~ I feel like I be saying the same things in different fonts but this has been lingering in my head for at least a month now so why not.
Sylus cannot stop spitting on your pussy during sex. You could be sopping wet, a mix of his cum and yours literally everywhere. All over your cunt, your thighs, dripping down your ass. It's still not wet enough, every so often he just spits down on where his cock disappears inside of you to make it even wetter.
Xavier eats you front to back, you don't think there is a time where he's gone down on you and not licked your ass too. You're mortified about it, make a point to really deep clean yourself up prior to seeing him. He's eating you to the bone, licking and sucking and biting every inch of you from the top of your thighs all the way down and around to the small of your back.
Caleb loves the smell of your pussy, an obsession that goes far beyond stealing your panties for personal use. He'll purposely eat you out with the blankets over his head to be enveloped by the heady scent that is you and your arousal. You swear you feel his nose burying between your slick folds more than his tongue.
Rafayel is into snowballing after he cums in your mouth. Don't swallow, don't spill either. He's tugging you up to his level and crashing his lips against yours, a sloppy mix of tongue and teeth as you pass whatever of his cum remains in your mouth over to his before he's pushing it back into your own again.
Zayne purposely makes you squirt / ruin his sheets. It gives him a sense of satisfaction seeing the wet spot (puddle). He purposely bought a water proof mattress cover for this reason. When everything is done and you go to shower? He's grinding his cock into the wetness, hard all over again at the aftermath of your strenuous activities before stripping the bedding to wash.
Pre-menstrual depression is always depicted as like "He He! I had a box of icecream bars and cried while watching the Titanic!" But in reality, it's more like, "I'm standing the edge of an abyss. There is nothing good inside of me, I'm filled with rage and desperation."
It's crazy that being told how to deal with that is never a part of anyone's menstrual sex education.
This has already been said in the notes, but if PMS causes extreme depression and even suicidal ideation, that is in fact something that most people do not experience and it can be treated
Like for the majority it really is "oh i'm hungrier and moodier than usual"
^this should be a part of sex education so the point still stands
I went to my doctor after I was walking to work one morning and saw a bus coming and actually took a step to throw myself in front of it before I pulled myself together. Later that day I started bleeding and was literally like someone flipped a switch and I didn't feel suicidal anymore. Which made me feel like I was loosing my mind because who goes from 'I want to throw myself in front of a bus' to 'I'm perfectly fine' just like that? I did some research, I went to the doctor and described my feelings, he looked me in the eye and gently asked what I thought it was, I said I'd read about PMDD and I thought it might be that, he said 'I think so too' and wrote a prescription.
If, before you get your period, you feel furiously angry, suicidal, irritated by every tiny thing to the point you want to murder someone, stuck in a black hole you'll never escape from. If you are experiencing extreme emotions for what seems like no good reason, especially if you get your period and those extreme emotions just go away. You're probably not just PMSing , you may have PMS's feral big sister PMDD and it's treatable.
Also this is something that can develop as you get older. So if you used to get normal PMS but what I wrote above sounds more like your norm now then don't just write it off as regular PMS.
"Do you wanna take a nap with me?" Zayne glances up from his now shut laptop, brow raised.
"We finally get to spend some time together and you want to spend it sleeping?" He raises from his office chair, stretching slightly as he joins you in the hallway. You nod, resolute, as you take his hand and lead him to the bedroom.
"You're always asking me to come sleep with you, aren't you?" You glance over your shoulder, happy to see his ears reddening under your gaze.
"Sleep is always the intended activity. What actually ends up happening is...a welcome outcome."
"Right...while tonight is gonna be an outlier. I'm exhausted, and you're the best pillow we have. So come on!" You climb into the comfortable bed, sighing in relief at the feeling.
Almost reluctantly, Zayne joins you in bed. He's never been one for napping in the middle of the day, always too busy. But he hasn't been sleeping well as of late, a fact you know he's been trying to keep from you.
So a nap is a necessary.
"Are you asleep?" You whisper, though it's loud enough that it hardly counts as whispering.
"It's been 2 minutes." Zayne comments dryly. You smile, turning around in his hold to face him. His eyes are shut, but they slowly open once he feels your gaze.
"You don't have any intentions of sleeping, do you?" He raises a brow, though his mouth twitches into a smile for a moment. You hum, moving closer to press your body against his.
"Well...sleep was the intended activity. But this is much more fun, wouldn't you agree?"
It's something you've known for a while. He tried to keep it under wraps for your benefit, probably not wanting to freak you out. But it started to get obvious every time his fingers gently traced your back, admiring it so openly whenever he got the chance.
So, you started to suggest it more, happy to please him. Plus, you really like it too.
Well, except for one thing.
"Take-take it off." You gasp, nearly tearing a hole in the sheets with your nails. Zayne is pounding into you from behind, hips slamming into yours loudly. It feels incredible, but the thin latex preventing you from properly feeling his cock is really ruining the experience.
Huh, Zayne was right. It really is a slippery slope skipping the condom just the one time.
"What?" He slows his pace, still panting. You squirm, hating the feeling of your orgasm beginning to ebb away.
"Take the condom off! Please Zayne I need-I need to feel you." Your words are dripping with need as he pulls out, but then hesitates.
"You're ovulating right now, which means a higher chance of pre-"
You cut him off by reaching back, grasping the latex and quickly pulling it off him with a loud snap, tossing it aside. When he still doesn't move, you whine in urgency, pushing back against him and feeling his tip brush against your entrance. He hisses at the stimulation, grasping your hips to keep you in place.
"A-Alright." He chokes out, slipping inside you.
A few weeks later, the two pink lines are hardly a surprise.
riding zayne so hard he's the one limping the next day
"Why are you walking like that?" You watch Zayne slip into his office for your usual lunch date. He's limping oddly as he walks over to his desk and slips into his chair.
"It's nothing." He tries to reach for the bag of pastries, but you pull it out of his reach.
"Did you get hurt? If something happened, I wanna know Zayne. Just because you're a doctor doesn't me-"
"I didn't get hurt. I'm just...a little sore." His ears have a hint of pink, and you frown in confusion.
"How could you be sore? You had a rest day yesterday and the day before you did your arm workout. How are your legs sore?" You raise a brow when he sighs, almost embrassed.
"I believe it has to do with...last night." He says pointedly.
"What did you do last-oh." Your eyes go as wide as dinner plates, suddenly remembering the intense night you'd shared, which had mostly involved you on top of Zayne, hips slamming down against his.
"I...am so sorry." Remorse fills you, and you're quick to push the bag of pastries towards him. He pulls out a chocolate croissant, tearing it in half and offering you the clearly larger piece.
"Don't be. I have no regrets." He says it so casually, while you eat your pastry in shame.
"I didn't mean to hurt you. I'll make it up to you, I promise!" You smile, though it falters when the corner of his mouth twitches upward.
My Beloved - Grand Marquis Zayne x Female General MC
Author’s Note: First-ever Zayne fanfic in this account. If you didn’t know, Zayne is my 2nd LI after Sylus. This fanfic is inspired by Pursuit of Jade episode 35. Minor spoiler for this episode but nothing major. Hope to write some more Zayne fanfics since I really love his cool, nonchalant character, but secretly cares so much, our lil tsundere.
Disclaimer: This work is completely fiction. I do not own the images nor the characters or you (the MC). All images were taken from Pinterest. This story is heavily inspired by Pursuit of Jade, credit goes to the C-drama as I’ve only taken inspiration and put my own twist to it.
Warnings: minor spoiler for pursuit of jade episode 35, tsundere Zayne, strict and cold Zayne (not towards MC), fluff, minor fake marriage trope (part of the drama), slight steamy scene at the end
“General, the two scholars have come here to teach you the ways of the court etiquette,” your lady-in-waiting announced as the door to your residence opened, revealing two scholars coming forth, bowing their heads and paying their respects towards you
“Great general, I am Li Chen, secretary of the Ministry of Rites, humbly come on behalf of the imperial; instructed to guide and teach you the essentials of our court etiquette” the man in front of you bow his head, his face not meeting yours yet but you already knew the man before you
Li Chen, now a scholar, was once your ex-fiancé who abruptly broke off your engagement. His mother spread rumours around that you bring bad luck, and she had his son break the engagement to save himself from any bad omen.
Now, he stands in front of you. Supposedly being the one to teach you. You were honestly at a loss for words to say to him.
“Great General, Secretary Li is someone who engrossed himself in these proper etiquettes. We believe he is the perfect person to…” the other scholar, Minister Lin, didn’t finish before you finally cut in. “Secretary Li, what rank are you in?”
Hearing your voice, he immediately raised his head, finally seeing you fully. To him, you didn’t change much since he last saw you back in the village. But knowing your new title truly baffled him. He didn’t expect the Great Nightbloom Jasmine General would be you.
“Great General, he is in the 9th rank of…”
“(y/n)(l/n)…” he mentioned your real name instead of addressing you as he should; making everyone look at him. “Y-you’re the, the Great Nightbloom Jasmine General?”
“How dare you address the Great General by her personal name? Are you truly the secretary of the Ministry of Rites? With this attitude?” your lady-in-waiting strictly stated, making him taken aback for a moment
“Long time no see. Li Chen” you finally spoke, the man in front of you seemed nervous; his ears turned a bright shade of red, while Minister Li thought it was a good meeting. “Ah, our secretary and the Great General seem to be acquaintances. This is wonderful…”
“I wouldn’t really say, acquaintances…” you huffed, sipping the tea that was prepared for you as suddenly Li Chen was on his knees, head bowed in front of you. “(y/n)…the kindness that your family has shown to mine back then…especially during our previous…”
“By rule, someone of secretary rank does not need to kneel before an official. Please help him back up to his feet” you mentioned as the guard of your residence immediately raised Li Chen to his feet before taking his leave
“Let us not dwell in the past. The tuition fee that my father helped you with, along with other items of your household, it has all been repaid. There is no need to bring it up ever again. We are even now” you elaborated. “Your mother must be proud of you, seeing as you finally achieved your dream. Now then, you know that I’m not the type of person to use others especially since we had some history” you eyed him one last time. “You may take your leave now”
“Understood, Great General. Us Ministers will take our leave now” Minister Lin announced, dragging Li Chen with him out your residence before bombarding Li Chen with multiple questions. “Hey, what was that? You had history with the Great General? You were in debt to her? How did that happen?”
“It’s a long story, honestly. It’s best to not talk about it anymore” Li Chen mourned as the two walked through your residence, heading towards the gate when the guards opened the gate in front of them, revealing Zayne and his right-hand guard beside him, walking inwards to your residence
“The live-in husband” Li Chen murmured, which didn’t go unheard by Minister Lin whose eyes widened at the sudden comment he made
Both Zayne and his right-hand man stood while listening to Li Chen rambled on. “So, (y/n) didn’t abandon you back in the village after she went through war and fought. She helped you raise up the rank the second she got a new title herself and now you’re just living in luxuries, practically using her new status to gain all of this. How are you even different to me when you compared me back in the village. How am I the inferior one compared to you…”
Li Chen was then suddenly slapped by Minister Lin. “What nonsense are you spitting out now??” Minister Lin turned to Zayne, folding his hands together as a sign of respect. “Great Marquis, please do not mind this young minister” meanwhile Li Chen turned in shock at the title directed towards Zayne
“Great Marquis, what brings you here today? In our Great General’s residence?” Minister Lin questioned while Zayne calmly answered. “Well, seeing me here without a request from the imperial, visiting our Great General, it seems like information that would give you riches if you were to tell His Majesty. You might even spread false rumours about our Great General and me that would favour our opposing enemies, wouldn’t it?”
“Great Marquis, I would not dare do such a thing” Minister Lin cried out, his knees giving up as he was now kneeling in front of Zayne and turned to see Li Chen still standing timidly; immediately pulling him down to his knees as well. “What are you doing?! Pay your respects to our Great Marquis”
“Oh Great Marquis, we promise we didn’t see anything. We didn’t listen to anything. It was as if we were not here in the first place” Minister Lin pleaded while Li Chen still spaced out, his eyes were holding back tears of shame and embarrassment
Zayne turned to look down at Li Chen, who did not dare meet his gaze. “Look up and face others when you are speaking to them” Minister Lin immediately forced Li Chen to look up at Zayne but his cold gaze, the real title he holds, were all too much, and Li Chen suddenly gave out and dropped to his side
“Is this truly what our constitution is like now?” Zayne questioned, raising his eyebrows
“Please excuse him, Great Marquis. He is still young, still new to the Ministry of Rites. He has yet to see more. I believe your presence and greatness overwhelmed him” Minister Lin tried to give an excuse as Zayne turned his attention back to the pathway to your residence, leaving the two ministers by your residence gate.
Bonus Scene (Alone Time With Zayne)
“I can’t believe you came all the way to my residence like this” you chuckled, leaning your head on his shoulder as the two of you were in your robes in the wooden tub, water splashing around the two of you
“It is only right after I’ve finished my official meetings to come back to my wife, isn’t that right?” Zayne easily answered, but his gaze had a hidden meaning to it, especially when you felt his arm on your waist, holding you tightly close to him
“Huh? What’s gotten into you? Can’t believe I have to deal with this right now” you pouted, turning your back against him, but instead, Zayne had his arm on either side of your body, pinning you to the wooden tub, his breath close to your ear. “Deal with this? Now what does that mean, my beloved? Was your meeting with Li Chen turn your mood this sour?”
