[looking at people younger than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at people older than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at myself] its over
Thinking about Sylus who loves a particular kind of gentle skinship: pressing his nose on your skin.
Waiting in line for your sudden milk tea craving and he’s behind you nosing into your hair (he claims it makes the waiting better)
You’re preparing some food on the counter and he’s there behind you pressing his nose on your shoulders as he watches your hands move
You just wanna feed him some fries but he’s grabbing your wrist to press his nose there then playfully nip the side of your thumb instead of the fries
When he’s in a bad mood, just holding you and pressing his nose on your chest and he’s instantly cooled down
You wear an off-shoulder top and you bet he’s gonna be perching his nose there as if he’s Mephisto
Or nuzzling into the crook of your neck when he wants a cuddle
Or catching you right after a shower and he’s running his nose down your arm and giving little pecks
Maybe it’s the feel of your skin, maybe it’s your scent he wants to inhale all the time
Maybe it’s his dragon’s way of showing affection
You’re lying down on one side relaxing and he’d playfully rub his nose on your waist to tickle you and hear you laugh
And when your scent changes he knows you’re ovulating, it’s sweeter he says, with that hungry look in his eyes, because his very favorite place to bury his nose in is—
Wait am i ovulating? (ignores my empty period tracking app, opens Lads instead to consult his notes)
Sylus's voice was a low purr above you, trailing along your skin as if it had been his own touch. He had you pinned, one big hand easily holding both of yours down against the sheets while the other traced lazy circles just above where you so desperately wanted him.
He had been teasing you all day and now he had the audacity to make you beg for it.
You're trembling beneath him, squirming and tilting your hips to try and catch even a second of friction against your swollen clit. A dark, mocking chuckle vibrates against your throat as he presses a quick kiss just below your jaw.
"Poor little thing." He says, his voice rough and low in your ear as he releases your wrists only to cup the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. "Did you really think I'd let you off early tonight?"
Your hands immediately fly to his shoulders, gripping onto him as if you're scared he might disappear. He has before. He's left you aching and dripping for him purely to watch you squirm with the effort it took to not fuck your own fingers.
You're worried he might do it again.
But then he sinks one long finger into you, curling it just right to make your back arch off the sheets. Immediately, you clamp down on him, greedy and desperate to be filled by him.
"Sylus, please…" You whimper, your voice ruined and wrecked despite him barely touching you. Your hands easily slip into his hair, tugging on the silver strands. This earns you a brush of his thumb against your clit, finally allowing some of the friction you've been seeking.
A shattered moan leaves your lips as he guides his finger out of you before pushing it deep once more, curling against your tight walls just the way he knows you like. Suddenly, he's done teasing. He's done making you wait for it. He gives you a second finger, stretching your greedy little pussy for him as his thumb rubs soft, quick circles against your clit.
"Stop squirming, kitten." He tells you, his free hand clamping down onto your hip to hold you still as you tremble beneath him.
"I can't. I need it. Sylus, please." You beg him, your head thrashing against the pillows as you try and fight his grip. It's useless and you both know it, but the sight earns an amused hum from him.
With that, he withdraws his fingers, slick and glistening in the dim lighting of his bedroom. He doesn't waste a second as he unzips his pants, shoving the leather down to free his aching cock. He slides through your honeyed folds, the tip kissing your clit as he grinds himself on you.
"Is this what you wanted?" He asks, a smug grin on his face. You both know the feeling of his skin against yours is making that ache worse. You shake your head even as a moan leaves you, echoing softly within the room as your hips buck up to meet him. He continues, grinding his cock against you again, and again, and again, until finally, he relents.
Your breath hitches as he guides the tip into your dripping pussy, his movements agonizingly slow as he lets you feel every single inch he's burying deep inside you. He groans at the feeling of your walls eagerly clamping around him, coaxing him impossibly deeper until he's fully seated inside you.
He doesn't wait for you to fully adjust to the thick length of him. He knows you can take it.
He sets a brutal pace, his hips snapping against yours as his hands move to your thighs, keeping you spread for him. Your breath escapes your lungs in a loud cry. The sound of skin hitting skin echoes within his bedroom, an obscene, rhythmic noise that's accompanied only by your moans and the occasional groan from him.
His eyes never leave yours, watching every single reaction he pulls from you as if he could happily get drunk on you. Perhaps he already is. Each thrust is deep, possessive, and punishing, driving the air from your lungs in sharp gasps and whines. You watch it all, unable to look away from his blood red eyes, noting the way his jaw clenches every time you clench around him.
He fucks you like he's trying to merge your souls together.
You try to open your mouth and say something coherent, warn him that you're already close, but all that comes out is a broken moan. Your hands find his shoulders, nails digging into his skin in a silent claim of your own. He shifts, leaning his large body forward to hover over you further, the new position pushing your knees into your chest and allowing him to hit deeper.
