your ear, his voice rough and completely feral. "Just take it"
Lion flattened his massive chest completely against your back, his heavy weight pinning you securely into the mattress. He buried his face against your skin, breathing in your scent as he began licking up the sensitive line of your neck and spine from behind, his hot tongue sending sharp shivers straight down to your core.
"Yes... my dirty girl likes it, huh?"- he growled out, his voice a low, rough vibration that rattled directly against your ribcage.
He didn't stop his relentless, heavy pace, his hips slamming into you from behind with a steady, punishing rhythm that had you completely helpless beneath him.
"What do you spend all those donates on, whore? Tell me," he demanded, his dirty talk getting meaner and sweeter all at once. "All those guys paying just to look at you... and I'm the one actually inside you."
The raw intensity of his words and the crushing weight of his body drove you completely over the edge. You couldn't hold it back anymore; you let out a loud, uninhibited moan that echoed off the cheap motel walls, your fingers desperately clawing at the tangled sheets as he drove you wild.
He couldn't wait another second. The sound of your loud, uninhibited moans seemed to drive him completely over the edge. Reaching forward, his large hand locked firmly into your silver hair, pulling back just enough to force you to arch your spine into a steep, agonizingly perfect curve.
You twisted your head back, your eyes wide and blinking through the blurred heat of the moment, looking right up at him. His face was flushed, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles were jumping, and his eyes were entirely black with lust.
He positioned himself heavily behind you, his thick thighs framing your hips, locking you into place so you couldn't move an inch.
And then you felt it.
The relentless, bruising force as he drove himself all the way in, completely bottoming out against you with a strength that made the entire bed creak violently against the wall.
"Oh my god..." you gasped out, the words completely choked out of you as your fingers shredded the cheap sheets, your upper body collapsing forward from the sheer intensity of the impact.
He was completely done being nice. Any trace of the hesitant, shy boxer from before was entirely gone, replaced by a raw, primal energy that took over the dim room. He was fucking you raw and incredibly fast, his hips hitting yours with a heavy, bruising cadence that left you entirely breathless, your body rocking violently forward with every single thrust.
His grip on your silver hair tightened, pulling back firmly, using it like a leash to keep your head pinned back and your spine arched perfectly for him. He leaned his face down, his sweaty cheek pressing against yours as his hot breath blasted right into your ear.
"It's your fucking fault," he whipped out, his voice a dark, gravelly snarl that sent shivers straight down your spine. "You're too damn sexy. You do this to me."
He drove into you even harder, bottoming out completely, demanding your absolute surrender as the bed frame rattled fiercely against the wall.
"You're mine, Chi-chi," he growled, his fingers digging into your scalp to emphasize every word. "Mine. Not any of those fucking wankers online. Just mine."
"Only yours, Lion... oh, faster!" you cried out, your voice breaking as you completely surrendered to the rhythm, your fingers digging holes into the mattress.
A dark, triumphant laugh tore from his throat. The sound was pure dominance.
"That's right,"- he growled, rolling his hips in a tight, brutal circle before plunging back in, answering you with another dirty, mean comment.
"Keep screaming that. Let everyone in this shitty motel know who owns you."
Before you could even process the words, he shifted his weight, pushing you completely flat onto your stomach. You buried your face into the pillow, gasping for air, but he didn't give you a moment's rest. His massive hand came down, gripping your ass cheek so tightly his fingers left deep indents in your skin, pinning you down.
In, out, in, out. He moved with the fast, devastating precision of a fighter working the heavy bag, driven by a raw, insatiable hunger. He was relentless, every thrust hitting deep, making you sob into the sheets as he fucked you over and over.
Then, just as the pleasure was becoming too intense to bear, his free hand snaked down between your thighs. His rough, heavy thumb found your swollen clit, trapping it against your pelvic bone, and began to massage it with a cruel, friction-heavy pressure.
"Lion, ah!" you screamed into the pillow, your voice cracking as the dual sensation of him pounding into you and rubbing your clit sent a violent jolt of electricity straight down your spine.
He glanced down at you out of the corner of his eye, a dark, completely satisfied smile stretching across his face. Shifting his weight with a heavy grunt, he pulled your upper body back against him, forcing you to sit up slightly so your bare back was glued tightly against his broad, sweaty chest.
Gasping for air, you lifted your hand and shoved your index finger straight into his mouth. Lion didn't hesitate; his lips closed around it instantly, his hot tongue swirling around your skin, sucking it wet. After a few heavy seconds, you pulled your soaked finger out of his mouth and slid it right down between your thighs, pressing it directly against your throbbing clit.
He didn't slow down for a second, his hips still relentlessly slamming into you from behind, anchoring you to his lap. You started to vigorously massage yourself, adding your own wet friction to his heavy, rhythmic thrusts.
Lion leaned his head over your shoulder, his dark eyes locked onto your face, watching the sheer ecstasy warping your features as you worked your own body.
"You gonna come? Yes?" he asked, his voice a low, gravelly vibration against your ear as he drove himself into you even harder, demanding the answer right out of your throat.
