✶⋆.˚content: !brat tamer zayne, edging, fingering, desk sex | !playful sylus, teasing, riding, praise | !desperate caleb, !best friend caleb, begging, nipple play | light denial, light paint play?, fingering, desk sex, praise | !jealous xavier, !protective xavier, slightly mean?, semi public | unprotected sex all around | mdni! ⋆.˚✶
✶⋆.˚pairings: zayne, sylus, caleb rafayel, xavier {separate} x reader⋆.˚✶
✶⋆.˚wc: 1.2k | 1.5k | 1.1k | 1.1k | 1.3k⋆.˚✶
Your legs swing lazily off the edge of Zayne’s desk, heels nudging the dark word as he paces through his post-shift rambling. He’s still in his dress shirt—sleeve rolled halfway, tie loosened, hair mussed from stress and probably the way he kept dragging his hands through it at the hospital.
He always looked good after work, but today? Today he looked irresistible.
Tired. Irritated. Absolutely fuckable.
Zayne doesn’t stop moving. Doesn’t pause. Doesn’t look at you for more than a second as he straightens his pens, sorts through paperwork, and exhales through his nose like he’s two minutes away from snapping.
“It was ridiculous,” he mutters, still in surgeon-mode. “I explained the protocol three separate times. Somehow, it still didn’t register.”
You try to listen—truly—but the way he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose make heat coil low in your belly. The way his forearm flexes when he closes a file. The way his jaw tics whenever he remembers something frustrating.
Your mind wanders before you can stop it. You think about the desk beneath you, the way he could bend you over it and allow his hands to finally stop being patient.
Your eyes linger as they drop to that heavy, half-lidded gaze. The hunger in your blown pupils is clear; the invitation is open. When he glances up, his sentence cuts off mid-thought.
His jaw tightens as he gives a slow blink, a muscle jumping near his temple.
Zayne looks away like he needs a reset, because continuing to meet your stare means he’ll give in instantly. But he turns back. He always turns back.
“Don’t… do that,” he mumbles, voice lower now, worn thin from the day. “I have a report to finish.”
“But Zayne…” you whisper, leaning forward as your lips brush into a soft pout, “I missed you.”
Before he can argue, you tug his tie—slow at first, then harder to move him right between your thighs. He catches himself on the desk, hands planted on either side of your hips. His expression flickers to irritation, then hunger, restraint, hunger again.
“You can spare your lover a few minutes…” you breathe. “Can’t you?”
His lips part for a reply that never forms. You watch him scrambling for composure, clinging to the version of himself that is supposed to stay level-headed and responsible. And somehow, watching him try makes the ache between your thighs so much worse.
“Do you ever listen?” he cuts in quietly. It’s not cruel, but in that stern, precise tone that commands behavior he knows you won’t give. It makes your pulse jump. “I told you I have work to finish.”
Your answer comes in a knowing smile.
He lasts three seconds. Maybe four.
Zayne surges forward and kisses you. His lips are hungry and hot against yours, restrained only in theory. His hand slides to your thigh, squeezing with enough pent-up frustration to make you gasp. He pushes your leg higher, finger dancing up your hip, over your waist, then into your hair as he grabs a fistful and yanks your face from his.
A startled whimper escapes you, and he drinks it in.
“You really couldn’t wait?” he murmurs.
You don’t have the time to reply as his other hand slides under your skirt, pushing the fabric up until it’s bunched at your hips. He swipes your panties aside and freezes, letting out a low groan at the sight of how wet you already are. All for him.
“Zayne…” you squirm, pink touching your cheeks as you open your legs wider. “Please.”
“Tsk,” he clicks his tongue softly. “Look at you.”
His index finger drags through your slick, incredibly slow. He gathers your arousal before he begins a firm, circular pressure on your swollen clit that knock the air from your lungs.
“Such a mess,” he chides, almost disappointed, almost amused, definitely turned on. He shifts, the hard line of his cock straining against his pants. “You sit here, interrupting me, giving me that look… leaving this for me to find.”
Your breath catches as he abandons the steady pressure in order to switch to his thumb, tapping rhythmically against your bud as his fingers tease your entrance.
Zayne leans closer, lips brushing your heated cheek, and speaks in a voice barely above a whisper. “And you wonder why I have to handle you.”
Then the real torture begins.