Hearing that name again, you quickly turn around to face him, his long, silky hair framing his reddened face well. “Aha!! So you do remember him” Zayne’s face immediately turned a bit sour
“What’s this now? Are you jealous?” you teased him while Zayne lowered himself closer to you. “Jealous? It isn’t that I don’t remember him, but rather I never paid close attention to him. Seeing as he is not worthy of my attention, unlike you”
You were a bit confused at his big words until Zayne easily lifted you, sealing the answer you sought with a kiss. “Yes, unlike you” He kisses your forehead “My Great Nightbloom Jasmine General” He continues lower, behind your ear. “The only woman who has my attention” Finally, back to your lips. “My beloved wife”
Author’s note: aghhh, I hope this was ok. Sorry if it’s a bit cringe but I will try to write some Zayne whenever I’m inspired by him. If anyone wants to request a Zayne fic, I’d be happy to write it. Hope you guys enjoy this little fic, I shall slowly fade back into the depths of imagination
Rafayel gasps like you just stabbed him. “Did you— Did you just reject me?! Me?!”
He freezes mid-pucker, eyes widening. Then the dramatics hit: hand dramatically over his heart, head tilting back with a theatrical gasp.
“Wow. Wowww. The love of my life just rejected me like I’m some cheap paintbrush. Heartless. Cruel. I’m literally going to wither away right here on this couch.”
He flops backward, arms crossed, full-on pouting and refusing to look at you… for about three seconds. Then he peeks through his lashes, voice dropping into that whiny-sulky tone:
“Fine. Ignore your poor fish.”
He’ll crawl back two minutes later, dramatically draping himself over your lap demanding “compensation kisses” while grumbling.
𝗫𝗔𝗩𝗜𝗘𝗥
You tilt your head at the last second so his lips brush your cheek instead of your mouth.
He pauses, blue eyes blinking slowly. A tiny, dangerous little smile tugs at his lips, the one that says he’s about to ruin you in the gentlest way possible.
“Mmm… dodging me now?”
He doesn’t get mad. He just lazily reaches out, hooks two fingers in the collar of your shirt, and tugs you straight back into his chest. Voice husky against your ear:
“You know running only makes me want to chase you more, right?”
Then he nuzzles into your neck, planting soft open-mouthed kisses along your jaw until you’re squirming. “Next time you dodge… I’m not stopping at one kiss.”
𝗭𝗔𝗬𝗡𝗘
You turn your face so his kiss lands on the corner of your mouth. One perfectly arched eyebrow lifts. Ice-cold gaze pins you in place.
“Interesting choice,” he says, voice calm but dripping with that signature dry sarcasm.
He doesn’t chase immediately. He just slowly loosens his tie, steps closer until you’re backed against the wall, and tilts your chin up with two fingers.
“Heart rate’s elevated. Pupils dilated. You’re not actually rejecting me… you’re just playing.”
Leans in until his lips are brushing yours without touching — pure torture.
“Naughty. I’ll remember this.”
Then he finally kisses you so deep and controlled you forget your own name.
𝗦𝗬𝗟𝗨𝗦
You dodge. His lips miss by a millimeter. The second you dodge, that signature smirk spreads across his face slow, dangerous, and way too amused. Crimson eyes narrow.
“Oh? My little kitten wants to play hard to get tonight?”
He chuckles low in his throat, crowding you against the nearest wall. One hand braces beside your head, the other lazily tracing your bottom lip with his thumb.
“Dodging me only makes me want to ruin you more. You know that, right?”
He leans in like he’s going for the kiss again… then stops millimeters away.
“Beg nicely and maybe I’ll still let you have it. Or keep running — I do love the chase.”
He’ll corner you until you’re the one pulling him in, every single time.
𝗖𝗔𝗟𝗘𝗕
You turn your head so the kiss lands on your cheek like it’s “just friendly.” He actually freezes for half a second, big purple eyes going wide. Then the playful grin turns wicked.
“Aw c’mon, pipsqueak… you’re really gonna dodge your favorite person?”
He laughs, but there’s that dark little edge underneath the one that always comes out when he’s jealous or needy. Suddenly he’s scooping you up like you weigh nothing, tossing you over his shoulder, and carrying you straight to the couch.
“You know dodging me just makes me wanna pin you down and kiss you stupid, right?”
Drops you on his lap, arms locked around your waist so you can’t escape, nose brushing yours.
“Try that again and I’m not stopping at kisses, got it?”
Then he’s peppering your whole face with kisses while muttering “mine, mine, mine” between each one like the possessive childhood bsf he is.
Fluff, kissing, slightly suggestive? (barely). Mostly silly and fluffy because I needed it. Established relationships.
Xavier__________
The retro game section of the arcade was practically a ghost town tonight, which suited you just fine. No audience for your embarrassing losing streak. The old pinball machine flickered under the dim lighting as you squared up for another attempt, determined this would be the run that finally knocked Xavier off the top of the leaderboard.
It wasn't.
You hear his quiet laughter behind you as the ball drains for the final time and you spin around, ready to voice every complaint forming in your head. Before a single word can escape, something soft and round is shoved directly in your face. A plushie. A little star-shaped one from the prize counter, held up by a very smug Xavier who immediately pitches his voice higher, puppeteering it with exaggerated sincerity.
"Don’t worry. The machine is broken. Definitely broken!" he says in a ridiculous tone, the plushie bobbing with each word. Stupid star. "Xavier will report it to the manager immediately on your behalf. He told me so."
You press your lips together hard while nodding in agreement, refusing to laugh. The star plushie continues, “Your face is too pretty to be upset. Xavier says so. I, the plushie, am simply passing along the mes-"
You push the plushie aside with one hand and kiss him instead.
You feel him go still immediately, the silly voice cutting off mid-syllable. The giggles you were holding back finally start leaking out against his lips.Then you feel him lean in, to deepen the kiss but you pull back. The playfulness on his face has shifted into something altogether more dangerous. A slow, confident smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. Almost challenging.
"Ah," he says quietly, "I am happy to play this game instead."
He steps forward and you step back, the edge of the pinball machine pressing into your back as he plants a hand on either side of you, caging you in with that maddeningly calm smile. He leans in and kisses you properly this time, one hand sliding to the small of your back and pulling you flush against him. You feel him breathe you in as the kiss deepens, unhurried and entirely unself-conscious, as though he'd completely forgotten where you were.
Suddenly, a child's voice rings out somewhere deeper in the arcade and you both break apart like you've been caught stealing. You look left, he looks right. Section still empty. You make eye contact and both burst out in guilty laughter. Then you smoosh his face in your hands for being naughty while he grins with no remorse.
Rafayel __________
You had fully intended to text him back. Truly. The morning had just gotten away from you with work and by the time you resurfaced, there were eleven messages and three missed calls, each one escalating in dramatic flair. You figured you'd just explain in person.
That was, perhaps, a miscalculation.
"Do you know how long I was waiting?" Rafayel starts the moment you walk through the door, turning from his canvas with a paintbrush still in hand and betrayal written all over his face. "I thought something happened to you. I thought maybe a wanderer…” he halts for a moment in thought and you take the opportunity to continue on your path towards him, “or actually no, I thought maybe you finally got tired of me and just decided not to-"
You close the distance between you, pinching his chin between your fingers and kiss him.
There is a pause. A very telling pause where you can practically hear the gears in his head grinding to a halt. Then he kisses you back without missing a beat, leaning into it before he seems to catch himself and pulls away. He blinks. Once. Twice. Like he's trying to remember what he was upset about. Then a scowl returns to his handsome face, though with noticeably less edge.
He opens his mouth.
"That was dirty, you can't just-"
You kiss him again. Shorter this time.
"Stop doing that, I'm trying to-"
Another kiss. This time you linger, tempting him to continue it before finally pulling back slightly.
He closes his mouth. Opens it. Closes it again. The wounded expression is crumbling rapidly, a stubborn smile breaking through despite every effort to hold onto his grievance. He points a finger at you, as though he still has something important to say, but he was struggling to keep up his facade of anger. You look at him with the most innocent expression you can manage, which only makes it worse for him.
"You're doing this on purpose," he accuses, though his voice has lost every drop of its earlier indignation, now just flat and almost judgemental.
"I have no idea what you mean," you say. You really were going to explain but it's easier to placate his mood first.
He exhales sharply through his nose, the last of his resistance giving out as a laugh escapes him despite himself. He drops the paintbrush onto the table without looking and pulls you in by the waist, kissing you slow and deliberate, the complaint dissolving completely. His hand finds the back of your head, tilting it just so, making absolutely sure you aren't going anywhere this time.
When you try to pull back he just laughs against your lips, his grip tightening. "No, no," he murmurs, the smile evident even now. "You ignored me all morning. You can stay here a while." A short pause, and then with great satisfaction, "Consider it your punishment."
Caleb__________
The claw machine had made an enemy of you today. A dozen devastating losses. The little plushie in the center of the pile had mocked you through the glass each time. You were starting to take it personally.
Caleb watched every single attempt with barely contained amusement, arms crossed, head tilted, the picture of someone having the time of their life at your expense. And now that you walked out of the arcade in defeat, he was full of joy.
"I genuinely don't know how you manage it," he says, voice laced with laughter as he falls into step beside you. "Every single time. It had it. It had it and then-" he makes a dropping gesture with his hand, shaking his head with a grin. "You're going home empty handed again. No new additions to the collection. Truly, it's a gift. A terrible, terrible gift."
"Are you done?" you ask flatly. Irritation flaring with each word escaping his mouth.
"Almost." He's clearly not. "I just think it's impressive, is all. Statistically speaking, most people get lucky at least once. But you-"
Yanking his arm towards you, you reach up and seal his lips with your own. Shut up!
He doesn't see it coming. For just a moment he freezes, eyes wide. When you pull back he looks away quickly, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth. A grin spreading beneath his palm, the way his ears have gone the faintest shade of pink. He clears his throat.
You giggle at his bashful reaction, teasing him, “At least I still have a Caleb to bring home. Though, unfortunately, he talks a lot more than a plushie.”
You watch him with a smile, waiting. Something shifts in his expression. then the embarrassment tipping over into something more decisive. The grin turns just a little bit mischievous. He rocks back on his heels, staring at a point somewhere above your head.
He takes your hand and steers you into the narrow alley between two nearby buildings. Your back meets the wall and one hand braced against the wall beside your head, the other finding your waist. All that earlier teasing energy redirected as his lips capture yours in a frenzied kiss. His movements were so feverish and boyish and so utterly Caleb that you feel yourself smiling against his lips.
He pulls back with that grin still firmly in place, bright and just a little smug, looking thoroughly pleased. He straightens up, tugs the hem of his jacket down with exaggerated composure, and offers you his hand.
"Alright," he says, as if nothing happened. "I think it's time you took your Caleb home."
Zayne___________
It had been a long day for both of you, and somewhere between recounting the latest hospital gossip and debating whether Dr. Grayson's new haircut was a cry for help, you had stopped contributing to the conversation entirely.
You were just looking at him. The soft lamp light, the way he spoke with that calm certainty he carried everywhere, the slight crease at the corner of his eye when something amused him. You weren't even fully conscious of the decision when you leaned up and kissed him, right in the middle of his sentence.
He goes still. Not tense, just paused, as though he was waiting to see what you would do next. Then you feel the quiet exhale of a chuckle against your lips before he kisses you back softly.
When you pull apart, there's a warmth in his eyes that he dresses up as teasing. "Was I boring you?" he asks. His arm, however, is pulling you closer as he says it.
"No," you say immediately, heat creeping up your neck. "Sorry. You can keep going."
He tilts his head, studying your flustered expression for a moment longer than necessary, clearly enjoying it. You reach up to cover your face and he catches your wrist gently, pulling your hand back down. He wants to see it, apparently.
"Don't," he says simply, something quiet and sincere breaking through the amusement.
Something about the way he says it makes your heart do something inconvenient. You look away first, which only makes him smile more.
"You were saying something," you remind him, trying to recover some dignity.
"I was." He doesn't continue. Instead, something shifts in his expression, the teasing settling into something softer and more certain. His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek. "But…I think," he says quietly, "your activity is far more entertaining."
He kisses you deeply this time, unhurried and deliberate in the way that Zayne does when he wants to take his time with you. Then he moves, rolling until the weight of him is above you and you're looking up at him in the low light, his eyes dark and fond all at once. The hospital gossip is very thoroughly forgotten. You find you don't mind at all as you wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer.
Sylus_________
You heard him from the hallway. The tone said everything. It was clipped, controlled, but with an edge underneath it that only you would know to look for. By the time you slipped into his office, he was wrapping up the call with the kind of finality that left no room for argument. He locked eyes with you the moment you entered, tracking your movements through the office.
You crossed to his desk quietly, settling in beside him as you leaned against the edge of it. Waiting patiently, you reach over to run your fingers through his hair while he ends the call. He sets the phone down and leans his head back with an annoyed sigh.
"Everything okay?" you asked.
"It'll be dealt with." His voice was easy, assured, and almost convincing. He leaned back in his chair further, launching into a measured explanation of exactly how and why, because Sylus always had a plan. He was already thinking three moves ahead, you could see it in his eyes, but underneath the confidence there was still that low simmer of irritation.
“No matter what, it will end the same. They are just making it more difficult for everyone.” A bit more of that irritation painting his voice. “If they knew better they would have agreed to-”
You reach out and tilted his chin up gently, then kiss him.
The words stop. A beat passes, and then you feel him exhale. Something loosening in him as he kisses you back. When you pull away you meet his eyes and say simply, "And you'll deal with it." You give him a playful tap on the nose, which he teasingly snaps his teeth at.