"Yes! Oh god, yes, Lion!" you cried out, your head snapping back against his shoulder as you rubbed your clit faster and faster, your slick finger driving you right to the edge.
Hearing your desperation completely broke whatever restraint he had left.
"My whore's gonna come, huh?" he growled, his voice completely unhinged as his hips slammed into you with terrifying speed. "You're gonna be my fucking stress sack. Fuck Stan, fuck this boxing shit, fuck this whole motel... oh, fuck."
A massive, deep moan tore from his chest as he looked down, his dark eyes locked onto your hand working furiously between your thighs. Watching you touch yourself while he buried himself inside you sent a violent, hot wave straight through his entire body. He let out a loud, breathless groan, his his chest heaving against your back as the friction reached a fever pitch.
You felt the intense heat building inside him, his hard length throbbing violently within you as he pushed you toward the point of no return.
"Are you close, my baby boxer?" you gasped out, twisting your head to look at him through blurred eyes, your voice tight with the incoming orgasm. "Are you gonna finish inside me?"
Reaching back, you hooked your fingers firmly under his jaw, pulling his chin around to force him to look at you. You leaned in and kissed him hungrily, a wet, desperate clash of lips and tongues that tasted like sweat and raw heat.
"Mmm..." you murmured against his mouth, breaking the kiss just enough to stare directly into his dark, blown-out eyes.
Lion let out a ragged, trembling moan, his chest heaving violently against your bare back as his rhythm became completely erratic. He was completely trapped in your gaze, entirely helpless to the grip you had on him.
"Come, pretty boy... come to me," you purred, leaning forward to dart your tongue out, slicking it across his bottom lip in a slow, agonizingly hot stroke.
That was the absolute breaking point. Lion's eyes went wide, a look of pure, unadulterated shock crossing his features as his entire muscular frame locked up completely.
"Fuck, I'm coming—fuck!" he roared out.
His fingers dug bruises into your hips as he delivered one final, crushing thrust, bottoming out as deep as he could go. His body shook with a violent spasm as a thick, scorching wave erupted inside you, filling you completely while he moaned loudly against your neck, utterly spent.
You let out a long, shuddering moan, a soft smile spreading across your lips as you felt the thick, hot waves of his sperm pulsing deep inside you. You sank completely against him, entirely melted by the heat.
"Uhh... that's it," you breathed out, your voice a tiny, exhausted whisper.
With a heavy, trembling sigh, Lion carefully pulled out of you and collapsed onto the mattress right next to you, his chest heaving as he stared up at the cracked motel ceiling. Just like that, the fierce, dominant boxer vanished, and the shy, quiet Lion was back. He rolled onto his side, his large frame suddenly looking small as he looked at you with wide, worried eyes.
"Hey... did I... did I hurt you?" he asked, his voice completely stripping away the gravelly roughness from moments ago. He looked genuinely panicked, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson.
"I'm so sorry, Chi-chi. I didn't mean to call you those names, or say those things... I just... fuck, Stan's been driving me so crazy with training, and seeing you... I lost my head. I'm really sorry."
You rolled over to face him, propping your chin up on your hand and looking at his flushed, guilty face with a lazy, satisfied grin.
"Don't apologize," you purred, reaching out to trace a line down his sweaty chest. "It was fucking good."
Lion’s jaw practically dropped, his wide eyes blinking in utter surprise. He looked at you like he couldn't quite process that you weren't upset—and better yet, that you had actually loved it.
A slow, playful smile spread across your face as you watched him struggle for words. You leaned in a little closer, lightly tossing your fingers against his sharp collarbone, tracing the smooth skin with a lazy, teasing touch.
"And if you ever need a stress-relief sack again..." you purred, leaning up to press a soft, lingering kiss right below his ear, "I'm completely in."
A deep, dark blush instantly crept up his neck, flooding his cheeks as he let out a nervous, breathless chuckle. He reached out, his large, heavy hand wrapping gently around your waist to pull you against his chest, tucking you in close.
"Yeah?" he murmured, a tiny, happy smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he rested his chin on the top of your head.
"Don't tempt me, Chi-chi. Stan's gonna make my life hell tomorrow, and I might just take you up on that sooner than you think”
Ps. I know I mistaken request couse it was about lemon grass order where cook it's coded! Don't eat me in just tired gothic librarian who waits for her 2 weeks vacay 💋
Your birthday party was simple. No fancy venues, no pretension. Just you, your two closest friends, and one of the most popular pubs in Bristol. You were having a lovely evening, nursing a rum and coke and catching up on the usual gossip.
"So," your friend nudged you, a mischievous glint in her eye, "are you gonna finally do it?"
You felt a hot, instant blush creep up your neck. Talking about your sex life was always a point of contention; you were an adult, but still a virgin, and you hated the way your friends persisted in mocking you about it. You weren't in a rush, and you certainly didn't care for their standards.
"I don’t want to get chlamydia like you," you shot back, hiding your face behind your glass to avoid their reaction.