The merciless teasing of his fingers working you open feels endless. Each slow, deliberate stroke makes your hips twitch and your breath break. Two of them curl inside you, sliding so deep you swear you can feel him all the way in your spine. But every time you get close, he pulls back, thumb circling your clit just enough to make you gasp, but never enough to let you fall.
“Zaynie…” it comes out a whine, pathetic and needy. “Please…”
He tilts his head, eyes flicking down to where you’re dripping on the desk, savoring the view. “Please what?” his voice is rough. “I thought you wanted me to touch you.”
“I do! But—fuck—you’re—” your chest heaves. “You’re teasing.”
“Mm.” He steps closer until the desk digs into his thigh, crowding you in completely. “And you’re whining.”
The smile that ghosts across his mouth is thin and forced, because he’s barely holding it together. The evidence presses hot and thick against your thigh, his cock is rock-hard in his pants, twitching every time you whimper.
He drags his fingers out of you slowly, like it physically pains him to stop touching you. The wet sound is obscene as it fills the room, and you whine at the loss.
“Okay… fuck.” Zayne’s mouth brushes over your ear as a low groan spill out of him. “Hold still.”
You barely get a breath in before his hands clamp around your hips and tug you right to the edge, legs dangling open for him.
“Keep your thighs spread,” he commands, which you obey.
With pupils completely black, Zayne moves fast, undoing his belt with frantic, clumsy movements. The buckle clicks, the leather pulls free, the button pops. He drags his zipper down, and you watch the tension drain from his face when he finally gets the relief of freeing himself. His cock springs free, painfully hard and leaking at the tip.
He fists himself once—just once—jaw clenching at how sensitive he already is. He lines himself up, the head of his cock dragging through your slicks folds. You whimper, hips shifting trying to take him in.
“No, sweetheart…” his voice breaks. “Let me. Just... hold still.”
The tenderness lasts half a second.
He thrusts into you in one deep, needy motion that knocks a shocked moan out of both of you. He bottoms out, desk rattling beneath your weight.
“Holy—fuck—” Zayne’s head drops to your shoulder. “You wanted this?”
You clutch his shirt, dragging him close, panting. “Yes. Move—please, Zayne, move.”
His hips pull back slow, so agonizingly slow, then slam forward, burying into you so hard your breath stutters.
Your skirt stays bunched, his shirt stays buttoned. His pants are shoved low enough for him to fuck you and that’s it.
It makes everything almost painfully hot.
He takes you on his desk like he’s been starving for it, like the restraint he pretended to have tonight finally shattered.
“You think you get to look at me like that,” thrust—
“whine for me like that,” thrust—
“and not get fucked exactly how you asked for?”
Another thrust sends a moan tumbling from your lungs.
“I’m going to ruin you all night…” Zayne slams into you again, kissing your jaw. “…just like you wanted.”
The Onichynus base was quiet. The kind of silence that settles only after days of chaos. Sylus claimed the couch, one knee propped up, tablet balanced in one hand with that infuriating ease he always had. You stretched beside him like a lazy cat, pretending to scroll but mostly watching him.
Unfair. Truly unfair. He was fresh off a long day, and somehow he looked better because of it. Hair slightly mussed, sleeves rolled up, veins etched along his forearms like temptation incarnate.
He feels your stare. Of course he does.
Without looking up, he smirks. “You know, it’s considered impolite to stare.”
Your affectionate eye roll only widens his grin, especially when he glances over and catches the expression. “Don’t pout. It’s cute but still pouting.”
You melt deeper into the couch, determined not to give him the satisfaction.
Until he shifts. Just a little—the faint stretch of his back that shows off the muscles beneath his shirt, the way the fabric pulls, the low sound he makes in his throat as he settles. It’s such a small thing but it lands low and hot, right where you don’t want him to know it affects you.
Sylus catches you. Again.
“If you have something to say, kitten,” he drawls, “you can say it.”
You don’t. Words feel inadequate for the hungry thoughts running through your mind. So, you give him the look instead—the slow, sultry sweep of your eyes, lips tilting just enough to say put down the tablet and come take me.
Sylus exhales a short, amused breath. “Oh. That’s how were playing tonight.”
You don’t break eye contact. Why would you? You already have him.
Sylus leans back—way back—draping his arm along the top of the couch so his fingers are behind your head without touching you. His other hand lowers the tablet to his knee, but he doesn’t close it. The message is written all over him: I can work and ruin you at the same time.