He laughs, low and quiet, then pulls you off the desk and onto his lap like it's the most natural thing in the world, nuzzling his face against your cheek. The tension in his shoulders is already gone.
"I already knew that," he murmurs, tone shifting into something warmer and decidedly more suggestive. "Although I could still use a little comfort. Just to be thorough."
You wrap your arms around him and pull him into another kiss, which he deepens almost immediately, his hands beginning to wander in a way that is not at all subtle. You're just starting to lose track of the point when voices drift through from just beyond the office door. Two very distinct, familiar, and undeniable voices. The twins.
To neither of your surprise, a knock rasps on the door, the voices calling out for you while ignoring Sylus altogether. Sylus pulls back with a sigh so full of irritation that tonight's incident suddenly appeared pleasant. He doesn't need to say anything. You're already laughing as you respond to your boys.
The Space Between Instinct and Ruin (Zayne | Li Shen x Reader)
Masterlist Ao3
Summary
[Zayne| Li Shen x Female Reader] [Zayne| Li Shen x You]
He kept his distance like it was the only way to survive. Controlled. Careful. Untouchable.
Until the moment he almost lost you, and everything he had been holding back started to fracture.
When he came back, there was no space left for restraint.
Because the moment he touched you again, it stopped being about healing.
And started becoming about everything he’d been denying.
OR
How Zayne snapped and performed more than just a medical checkup on you
A/N: Okay... so I’m back with something different. I have some time off and check on the boys every day. And since HE KEEPS WEARING THAT DAMN RED SCARF, here’s some trauma for our boy Zayne (he also gets laid so it's fine)
You didn’t remember the moment of impact - only its echo, carved into you like something ancient and merciless. A sound came first. Not just loud, but primordial. A deep, guttural roar that felt less like it travelled through the air and more like it erupted from the marrow of the world itself.
Your lungs emptied in an instant, breath stolen by the force of it, leaving behind nothing but a hollow, aching void.
Then came the pressure, violent, suffocating, absolute. It crushed against your body like an invisible hand determined to fold you in on yourself. Heat followed close behind, blistering and relentless, licking across your skin with a hunger that felt almost alive.
And the ground beneath you didn’t just shake. It twisted and warped. Heaved like something wounded and furious. Walls convulsed around you, metal groaning in protest as if the structure itself was trying to scream. Jagged shards of metal protruding at unnatural angles, like teeth bared in a silent, predatory grin.
For one impossibly disorienting moment, even gravity lost its meaning. Up dissolved into down. Down fractured into nothing at all.
So the world didn’t just fall apart - it exploded sideways.
Smoke slithered through the corridor in slow, serpentine trails, coiling through broken support beams and gnarled wiring, winding itself through the wreckage like it had nowhere better to be.
The air itself tasted wrong. Thick with the stench of scorched metal and something sharper. It coated your tongue, your throat, your lungs. Everything. Each breath was a struggle against something sharp and invasive.
Lights flickered overhead, their weak pulses casting fractured shadows that jerked and trembled along the walls. They didn’t move naturally. They twitched, like they were trying to escape the ruin that birthed them.
Sparks sputtered from shattered consoles, brief arcs of dying electricity that flared and vanished like the last breaths of something already gone.
And somewhere far off in the distance, sirens wailed.
Their cries stretched and warped, as if dragged through layers of debris and damage before reaching you. Both muted and mournful, like they were grieving something they already knew couldn’t be saved.
The comms crackled with static. No voices, no signal. Just the hollow, broken sound of something trying and failing to speak.
When awareness finally returned to you, it came in fragments.
You felt him first. Before the pain could find you - before fear had the chance to take shape, before the chaos could settle into something your mind could understand.
A weight pressed over you. Not crushing or trapping, but shielding, almost like sheltering you from the fractured world around you, with a quiet, unyielding certainty that spoke of instinct rather than thought.
Zayne.
His body covered yours completely, a barrier between you and everything that had just torn the world apart. One arm braced beside your head, the other planted firmly on the opposite side.
His arms were trembling slightly as if the effort of holding himself up had only just begun to register.
Dust clung to him like a second skin. It streaked across the dark fabric of his jacket, settled into the sharp lines of his face, caught in the strands of his hair. Smudges marked his cheekbones, dulled the edges of him - but somehow, impossibly, he still felt solid. Anchored. Real in a way that nothing else around you did right now.
He wasn’t moving, just breathing.
Each inhale scraped in too quickly, each exhale leaving him in a rush that brushed hot against your cheek, stirring the fine layer of ash and debris on your skin.
He was close - closer than he’d ever been - and for one fleeting, suspending heartbeat, that mattered more than the wreckage around you. More than the silence. More than the pain you hadn’t yet started to feel.
Just him.
Zayne was staring, just looking at you unblinking and unspeaking. As if the simple act of glancing away would undo something fragile and irreversible. And in that gaze was something raw and wild and tacit like he was still trying to convince himself you were really there.
Still breathing.
Still alive.
You tried to speak, but the sound dissolved before it could leave you. The words caught, snagged somewhere deep in your throat, choked by the thick, acrid taste of smoke and ash your lungs burnt with.
So you didn’t speak. You just kept looking at him, trying to make sense of the situation you’ve found yourself in.
And even now and even here, in the aftermath of something violent enough to tear reality apart, he didn’t feel real.
Zayne looked like something pulled from memory rather than the present. Like a figure drawn in firelight and shadow, too vivid, too sharp.
The flickering emergency lights carved him into sharp contrasts, outlining every angle of him with almost unnatural clarity. His dark hair, usually so carefully kept, had fallen loose in the chaos - strands clinging damply to his forehead, tangled with sweat, streaked with blood.
A thin crimson line traced from his temple, cutting cleanly down along the ridge of his cheekbone. It caught the light with every flicker, gleaming briefly before slipping back into shadow, like it couldn’t decide whether to be seen or hidden.
The black fabric beneath his coat had fared no better. His shirt was scorched, torn along the seams, the clean, tailored lines distorted by heat and impact. It looked wrong on him - this disarray, this evidence of something breaking through the precision he carried so effortlessly.
His eyes remained locked onto yours with unwavering focus.
That familiar undertone of smouldering bronze flickered within them, but now it burned differently. There was something in his gaze you had never seen before.
“Zayne,” you whispered, the name left your lips as little more than a breath, fragile and uneven, nearly swallowed by the high, relentless ringing that filled your ears. “You’re hurt.”
His brow tightened almost imperceptibly, like the echo of an emotion he hadn’t decided whether to acknowledge.
He still didn’t move - not until you reached up, your hand unsteady, heavy in a way that didn’t feel entirely physical. Dust coated your skin, mixed with streaks of drying blood you didn’t remember earning. Your fingers trembled as they reached him, almost hesitant until they brushed against the fabric of his sleeve.
That simple contact broke something behind his eyes. A fracture that hadn’t been there before. A tremor that rippled through the carefully maintained stillness he held around himself.
Slowly, carefully, he shifted his weight, pushing himself up and away as though afraid even the act of moving might hurt you more.
For a single suspended breath, he lingered above you, not pulling back completely. Staying close enough that you could still feel the warmth of him. Close enough that his gaze didn’t waver, still searching your face with that same quiet urgency.
“Are you okay?” Your voice cracked under the weight of the question. It was almost a paradox that you’d chosen to ask him that when pain radiated through your whole body, setting everything in its way ablaze.
He didn’t answer, instead just pulled back more, distance returning in slow, reluctant increments. The space between you reopened, inch by inch, until the absence of him felt colder than the debris beneath you.
No sound fell from his lips even when your trembling fingers brushed his sleeve again, a silent, desperate plea for him to stay.
He didn’t react.
Then the med team arrived, loud and sudden.
Shouts tore through the corridor, echoing off broken metal and fractured walls. The sharp rhythm of boots striking the ground followed, fast and relentless, cutting through the haze like a second wave of impact.
Figures emerged through the smoke - indistinct at first, then clearer. Hazmat suits. Masks. Gloves. Movement driven by training and urgency rather than hesitation.
And Zayne, without a word, without a backward glance, stood completely.
The motion was smooth, controlled - almost eerily so, as though none of what had just passed between you had ever happened.
He stepped away, into the drifting smoke, into the chaos that was beginning to swallow everything whole again.
The haze wrapped around him almost immediately, softening his outline, blurring the sharp edges of his form until he became something indistinct and unreachable.
As if he had never been there at all.
___
Hours later, you surfaced into a world of blinding white and bone-deep silence.
The first thing that returned was your sense of smell.
It came sharp and immediate, cutting through the fog before anything else could follow. The air was too clean, sterile in a way that felt unnatural, almost invasive. Bleach lingered heavily, crisp and clinical, undercut by the faint, acrid sting of burnt wires that seemed to linger like a ghost.
A cold settled in next.
It crept through the thin hospital sheets, seeping into your skin, your bones, leaving you hollowed out and trembling before you even fully realised you were awake. The fabric beneath your fingers felt too light, too insubstantial, like it couldn’t quite anchor you to anything real.
So you didn’t move, didn’t open your eyes. Just existed in that strange, fragile space between unconsciousness and awareness, where nothing had formed yet, and nothing could hurt you.
Machines whispered somewhere nearby, their steady, mechanical rhythm threading through the silence like a quiet reassurance that time hadn’t stopped completely.
Your brow furrowed slightly, the first conscious movement pulling faintly at muscles that felt unused, unfamiliar.
Then you forced your eyes open, and the light hit you instantly.
Not gently. Not gradually. It struck.
The overhead LEDs bled into your vision, flooding everything in stark, sterile brightness. It was too much, too sharp and too sudden, like your eyes hadn’t been meant to handle it yet.
So you blinked rapidly, but the world only wavered and reformed in uneven pulses, as if reality itself was still struggling to piece itself back together around you.
For a moment, you lay frozen, trapped between confusion and fear, your mind whirling in slow, broken circles.
Nothing made sense. Not the room. Not your body. Not the cold, coiled knot of dread that had wrapped itself around your chest.
Until it did, and the memory seeped into your tired mind.
The mission. The detonation. Zayne.
Your pulse surged hard and completely uncontrollable. It slammed against your ribs, loudly dragging the rest of you along with it.
You pushed yourself upright on instinct alone, elbows digging into the mattress as your body protested. Pain flared across your ribs, dull but insistent, while a pounding headache roared to life the second you moved, loud enough to rival the explosion still echoing somewhere in your mind.
Your head snapped to the side, eyes raking the room in a frantic search as if he might be there, lurking in the shadows, waiting.
But he wasn’t.
There was nothing. Only white walls. Only machines. Only the hollow, echoing absence where he should have been.
And yet when the door finally sighed open some minutes later, its mechanism releasing with a soft, pneumatic hiss that seemed almost indecently loud in the stillness, you just knew who it would be.
You could see him already, so vividly that the image overlaid itself upon the doorway before anything had even crossed its threshold.
Zayne - shoulders straight beneath the familiar fall of a white coat, stethoscope resting like a quiet declaration of purpose at his collar. There would be tension in him, subtle but unmistakable. A crease drawn between his brows, the faint downturn of his mouth betraying what he would not say aloud.
He would move quickly - decisively - each step measured, controlled, as though precision alone could contain the concern that threatened to surface.
But…it wasn’t him. It was a nurse.
She walked into your room with a practised quietness, her presence neither abrupt nor gentle, but something in between. The soft soles of her shoes whispered faintly against the polished floor, a sound so subtle it seemed swallowed almost as soon as it was made.
In one hand, she carried a tablet, its screen casting a pale, sterile glow across her features. In the other, nothing though her fingers moved occasionally, as if accustomed to holding instruments not presently required.
Her expression was composed into something approximating warmth, though it bore the unmistakable marks of repetition. A smile worn smooth by overuse, offered not unkindly, but without depth.
There was no hesitation in her movements as she approached your bedside, no curiosity, no acknowledgement of the fragile stillness that had settled around you. Her attention fixed itself upon her task with quiet diligence.
Cool fingers found your wrist.
They were steady, almost impersonal, devoid of hesitation, devoid of familiarity. She measured your pulse with the same detached precision one might apply to machinery, her gaze flickering only briefly between your face and the data displayed before her.
When you spoke, the question came haltingly, almost against your own better judgment.
“Did… did anyone come with me?” The words felt strangely ill-formed, as though they had not quite belonged in the air once spoken.
For the briefest moment, something shifted across her expression. Not enough to name, only the faintest interruption in the smooth, practised neutrality she wore. Then it was gone again, and you wondered whether your fragmented mind had played tricks on you once again.
“No one was authorised to stay.”
Her voice was gentle, but there was a finality to it. A clipped precision that suggested this was not the first time she had delivered such an answer, and that she had long since learned not to let it linger.
You nodded, though the motion felt disconnected, as if your body were performing it without your consent. You attempted a smile in return that didn’t hold, as something in your chest tightened gradually.
A slow constriction, like a pressure building inward rather than out. The edges of the room seemed to tilt, not enough to disrupt your vision, but enough to unsettle it. Enough to make the ground beneath you feel uncertain.
And beneath it all, there was a quiet, sinking certainty.
He wasn’t coming.
The rest of the process unfolded with a kind of impersonal efficiency that left little room for pause or protest. You were examined, assessed, and recorded. Each step was conducted with the same quiet detachment as before.
No fractures. No lasting structural damage.
A minor concussion, they told you. Irritating, but not uncommon. Your lungs, though irritated by the smoke, would recover. The damage was superficial, and treatable…temporary.
You were fortunate.
The word lingered unpleasantly in your mind. You didn’t feel like the lucky one.