"Ouch," your other friend hissed, rolling her eyes as she swiped the glass from your hand. The blonde one, who had been quiet until now, leaned in close, her tone patronizing.
"Don't be such a bore. It’s your birthday, for God’s sake. Have a life, take a risk."
You looked at them, feeling the familiar pressure rising in your chest. You needed them to stop, just for one night.
"Fine," you blurted out, standing up and pointing toward the back of the room where the light flickered over the green felt of the billiard table. "One game. Pool. If I win, you two drop the whole 'virginity' thing. Forever. You never bring it up again."
Your friends exchanged a smirk, clearly sensing an easy victory. "And if you lose?" the blonde one challenged, crossing her arms.
You hesitated, your heart hammering against your ribs. "If I lose... I'll find someone tonight. I’ll shag someone. Anyone."
They cheered, delighted by the stakes, and practically pushed you toward the table. You picked up a cue, your hands shaking slightly. You were focused on the game, but your nerves made you clumsy. You fumbled your grip, your shot veered wide, and the white ball clicked harmlessly against the cushion instead of sinking the stripe. You were losing, and badly.
"Pathetic," one of your friends laughed, reaching for her drink.
Just as you sighed, preparing to miss another shot, a thick, rough Bristol accent boomed from the shadows nearby, cutting through the pub’s noise like a razor blade.
"Oi! That's a fuckin' tragedy of a shot, innit?"
The hair on your arms stood up. You didn't even need to look to know who it was. The pub seemed to go a notch quieter, even over the music. James Cook. The loudest, meanest prick the city of Bristol had ever birthed.
He stepped out from the dim corner of the room, his movements loose and arrogant, a cigarette hanging precariously from his bottom lip. He wasn't looking at anyone but you, his dark eyes tracing the way you stood—all shy, flushed, and clearly out of your depth. He leaned against the edge of the table, effectively invading your space and forcing you to look up at him.
"You're making a right mess of this," he drawled, his gaze dropping to the cue in your hand before locking back onto your eyes. "And I'm bored. Mind if I take over?"
The blonde girl didn’t miss a beat. She stood up straighter, throwing her shoulders back and shooting Cook a glare. "Piss off, mate. This is a private game. Nobody asked for your input."
Cook didn’t even blink. He let out a low, piercing whistle, his gaze flickering over the blonde for a split second as if she were nothing more than a nuisance before he dismissed her entirely. His eyes moved, sweeping across the table, and that’s when they landed on you.
He stopped mid-stride. He hadn’t truly seen you before—not really. But now, he was staring. He watched you nervously tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, a shy, fleeting smile tugging at your lips and revealing the soft, cute dimples in your cheeks. A slow, hungry grin spread across his face. You were the only thing in the room that mattered to him now.
"Well, well," he drawled, his voice dropping into that thick, gravelly Bristol accent that seemed to vibrate in your chest. He ignored your friend’s protest entirely, stepping closer until he was looming over the edge of the table. "I didn’t see you there, cute girl. What’s your name, then?"
The intensity of his stare made your breath hitch. Your face felt like it was on fire, turning a deep, burning crimson.
"I... I..." You tried to answer, but the words got stuck. You looked down at the pool table, then back up at him, your hands gripping your cue so tightly your knuckles turned white. "I-it's... it's [Your Name]," you finally managed to stutter out, your voice barely a whisper.
Your friends exchanged a sharp, knowing look. They had been trying to get you to loosen up all night, and they knew exactly what they were doing.
"I’m gonna go get a drink," one of them said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness as she shot the other a secret smirk. "Don't have too much fun without us."
Without waiting for an answer, they turned on their heels and walked toward the bar, leaving you completely exposed. You stood there, frozen, gripping the cue like a lifeline, while Cook remained exactly where he was—smirking, predatory, and clearly not planning on going anywhere.
You were left alone, caught in the middle of a game you didn't know how to play, facing the one guy in Bristol you probably should have run away from. You looked up at him, your heart hammering against your ribs, waiting to see what he’d do next.
Cook didn't take his eyes off you for a second, even as he fished a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. He shook one out, lit it with a flick of his Zippo, and took a long, slow drag. The smoke curled around his face, blurring the sharp, chaotic lines of his features as he watched you struggle to find your composure.
"So," he exhaled, the smoke drifting toward the ceiling. "What's the story, then? Tryin' to take on the world with a cue you can barely hold, are ya?"
You swallowed hard, your grip on the cue stick feeling more like a crutch than a weapon. "It's my birthday," you murmured, your voice trembling. "And I've got this bleedin' bet. I need to win... but I can't play to save my life."
His grin went from a lazy smirk to something much wilder—sharp, hungry, and entirely unapologetic. He took a final drag of his cigarette, stubbed it out on the side of the table with a rough flick of his wrist, and hopped up. He sat back on the green felt, his boots hooking into the side of the table, his legs splaying out to trap you right in his space.
"A bet, is it?" he mused, leaning down so close you could feel the heat radiating off him.