The game officially begins.
His lips curve so wickedly knowing its practically obscene. His crimson eyes drag over you, darkening with a heat that shoots straight through you as he gives you the eyes right back.
And god, they’re worse. Lazy, confident, filled with a heat that promises he’s already imaging how you’ll sound when he really starts touching you. His gaze drops briefly to your mouth before sliding back up.
You stretch your leg, letting your calf graze his thigh. Almost innocent. Not at all.
Sylus’s voice drops an octave. “Careful.”
You feign surprise. “What?”
“That,” his fingertip deliberately drags slowly down the side of the tablet, “was not an accident.”
“Maybe you want me to pin it down, so it stops slipping.”
Heat blooms low in your belly, and he leans in just enough to crowd you, and your breath stutters. He hears it, he savors it.
But you’re not giving up that easily.
You shift back, creating space, knees falling open just a little—enough to show intention without saying a word. His jaw tics. Got him.
“You’re really trying to get my attention, hmm?”
“You could just finish your report,” you tease sweetly.
“Mmh. I could.” His gaze flicks over your legs again. You wait for the but.
It doesn’t come. Instead, he picks up the tablet and scrolls. You huff. Okay. So maybe he can resist you a little bit.
He laughs under his breath, quiet and delighted. “Sweetie… don’t start something that you can’t finish.”
You cross your arms, stubborn and flustered. “And what exactly am I starting?”
He mimics your tone. “And I’m just working.”
Your eyes lock in a dangerous, ridiculous, hot enough to set the room on fire gaze. Sylus shifts an inch closer, and his scent warms the air between you, making your pulse flutter in more places than your chest.
“Oh?” he murmurs, like he can feel the ache between your thighs himself. “Giving up already?”
He finally—finally—sets the tablet aside, slowly enough to taunt you. Then leans in, sudden and close, nose brushing yours. Air leaves your lungs as his lips graze the corner of your mouth without sealing the kiss.
Your eyes flutter as his thumb skims your jaw, slow and sinful. You try your last weapon one more time, tilting your chin up, locking your eyes with his, giving him the most devastating version of the look you can manage.
Sylus goes still; his pupils blow wide.
“Oh, kitten….” he growls under his breath. “Thats not fair.”
You smirk, victory sweet on your tongue, but you don’t get to savor it. The next second he’s got one hand cupping your jaw, the other sliding around your waist, dragging you onto his lap.
Sylus mouth crashes into yours, hot and hungry, kissing you like he’s claiming the prize you foolishly wagered. You straddle him instinctively, knees on either side of his hips, rocking down against the erection straining beneath his pants.
You whine when doesn’t stop it, but encourages it—fingers digging into your sides, thumbs circling into the soft places he’s been eyeing all night. He drags you close until your chest brushes his, your nipples pebbling under your shirt, rubbing against him with every tiny movement.
Sylus mouths down your neck, slow, dangerous kisses followed by a bite that’s all desperation. His hands slide beneath your shirt, palms spanning your waist, gliding up your ribs, down your spine. When he pulls back to look at you, he’s the one who is beautifully wrecked.
“God, I love when you look at me like that,” he murmurs, breath hot on your lips. “So pretty. So sure. Like you know I’d give you anything.”
He nips your earlobe. “And I will…” His voice is dripping with desire. “Stand up for me.”
You rise onto your knees in his lap, breath hitching as his palms glide down the backs of your thighs with claiming strokes that leave goosebumps in their wake. When he reaches the hem of your shorts, he hooks his fingers into both waistbands and pulls. The fabric drags down your legs, and the sticky strand clinging between your thighs stretches, then snaps. Sylus groans under his breath as you step out of them.
He keeps staring like he wants to devour you whole.
With a single movement, Sylus undoes his pants only enough, freeing his thick and painfully hard cock. His thumb glides over the bead of pre-cum at his tip, and he exhales like touching himself is too much. “Come here,” he murmurs. “Sit.”
You crawl back into your position, hovering for a moment before lowering yourself onto him. The first stretch pulls a gasp from your lungs that Sylus will think about for days. His hands seize your waist, holding you open around him as your walls flutter in a helpless welcome.
He cups the back of your head, brings your forehead to his, and thrusts up once, nice and deep. You whimper into his mouth.