They administered medication, something to dull the ache behind your eyes, something to steady the rhythm of your breathing, and placed a clearance form into your hands.
On paper, you were fine. But none of it mattered to you because Zayne hadn’t contacted you. Not a word. Not a message.
You told yourself, with a persistence that bordered on desperation, that there were reasons.
He was busy…of course he was. The aftermath of such an incident would demand attention at every level. Reports to complete, injuries to assess, procedures to oversee. He would be needed elsewhere.
The thought repeated itself, over and over, until it began to lose meaning.
And still, you waited.
___
Without quite deciding to, you found yourself lingering.
The common areas became familiar in a way they had never been before. You passed through them more often than necessary, your steps slowing without instruction, your gaze drifting inevitably towards the entrances, the corridors, the spaces where he might appear.
You told yourself it was nothing.
But your path drew you near the hospital again and again, as if guided by something quieter than intention.
Your phone became a constant presence in your hand. You checked it without thinking. Again, and again, and again. Each glance driven by a faint, unreasonable expectation.
As though at any moment, something might appear. A message. A name. A sign that you had not imagined the intensity of what had passed between you.
Nothing came.
___
Sleep was a joke; it came in fractured, unreliable fragments. Never long enough, never deep enough to offer rest.
Every time you closed your eyes, you were back again. Not in the explosion nor the chaos but in that moment after.
You felt the ghost of his weight over you, saw the way he’d looked at you like you were the only real thing left in the world and that he’d die ten times over before losing you.
Eventually, hours bled into a day. And one day into two.
You passed him once after that in the sterile, brightly lit corridors where light pooled too brightly against polished surfaces, leaving no room for shadow when you had to come in for a checkup.
He appeared without warning. The space between you collapsed in an instant as you passed one another, his coat brushing lightly against yours. A fleeting, almost imperceptible contact that nevertheless sent a sharp awareness through you.
And for a moment, you thought he’d look up. He would stop.
But he didn’t.
His gaze remained fixed on the datapad in his hand, fingers moving across its surface with practised ease. There was no acknowledgement. It was as though you were not there at all, and your presence did not register within his field of awareness.
Like he couldn’t bear to look at you. Like you hadn’t nearly died under him. Like he hadn’t stared at you in that ruined corridor as if you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.
___
On the fifth night, sleep still refused you.
It lingered just beyond reach. Close enough to tease, never close enough to claim. The hours did not pass so much as they thinned and stretched, each dissolving into the next with a quiet, indifferent persistence, offering neither rest nor reprieve.
The room itself had long since surrendered to stillness. Whatever life the world beyond its walls possessed had faded into a distant, indistinct hush, for existence itself had drawn a curtain and withdrawn.
Yet your mind refused to follow suit. You were lying in the half-dark, suspended in that peculiar state where silence grew loud, where one became acutely aware of the absence of sound, until it felt indistinguishable from its presence.
It was in that strained quiet that you heard it.
A sound so slight that, for a moment, you wondered if your tired mind had conjured it.
Soft. Tentative. Two gentle taps against the door.
Not the assured knock of someone who belonged, nor the sound of someone to be expected. This was something altogether different. Hesitant, almost apologetic, as though the one who stood on the other side was uncertain of their right to disturb the stillness within.
Your breath caught before, and you were conscious of it, you were already moving.
Already crossing the room with a quiet urgency that outpaced reason itself. Your hand found the door before your thoughts had time to assemble into anything resembling caution, and you pulled it open quickly
He stood there.
Zayne, framed by the dim, diluted glow of the hallway light, which seemed to gather around him without ever fully illuminating him, softening his outline into something almost unreal. For a single, disorienting second, there was a sense of unfamiliarity. Not because you did not recognise him, but because you had never seen him like this.
There was none of the usual structure about him, none of the quiet authority he wore like it was second nature. The careful composure, the subtle armour that seemed always to exist between him and the world was just…gone.
His hair was still damp, the dark strands falling loosely about his face, curling faintly at the ends where they had begun to dry. There were traces of water still clinging to his temples, catching the low light in brief, shifting glimmers.
Fatigue had etched itself into the hills and valleys of his face. His eyes were tired and almost hollow. A disarray that made it obvious something had changed.
“Can I come in?” he asked quietly at last.
You did not trust yourself to answer, so you just stepped aside.
He passed you then, close enough that you felt the faint warmth of him in his movement. Yet he did not go far into the room. Took only a few measured steps, as if uncertain of whether he was still welcome.
The door, closing softly behind him, gave a quiet click. Yet in the stillness that followed, it seemed disproportionately loud.
For a second, neither of you spoke until you finally broke the silence.
“You saved my life.”
The words escaped you almost involuntarily, loaded by everything you didn’t say yet.
Zayne’s reaction was subtle, yet unmistakable. A faint flinch, so controlled it might have escaped anyone else’s notice, flickered across him. It was gone almost as quickly as it appeared, like a passing shadow, but not without leaving its mark.
“It was instinct,” he replied. The answer came too readily. Too smooth.
It almost seemed as if he’d prepared it long before this moment and repeated it until he himself believed it.
“Instinct,” you recounted, though the word came out sharper than you intended. “So was disappearing, I guess?”
Zayne’s jaw tightened as his posture became more rigid and his hands gradually curled into fists at his sides, fingers pressing inward, seeking some anchor in the pressure.
“I had to walk away,” he said. His voice, though still controlled, had shifted. It carried strain now, a tension that suggested effort. Effort to contain, to explain, perhaps even to endure. “I couldn’t - ”
“Couldn’t what, Zayne?”
The interruption came, once again, sharper than you had intended, cutting through his unfinished sentence with a clarity that left no room for evasion.
His gaze, which had held yours until that moment, faltered. It dropped, settling upon the floor as though it offered some refuge, some answer he could not find elsewhere.
The silence that followed was no longer fragile. It was weighty. Dense with all that had not been said.
So you moved then, though you were scarcely aware of the decision forming. Only knowing that your addled brain could not have made up the situation.
One step, tentative at first, then another, each bringing you closer, each heightening the quiet rhythm of your own heartbeat until it seemed to reverberate within you.
“You acted like I meant something to you,” you said. Your voice had softened, yet it carried a tremor that betrayed its steadiness. “That moment, under the rubble…you looked at me like…”
The thought faltered, the words dissolving before they could fully take shape, suspended somewhere between feeling and speech as you stopped just before him.
And for a moment that almost felt eternal, he didn’t move or speak. Then, with a deliberateness that suggested effort rather than ease, he lifted his head.
That’s when you saw it. Gone was the composure, the quiet certainty that so often defined him.
Everything he’d been hiding was right there in his eyes - fear, guilt, something deeper. Something carved into his bones, almost ingrained, as though it had shaped him in ways that could not be undone.
“You terrify me,” he said. The words emerged low and hoarse, like they had been forced through resistance. He did not avert his gaze this time. There was a steadiness in it now, though it came at a cost. “Because I almost lost you. And if I let myself feel that… I don’t know if I’d come back from it.”
The admission settled into the room with a quiet finality.
There was no defence in it. No attempt at distance. Only the plainness of truth, laid bare before you.
You reached for him - not because you had forgiven him yet, nor because the hurt had vanished, but because, in that moment, you understood.
Your fingers found his wrist, resting there lightly.
“I am here,” you said, your voice scarcely above a whisper, yet steady in its certainty.
In the next second, Zayne surged forward with a raw hunger that shattered any lingering restraint, his body crashing into yours like a dam breaking after years of pressure. His hand tightened around your wrist, pulling you into him, closing the distance so abruptly it stole the breath from your lungs.
And then his mouth was on yours.
No hesitation, no measured control. Only urgency, raw and consuming. The kiss was fierce, almost overwhelming, driven by something that refused to be quieted any longer. It wasn’t polished or precise.
His lips crushed against yours, tongue pushing deep to tangle with yours in a sloppy, urgent rhythm that left you breathless. He tasted of salt and heat, his breath ragged as he sucked on your lower lip, biting just enough to sting and send sparks racing through your veins.
You moaned into his mouth, your body igniting under the onslaught, every nerve screaming for more as heat pooled low in your belly.
He backed you up step by step, his hand shifted to your waist, firm, guiding, holding you close as though he had no intention of letting you slip away again. Each step sent a new wave of sensation through you, your thoughts dissolving beneath its intensity.
Your back met the doorframe with a soft impact, the cool wood a sharp contrast to the heat that had begun to spread through you.
Zayne pulled back a bit. His forehead hovered close to yours, his breath uneven, his gaze searching.
“You sure?” he asked. His voice was low, quieter than usual. Not because he lacked certainty, but because it seemed to cost him something to keep it steady. Like the words were held together by effort alone.
It took you a moment to understand the question fully, your mind still caught somewhere between sensation and thought.
“I’ve never been more sure.” The answer left you with a clarity that cut through everything else.
He hesitated only for a second.
Then the breath left him, slow and heavy, like something tightly held had finally slipped loose. With a low growl, he pushed you inside your bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him without breaking the kiss.
His hands moved as though they had long since learned the shape of you.
One hand roamed up your side, palming your breast through your shirt, thumb circling your nipple. The other hand found your hair, fingers threading through it with a firm gentleness, guiding rather than forcing, tilting your head back just enough to deepen the kiss.
You barely registered the movement until you felt the mattress beneath you. As he eased you down, his body following yours in a slow, deliberate descent that pinned you beneath his weight without crushing you.
The gentleness in his touch lingered for a heartbeat longer.
His hand shifted, leaving your hair to follow the line of your jaw and down your throat. His fingers came to rest across your collarbone, pausing there, gentle and unhurried, like he needed to remember exactly how you felt beneath his touch.
“God, I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured against your skin, his voice roughened by restraint, lips brushing your earlobe as he nipped at it lightly. “You have no idea how many nights I lay awake thinking about you.”
The words hit you like a spark to dry tinder, your pulse racing, a flush creeping up your chest as heat flooded your core.
His mouth captured yours again, the kiss starting tender but quickly igniting into something fiercer. Your thoughts dissolving under the sensation, while his hand dipped lower, shoving up the hem of your shirt to expose your stomach.
Cool air kissed your skin, but his palm followed immediately, hot and possessive, flattening against your abdomen before sliding higher to cup your breast. He squeezed firmly, thumb flicking over your nipple until it stiffened into a tight bud, drawing a gasp from your lips that he swallowed with a hungry groan.
“Fuck, you’re so responsive,” he growled, breaking the kiss to trail his mouth down your jaw, sucking hard at the sensitive spot just below your ear.
The sting of his teeth grazing your skin sent shivers cascading down your spine, your back arching off the bed as you pressed into him. Every nerve ending buzzed, alive and demanding, the ache between your legs growing insistent, your pussy slick and throbbing with need.
You could feel the hard length of his cock straining against his pants, grinding against your hip in slow, deliberate rolls that made your breath hitch.
Zayne shifted his weight, hooking one leg between yours to nudge your thighs apart, his knee pressing firmly against your cunt. The friction was electric, rubbing right where you craved it, and you rocked against him instinctively, a soft whimper escaping as pleasure spiked through you.
His free hand gripped your thigh, fingers digging into the flesh as he hauled your leg higher around his waist, opening you up further.
“That’s it, spread for me,” he rasped, his breath hot on your neck. “I want to feel how wet you are for me, how much you need me to take care of that pretty little pussy you’ve been hiding from me all these years.”
The dirty words from his mouth made your head spin, vulnerability mixing with the hunger in his gaze. You tugged at his shirt, yanking it up to expose the lean muscles of his torso.
Your fingers followed instinctively, tracing, then scraping lightly over his ribs as you explored the warmth of his skin. He hissed in response, his hips bucking forward, cock twitching against you through the layers of fabric.
He drew back only as much as necessary, his movements quick but not careless, fingers catching the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head in one smooth motion. For a brief second, you simply looked at him.
The lines of his torso were lean and defined, not overly sculpted, but strong in a way that spoke of quiet endurance rather than display. The dim light traced along his shoulders, catching on the subtle tension still held there, before slipping lower across his chest. His hair fell messily into his face, and there was something almost undone about him now.
Then his attention was back on you.
His hands found your shirt with a kind of practised efficiency, lifting it away in a single, fluid motion. There was something almost clinical in the precision of it, but it didn’t quite hide the faint tremor in his fingers, the way his touch lingered just a fraction too long to be purely methodical.
Before the thought could fully settle, he leaned down, his breath warm against your lips, and captured your mouth in another kiss. Deeper this time, his tongue sliding against yours with a hunger that made your head spin.
One hand roamed freely now, calloused palm gliding over the dip of your waist, sending tingles skittering across your skin like sparks. It followed the swell of your hip, pressing just enough to ground you in the moment, before venturing lower, dipping between your thighs.
His fingers teased over the seam of your pants, rubbing deliberate circles right over your clit through the rough denim. The friction built an insistent, throbbing pressure, your body betraying any pretence of restraint as it responded with raw instinct. Your pussy clenching rhythmically with desperate need, slick arousal soaking through the fabric in a way that would have mortified you under normal circumstances.
But nothing felt normal now; the pleasure overrode any embarrassment, flooding you with a hazy warmth that made your skin flush and your breath come in shallow, needy pants, every nerve attuned to the promise of more.
Each stroke drew gasps from you, your hips bucking up to chase that building ache, the sensation coiling tighter, making your thighs tremble, and your heart hammer against your ribs.
“Tell me you want it,” he demanded, voice low and edged with urgency, his forehead resting against yours as he watched your face contort with pleasure. “Say you want me to fuck you senseless, to fill you up until you’re coming around my cock.”