"You're in luck, then. I’m a bit of a pro at winnin' things I shouldn't. Proper talented at it, I am."
He reached out, his hand wrapping over yours where it gripped the cue. His skin was warm and rough, his touch sending a jolt of electricity straight up your arm.
"I'll give you a lesson," he murmured, his voice dropping into that thick, gravelly Bristol rasp. "Teach you everything you need to know to smash this game. But nothing’s for free in this town, girl. I want a proper reward."
Your heart was hammering so hard you were sure he could see it. You were shy, you were out of your depth, and you knew you should run for the hills—but the pull of him was too strong.
"Sure," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. "What... what do you want instead?"
Cook’s eyes swept over you, lingering on your lips before meeting your gaze with a look that made your stomach flip. He reached out with his free hand, his thumb ghosting over your cheekbone, tracing the line of your jaw with a slow, deliberate pressure.
"I'll show you," he whispered, his smirk widening as he pulled you just an inch closer. "Just keep your eyes on me, and don't go gettin' all shy now. It’d be a shame to waste the night, wouldn't it?"
You followed him to the back of the pub, where the heavy velvet curtains and a flickering bulb created a dim, hidden pocket of space. It was just the two of you now, away from the prying eyes of your friends and the noise of the crowd. The air here felt thicker, charged with a sudden, nervous static.
You stood in front of the table, feeling exposed. Cook was right behind you—so close that you could feel the warmth radiating off his chest against your back. His presence was overwhelming, a mix of cigarette smoke and something distinctly masculine that made your head spin.
"Right then," he rasped, his Bristol accent thick and low, vibrating right against your ear.
"If you wanna sink these, you can't be standin' like a statue, can ya? You need to lean in. Get yourself over the table."
Your heart did a frantic somersault. You felt hesitant, but his hand moved to your lower back, his palm firm and hot through the fabric of your top. He guided you forward, your hands meeting the edge of the table as you bent over the green felt.
You tried to keep your posture composed, but you felt incredibly shy. Behind you, Cook didn't move away. Instead, he stayed exactly where he was, his gaze dropping lower, his eyes locked on you with an intensity that felt like a physical touch. He took a slow breath, letting out a low, appreciative hum that sent a shiver straight down your spine.
"Yeah... that’s it, luv," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, sounding rough and hungry. He shifted, stepping even closer so there was absolutely no space left between you. He leaned down, his chin brushing near your shoulder as he looked at you—at the way the white fabric of your skirt hitched up just enough to be dangerous. "Just a bit lower. Yeah, stay just like that."
You swallowed hard, your throat feeling tight as you obeyed his command. You lowered yourself further, the edge of the billiard table pressing firmly against your hips. With trembling hands, you nudged the white ball, your focus entirely shattered by the overwhelming feeling of his presence right behind you.
Before the ball even finished rolling, you felt them—his hands, hot and calloused, sliding firmly onto your waist and then settling lower, gripping your hips through the thin fabric of your white skirt. The contact was bold, deliberate, and entirely uninvited.
A small, shocked gasp escaped your lips, sharp and breathy in the quiet corner. You stiffened, your heart racing against your ribs like a trapped bird.
"Uh..." you managed to stammer, your voice cracking. "C-can you stop?"
Cook didn't move. In fact, he leaned in closer, his chest brushing against your back, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. You could hear the faint, rough chuckle rumble in his throat.
"Stop?" he repeated, his Bristol accent thick, teasing, and low. His fingers didn't loosen their grip; if anything, he held you a little tighter, pulling you just a fraction closer to him. "You’re the one who wanted to learn, innit? And I’m just helping you get the right angle, sweetheart. Don't go tellin' me you're gettin' all shy now... not when you're doin' so well."
The air in the dim corner felt suffocatingly hot. His hands, rough and commanding, didn't just stay on your hips; one moved upward, his fingers winding firmly into your hair. With a sudden, fluid motion, he tugged, pulling your head back until you were forced to look at him.
His eyes were dark, swirling with that chaotic, dangerous energy he was famous for. He held you there, trapped in his orbit, his face inches from yours.
"I heard it's your birthday, yeah?" he rasped, his Bristol accent thick enough to taste. "And you're lookin' for a bit of trouble to celebrate. Maybe I should give you somethin' worth rememberin', luv?"
Your heart was drumming so hard it hurt. You opened your mouth to stammer a reply, but the words died in your throat. He didn't wait for you to speak. His eyes dropped, traveling down your body with a hunger that made your knees turn to water.
He reached out and, with a casual, brutal efficiency, hooked his fingers into the hem of your white skirt. He didn't just move it; he hitched it up high, exposing you to the cool, dim air of the pub and his scorching gaze. He let out a low, appreciative whistle, his eyes widening as they landed on the dark, damp patch visible through your lace panties.
A wave of pure, mortified heat flooded your face, and you gasped, unable to look away from him.