“Ride me, kitten,” he coos. “Take what you’ve been begging for with those pretty eyes.”
You lift yourself up and sink back down onto him, again and again, until your thighs burn and you’re trembling to keep your pace steady. The way he fills you makes it nearly impossible to stay controlled and every drag of his cock pulls a broken little sound from your throat that he drinks like wine.
You drop your hips down to meet him again, and the impact sends a shockwave of pleasure straight up your spine. Sylus watches all of it, every slick bounce of your cunt drooling down his length.
“Fuck—just like that,” he groans, head falling back before snapping forward to watch you again. “You always take me so good. Look at that.”
You try. You look down, watching him disappear inside you over and over—your slick glistens on his cock, making everything shine. The sight makes your walls clench around him, forcing his entire body to react. Sylus’s hips jerk, muscles tensing underneath you.
“Yes…” you gasp, palms flattening against his chest for balance as your thighs slap against his. “Y-You feel so—"
“So what?” he pants, thrusting up to meet every grind. “Tell me.”
Your head falls back, a helpless moan breaking free. “So good. So big—Sy, you’re so deep—”
His eyes darken. “Yeah…good girl. Such a good girl for me.”
His hands grab your ass, forcing you down harder, faster, until your rhythm turns frantic and sloppy. “Love when your eyes go like this too, sweetie. All dazed and needy and fucked out for me.”
Your breath fractures into little cries as you shiver. Pleasure coils low and fast inside of you until it snaps. The orgasm rips through you so violently you fold over him, shaking as your pussy clenches around him in sharp, rhythmic pulses.
A moan tears from his throat as his hips drive his throbbing cock inside of you until it spills in hot, heavy surges. Your walls milk every last drop, yet it’s still not enough.
In one smooth motion he flips you, laying you on the couch beneath him. His hand slides under your thigh, spreading you open again, and he pushes back inside.
“Round two,” he grins, voice thick with hunger. “Don’t tap out.”
The tension between you and Caleb had been simmering for days, a low hum just beneath the surface. You’d been staying at his place for a week, thanks to the massive flood that had swallowed your apartment complex. It was the logical choice—after all, he’d been your best friend for years. You already knew each other’s routines, your spaces, the quiet comfort of familiarity.
Except Caleb was different now. Taller. Broader. The Farspace Fleet Colonel that could command any room. And damn… he was unbelievably hot.
He had to be doing it on purpose, right?
You hadn’t expected him to walk out of the shower like that—pajama pants slung low on his hips, wet hair plastered to his forehead, droplets sliding down the sculpted planes of his chest.
“Sup, Pips,” he greeted casually, stretching and leaning on the fridge, the door swinging open as if the world was his playground.
Your eyes followed him, tracing the curve of his shoulders illuminated from the light; the ripple of muscles as he bent to grab a drink.
“Do you want something to drink?” he asked without looking at you, voice casual, but something in it made your pulse hit a higher gear.
“Oh… um, no thank you,” you sputtered, flustered, as heat rushed to your cheeks.
He twisted the cap off his drink with ease, lips closing over the bottle as he took a long, lazy sip. You didn’t mean to stare. Really, you didn’t. But your eyes betrayed you, tracing the lines of his body, flicking over his lips.
A spray of soda erupted over the sink as he slammed the bottle down, coughing and sputtering. His face flushed red from more than just a lack of oxygen.
“Are you okay?” you asked, brows shooting up in surprise.
“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine,” he managed, swatting it away as if it were nothing. Then his eyes locked on yours, dark and sharp as they tried to read you. “Are… why… did you?”
Knowing exactly what he meant, you giggled, short-circuiting his brain further, watching the cogs spin as he tried to find a logical explanation for your lingering, hungry stare.
“Don’t do… what?” You batted your lashes innocently, hiding your smirk.
“That… thing with your eyes,” he said, voice low and tense, every inch of him coiled tight like a spring ready to snap.
You did the only thing you could. You let your gaze drift over him again, letting the hunger shine just a little more.
His hands curled against the counter, pupils blown black though his eyes remained soft and pleading. “I’m serious, Pipsqueak,” he rasped. “Don’t… please don’t do that.”
“Well, why not?” you teased, biting your lip, trying to hide the way your pulse had picked up.