With every thrust, his cock kisses your cervix. You know you're going to ache later, but right now, it's completely worth it.
When you come, it's sudden and intense, your nails digging deep into his skin before scratching down his arms, a high-pitched sob tearing from your throat. Sylus follows a second later with a guttural curse, burying himself deep inside you as your walls clamp almost painfully around him. His hips jerk against you as if he can't help himself, shallow, wicked rolls that push his cum deeper.
When he finally stills, you're both panting, bodies flushed and sweaty. He releases your thighs, shifting to pull your legs around his hips instead as he buries his face into your neck. You're both satisfied for now, but you know it won't be long until he's right back to teasing you relentlessly until you're dripping and aching for him.
You know it won't be long until you're begging to be underneath him again.
Sylus adores kissing you. It's quickly become his favorite activity. Every time he sees you, you're pulled into his lap, his big hands squeezing your hips as his lips crash into yours. Sometimes he's rough, other times he's slow, like he's savoring the moment. You never know what to expect from him, but all you know is that he has your pussy dripping within like a minute.
Now isn't any different.
You're straddling his lap, knees digging into the velvet of his chair, while your fingers dive into the silver strands at the nape of his neck, desperately trying to tug him closer. You kiss him like you're trying to steal the breath from his lungs, like you want him to be just as hot and bothered as he makes you. You know he's hard. You can feel his cock just underneath you, pressing right against your clothed cunt like it belongs there. You suppose it does, but with Sylus holding you so firmly, you have no choice but to sit there and try to ignore the way it would feel so good to grind against.
Sylus kisses exactly like he speaks. Demanding and utterly in control. You debate pushing at his shoulders, whining how it's not fair that he still seems so composed, but then his tongue is licking into your mouth. You shiver against him, your hands tugging at his hair. It's ridiculous how easy he has you undone and eager for him to fuck you.
He lets you set the pace, lets you be the one to scramble and claw, but you can feel how intentional he is. Every brush of his lips against yours, every slide of his tongue has you melting into a puddle right there on his lap, and he's well aware of it.
It's just how he likes you, after all. Needy and wet just from a few of his kisses. He hasn't even touched you yet, but he knows if he were to slip his hand into your pantes, he'd find you soaking.
When he finally pulls back to allow you a ragged breath, a thin, glistening string of saliva momentarily connects your lips before it breaks. Your lips are puffy and slick, your cheeks flushed a pretty pink. He's ruinously handsome in the dim lighting, his hair a mess from your frantic hands and his mouth wet. You watch him, breathless and aching while he just watches you with that dark, focused way of his, looking perfectly pleased with how much of a mess he's made of you.
You lean back in, desperate to lose yourself in him, desperate to feel his mouth on yours, but his hand moves faster than your clouded mind can track. His long fingers fan out across your jaw, firm and unyielding, stopping you just inches from his mouth. You let out a quiet gasp of surprise, but then he's tilting your head from side to side, his eyes fixated on your lips like he's admiring a particularly interesting piece of art.
"Patience, Kitten." He rasps.
You don't listen. You want him too badly. You try and close the distance once more, earning a teasing huff from him.
"Sylus, please..." You whimper.
"I'm not done looking at you yet." He tells you. The denial has another broken, frustrated whine leaving your lips. You can't believe his audacity, though you consider yourself lucky at the same time. He could have pushed you off his lap, really made you work for him, but he didn't. He's kept you there, and now that he isn't holding your hips so tightly, you take the opening while you still have it.
You roll your hips right into him, the layers of clothing between you two muting the feeling of his cock against you. You don't care. It's good enough for now. You want to see his composure to crack, to feel him lose his breath the way you've lost yours.
But Sylus is not a man who easily gives up control. If anything, your bold display amuses him. Still, the hand on your hip tightens, his thumb hooking into the waistband of your jeans as he grinds back slow and steady. This steals the air right out of your lungs in a pathetic little moan as he guides your rhythm, his hand dictating exactly how and when you move against him.
"Look at you." He murmurs, leaning in to brush his damp lips against the corner of your mouth. "So eager to skip to the end, kitten. And here I thought you were enjoying yourself."
He's mocking you, and you're well aware of it. Usually you'd snap back with some sharp comment, maybe tell him to mind his damn business, but for right now, you don't care. You like it. You like knowing that he knows what he does to you.
But even so, you're done waiting.
"I would enjoy it more if you took my pants off."
This makes Sylus pause. His eyes flick down to the denim hugging your thighs before he meets your gaze once more, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. He's well aware of what you want, but he can't help wanting to tease you a bit. He likes the anticipation.
"I know." He responds as he trails his mouth down your cheek, along your neck, nipping and sucking little bruises onto your skin as if he's perfectly content to do it all day.