"Mmm," he hummed, his voice dropping to a low, guttural growl that vibrated through your entire body. He leaned in, his lips brushing dangerously close to your ear as his hand stayed anchored on your thigh. "Look at that. You’re soaked, aren't ya? Nice and wet for me."
You tried to pull away, your breath hitching, a weak, "Don't..." slipping past your lips. Your face felt like it was burning, the shame warring with the dizzying, forbidden thrill of being looked at—really seen—by someone like him.
Cook didn’t let you move an inch. He only tightened his grip on your hair, keeping your face tilted up toward his, his thumb tracing the shell of your ear with a slow, deliberate pressure that made your skin prickle. He didn't look like he was going to stop; he looked like he was just getting started.
He let out a low, rough laugh, the sound vibrating against your cheek. "Don't?" he repeated, his voice a jagged, Bristol-thick whisper that teased you. "Don't what, exactly? Don't look? Don't touch? Or don't give you exactly what you’re clearly beggin' for?"
He leaned in closer, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, his breath hot and ragged. He could feel you trembling under his touch, your body betraying every protest you tried to make.
"You're a shy one, aren't ya?" he murmured, his fingers trailing down from your hair to brush against your collarbone, his gaze never leaving yours.
Your face was burning, a deep, flaming shade of red that you couldn't hide, so you kept your eyes squeezed shut, refusing to meet his gaze. The shame and the overwhelming sensation of his touch were making your head spin, but before you could even register the intensity of it, he acted.
With a firm, effortless lift, he hoisted you up by your hips, seating you right on top of the green felt of the billiard table. He didn't waste a second, pulling your legs wide apart so you were completely open to him. He stood between your knees, his presence overwhelming, his eyes raking over you with a look of pure, predatory triumph.
Cook didn't wait. He dove right back in, his calloused fingers finding their mark immediately. He began to rub and massage your clit with a rhythm that was both rough and strangely rhythmic, his touch demanding a reaction you were desperately trying to stifle.
As he worked, his fingers felt the tight, resistance of your anatomy, the telltale signs that he was the first to ever truly cross this line. He went still for a heartbeat, his eyes darkening as he realized exactly what he was dealing with.
A low, gravelly chuckle rumbled in his chest, vibrating through the table and right into you. He leaned in close, his face just inches from yours, his breath hot and ragged.
"Oh, luv," he murmured, his Bristol accent dripping with a mix of surprise and pure, jagged hunger. "You're a virgin, aren't ya? Proper little innocent."
He didn't pull away; if anything, he pressed harder, his thumb circling and teasing that sensitive spot with a slow, deliberate pressure that sent a fresh jolt of electricity through your entire body.
"I think I’m gonna like breakin' you in," he whispered, his smirk widening as he watched your eyes snap open and lock onto his. "Happy birthday, sweetheart. This is gonna be a night you're never gonna forget."
He didn’t give you a second to catch your breath. His fingers, already slick and working a rhythm that made your vision blur, suddenly dipped deeper, sliding past the entrance with a smooth, invasive pressure that made you arch your back off the felt.
A sound ripped from your throat—a high, shaky, and distinctly shy moan that you tried to swallow, but he caught it, grabbing your chin firmly and pulling your face up so you were forced to lock eyes with him.
"Don't go hiding on me now," he growled, his voice a low, raspy rumble that sounded like grinding gravel. "You sing fokin' sweet, but I need that cunt. Open it up for me."
You were trembling, your legs shaking against his hips, but you couldn't pull away. He began to push his long fingers into you, testing your tightness, his rhythm becoming more deliberate and demanding as he felt you struggle to accommodate him. You were so incredibly tight, and the friction of his skin against yours was electric, making you feel completely exposed.
He leaned down, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, his lips hot against your pulse point. He began to whisper, his dirty talk sharp and raw, uncomfortably honest in a way that made your skin prickle and your core clench around his fingers.
"Look at you," he hissed into your ear, his hand moving with a firm, steady pressure that made you whimper. "So tight, so fuckin' brand new. You're mine tonight, yeah? Every bit of this. I’m gonna feel you stretch for me until you’re begging for more than just fingers."
He gave another hard, deep push, and you let out another breathless gasp, your hands coming up to clutch at his leather jacket, anchoring yourself as he continued to explore exactly how much he could take from you.
Your head fell back against the felt of the pool table, a broken, breathless moan escaping your lips as his fingers dug deeper, exploring the tightness you’d never dared to share with anyone. The intensity was overwhelming, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.
Suddenly, he shoved your shoulders back, forcing you to lay flat against the table. You barely had time to register the shift before his hands were at your waist, and with a swift, aggressive tug, he ripped the lace of your panties, tearing the fabric away until you were completely exposed to his devouring gaze.
He hovered over you, his eyes burning as he scanned your body, his smirk twisted into something feral. "I want my birthday cake," he whispered, the words hot and jagged against your skin.
You instinctively tried to pull your legs together, a shy, panicked flutter in your chest, but he immediately caught your knees, forcing them wide apart with a firm, dominant grip. He brought his hand down, delivering a stinging, sharp slap to your inner thigh that made your breath hitch and your skin flare with heat.