The plea in his eyes, that mix of reverence for what you’d shared and raw hunger for what was to come, hit you hardest. You nodded frantically, words tumbling out in a breathless rush: “Yes, Zayne, please... I need you inside me.”
With a satisfied rumble, he unbuttoned your pants, peeling them down along with your underwear in one swift motion, exposing you to the cold air.
His gaze darkened as he took you in, fingers parting your cunt to slide through your wetness, to coat themselves before circling your entrance teasingly, the sensation making your breath hitch and your hips shift restlessly.
“So fucking soaked,” he praised, the words rough with awe, as he eased one finger inside you, then a second, curling them expertly to stroke that hidden spot deep within that exploded stars behind your closed eyelids.
You cried out, walls clenching around him as he pumped slowly, his thumb pressing your clit in firm strokes. It sent jolts of electric pleasure radiating outward, your body arching off the surface as the tension coiled impossibly tighter with every thrust of his hand.
He leaned down then, his mouth closing over your nipple with a firm suck that drew a keening moan from you, the wet heat of his tongue laving the sensitive peak while his fingers drove deeper into your pussy, the dual sensations crashing over you like a tidal wave.
Heat radiated from every point of contact - his tongue on your tit, his stubble scraping your skin, the obscene, wet sounds of his fingers plunging into you filling the room.
Then, with a slick, deliberate withdrawal, he pulled his fingers free, the sudden emptiness wrenching a plaintive whine from your lips as your pussy clenched around nothing, protesting the loss. Your eyes followed him hazily as he shifted, dropping to his knees on the floor between your spread legs.
And when he looked up from there, it stole the very breath from your lungs, leaving you lightheaded and aching.
“Let me take care of you,” he murmured, voice roughened by desire yet softened by an unguarded tenderness that made your chest tighten with emotion. “Let me learn everything about what makes you feel good.”
Zayne’s hands clamped onto your thighs with firm, possessive strength, spreading them wider as he positioned himself properly, his breath ghosting hot and teasing over your sensitive cunt, making you shiver and clench in anticipation.
“You’re flushed here,” he observed quietly, his lips grazing the tender skin of your inner thigh, the light touch sending goosebumps racing up your spine. “Blood pressure’s spiked. Pupils dilated. Heart’s racing.”
His eyes lifted to meet yours, dark and smouldering with intent, holding you captive.
“Do you know what that tells me?” You shook your head, body already trembling on the edge, every inch of you alive with need.
“That your body’s begging for me.”
And then he devoured you.
Zayned started with a slow, deliberate lick - a long, flat stripe from your dripping entrance up to your swollen clit, savouring your taste with a deep, approving hum that vibrated against your skin and drew a gasp from your parted lips.
You arched your back off the mattress again, fingers instinctively tangling in his damp curls, tugging lightly as he dove in deeper, his mouth sealing over your clit with a gentle suck at first, soft pulls that made your toes curl and your breath hitch in short, desperate bursts.
Then he increased the pressure, sucking harder, his tongue flicking in quick, insistent circles around the throbbing nub, each lap sending jolts of electric pleasure racing up your spine, making your thighs quake around his head. The wet sounds of his lips and tongue working you filled the air - slurps and smacks mingling with your escalating gasps and moans.
One hand slid up your inner thigh, calluses rough against your smooth skin, fingers parting your pussy wider for better access. Broad, sweeping strokes that covered your entire slit, coating his chin with your wetness, alternating with targeted sucks on your swollen clit that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
Your hips bucked wildly against his face, chasing the building pressure, but he held you steady, his free hand pressing down firmly on your lower belly, pinning you in place.
“Fuck, you taste so good,’ he murmured against your skin, the vibration sent sparks through your core.
He slid two fingers into you, curling them just right to hit that spot inside again while his tongue relentlessly circled your clit. The pleasure built fast, coiling tight in your belly as he pumped his fingers in rhythm with his licks, drawing out every whimper and plea from your lips.
Your thighs trembled uncontrollably around his head, muscles straining as the edge approached, and he knew. sensing the spike in your pulse, the way your breath came in ragged sobs.
He ramped up the pace, sucking harder on your clit, fingers thrusting deeper and faster, curling with precision to grind against that spot until the wave crashed over you in a blinding rush.
You cried ot, a broken keen of his name as your pussy clenched rhythmically around his thick fingers, flooding his mouth with your release, waves of ecstasy pulsing through you, making your vision blur and your body convulse.
Zayne didn’t stop, licking you through every shudder, his tongue gentle now but insistent, prolonging the bliss until you were a shaking, breathless mess beneath him, sweat-slicked and utterly spent
His gaze lifted to meet yours with a mix of triumph and tenderness that made your heart stutter.
“You taste better than anything I’ve ever known,” he growled, voice husky and edged with awe. “And I’ve memorised every cell in the human body. But this? This is what I want to study forever - every quiver, every gasp, the way you grip me like you never want to let go.”
His fingers slid inside you again - slow, deliberate, pushing impossibly deep this time, scissoring gently to stretch your walls, the sensation reigniting sparks without pushing you over. He rose slightly, his other hand reaching up to cup your breast, thumb rolling your nipple in firm circles while he pumped his fingers lazily, building friction but holding back the rhythm that would tip you into another release.
“Gotta stretch you out good first,” he continued, voice dropping lower, eyes darkening as he added a third finger, the fuller stretch burning sweetly, your pussy yielding to him inch by inch. “Because my cock’s thick. It’s gonna fill you up so completely.... Can’t have you hurting, not when I’ve waited this long to claim you.”
He leaned in to capture your other nipple between his teeth, nipping lightly before soothing with his tongue, his hand kneading your tit while his fingers twisted inside you, exploring, preparing.
“Feel that? How you’re opening for me? It’s just the start - soon you’ll be taking all of me, clenching around every inch like you were made for it.”
The pleasure built agonisingly slow, coiling but never cresting, your hips rolling to meet his thrusts, pleas bubbling up, but he withdrew just as you teetered on the brink, leaving you panting and empty, frustration mingling with the ache of anticipation.
When he was done, he brought his glistening digits to his lips, sucking them clean with a deliberate slowness, eyes never leaving yours as he savoured your taste.
He rose up on his knees between your spread legs, popped the button of his slacks first, the sound sharp in the charged air, then dragged the zipper down tooth by tooth, the metallic rasp amplifying your ragged breaths.
His movements were unhurried now, teasing you with the anticipation, drawing out the reveal like a deliberate torment, your gaze fixed on the bulge as your mouth went dry and your pussy throbbed in response. With a slow tug, he shoved his pants and boxers down his hips, freeing his dick.
It stood heavy and thick, curving slightly upward, the shaft flushed a deep, angry red and so girthy that your breath hitched, eyes widening at the sheer size of him. The broad, mushroom-shaped head gleamed under the dim bedroom light, already slick with a bead of precum that welled from the slit.
Zayne wrapped a hand around the base, stroking himself lazily from root to tip, a low hiss escaping his lips as his thumb smeared the precum over the sensitive head, making it glisten.
“See what you do to me?” he rasped, pumping his fist a few times, the slick sound joining your quickened breaths, his free hand trailing up your thigh to tease your cunt lightly, dipping just the tip of a finger in before pulling away.
He leaned in closer, the heat of his body radiating against yours, and dragged the swollen head of his cock along your slit in a torturously slow glide. The velvety skin of his tip parted your lips, coating itself in your wetness, bumping against your swollen clit with each pass until a whimper tore from your throat.
Your hips bucked up instinctively, chasing that electric friction, the pressure sending sparks racing up your spine.
“Been hard for you since the moment I touched you,” he growled, his breath hot against your ear. “Gonna slide in so deep, make you feel every inch of me.”
Just as he notched himself at your entrance, the thick head pressing insistently against your fluttering cunt, you grabbed his wrist, your voice coming out breathless but resolute. “Wait! Condom, I’m not on the pill.”
He froze, his dark eyes locking onto yours, searching for any hint of doubt amid the haze of lust. A flicker of raw vulnerability crossed his face, chased quickly by unbridled hunger, before he nodded, a crooked, predatory smile curling his lips.
“I’ll pull out, I swear. But fuck, I don’t want anything between us if we can help it. Not when this feels so right.” His words hung heavy, laced with promise and risk, your heart pounding as you released his wrist.
With a controlled roll of his hips, Zayne pushed forward, the blunt head of his dick breaching you slowly, stretching your walls with a burn that bordered on exquisite pain. Inch by thick inch, he sank deeper, your pussy yielding to him reluctantly at first, the girth forcing you open wider than you’d anticipated.
The sensation was overwhelming - a delicious fullness that made your toes curl, every ridge and vein dragging along your inner muscles as he filled you completely.
You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, feeling the heat of him pulsing inside you, bare and unprotected, the slick slide eased only by your arousal coating him. He bottomed out with a deep groan, his balls pressing snug against your ass, the tip nudging that sensitive spot deep within.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he rasped, holding utterly still to let your body adjust, his hips flush against yours, the coarse hair at his base grinding rhythmically against your clit with the slightest shift.
The pressure there sent jolts of pleasure radiating outward, your walls clenching around him involuntarily, drawing another hiss from his throat.
Then, he began to move. Pulling back almost to the tip before thrusting in again, slow and measured at first, each drag and plunge pulling fresh gasps from your lips as he claimed you fully. The rhythm built steadily, his cock pistoning in and out with increasing force, the wet sounds of your bodies connecting filling the room like a filthy symphony.
His hands roamed your body possessively, one pinning your hip to the mattress to control the angle, fingers bruising in the best way, while the other returned to your tit, teasing your hardened nipple between thumb and forefinger. Pinching, twisting just enough to make you arch into him.
You hooked your legs around his waist, heels digging into the firm muscles of his ass to urge him deeper, harder. The slap of skin on skin grew louder, punctuated by your mingled cries.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his hips grinding slow and deep on the next thrust, burying himself to the hilt as your pussy fluttered around him.
“Clenching me like a vice and so wet, soaking my cock. You need to be fucked right out of your mind, don’t you? Filled up until you can’t think straight. Doctor’s orders…” His words dripped with filthy intent, each one syncing with a powerful snap of his hips that jolted you up the bed, your breasts bouncing with the force.
You moaned in agreement, lost in the haze, and he leaned down to capture your mouth in a bruising kiss, tongue mimicking the thrust of his dick as he picked up the pace.
“God, I could stay like this forever. Raw inside you, feeling you milk me dry. Imagine if I didn’t pull out, baby... pumping you full of my cum, breeding this tight little pussy until it takes. You’d look so good swollen with me, wouldn’t you? My seed deep in your womb, marking you as mine.”
The breeding talk sent a forbidden thrill through you, your walls spasming harder around him, the risk amplifying every sensation - the stretch, the heat, the raw intimacy of nothing between you.
Zayne fucked you even more relentlessly then, his control fraying as he drove into you with punishing strokes, the bed creaking under the assault. Each plunge hit that perfect angle, his cockhead battering your cervix with just enough pressure to blur the line between pleasure and ache, your clit grinding against his pubic bone on every inward push.
Sweat slicked your bodies, his muscles flexing under your hands as you clawed at his back, urging him on. He shifted, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder to open you wider, allowing him to go even deeper, the new position making you cry out as he hammered into you, the obscene squelch of your arousal echoing with every withdrawal.
“That’s it, take it all. Every fucking inch,” he growled, his voice breaking on a moan as your pussy squeezed him tighter, the coil in your belly winding unbearably.
His hand slipped between you, thumb finding your clit and rubbing firm circles that had you seeing white, your orgasm crashing over you in waves, walls convulsing around his pistoning length as you screamed his name.
He didn’t stop, his hips thrusting with desperate urgency, each drag slamming his thick cock deeper into your clenching cunt, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room like a frantic rhythm.
Your body trembled beneath him, still quaking from your own orgasm, but Zayne was lost now, his breath ragged and hot against your neck, muscles taut and straining as he chased the edge.
“Fuck. I’m right there... gonna cum... tell me to pull out. Tell me now before it’s too late,” he groaned, voice raw and pleading, his length swelling inside you, the veins pulsing against your sensitive walls as he buried himself fully one final time, grinding against your cervix with a shudder.
Your mind swam in a thick fog of pure ecstasy, the risk and heat overwhelming, and you locked eyes with him. Your voice emerged as a ragged, pleading whisper, barely audible over the harsh rhythm of your shared breaths. “Don’t. Don’t pull out. Fill me up.”
Those words shattered the last thread of his restraint. Zayne’s eyes flashed with a feral, unbridled hunger, pupils blown wide as a low, guttural growl ripped from deep in his chest, vibrating against your skin. He surged forward in one powerful thrust, burying his thick cock to the hilt inside your clenching pussy, the head pressing firmly against your cervix as if staking a permanent claim.
He stayed locked there, hips rolling in tight, deliberate circles that ground his length against your sensitive walls, forcing every inch deeper. His body tensed above you, muscles coiling like steel cables, and then he came.
Hot, thick ropes of cum flooded your cunt with relentless spurts. The warmth spread instantly, viscous and heavy, coating every fold and crevice of your pussy until you felt impossibly full, your belly swelling slightly with the sheer volume of his release. It seeped into you, marking you from the inside out, a primal declaration of possession that left you trembling.
Your walls spasmed around him involuntarily, gripping and fluttering in rhythmic pulls that milked his cock greedily, coaxing out every final drop as if your body refused to let go.