Caleb exhaled, jaw ticking as he struggled to maintain control. His voice shifted, harder now, more measured. “Do you mean it?”
“That look in your eye,” he said, pushing off the counter. The hard line of his jaw, the sudden tautness of his pajamas against him, made your stomach tighten. “Do you mean it… when you look at me like you want me to fuck you stupid?”
Your breath caught as arousal gushed in your panties while Caleb simultaneously crowded your space.
“And if I do?” you challenged, meeting his gaze head-on, letting your voice drip with mock defiance.
A low, desperate sound escaped him before he seized you, lifting you effortlessly and tossing you over his shoulder. You gasped, the sound half surprise, half need.
“You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me this week... for years,” he confessed, voice rough, urgent. “Wearing those skimpy little pajamas… should’ve known you were just trying to make me break.”
Your cheeks flamed, but you didn’t deny it.
In a heartbeat, he tossed you on the mattress. You barely had time to blink before his hands were ripping at your clothes—shorts discarded, top yanked open—buttons clattering across the floor. Suddenly you were bare beneath him, flushed, and aching for him in a way you probably always had.
Two large hands slid up your torso before settling on your breasts, warm palms cupping you with a greedy sort of reverence. His thumbs brushed over your nipples in slow, lazy circles—just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. The soft peaks tightened under his touch, and he rewarded the reaction with a sharp pinch that sent heat rushing straight between your legs.
You gasped, arching into his hands.
“Yeah… that’s it,” he murmured, voice dropping as he kneaded your breasts like he couldn’t decide whether to worship or devour.
Then he lowered his head.
His mouth replaced his hand, lips closing around your nipple as his tongue traced a slow, wet spiral around it. He sucked—deep, hungry—tongue flicking in quick teasing strokes before dragging over you again. You whimpered, fingers digging into his hair.
He hummed against your skin, vibrating through you. “Fuck…” he groaned, switching sides, lavishing your other breast with long greedy laps before sucking it into his mouth. “You taste—god, you taste perfect.”
Each warm pass of his tongue over your sensitive bud made you squirm helplessly beneath him, hips lifting, searching for friction, for anything.
“Oh—god… please,” you begged, voice cracking around the plea.
He released your nipple with a wet pop, breath hot against your skin as he pulled back to admire your spit covered chest. His knee then nudged your thighs apart, eyes now locking onto your sweet glistening hole, lips parting to groan at the sight.
“I’m going to take such good care of you,” he growled, peeling his pajamas down and letting his cock free. Your whimper was instinctive, uncontrollable.
“Yeah?” he hissed, fisting himself. “Beg for it.”
“W-What?” you stammered, hips shifting on instinct.
“You heard me,” he said with dark, demanding eyes which fixed on you with an intensity that made you weak. “Beg for me to fill you. I want to hear it. I need to hear it.”
The desperation in his voice made you shiver, wetness dripping down onto his bedding.
“Please, Caleb,” you whimpered. “Please… I’ve wanted you for so long.”
He hissed, tugging harder at himself, cock throbbing and leaking enough to cover his tip.
“Caleb…” you gasped, writhing beneath him. “Come on… fuck me.”
He didn’t even give you a moment. One hand gripped your hip, the other braced against the bed, and Caleb shoved himself inside you with no hesitation, no slow teasing. You gasped, but the slick heat between your thighs welcomed him immediately, and he slid into your pussy effortlessly, your body molding to his as if it had been waiting for him all along.
“Shhh… it’s okay,” he groaned, voice rough, low, and trembling. “Let me have you… I just—fuck. I need you so bad.”
His hips pistoned hard, each thrust hitting a deep, perfect spot inside your needy cunt with no care for gentleness. Every stroke drove a shiver through you, every grunt and groan from him stirred heat and urgency in your veins. He was all desperate need which made your body ache for more even as it trembled underneath him.
“You feel so fucking good,” he rasped, lips brushing your ear, teeth grazing the lobe, voice thick with need. “I’ve wanted you… I’ve needed you—fuuuck—so long.”
You moaned, clinging to him, nails digging into his shoulders as your body rode the waves of his urgency. He didn’t slow. He didn’t pause. And your pussy continued to swallow each thrust he gave you.
Your voice was all he needed—and he came. Caleb shuddered as he emptied his load inside you, a guttural, desperate sound ripping from his chest. He stayed buried in you for a moment, cock twitching as he pressed his forehead against yours.