"Be a good girl," he commanded, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that left no room for argument.
You were paralyzed, your mind blanking out, completely at his mercy. Before you could even form a thought, his head dipped down. You gasped as his warm, wet tongue made contact, lapping at you with a hunger that was almost animalistic. He didn't just lick; he pressed his face into you, his tongue swirling and flicking against your sensitive core.
Just as your hips bucked in involuntary pleasure, he drove two fingers deep into your pussy, pushing inside you with a firm, rhythmic thrust. The combination of his tongue and his fingers was explosive, and you let out a ragged, uncontrolled cry, your fingers digging into the green felt as he began to feast on you, showing you exactly how he intended to celebrate your birthday.
"Don't," you breathed again, your voice small and frantic, your legs instinctively trying to snap shut to shield yourself from his gaze.
But Cook just let out that signature, cocky laugh—a sharp, amused sound that echoed in the quiet corner. He didn't pull back; instead, he used his free hand to effortlessly brace your thighs, prying them apart with a firm, immovable grip.
"Don't be like that, luv," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly rasp that made your heart skip. "You’ve spent all night worried about your little secret, haven't ya? Let's just see what you've got."
His eyes darkened, fixated on the contrast of his hand against your skin. Without another second of hesitation, his fingers slid downward. You gasped, your head dropping back as his touch—calloused, warm, and unerringly confident—sank right into the soft lace of your panties.
He didn't waste time with teasing; he went straight for the center of your heat, his thumb pressing firmly and directly against your clit. The sudden, jolting spark of pleasure was so intense that your knees buckled, and you had to grip the edge of the pool table just to stay upright.
"See?" he purred, his breath hot against your ear, his fingers finding a rhythm that made your head spin. "You’re absolutely drowning for it. And here you were, playin' the shy birthday girl. You’re a right little liar, aren't ya?"
He didn’t give you a second to catch your breath. His fingers, already slick and working a rhythm that made your vision blur, suddenly dipped deeper, sliding past the entrance with a smooth, invasive pressure that made you arch your back off the felt.
A sound ripped from your throat—a high, shaky, and distinctly shy moan that you tried to swallow, but he caught it, grabbing your chin firmly and pulling your face up so you were forced to lock eyes with him.
He leaned down, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, his lips hot against your pulse point. He began to whisper, his dirty talk sharp and raw, uncomfortably honest in a way that made your skin prickle and your core clench around his fingers.
"Look at you," he hissed into your ear, his hand moving with a firm, steady pressure that made you whimper. "So tight, so fuckin' brand new. You're mine tonight, yeah? Every bit of this. I’m gonna feel you stretch for me until you’re begging for more than just fingers."
He gave another hard, deep push, and you let out another breathless gasp, your hands coming up to clutch at his leather jacket, anchoring yourself as he continued to explore exactly how much he could take from you.
Your head fell back against the felt of the pool table, a broken, breathless moan escaping your lips as his fingers dug deeper, exploring the tightness you’d never dared to share with anyone. The intensity was overwhelming, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.
Suddenly, he shoved your shoulders back, forcing you to lay flat against the table. You barely had time to register the shift before his hands were at your waist, and with a swift, aggressive tug, he ripped the lace of your panties, tearing the fabric away until you were completely exposed to his devouring gaze.
He hovered over you, his eyes burning as he scanned your body, his smirk twisted into something feral. "I want my birthday cake," he whispered, the words hot and jagged against your skin.
You instinctively tried to pull your legs together, a shy, panicked flutter in your chest, but he immediately caught your knees, forcing them wide apart with a firm, dominant grip. He brought his hand down, delivering a stinging, sharp slap to your inner thigh that made your breath hitch and your skin flare with heat.
Just as your hips bucked in involuntary pleasure, he drove two fingers deep into your pussy, pushing inside you with a firm, rhythmic thrust. The combination of his tongue and his fingers was explosive, and you let out a ragged, uncontrolled cry, your fingers digging into the green felt as he began to feast on you, showing you exactly how he intended to celebrate your birthday.
He didn’t hold back now. The playfulness was stripped away, replaced by a raw, dominant edge that made your pulse hammer in your ears. He started to fuck you with his fingers, the rhythm becoming fast, hard, and relentless. He jammed his hand in, stretching your walls to their absolute limit, his knuckles pressing against your entrance as he drove in and out with a punishing, rhythmic force.
You were a mess, your head thrashing against the table, your breath coming in sharp, shattered gasps. Every time he pushed deep, it felt like he was claiming every inch of you, his fingers scraping and teasing until you felt like you were going to come apart at the seams.
He pulled his head up, his hair messy, his face flushed with the same heat that was consuming you. He leaned over your body, his eyes locked onto yours, dark and filled with a possessive hunger that made your stomach drop.
He gripped your hips, his thumbs digging into your skin, and whispered against your mouth, his voice a jagged, Bristol-thick rasp. "You’re so fuckin' good, darlin'... so tight it’s killin' me."