The sensation triggered your second orgasm, a brutal wave crashing over you. Sharper than the first, ripping a shattered cry from your throat. Your back arched off the bed, nails digging deep furrows down the taut muscles of his back, drawing thin lines of blood that only seemed to heighten his groans.
Pleasure tore through you in electric shocks, your pussy squeezing him in vice-like contractions while your legs locked around his waist, holding him captive as stars burst behind your eyelids.
Finally spent, Zayne collapsed onto you, his weight a comforting press as his length twitched weakly inside you, excess cum trickling out where you were joined. You both lay there panting, hearts thundering in unison. Sweat cooled on your skin, mingling with the musky scent of sex that hung thick in the air.
After a long moment, he shifted. He lifted his hips slowly, withdrawing his softening dick with a wet, obscene pop that echoed in the quiet room. A fresh gush of his cum followed immediately, spilling out of your gaping pussy in a messy rush, coating your thighs and pooling beneath you on the sheets.
But Zayne had no intention of letting it go to waste. His fingers dipped between your legs, gathering the leaking cum. He pushed it back inside you without hesitation, two long digits sliding deep into your cum-slicked cunt, curling gently to press it against your walls and seal it in.
“I’ve patched up bullet wounds with steadier hands than the way I just touched you,” he murmured against the damp skin of your collarbone, his voice rough and wrecked. His breath ghosted hot over you as he continued the slow, rhythmic thrusts of his fingers, each one sending fresh sparks through your oversensitive nerves. “You do something to me. You always have.”
A soft moan escaped your lips, unbidden, as your fingertips traced idle paths along the sweat-damp curve of his spine, feeling the play of muscles beneath. Words failed you in the haze. What had just happened between you felt too vast, too consuming to articulate.
He lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze softened, still possessive and intense but now laced with something quieter. Almost reverent.
“You terrify me,” he said again, but this time there was no distance in it. No fear of you. Just a truth too big for him to hold inside. “Because I’ve studied anatomy. Neurology. Chemistry. I’ve memorised what makes the human body function.”
His hand cupped your face with his free hand, thumb brushed tenderly across your swollen lower lip.
His fingers inside you stilled for a moment, as if the weight of his admission demanded focus, before resuming their gentle exploration. You could feel the subtle stretch, the way his touch coaxed your body back to awareness, arousal simmering anew despite the exhaustion.
“But there’s no textbook that explains what the fuck this is. What you do to me.”
A small smile tugged at your lips. “Maybe that’s because it’s not something meant to be studied.”
Zayne leans down and kisses you again - slower this time. Deep. Thorough. Like he’s not rushing anymore. Like he has all the time in the world to rediscover every inch of you.
When he finally drew back, it was only inches, his breath mingling with yours. A smirk curved his lips, wicked and knowing. “You know… I never finished my assessment.”
Your brows lift. “Doctor.”
He grinned, slow and wicked, his fingers scissoring inside you with deliberate pressure. resh slickness gathered around his digits, your pussy clenching in response. “Vital signs still elevated. Skin flushed. Pupil dilation’s gotten worse. And -” He twisted his wrist slightly, pressing against that sensitive spot that made your breath hitch. “You’re already getting wet again.”
You gasped.
And Zayne just smiled like a man about to write a thesis - with you as his favourite subject.
The hospital quiets after dark in a way few places ever do. Low hums of distant machines, faint footsteps in the corridor, the soft sweep of janitorial carts echoing like waves retreating from shore.
Zayne’s office is dim. One floor lamp glows warm in the corner, casting long shadows across the glass and steel of his workspace. You’re perched on the edge of his desk, half-crossed legs swinging idly, the hem of your skirt grazing your thighs in deliberate little shifts.
He’s finishing a patient report, silent behind his glasses, brows slightly furrowed in that way that makes you want to lean over and kiss the crease away. The sleeves of his white coat are rolled up just past his elbows, and the faint clink of his stethoscope swinging loosely from his neck reminds you that he hasn’t even changed out of his work attire yet.
You tip your head, feigning innocence. “Long day, Doctor?”
His fingers pause on the tablet, his gaze sliding to you without turning his head. “Very.”
“And yet you still haven't looked at me once since I walked in.” You pout, then let your hand drift playfully and light across the top of his desk. You make a slow show of reaching for a pen, but your fingers brush the stethoscope instead, grazing it purposefully as if by accident.
Zayne’s eyes drop to your hand. You feel it before he speaks—that shift. The tension winding slowly, barely perceptible to most, but now, after all these months, unmistakable to you.
Your smile curves slyly. “You remember what you said last time? Something about showing me how surgeons tie knots…”
He exhales, a sound closer to a breath through his nose than anything resembling amusement.
You lean in slightly. “I was just wondering—was that an idle threat? Or a promise?”
That’s when he moves. No warning or theatrics. Zayne sets down the tablet. Then he rises from his chair and stands in front of you, close enough that your knees press against his thighs. His hand lifts slowly and precise, and you half expect him to brush your cheek. But instead, he reaches for the stethoscope still hanging loosely around his neck.
The warmth in your chest blooms at once, curling low in your stomach. He doesn’t speak as he unloops it, doesn't even glance at your expression. His gaze is on your wrists, and his hands are deft, practiced—too practiced, you think, to be improvising.
“Zayne—” you start, half-laughing.
“You wanted my attention,” he murmurs, voice low and cool as satin.
You barely manage a breath before he takes both your wrists in one hand, firm but careful, and guides them behind your back. The cool press of rubber brushes your skin, then tightens. The stethoscope loops around your wrists in a perfect knot, but not in any way painful.
Your breath stutters. You shift your arms experimentally, but there’s no give.
Zayne finally lifts his eyes to yours.
“I wasn’t joking,” he says simply, and the weight behind his words is the kind that lands deep between your ribs.
You blink up at him, breath catching, heart thrumming like it always does when he’s like this—focused, present, tethering you to him with nothing more than touch and quiet authority.
“Say something,” he murmurs, his free hand brushing the inside of your thigh with maddening softness.
“I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”
“You teased me knowing I might.”
That hand inches higher, slipping beneath your skirt now. Your thighs tense, then fall apart for him as naturally as breath. His palm is warm against the curve of your leg, and he lets it linger there, not moving further—just being there.
“You’ve been doing this lately,” he murmurs against your ear, voice steady. “Testing how much it takes to break my focus.”
“I like when you lose it.”
“I don’t lose control,” his lips curve into a smile, brushed against your neck like the stroke of his fingers.
You press your cheek to his shoulder, helplessly fond. “You don’t. But I like it when you pretend to.”
He hums, then sinks to his knees in front of you. Your wrists flex against the knot behind you, your breath catching again—not just from the anticipation, but from how he looks when he’s kneeling there. Still in his work attire, glasses catching the low light, expression unreadable and devoted and utterly calm.
“You always do this,” your voice a breathless whisper.
He tilts his head. “Do what?”
“Show me I have your attention in the most unfair ways.”
Zayne doesn’t respond, but his hand moves again, slow and patient, parting the last layers of your clothing like he’s opening something sacred. When he speaks, his voice is softer—something quieter than seduction. Something real.
“This is how I love you,” and then his mouth follows the trail his hand made, and you forget how to answer.
Your wrists flex instinctively behind your back, the rubber tubing of his stethoscope biting into your skin in the gentlest reminder—you can’t touch him. Can’t bury your fingers in his hair the way you always do when he goes down on you. Can’t cradle his jaw, guide him, cling to him as your hips lose rhythm and your breath breaks.
And Zayne knows it. He watches you squirm, cool hazel eyes lifted to your face as he drags his lips along the inside of your thigh, so achingly slow you swear the air itself grows thicker. The heat of his mouth lingers like a secret against your skin, ghosting higher with each kiss, each breath, until he brushes just shy of where you need him most.
You press your knees apart a little more, a silent offering. Your breath hitches, back arching slightly as his nose grazes the lace of your panties.
And that’s when he looks up at you again. A soft, knowing curve touches his lips—not quite a smirk, but close. It’s the smile he gives only to you. Not the cold, distant mask the hospital sees. Not the sharp-edged detachment that made the world believe he doesn’t care.
This is Zayne, focused and ferociously gentle, utterly immersed in you.
“Was this what you wanted?” he asks softly, fingertips teasing the crease of your thigh as his mouth presses another kiss just beside the damp fabric clinging to you. “Or were you just bored and wanted to play?”
The question is rhetorical. He already knows the answer. He can feel it in the way your body trembles, in the way your breaths come fast and shallow, chest rising against the soft fabric of your blouse.
You try to lift your hips just a little. Just enough. But your balance wavers without your hands, and you find yourself bracing your forearms against the edge of his desk instead, cheeks flushed with heat, mouth parted but silent.
“Careful,” Zayne's warm breath fans across the soaked material of your panties. “You’ll fall if you push too hard.”
His hands slide up the backs of your thighs, anchoring you—large, steady palms curling around your hips with exquisite care. And then, without ceremony, he leans in and kisses you through the fabric.
You gasp. The pressure is firm and deliberate, just enough to make your spine curve, your head tip back, a low sound catching in your throat as his tongue presses against the thin lace, slow and maddening, wet heat barely dulled by the barrier.
The friction is torture. You writhe, thighs trembling as he continues unhurriedly, focused like this is a puzzle he intends to solve thoroughly.
Zayne pulls back only far enough to speak.
“You’re soaked,” his voice is low, a dark lilt of satisfaction beneath the observation. “You’ve been like this since the moment you walked in, haven’t you?”
You make a soft, helpless noise, not even words—just yes, just please, just more. But your lips can’t seem to shape any of it fast enough.
His fingers hook into your panties, pulling them down with a slow drag that makes your breath catch again, the fabric sticking slightly before sliding down your thighs. They pool at your ankles, forgotten as he leans back to look.
And then his glasses come off. He sets them down somewhere behind you, probably on top of a chart, a folder, maybe that patient report he’d been working on before you walked in and turned his focus to this.
Now his attention is undivided. You watch him, helpless, as he leans back in—this time, without anything between his mouth and you.
The first pass of his tongue is slow and maddening, a firm stroke from your entrance up to the aching bundle of nerves above. Your head tips forward, eyes wide, moan caught halfway between shock and relief.
He does it again, slower. Deeper. And then he settles there, lapping between your folds in measured, practiced rhythms, the way he always does when he wants to break you completely before even thinking about letting you cum. Like he’s taking notes with every movement, every tremble.
You can’t touch him. Can’t push his head closer. Can’t thread your fingers through his hair and plead for him to keep going. You can only brace yourself against the desk, back arching as your legs tremble, thighs spreading wider to give him more space, more of you.
And still, he hums against you, a soft, approving sound that vibrates through your core. His grip tightens just slightly on your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the desk, anchoring you to him.
You feel every flick of his tongue like a secret only he knows how to coax out of you. And then, just when your breath is shuddering, when your body is taut with wan, he speaks again, his voice like silk, low and infuriatingly in control against your slick skin. “Tell me what you want.”
Your voice cracks. “Zayne—”
But he doesn’t stop. He knows. He knows exactly what you want. What you need. What your body has been aching for since the moment he looked up at you with that calm, fond expression.
And because he knows—because this is how he shows love—he gives it. He gives you everything.
Your moans begin to crumble, trembling little things that slip past your lips with every sweep of his tongue, but soon they're laced with something else. A softness. A frustration. A whimper that doesn’t rise from pleasure alone.
Zayne doesn’t miss it. He hears the change in your breath, the pleading behind the sounds you make when you try to shift your weight forward, when your fingers curl helplessly against the knot of his stethoscope behind your back. When you whine his name again, not because you want more (he’s already giving you that), but because you can’t touch him. Can’t reach him. And you want to. Desperately.
His mouth stills against you. Your eyes widen, pupils blown, your whole body trembles on the precipice—and then his voice cuts through the haze, low and controlled and unbearably intimate.
“You’ll cum like this,” he murmurs, lips brushing your inner thigh, voice warm but grounded in something firmer. “Tied up and aching, just how you wanted it. Like a good girl.”
You whimper, the words hitting deeper than they should. Your hips twitch in response, clenching down around nothing, body already inching back toward the edge.
“And then,” he adds, letting his thumb trace the slick mess between your thighs, “maybe I’ll untie you. Let you touch me while I bury myself inside you right here on this desk.”
A pout forms at your lips, your thighs flexing around his shoulders, the sweet ache of wanting him more than your body can contain bubbling over—and just as quickly, it shatters when he dives back in.
This time, there’s no slowness. No teasing. He licks you like he owns you, like he knows every flick and circle and drag that turns your breath into broken gasps. His tongue moves with purpose now, steady, and hungry and unrelenting. His grip on your hips tightens until you’re pressed full against his mouth, helpless beneath the force of your pleasure.
You cry out sharply and high, and he hisses under his breath, quick and quiet, lifting one hand to cover your mouth even as he doesn’t stop. Even as he groans into you, eyes half-lidded with focused heat.
“Quiet,” he breathes, not unkindly. “Do you want the whole floor hearing you?”
Your answer is muffled by his palm, a keening moan that dissolves into little sobs of pleasure as your thighs begin to shake, your body teetering and then tipping.
You cum with a cry against his hand, full-bodied and raw, your whole form arching and curling forward as his mouth works you through it, never once letting up, never leaving you alone in the heat of it. His tongue doesn’t stop until you collapse, trembling and wrung out, hips twitching from oversensitivity.
Only then does he let go. Only then does he lift his head. His lips glisten. His breath is steady. But his eyes… they’re anything but calm.