When he finally pulled back just slightly, every line of his body was taut with the need he had just spent. You could feel it in every press of his chest against yours.
“You’re mine,” he stated, giving a sudden shallow thrust to remind you it’s not over. “All mine.”
Rafayel was in one of his moods.
Not grumpy—not at all. It was a playful, wicked, I-know-exactly-what-I’m-doing-to-you moods.
Afternoon light poured through the balcony window, catching dust motes and turning everything gold. Rafayel stood shirtless in front of his easel, delicately stroking a paint brush over the canvas.
You shouldn’t have stared. You definitely shouldn’t have lingered. But how could you not? His shoulders flexed with every movement, his long fingers guided the brush with elegance. Watching him paint was a kind of seduction he didn’t even know he was committing.
“You’re hovering,” he teased, amused he didn’t even have to look at you to know.
“Oh?” He titled his head, a smirk shaping his mouth before he even faced you. “Then what’s that look you’re giving me?”
Finally, he set his brush down and turned to face you fully. His gaze swept over you appreciatively.
“That look,” he gestured lazily. “The look you give me when you want something. When you want me.”
Your cheeks heated. It wasn’t even intentional the way you stared at him like he was the most intoxicating thing in the room—he just was.
His grin widened. “Go on. Use your words. Or…” his eyes glinted. “You can keep trying to seduce me in silence. I’m sure that’ll go great.”
You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t drop your gaze. You shot him the most obvious, intentional, sultry, fuck me stare imaginable.
His breath stuttered, barely, then he chuckled, dragging a hand through his hair. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Oh, I do.” He stepped closer, streaks of paint drying down his arms. “But I’m trying to paint.”
“But, Rafayel…” you began to pout.
“Mm-mm.” He tapped your chin with a paint colored thumb, smearing some color on your skin. He walked past, deliberately brushing his bare chest against your shoulder. “Patience.”
You whined, trailing him. “But… I need you.”
“I always need you, cutie.” He picked up a jar of cadmium red, rolling it between his fingers. “But you can be good and wait a second, yeah?”
No. You really didn’t think you could. The more you looked at him—the more he denied you—made you crave him more. It didn’t help his hard length was straining against his sweats as if he was fighting himself.
You huffed, bottom lip jutting out in protest as he faced the canvas once again.
“You won’t make this easy on me, will you?”
You didn’t answer. Instead, you pressed yourself against his back, hands sliding over his warm waist, fingers ghosting lower and lower—
He hummed. Still painting.
Until your nails dragged across the sensitive skin just above his waistband.
You didn’t stop. Touches drifting lower, teasing, teasing, teasing—until your palm found him. Hard.
“Why are you avoiding me… when you want it just as bad?”
Rafayel groaned, his eyes falling shut before dropping his brush, grabbing your wrist instinctively as he spun and backed you against the table.
“So this is how you want to play?” His voice dropped to a velvet-dark register. “You come in here, giving me those eyes, touching me, even after I told you to be patient?”
“You’re the one who’s hard,” you reminded him sweetly.
He laughed, sinful and breathless. “Of course I am. Have you seen yourself?”
Rafayel shook his head before his fingers dug into your hips, turning and pinning you over the table. The paint jars rattled and a smear of crimson blotted against your arm from the pallet.
“Shhh.” He pressed his mouth to your ear, voice hot and slightly trembling from how badly he needed you. “You wanted this. Didn’t you?”
Heat rushed down your body as you nodded.
He groaned, grinding against you, his cock hot and thick against your ass. “Good.”
His hands worked your shorts down, groaning in approval at the sight on your thong.
“God, look at you…” His hand slid over your ass, cool paint smearing where he touched. “I should paint you sometime.”
He dragged his thumb along your clothed heat before pulling your panties aside, exposing your swollen, glistening cunt. You whimpered as the cool air hit you.
“Oh, cutie…” He beamed like he’d found inspiration itself. “You’re soaked.”
You barely had time to breathe before he plunged two fingers inside you—deep, curling them while fucking you slow.
“So desperate you came over here dripping?” he taunted, thrusting his fingers. “Couldn’t even let me finish my painting?”
“Mm, now you want mercy.” He nipped your shoulder, sending shocks down your spine. “But you didn’t want mercy when you were begging with your eyes, did you?”