He gave you another brutal, deep thrust, watching your body arch and your eyes roll back, then chuckled, a low, arrogant sound. "This is what you wanted, isn't it, birthday girl?”
You tossed your head back, your voice breaking as a loud, desperate moan ripped from your throat. It was too much—the way he was stretching you, the way he was claiming you right there in the open. But before the sound could carry across the room, his hand shot up, clamping firmly over your mouth to stifle you.
His grip was rough, his palm warm against your lips. "Quiet, luv," he hissed, his eyes pinning yours with a fierce intensity. "You don't want your gurls hearin' you now, do ya? They'd lose their minds if they saw what I was doin' to you."
He watched you, his gaze roaming over your face—your eyes wide, shy, and glazing over with a dizzying, intoxicating haze. He felt the shift in you, the way your body was vibrating under his hand. He didn't let up; instead, he found your clit and began to massage it with a brutal, aggressive rhythm that made your soul catch fire.
You hummed frantically into his palm, a muffled, high-pitched sound of pure sensory overload. A strange, coiling heat began to bloom deep in your belly, tightening and pulling at your very core.
"You gonna come?" he growled, his voice a low, filthy command that vibrated against your skin. "Come for me, luv. Cum for Cook, yeah? Show me exactly what you're holdin' inside."
You couldn't stop it; your hips bucked uncontrollably, you were thrusting your body against his hand, fucking his fingers with a frantic, primitive need. "Mmmphhh!" you moaned, the sound trapped against his palm.
He stared down at you with a mix of raw sexual anger and a terrifying, hungry fascination, his eyes dark with the thrill of your undoing. He watched the moment your eyelids fluttered and rolled back, your body stiffening as the first wave of your orgasm hit you like a freight train. You spasmed, letting out a muffled cry as you climaxed, a hot, uncontrollable flood of fluid drenching his fingers and the green felt beneath you, your body going completely limp as you squirted in the heat of his touch.
Your entire body was still spasming, waves of electricity rippling through your muscles as the aftershocks of your orgasm left you breathless and trembling. You were barely conscious of your surroundings, your mind completely blank, when the sharp, metallic clink and the harsh, unmistakable sound of a belt buckle being undone snapped you back into reality.
He didn't give you a single second to recover. Before you could even blink, his hands were on you, turning you over with a rough, insistent shove until you were sprawled face-down across the coarse, green felt of the billiard table. You were exposed, helpless, and completely at his mercy.
Whack. Whack.
The sound of his hand meeting your bare skin was like a gunshot in the quiet, dim corner. Two stinging, heavy slaps landed squarely on your ass, leaving your skin burning and your breath hitching in your chest.
"Fuck, luv," he groaned, his voice dropping into a ragged, guttural growl that sounded strained with pure, unfiltered desire. "You're absolutely wreckin' me."
He didn't waste any more time. He moved between your legs, his weight pressing you deeper into the table. He was slick with your own juices, and he pushed into you with one long, sloppy, and deep thrust that made you gasp, your nails digging into the edge of the table as he filled you completely. The feeling of him inside you—hard, hot, and heavy—was a stark, shocking contrast to the friction of his fingers, and he began to move with a primal, desperate rhythm, claiming you right there in the dark.
Cook!" you cried out, your voice hitching as the sheer intensity of him filling you shattered what little composure you had left.
He didn't need to be told twice. He latched onto your shoulders, his grip like iron, anchoring you to the table so you couldn't wiggle away from the depth of his thrusts. He started bucking his hips, slamming into you with a raw, rhythmic force that stole the breath right out of your lungs. Every strike against your back wall made your vision dance with white-hot sparks, your body instinctively clenching around him, trying to hold him as deep as possible.
He leaned down, his chin digging into your shoulder, his breath hot and ragged against your ear as he drove into you, deeper and harder.
"Yes!" he roared, his voice a guttural, possessive growl that echoed in the small space. "That's it! Say my name, you little slut! Keep screaming it for me!"
He pulled back just enough to slam forward again, a punishing, delicious rhythm that had you gasping for air. He was relentless, his eyes burning with that familiar, wild hunger as he looked down at your back.
"Tell me, birthday girl," he rasped, his voice dropping into that cocky, filthy tone that made your knees turn to jelly. "You love it, don't ya? You love your Cookie Monsta? Tell me you love it when I own you like this!"
His hand clamped into your hair, yanking your head back until your neck was exposed and your body arched instinctively toward his chest. He held you there, effectively using your hair like a leash, controlling your every movement, your every gasp.
"Slutty girl," he growled, the words vibrating against your skin.
He didn't give you a moment to steady your breathing. He shoved his face toward yours, crashing his mouth onto your lips in a kiss that was bruising, aggressive, and entirely hungry. You moaned into his mouth, the sound drowned out by the wet, slapping rhythm of his hips slamming into yours. The friction between you was becoming frantic, everything getting so sloppy and slick that every thrust slid in with a heavy, wet squelch.