Little shit.
"You are such a fucking tease." You whine even as you tilt your head for him. Even as you arch into him. Even as you continue to rub yourself against the bulge in his pants. You wonder if he's going to make you wait all day after all. Just the thought has your pussy clenching around nothing.
But Sylus relents. His hands easily maneuver you in his lap as he gives a sharp tug at your waistband, yanking the denim down your thighs. Within seconds, your jeans are tossed to the floor, his thumb pressed against your aching clit through the thin layer of your slick panties. He's slow as he drags his thumb against you, watching the way your hips twitch, listening to the quiet moans that escape you.
His free hand moves to his own pants, unzipping the leather until he can shove it down his legs and free his cock. He's so hard it physically hurts, precum smeared all along the tip. Your mouth waters at the sight, but he doesn't give you the chance to reach for him. He guides your hips, positioning you just above him before his fingers tug your damp panties to the side.
"This what you wanted, kitten?" He asks, smug as ever. Then he's guiding you down onto him, his fat cock instantly stretching your cunt exactly the way you love. Your velvety walls clench around him, coaxing him deeper, begging for more until the tip is kissing your cervix.
You shudder against him your hands tugging at his hair. You feel so deliciously full, all you can focus on is the way he guides your hips, the wet sound of skin on skin each time he thrusts up into you. It's obscene, the way he fucks you right in the middle of his lounge, but you don't care. You just want more.
One hand shifts away from your hips, dipping behind you only to smack against your ass. The sharp crack echoes in the room, punctuated only by the brutal, wet glide of skin on skin. Your hands grasp weakly at his shirt, incoherent moans and whimpers tumbling from your lips before you can bite them back.
Each thrust is deep, meant to drive the air from your lungs and leave you wondering where you end and he begins. A tell-tale sign of how his composure was barely hanging on. Crack. He smacks your ass again, squeezing the supple flesh before he shifts to the other side.
Crack. Crack-crack-crack.
You writhe on top of him, seeking more of him even while you feel the heat of the sting blooming across your skin. You wonder if he'll leave a nice handprint on your ass if you ask him. You wonder if he already has.
"You want me to cum in this pretty little pussy?" He asks you suddenly, his voice a low, ruined rasp as he squeezes your hips, his movements more deliberate as he guides you down on his cock over and over again. You mumble a response, try to tell him you obviously don't want him to pull out, but it's swallowed by your moans.
So instead, you clamp onto him, honeyed walls squeezing him like a vice. He responds by finding your swollen clit once more, rubbing that sensitive bundle of nerves until you're falling apart around him. A choked cry leaves your lips, high-pitched and desperate as you squirm on his cock. His red eyes never leave your face, watching intently as you cum around him.
He follows a minute later with a ragged groan, his hands squeezing your hips hard enough to leave bruises later. His hips stutter underneath you as he pulls you flush against him, rocking into you like he's trying to ensure his cum remains deep inside your cunt.
For a moment, the only sound in the room is your frantic, broken breathing as you both try to come down from the high. You collapse onto him, burying your face in the crook of his neck as his arms wrap around you. He holds you so gently like he's scared you might disappear at any moment, a stark difference from the way he'd just been slamming into your cervix.
His thumbs rub small, soothing circles into your lower back as he tilts his head against the back of the velvet chair, a smug sort of pride flashing across his features as he feels you trembling against him.
"You're a mess." He says, his voice low in your ear, an amused huff following soon after. "But stay right here, sweetie. I've got you."
The first time Sylus is a bit too rough with you, it absolutely terrifies him.
He has you bent over the kitchen island, his large hands anchoring your hips with a possessive, unyielding grip as he drives his fat cock into you over and over again. His thrusts are frantic and desperate, driven by a rare lapse in his usual calculated composure. Caught in the surge of adrenaline and raw desire, he reacts on instinct. One hand leaves your hip only to smack against your ass with a sharp crack.
It's a heavy strike, meant to be a sting of pleasure, but delivered with far too much weight. The sound that falls from your lips isn't the breathless moan he expects. It's a sharp, jagged hitch of breath, followed by a small, wounded whimper.
Sylus instantly freezes, the predatory energy that he usually radiates vanishing in the blink of an eye to leave behind a sudden, jarring silence.
He hurt you.
"Wait." He rasps, his voice stripped of all its playful edge. His movements are slow as he pulls out, agonizingly careful and gentle as if he's scared to push you too far again. One hand remains on your hip, holding you steady while the other moves to your ass. His fingers trace the large welt against your skin, an uncharacteristic flicker of guilt in his red eyes.
"I went too far. I heard you." He says as he coaxes you to turn around, guiding your movements until your lower back is pressed against the kitchen island. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing along your lower lip in a silent apology.