You shook your head helplessly.
He pulled his fingers out, leaving you clenching around nothing. You gasped, reaching back, but he caught your chin and turned your head.
He held his fingers up—slick with your arousal and streaked with blue paint, then he licked them clean. Slowly. Groaning at the taste.
He didn’t waste another second. His hands—still streaked in color—gripped your hips. Somewhere between pining you and fucking you with his fingers, he’d freed himself. The slick tip of his length nudged your hole once before thrusting in one deep, desperate stroke. You choked on a gasp, nails digging into the table as he trembled behind you and swore under his breath.
“F—fuck. You’re so tight… wanted me this bad, huh?”
He hissed as you clenched around his cock, and began moving. Slow at first, tormentingly deep—before building into hard, messy thrusts that shook the table.
Paint smeared everywhere—your thighs, your ass, his hands, the edge of the table—color blending with sweat and heat as he fucked you like he needed it to live. You cried out his name, voice breaking into that sound shattered him.
He slammed into you harder, skin slapping. “Again.”
“Good girl,” he growled, pounding into you with a frantic pace. “God, I’m—I’m not gonna—”
He reached around, fingers diving between your legs, rubbing your slippery clit as he fucked you closer and closer to the edge.
You came first, a hard wave of euphoria that left your body shaking as you clenched tight around him, crying into your arm.
Rafayel groaned a long, wrecked sound as he pulled out just in time, fist wrapping around himself as he spilled hot, thick ropes across your back, hips jerking through the pleasure. Paint and cum mixed on your skin in indecent streaks.
He collapsed over you, kissing your shoulder, breath warm and shaking.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, voice hoarse with awe. “Now…”
Another kiss to your cheek.
The Hunters Association annual gala was exactly as you’d expected: pretentious, too long, and full of people congratulating each other for work that might’ve been noble… or quietly cruel, depending on who was doing the congratulating.
But at least there was expensive food, free wine, and a perfect, unobstructed view of Xavier in a form-fitting tux.
He had every right to look that good, sure. But this good? It felt borderline illegal.
You shifted in your seat again, thighs brushing, trying—and failing—to ease the mounting ache spreading through you. The wine didn’t help. Xavier’s hand didn’t help either, not when he kept drawing slow, knowing circles against the exposed skin at the slit of your dress. So innocent-seeming it made your chest tighten.
And yet he kept his eyes forward, pretending the speech on stage mattered more than the way you kept squirming.
It was infuriating. Why did you need to listen to any of this? There were so many better things you could be doing. Most of them requiring Xavier to remove this dress—preferably with his teeth.
You sighed loudly, trying for subtlety and succeeding as he glanced over.
You immediately gave him that look. The devastating one. The please take me home and ruin me right now look.
Xavier froze for a split second. His eyes widened—then darkened, narrowing as he flicked his gaze around the table, then across the room, scanning for anyone who might have caught that expression.
You bit back your smile, leaning in closer, deliberately holding his eyes.
“Star…” His voice dropped into that velvety, strained register he only used when he was two seconds from losing control. “Stop that.”
You blinked innocently. “Stop what?”
His fingers tightened on your thigh, possessive and warning all at once. “Stop looking at me like that.”
You pouted, just barely, tilting your chin down but keeping your gaze soft, wanting. “Why?”
“Because,” he breathed, jaw clenching, “we’re in public. Anyone could see that look.”
“So?” It came out airy, teasing.
“So?” Xavier’s composure cracked. His jaw flexed, his nostrils flaring slightly as he dragged his attention back to your face—your parted lips, the glow in your eyes, the dress hugging every line of you far too perfectly.
You saw the exact moment his restraint slipped and annoyance bled into hunger.
“I’m serious, Star.” His voice was gravel, low enough to make your stomach flip. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to take you somewhere I absolutely shouldn’t.”
Your pulse leapt. “Maybe I want that.
His hand slid higher, encouraging your legs open. His fingertips brushed dangerously close to where you burned for him, light enough to make you shiver.
You leaned close, lips nearly grazing his ear. “You’re the one touching me, Xavier.”
His breath stuttered—not with surprise, but with effort of restraint that was breaking, thread by thread. Behind you, applause rose again. Neither of you even pretended to look.
“Get up.” His command was soft, yet lethal. Cutting through the room’s noise like a blade.