He didn't slow down for a second; if anything, he only picked up the pace, his entire body shaking with the force of his desire. His free hand snaked forward, wrapping firmly around your throat. It wasn't tight enough to hurt, but it was firm enough to make your pulse jump and to remind you exactly who was in charge.
He kept pounding into you, his eyes locked onto yours with a terrifying intensity as he watched you unravel.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice a gravelly, broken wreck. "Look at what I'm doing to you. You're mine tonight, yeah? Every fuckin' inch of you belongs to Cook. You're never gonna forget the way I felt inside you."
He slammed into you again, harder this time, his thumb stroking your throat while he drove deep, his entire presence demanding that you feel nothing but him.
You let out a shaky, breathless whimper, your resistance completely shattered by the intensity of his control. You nodded your head submissively, your chin dipping as you pressed your body further into the green felt, silently yielding to everything he was demanding of you.
Cook watched you, his eyes darkening with a look of pure, predatory satisfaction. He saw the way you melted under his hand, the way you stopped fighting and started craving his dominance. A dark, jagged smirk spread across his face as he felt you give in.
"That's it," he rasped, his voice dropping to a low, possessive murmur that seemed to rattle your bones. "Be a good little thing for me."
He didn't waste a heartbeat. He positioned himself perfectly, his hips aligning with yours as he found your rhythm again. He didn't just move; he claimed you, driving deep into that sensitive, aching spot he’d been working on. Every thrust was calculated, deliberate, and devastatingly deep.
As he surged forward, hitting that precise point inside you that made your entire world tilt, you felt the pressure build—a thick, electric coil of heat tightening in your core. You were completely overwhelmed by him, your body moving in tandem with his, gasping as he pushed you right to the absolute edge again. He felt you clench around him, your walls pulsating, and he let out a guttural, satisfied sound of his own, his grip on your hair tightening as he brought you both right to the precipice.
His grip on your hair pulled your head back at a sharp angle, forcing your neck to strain as he leaned down to bite into your lower lip. The sting was electric, a sudden sharp pain that only fueled the spiraling ache between your legs. His other hand moved with brutal, heavy pressure, crushing your breast against the bodice of your dress, kneading the soft skin until you were gasping for air.
"You're close, aren't ya, luv?" he rasped against your mouth, his voice a jagged, gravelly demand.
You let out a broken, needy sound and nodded against his touch, your body betraying you as your walls constricted, clamping down around him with a frantic, pulsing heat.
"Shit... shit," he hissed, his composure finally fraying as he felt your internal muscles seize around his length. "This cunt... you're tight enough to kill me, you little fucker."
He slammed into you one last time, driving deep enough to take your breath away. You grabbed his face, your fingernails digging into his stubble as you let out a ragged, shattering gasp—the second orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave. Your body spasmed, shaking violently as the pleasure crested, and in that same heartbeat, he lost his own control.
He groaned, a raw, guttural sound that tore from his throat, his hips bucking hard against yours. He drove himself into you as deep as he could go, his body tensing as he surged over the edge with you, letting out a long, desperate, "Fuuuck!"
He collapsed against you, his heavy frame pinning you into the pool table, his ragged breathing echoing the frantic rhythm you’d just shared. He stayed there, buried deep inside you, his chest heaving against your back as he rode out the waves of his own release.
The silence in the room felt heavy, punctuated only by your ragged, uneven breathing and the frantic pounding of your heart. You were still sprawled across the green felt, your legs trembling so violently you couldn't pull them together if you tried. Every nerve ending felt raw, hypersensitive, and completely electrified.
Cook pulled back just enough to look at you, his chest heaving, his hair matted against his forehead. The cocky, predatory smile that defined him was wider than you had ever seen it—a look of pure, unadulterated triumph. He’d taken everything from you, and he looked like he’d do it all over again without a second's hesitation.
He reached out, his hand—rough, calloused, and still slick with the evidence of what you’d just shared—and cupped your cheek with surprising, jarring gentleness. His thumb traced the line of your jaw, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made you feel completely undone.
"Happy birthday, luv," he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that sounded impossibly proud.
You could only gasp, your lungs struggling to find air, your mind reeling from the sheer intensity of the experience. The reality of it—the pain, the pleasure, the way he had completely claimed you—washed over you in waves.
You blinked up at him, your cheeks burning with a deep, shy flush that wouldn't fade, even as you realized the life-changing permanence of the last few minutes. James "Cook" had claimed your virginity, and looking at him—so arrogant, so satisfied, so completely him—you realized that no party, no gift, and no celebration would ever compare to this.
What a hell of a birthday party it had turned out to be.
My mind is wild with some Lula perfume request, I'm melted by your kind reblogs and comments. In my mind I have sweet treasure, but my readers are first, let's have my bonus fragrance on the last place in the shelf. I know I wrote, that I put everyhing after end off month, if you wanted you can still have a request, everything it's in my pin post.
But... For poke your dirty minds I send a little aesthic of one of the orders...