You’re panting now, wrists still bound, arms aching with the need to hold him, and your eyes—blown wide and glassy—lock on his mouth, silently begging.
And Zayne, who rarely gives in to impulse, does. He rises swiftly, catching your mouth with his in one deep, consuming kiss. The taste of you lingers between your lips, thick and warm and intimate, but he doesn’t seem to care. If anything, it fuels him.
His mouth moves against yours like he’s been waiting hours, not minutes. Tongue deep, breath hot, hands bracketing your hips now. You whine into him, pushing forward even with your arms behind you, trying to get closer, needing to feel more, all of him.
His fingers slide behind your back and the knot falls away with one smooth tug.
Your arms fly forward in an instant. You drag him close, fisting your hands in his white coat, in his shirt, in anything you can reach. And Zayne, caught in your grip, lets out the faintest gasp as your momentum tips him forward—your back hitting the desk with a soft thud, pulling him down with you.
You kiss him harder, breathless and greedy, your hands finally free, finally on him. And he groans into your mouth, low and real this time, as if the weight of your touch knocks the air from his lungs.
There is no more distance. No restraint. There's only the dizzying heat of skin on skin, lips clashing, breaths stolen, and the desk beneath you both groaning quietly under the shifting weight.
The desk behind you is hard and uncomfortable, but you hardly notice. Not with Zayne between your thighs. Not with his mouth on yours, hot and breathless, stealing whatever air you have left with every deep kiss.
You brace your hands on his shoulders, clinging to the rough lines of his coat, nails dragging across the thick fabric. And then he shifts, fluid as breath, tugging the white coat from his shoulders in one clean motion. It falls to the floor, forgotten.
Your hands are on his shirt the moment the coat is gone, working fast at the buttons with shaking fingers. He groans into your mouth when you get halfway, and you feel his hips roll forward, just slightly, like his body is already preparing for what comes next.
The shirt stays on, half-open with the collar loose, sleeves still clinging to his arms, but you don’t care. You drag your nails down his chest, savoring the heat of his skin, the hard definition beneath your fingers, and the way he shudders when your touch grazes low, just above his waistband.
He grips your hips harder, broad palms cupping your ass, pulling you forward to the very edge of the desk. You’re wet, aching, desperate, and he’s just as lustful. You can feel it in the way he holds you, in the tremble of his body above yours.
Your hand fumbles at his belt.
“Zayne,” a little whine escapes into his mouth between frantic kisses, “I need you. I need it—need you.”
He exhales sharply against your lips like the words land somewhere deep in his chest, and his fingers twitch where they’re gripping you, heat rising off his skin in waves. His jaw tightens, your name caught somewhere in his throat, but he doesn’t waste a second more.
With a soft grunt, he unfastens himself, movements rougher now, urgent. You reach between you, helping and wanting, until you both gasp when the thick heat of his cock presses against your slick entrance.
There’s no hesitation. He sheathes himself inside you in one deep, smooth thrust, filling you to the hilt. Your head falls back with a broken sound. Zayne swears under his breath, forehead pressed to yours, one arm wrapping around your back to steady you both as you tighten around him.
“Fuck—” he breathes, “you always feel like this. So tight and warm.”
He doesn’t wait. Can’t. You claw at his half-unbuttoned shirt, dragging him closer, grounding yourself against his chest as he begins to move. Slow, deep thrusts at first, controlled and precise, but the rhythm builds fast. Every time your hips meet his, you fall apart a little more.
You kiss him through it, sloppy mouths and gasping breaths, desperate kisses that taste like love and heat and everything you can’t say fast enough. His hand fists in your hair, tugging gently to tilt your head so he can kiss you deeper, longer.
And then between your moans, between the hard, rocking thrusts that send the desk beneath you creaking, you whisper it, “I love you.”
Zayne stills for a heartbeat, but you feel the way it tilts him off balance. Feel it in the way his body stutters. In the rough, choked breath he exhales against your lips.
And then he moves harder. Kissing you longer, rougher, as if wanting to convey the extent of how these words truly broke him.
“I love you,” he growls into your mouth, voice frayed and hoarse, “my love—I love you—fuck—you feel so good…”
You whimper against him, breathless as he thrusts harder, each stroke sending you sliding slightly on the desk. He grips your hips again, anchoring you as your bodies crash together over and over, his mouth never far from yours, kissing you through every sound, every gasp.
The office is hot. The windows are fogged. The world outside doesn’t exist—just this. Just you and him. And the way you fall into each other like you’ve done it a thousand times, and would do it a thousand more.
MDNI 🔞 if you play with fire too much, be sure that zayne will put you in your place
⋆. — content warnings: soft dom zayne, teasing, doggy style (implied), wall sex, rough sex, brat tamer zayne
(repost from my old blog - zaynessbeloved)
He let you get away with too much.
The teasing. The eye rolls. The smug little smirks every time you pushed his buttons and got away with it. Zayne, the stoic doctor with nerves of steel and hands steady even in chaos. You liked to test him. You loved it.
Because every time he narrowed his eyes at you, every time his jaw clenched just so—you knew he was keeping himself in check. And you were the one rattling him.
But tonight... tonight you pushed too far. You’d been snappy all day. Rolled your hips against his thigh during a kiss. Bit his lip harder than necessary. Whispered a filthy dare in his ear right before his scheduled surgery. Left your underwear in his coat pocket.
And then he came home exhausted, drained and still in his scrubs, and found you sprawled on the bed in nothing but a shirt that wasn’t yours, asking in your sweetest voice, “Are you gonna fuck me or just keep pretending you’re not affected, Dr. Zayne?”
He cracked, but not loudly. No. Zayne didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t bark orders. He just locked the door, walked to the foot of the bed, and gave you a look so quiet and cutting it made your stomach drop.
“On your knees.”
You blinked and hesitated. He stepped forward calmly, collected and so damn commanding. “Now.”
And you moved to get on your knees, because there was no room for bratty behavior in his tone. No space for giggles or eye rolls. Just the weight of his dominance finally slipping into place.
He undressed you slowly—shirt first, then the little gasp you made when his fingers gripped your jaw, tilting your face up.
“You wanted my attention, my love.” he murmured, voice soft but no less cutting. “Now you have all of it.”
The next few minutes were a blur of command and contact. Face down, ass up. His palm against your skin. Measured swats that had your legs shaking. Your moans were half apology, half pleasure, but he didn’t let you speak. Every time your lips parted, he pressed a finger to them or pushed your face deeper into the mattress.
“You act like I won’t put you in your place,” he whispered into your neck as he lined himself up behind you. “But you forget, sweetheart…this body belongs to me and it knows it.”
He didn’t slam into you. He sank in, all the way in. One long, devastating push that left you crying out, clenching down, back arching in surrender. And once he was buried deep, with his hips flush and breath shaking against your spine, he stilled.
“You’re going to take every inch like a good girl,” he said softly. “And tomorrow, when you’re limping, when you feel every bruise, you’ll remember this is what happens when you act out.”
And you did. Because Zayne didn’t need to raise his voice to ruin you. He just needed to decide he wanted to, and you were already too far gone.
It only took a few days for you to regain courage. At first, you swore you’d behave. After the last time—after he left you sore and breathless, legs trembling for two days—you said all the right things. Promised you'd be good. Promised you’d learn.
You didn’t. Not really. Because by the end of the week, you were right back at it—this time more subtle, more teasing. At breakfast, you bent over in front of him in nothing but his shirt, letting it ride up just enough to show that you weren’t wearing anything underneath. When he reached for his coffee, you took it and sipped instead, licking the rim slowly while staring him dead in the eyes.
“Thought you liked it when I misbehaved,” you purred.
Zayne didn’t immediately give a reaction. He just stared like all the times before. But you knew that look too well now. His fingers clenched slightly around his fork. His shoulders held a subtle tension. And when you finally turned around to walk past him, his voice cut through the air, quiet and controlled. “Bedroom. Now.”
You glanced over your shoulder, feigning innocence. “But I haven’t finished my—”
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
And that was it. Because this time, Zayne didn’t plan to be patient. The second you stepped into the bedroom, the door slammed shut behind you, and before you could so much as gasp, he had your wrists pinned against the wall.
“You don’t get to act like a little brat,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, “and then pretend you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I was just—”
“No. You were testing me.”
His hands slid down your sides, slow and firm, grounding you in that way only he could. Your breath caught when he lifted your leg, forcing it around his waist, pinning your body between him and the wall.
“No warmup today,” he whispered. “You think you can play games? Fine. Take what you asked for.”
He pushed inside you in one brutal, perfect thrust. Your head slammed back against the wall with a moan, fingers clawing at his shoulders, nails digging into skin through his shirt. His pace was unforgiving, breath hot against your neck, hips snapping forward with punishing precision.
“Is this what you wanted?” he growled into your neck, voice still maddeningly calm. “To limp again? To cry because I’m hitting too deep?”
You couldn’t even answer. You were already gone, voice breaking on every thrust, legs shaking, walls fluttering around him like your body couldn’t decide whether to take him or break from how good he felt.
And Zayne was unrelenting. Not angry nor cruel, but so very intentional in every thrust inside you, every grip on your soft flesh. Every soft, cruel whisper in your ear.
“You want to see how far I’ll go, my love?” he breathed, kissing your jaw just before biting it. “Keep pushing. I’ll make sure you remember just how badly I can break you.”
(i wrote one for nanami it is only right i do one for zayne as well)
your adorable, dry humoured, sweetheart of a boyfriend simply can’t explain this strange pull he seems to have for your back.
i mean, can you blame him? you’re gorgeous, and the way you arch your back so pretty when you stretch, leaning over, can you really blame him if his breath catches in his throat?
god forbid you wear backless dresses around this man, he’s done. and you best believe that you aren’t leaving the apartment without him having kisses every inch of your bare back.
he remembers the first incident that got him spiralling about your back—the time you showed up to his office for a routine checkup. this time was different, you weren’t dressed in your uniform like you usually are, you were dressed in a backless blouse, the pretty ones with the little bows holding the back together and when you turned around he felt his blood rush to his ears and cheeks.
when you start dating he absolutely needs to be tracing your back or waist at all times (what a clingy cutie).
he constantly has you lay down on top of him before you go to bed so he can take his time tracing mindless patterns on your spine while you slowly melt into him (he has no idea how he got this lucky).
back hugs are an absolute must!! every single time he sees you cooking in your little apartment kitchen, humming your favourite songs while dolled up in his shirt, his body just moves on its own, his hands circling your waist oh so gently before he presses himself against you, his lips almost immediately pressing against your shoulders, moving to your neck while his hands hold onto you even tighter while you giggle and slowly lean back.
more by @liliklei : navigation.
been a while since I wrote something for love and deepspace <//3
also I fear I’ve run out of free time so my posts might be more infrequent ( ´ ▽ ` ) I’ve locked in at long last
"You know, my friends didn't like you at first." Your words make Zayne pause, immediately shutting his laptop. That's probably your sign to stop talking, but you've got his attention now.
"Why is that?" He questions, piercing gaze suddenly making you nervous. You know he's not insecure, but Zayne isn't a fan of being disliked, especially by people close to you, whose opinions you value.
"Well, when they first met you they thought you came off kinda...boring. And cold." You wince as you say it, watching him blink in confusion.
"Boring?" He echoes, a crease forming between his brows.
"They didn't know you then! They know it's not true now." You move closer to him, gently smoothing out his pinched brows with your thumb. He relaxes under your touch, though he's still deep in thought.
"Did you think I was boring?" The softness in his tone makes you frown, running a hand through his hair.
"Not at all. When we met, I thought you seemed sweet. I mean, I didn't think you liked me very much, but I had a big crush on you. And then I started to realize that you're more affectionate than I thought. You just show it in a different way."
Zayne hums quietly as your words, interlacing your fingers and studying your hand in his.
"I liked you very much. So much that it was difficult to be around you. It was hard for me to restrain myself."
"Restrain yourself from doing what?"
When Zayne kisses you passionately, you have your answer.
People think that Zayne is mean to you—like quite mean, actually.
They overhear his seething remarks, ones that cut through someone's self esteem like a hot blade. They notice how disinterested he appears when he looks at you; it's as if the mere sight of you bothers you. They see how he leaves you behind sometimes, wandering off and not caring in the slightest if you're following or not.
It's a hard sight to behold, especially when you don't see what they see.
Because you still smile brightly at him, despite his blatant disregard. You still run after him like a puppy, calling out his name before grabbing hold of his arm. You even laugh at his hurtful remarks, loud and cheery, and it's awful to think that you don't see how bad this is.
How he treats you so coldly; it makes them want to rescue you. Tell you to leave this horrible man and find someone worthy of your love and time.
But they're missing something crucially important.
They're missing the shining fondness and love that blows his pupils whenever he looks at you.
They're missing how his seething remarks are snark that you more than understand and deliver back just as harsh. Your laughter a joyful sound that fills his soul with what he believes to be the sweetest feeling.
They're missing how him walking ahead is him scouting for new places to try with you. Hoping that he'll come across a new bakery with desserts you've both yet to try. And how he smiles softly at you when you catch up to him and cradle his arm against your chest, happily chatting away.
The outside world sees something destructive, something mean and harsh. But they don't see the beauty, the construction of a love that has lasted lifetimes and dimensions. That settles within his body like warm tea before bed, promising the best night's sleep.
Misunderstandings are unavoidable, Zayne isn't blind, he knows how they look.
But he knows you'd hate it if he tried to change what you both love so much.
So let them talk and theorise.
Their concerns hold no weight.