His mouth follows seconds after, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that's less about desire and more about the need to undo the sting his own hand caused. Your hands find his hair, tangling in those silver strands even as you arch into him, still desperate and needy for him despite the stinging heat against your skin.
You whisper that it's okay, that you want him to keep going, that you want him to finish what he's started. But Sylus just shakes his head, his jaw clenched even as he trails his kisses down to your throat. He nips at your skin, far softer than usual, before his tongue finds your pulse point.
"Not like that." He murmurs, his voice a low vibration against your skin. "I was careless. I lost my lead."
He ignores the way you arch toward him, the way your body is practically begging for him to slide back home and continue stretching your cunt. He ignores the way you shift to settle on the edge of the counter top, but he doesn't miss the slight hiss in your breath as the cold marble hits your flushed skin.
He's decided his own punishment. He won't allow himself to lose himself in you again for now. He won't allow himself to bury his cock into your pretty little pussy until all you can both focus on is the way your velvety walls squeeze him just right. He doesn't trust the adrenaline still humming in his veins.
He doesn't trust that he won't push too far. As much as he loves being rough with you, his intent is never to truly hurt you. Instead, he sinks to his knees before you, his big hands easily pulling your thighs over his shoulders.
He doesn't give you the chance to argue with him.
The first lick is a long, flat stripe from entrance to clit that has a sharp, high-pitched moan falling from your lips. It's deliberate, meant to savor the taste of you. Sylus groans like he's tasting something exquisite, his hands pulling you further against his face.
Then his thumb settles against your clit, rubbing soft, slow circles while his tongue pushes inside you. Your hips jerk against his face, your hands tugging at his hair as he curls his tongue like he's trying to catalogue every little reaction. It's filthy, the way you're instantly dripping down his chin and coating his mouth, but he eats you as if you're his last meal.
The thumb on your clit stills for a second, quickly replaced with his mouth as he licks and sucks at you. Every hitch of your breath, every pathetic little moan that falls from your mouth only fuels his movements as he easily slips two long fingers into your dripping cunt.
He's relentless, his tongue flicking fast and hard, his fingers curling and pumping with ruthless, skilled precision. It's loud and sloppy, echoing in his kitchen and mixing with the sounds of your whimpers and whines. He's so hard it hurts, but he refuses to stroke himself as punishment for your pained cry earlier.
You're so close, so agonizingly close, when he suddenly stops, his red eyes flicking up towards your face. The sudden stillness is deafening. You're arched back, fingers tangled so tightly in his silver hair that your knuckles are white, your body trembling on the precipice of an orgasm that he just... snatched away.
It's ridiculous how your first instinct is to tilt your hips towards him, tug at his hair to try and bring his mouth back on your clit. He doesn't budge. He enjoys the way you're practically vibrating with need, but he's determined to set the terms.
"Tell me." He commands, his voice rough with the need he's suppressing even as he lazily pumps his fingers inside you. "Do you still feel that sting from earlier? Or is this all you can think about now?"
You can barely find your words, reduced to whimpering and whining as you rock against his hand, needing his fingers deeper. Needing more. He waits a few seconds to ensure that you're so lost in him that the pleasure has completely overriden the pain before he leans back in, his tongue finding your swollen clit with a renewed, relentless vigor.
"Good." He grunts against your skin, his gaze fixated on your face as your thighs squeeze his head. The build-up he forced upon you makes your orgasm hit twice as hard. Your back arches, your heels digging into his shoulders as your hips jerk and twitch against his face.
It’s not a quiet release. It’s a loud, unspooling cry that echoes off the kitchen cabinets, your fingers tightening in his hair until you’re practically pulling his head against you. Everything goes white for a second, the low light of the kitchen, the smell of his cologne, the hum of the refrigerator, all of it vanishes behind the pulsing, rhythmic squeezing of your honeyed walls around his fingers.
Sylus doesn't pull away immediately. He stays right there, holding you through the tremors as his fingers and tongue coax more out of you until you're slumped against the counter, limbs feeling like lead. Here, he finally withdraws with one last slow drag of his tongue against your clit.
The entirety of his mouth is slick because of you, but he doesn't seem to mind. If anything, he looks a bit smug. His movements are slow and deliberate as he stands up, his height looming over you once more. Seeing you completely undone by pleasure seems to have finally balanced the scales in his mind for the mistake he made earlier.
"There you are." He murmurs, his voice a dark, satisfied velvet. "Back where you belong."
He doesn't mention his own discomfort, doesn't mention how he'd give anything to bury himself inside your tight pussy, though the tension in his jaw and the way he avoids looking down at his own frame betrays how much he’s still holding back. Instead, he simply hooks his arms under your knees and back, lifting you off the counter as if you weigh nothing, intent on carrying you away from the cold marble and toward something much softer.
jacobvanloon
blakekathryn
theartofmadeline