You blinked at him. “Xav—?”
He nudged your chair back with his knee, eyes never leaving yours. “Get. Up.”
You obeyed, thighs trembling as you rose.
He pushed his chair back, muttered something polite to the person beside him, then grabbed your wrist and guided you away from the table with deceptive calm. To everyone else, it looked like he was leading you out for some fresh air. Only you knew what the tight, possessive hold meant.
The moment the bathroom door clicked shut behind you, he grabbed your waist and shoved you gently but firmly against the marble counter, breath hot against your ear.
“What the hell was that look at the table?”
You smiled innocently, knowing exactly what you were doing, and feeling proud for doing so. “You knew what it meant.”
He caged you in with his body, nose brushing your jaw. “That’s why I told you to stop.” His breath hitched. “You were doing it while other people were looking.”
His fingers gripped your waist harder. “I’m protective.”
“Protective?” you echoed.
“Yeah,” he growled, lips brushing your neck. “You’re mine. And I don’t want anyone else even imagining what you look like when you’re begging for me.”
His hand slid down, lifting your leg up against his hip so he could press his hardness between your thighs, right against the soaked fabric beneath your dress.
“You feel that?” A low groan slipped from him. “That’s what your look did to me. Made me rock-hard in a room full of people I wanted to throw out.”
“No.” He kissed you—hard—cutting off your protest. His palm slid under the slit of your dress, dragging upward until his fingers brushed your panties.
“So wet,” he rasped against your mouth. “You were like this the whole time?”
“Because of you,” you whispered.
He growled. “Turn around.”
You barely had time to brace your hands on the counter before he dragged your panties down, the lace snapping lightly against your thighs. He flipped your dress up to your hips, exposing you completely to him.
He freed himself in one desperate motion, tux pants shoved low, before the head of his cock was sliding through your slick folds.
“Xavier—people could come in—”
“Let them try,” he hissed, grabbing your hips. “I’m not leaving this room until you can’t walk straight.”
And then he pushed inside with a single, deep thrust that knocked a gasp from your lungs and a curse from his.
“Fuck…” His forehead dropped to your shoulder. “You’re so tight—Star, you’re killing me.”
You whimpered, pushing back against him, needy and impatient. His grip tightened instantly.
“Don’t—move.” His voice was a trembling threat. “I mean it. If you move, I’ll lose it.”
You did anyway—just a little shift, because you clearly weren’t one for following the rules tonight. And he snapped.
Xavier slammed into you, rhythm fast and hungry. His hips were driving into yours with sharp, needy thrusts that made the counter rattle and your ass jiggle. Your hands pressed against the cold marble for balance, your moans spilling helplessly into the echoing room.
“You want to give me those eyes in public?” He thrusted deeper, harder, each one filling the room with a wet squelch from your cunt. “That’s what you get, that’s what you wanted, huh?”
You choked out, breathless. “Xavier—oh god… ye—yeah!”
His hand came around to your front, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles that made your knees buckle.
“Look at yourself,” he grunted.
You lifted your gaze to the mirror—seeing your flushed face, the way his body towered behind you, the way he fucked you like he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else ever touching you.
“You’re mine.” He locked onto your reflections in the glass. “Say it.”
“I’m—” you gasped as pleasure coiled low and fast. “I’m yours, Xavier.”
He pulled you back by your hips, pounding into you so hard you cried out, the sound bouncing off the tiled walls. He kept going until blinding, sharp waves of your orgasm rolled through your entire body, and didn’t stop until you were trembling.
Eventually he buried himself deep, groaning into your shoulder as his milky release flooded your walls, hand gripping your waist so tight it bordered on bruising.
He stayed inside you for a long moment, breathing hard against your skin. Your bodies remained pressed together, sweat mingling.
Then he kissed your neck, slow this time, almost tender.
“You,” he murmured, brushing your hair aside. “Are going to be the death of me.”
You smiled, breathless. “Still mad?”
He bit your shoulder gently. “Was never mad.” He kissed it after. “Just obsessed.”
And with a soft groan, he pulled out and hauled you back upright, hands smoothing down your dress.
“Now,” he said, fixing his tie while his reflection smirked at yours, “we’re going back out there, and you’re keeping those eyes tucked away for me.”
“Because if you give me that look again,” he whispered, “I’m dragging you back in here and ruining you twice.”
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