All that ever matters to him is you.
a/n: best believe mc will yell and beat up ANYONE who dares vocalises such thoughts because their man is a snarky bitchy angel and they LIKE IT THAT WAY
zayne who makes out with you to lull you to sleep.
he knows it’s not easy for you to fall asleep. he’s woken up to you wide awake at 3am, scrolling on your phone that’s way too close to your face. he’s tried every remedy out there—warm milk before bed, tea before bed, no gadgets before bed, reading before bed—yet not a single one has been effective. it always ends with you staying up until it’s time for him to wake up.
only one thing ever worked, though. kissing you until you pass out.
as soon as you finish your nighttime routine, zayne is already ushering you to his lap. he sets his book down on the bedside table, slips his glasses off, and lets his hands run up and down your sides in slow, soothing motions. in the summer, he even uses his evol, a gentle coolness settling over your skin just enough to make you relax.
once you’re on top of him, it starts with a kiss to your cheek. then another along your jaw, before he drags his lips down your neck. after that, he comes back up to meet your mouth, slotting his lips with yours. he doesn’t rush it. doesn’t deepen it more than necessary. just steady, unhurried kisses meant to calm your breathing rather than steal it away.
without breaking contact, he eases you down onto the bed, movements careful and practiced. one hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin while the other keeps you close. his kisses grow slower, softer, lingering just a second longer each time.
he murmurs quietly inbetween—nothing dramatic, just low reassurances, reminders that he’s here, you’re safe, that you don’t have to think about anything else. eventually, he turns the two of you onto your sides, pulling you flush against his chest.
his hand slips under your sleep shirt, meticulous fingertips tracing circles along your back. his nails scratch lightly, rhythmically, exactly the way he knows you like. your breathing eventually evens out without you realizing it, body melting into his.
there’s a small smile on his lips when he feels you go slack against him.
and as your eyes finally flutter closed, zayne doesn’t stop right away. he presses one last kiss to your lips, thumb brushing beneath your eye as if to make sure you’re really asleep. only then does he still, arm tightening around you just slightly.
you fall asleep to the sound of his steady breathing and the cool comfort of his presence—while zayne stays awake a little longer, making sure you don’t wake again.
summary: you and zayne make the most of your time in the northern territories.
cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, fluff, kissing, vaginal fingering, masturbation, oral sex, hand job, p in v, praise kink, loss of virginity, historical au, entwined kites continuation
wc: 9.7k
a/n: this is kinda late but zayne was so scrumptiously perfect in it that i had to! i hope you enjoy!! <3
also on ao3!
“Are you making it a habit to lounge on every roof we come across?”
You shift, head poking over the edge of the snow-laden roof to find Zayne peering up at you. He raises his brows, eyes twinkling with amusement when you simply sprawl over the roof a little more, perched on the rafters contentedly.
“They are quite comfortable,” you say, fingers gliding through the snow, pushing it towards the edge, watching as it falls, snow dusting over Zayne’s hair delicately.
He huffs out a soft laugh, brushing the snow from his hair, his hand reaching out for you soon after.
“Be that as it may be,” Zayne murmurs, “I should not wish for you to become ill, my beloved. It is too cold. Come down, won’t you?”
You hum, sitting up and letting your legs dangle over the edge. Zayne’s warm fingers slip through yours, holding tightly before he tugs gently, stepping closer when you slide off of the tiles of the roof, his arms wrapping around your waist to catch you.
“You’ve become more comfortable saying that,” you tease airily, flushing lightly when his hands smooth over your robes, brushing the snow from the thick, woven fabric. “Am I truly that precious?”
“You still doubt that?” he sighs, his hands reaching for yours once he’s satisfied with your robes. “We flew a kite together, did we not? The Lady of Anlan should know by now how she is worth to me.”
Pouting, you lean into him, eyes fluttering shut when he cups your hands with his, squeezing and rubbing to warm your chill-ridden hands. Zayne mutters something under his breath but you can’t catch it with the way the wind picks up around you, howling loudly.
It’d only been two days since you’d arrived in the Northern territories, winter having already set in whilst you had made your journey here from Anlan. You thought you’d be staying in some sort of lavish inn, but when the hours had passed and you’d travelled deeper into the North, Zayne had informed you that this territory was also his – a generous gift provided to him by the Imperial Court.
Zayne’s efforts during the war must have been second to none, given the fact that this mansion was almost the same size as the one in Anlan, erected atop a snow-covered clearing, deep into the mountains. You’d never seen anything so beautiful. Anlan’s spring was often windy, the air laden with the scent of blossoming flowers and ripe fruit. The air here though, was crisp and so startlingly fresh that every time you took a breath, you were sure you could taste the snow on your tongue.
“Stop moving.”
Zayne’s voice is low in your ear as he pulls you inside the warmed quarters, his brows knitted together as he pulls gloves onto your hands, the fine garment patterned with different colors of layered cashmere.
“I’m fine,” you insist, trying to pull your hands free only to receive a stern look from Zayne, his fingers lacing with yours. “I won’t fall ill, I am much stronger than you think me to be.”
“Any self-respecting husband would not allow his wife to catch her death,” he replies just as stubbornly, a smile pulling at his lips as you tug him through the hallways, towards your shared quarters.
The maids have a penchant for staring, you’ve realized. Unlike Anlan, the maids here seem more brazen, emboldened by the harshness of the cold. Still, they hadn’t bothered you and Zayne, hadn’t done anything in particular other than stare when they could, so you let them.
There’s a bath drawn for you behind the patterned screen the moment you step inside. Your gaze darts to Zayne’s, fingers tightening in his grasp, refusing to let him go when he moves towards the fire.
Your cheeks flush lightly as you pull at his robes, tugging him down to your height. “Would– would you like to join me?” you ask, feigning innocence as your fingers splay against his chest, eyes lighting up when you feel the stuttered beat of his heart through the fabric. You lean into him, voice lowering, “you were right, my lord. I am quite cold… perhaps you ought to keep me warm.”
Zayne’s brows shoot up in surprise, a noise rumbling low in his throat. His hand slips over yours, pulling it away slowly.
“Is that so?” he murmurs, his head lowering, nose brushing against yours. “I thought you were well? You said you would not fall ill.”
Your eyes narrow when you see the mirth in his eyes. “I– I might!” you sputter, glancing around to watch the last of the maids filter out of your quarters with a polite bow. “They say body heat is the best remedy for–”
He interrupts with you an amused huff, his hands moving to stroke your sides. You frown when he shakes his head, tugging the gloves off irritably before moving begrudgingly when he pushes at your back with an insistent touch.
“The bath water was drawn from the springs nearby,” Zayne says, standing behind you when you flop down onto a daybed. “It is said to be blessed by the gods.”
“The gods?” you echo, face twisting with discomfort when you feel a twinge of pain from pulling out the ornate hair pins buried firmly in your hair.
“Yes,” he replies, his ministrations gentle as he brushes away your hands, beginning to pull out the pins himself. “The gods are said to dwell in the mountains nearby. We are quite close to them, so naturally it has been thought that the springs that come from them are also blessed.”
“I think I may be blessed,” you sigh dazedly, eyes drooping shut every now and then as Zayne runs his fingers through your hair, soothing away the tangles and knots. Your head lolls back when he strokes your hair, bleary eyes blinking up at him as you smile sleepily.
Your gaze flickers to his lips, breath hitching when his fingers smooth over your cheeks, tracing the curve of your jaw. You’d thought that Zayne would have kissed you by now, but he had become strangely artful in avoiding your advances. Perhaps he wasn’t ready yet for such a relationship… perhaps his assessment of you had changed… the very thought is brushed away as soon as it comes, your distracted mind now latching onto the soft, fleeting press of his lips against your forehead.
“Indeed,” Zayne whispers, voice deep and lilting, his lips skimming over your skin to kiss your cheek. “You must be if I have been led to you.” He smiles against your cheek. “The gods have been particularly generous.”
His words have you swallowing harshly – a weak attempt to dispel the rapidly swelling lump in your throat.
“You… you think I am a blessing from the gods?”
Zayne hums, his head tilting as he stares down at you. “Yes,” he says bluntly, his brows furrowing as though concerned by the breathlessness present in your voice. “You may very well be more auspicious than my jade seal.”
“Have you lost your mind?” you hiss, moving up onto your knees, leaning towards him. “If someone were to hear,” you lower your voice further, “not to mention relay such words to the Imperial Court of all things–”
“Then I would be glad,” he retorts, his hands cupping your cheeks once more, head dipping to let his nose brush against yours. “The Lady of Anlan holds a revered position within my heart, after all.”
A desperate, violent shudder racks through your body and you reach for his robes roughly. Zayne’s eyes widen in surprise, and you can hear the way his breath stutters, his lips parting. They look so terribly inviting – pink and unblemished – and you can’t resist the way your head tilts just enough to–
He pulls away.
“You always do that!” you protest, throwing your hands up as frustration sparks in your eyes. “You cannot just say such things and not expect to want something from you.” Your voice dips into something demanding, back straightening as you stand. “Kiss me, Zayne.”
“We… we mustn’t,” Zayne says, sounding hoarse. He distances himself, hands clasping behind his back, cheeks faintly dusted with a light shade of pink.
“And why is that?” you ask testily, stepping towards him. “You had me sit in your lap, Zayne. You said that I was near and dear to your heart. You–” it’s embarrassing the way your voice wavers, “you brought me here so we could watch the aurora.”
“I know,” he rasps, looking stricken. “I did all of those things because I wanted to. And now, I cannot help but think I may overwhelm you.”
“Overwhelm me?”
“There are many things I want from you,” he murmurs, reaching for you, his arms slipping around your waist. Your breath hitches when he nudges his nose into your cheek before he nuzzles closer, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. “Terrible, wicked things,” Zayne whispers, “I cannot stop my mind from wandering when it comes to you. Every thought is consumed by your presence.”
You stand, completely and utterly frozen. The depth of his words leave you reeling, your fingers twitching at your sides helplessly. You had had passing romances before, when you were younger and naive and easily enraptured by a handsome smile, but this– Zayne has your heart lurching and racing unsteadily, the blood in your veins blistering newly with an unfamiliar sense of longing.
He lifts his head a few moments later, warm, calloused hands sliding over your cheeks with a gentle caress. Zayne mutters your name – softly, slowly, ardently – every syllable rolling from his tongue like the sweet nectar from flowering jasmines.
“Zayne–” you choke out desperately, “I–”
A knock on the door of your chambers interrupts you, an attendant’s voice filtering through the crevices to request Zayne’s presence elsewhere. You begin to shake your head, an irritated noise leaving you when he begins to pull away once more.
“I shall accompany you,” you say, still slightly breathless and frazzled, “and perhaps then we might finish this conversation.”
“Later,” he promises, giving your hands one final squeeze. “You are still cold to the touch. Go and bathe, if you wait any longer the bath will have cooled.”
You huff out an irritated breath. “You aren’t being very agreeable.”
“No,” Zayne agrees, a small smile pulling at his lips, “I suppose not.”
When the attendant calls for him again, you sigh, pushing at his chest lightly. “Go then. But I will be waiting for you.”
Your eyes widen when he suddenly moves, hands settling against his chest when Zayne spins you around, crowding you in against the wall. Lips parting in confusion, you suck in a sharp, stuttered breath when his hand slides over the nape of your neck to cup the back of your head.
“You tempt me too much.”
And then he’s kissing you, lips pressing against yours feverishly. You stiffen, just for one startled moment, before you’re drawing him closer, fingers curling into his robes. Zayne groans, his body shifting to press flush against yours until the hardness of the wall digs into your back.
Zayne kisses you like he’s been starved, soft, pillowy lips slotting over yours again and again until your head spins. You can’t move with the way he’s cornered you, can’t breathe with the way he’s kissing you. It doesn’t matter, you think hazily, managing to wrap your arms around his neck, dazed eyes fluttering open when he draws away, panting heavily.
His forehead rests against yours, and the heat of his body does nothing but set you alight. Leaning in, you capture his lips once more. It’s slower this time as you tilt your head, guiding the kiss until he’s tipping your head back to deepen the kiss, tongue brushing against yours fleetingly. You sigh into his mouth, fingers slipping into his hair when Zayne breaks away to trail heated kisses down the length of your neck, his hands squeezing at your waist.
“I must go,” he rasps between kisses, his thumb digging into the underside of your jaw to feel your unrestrained, racing pulse. You jolt at the scrape of Zayne’s teeth over your skin, his tongue following soon after, soothing the bruised skin. “I… I really must go, my beloved.”
“Then go,” you murmur dazedly, any sense of urgency lost on you as your back arches, head tilting to offer up more of your neck. “I said– ah– I would wait.”
He hums, mirroring your languidness as his hands move deftly, pulling your robes apart until he’s able to see the curve of your body through the thin slip of your undergarments. His jaw works, a muscle in his temple fluttering as he stares.
“You are welcome to stay,” you whisper, biting your lip. “After all, I am in need and is it not a Lord’s duty to take care of his wife? To cherish her?” You move, letting your robes fall from your shoulders, the heavy fabric pooling at your feet.
Zayne swallows, his hand coming to cover the lower half of his face. You smile faintly, your hands brushing against your breasts, drawing his attention to your hardened nipples. The low hiss he lets out is barely audible and you whine softly, batting your lashes.
“You may very well drive me to madness,” he mutters, reaching towards you, letting his thumb brush the underside of one of your clothed breasts before his hand jerks back like he’s been scalded.
A soft laugh escapes you and you step closer until it's you that’s crowding him, breasts squishing against his robes. “Perhaps touching me more… thoroughly would alleviate such an ailment?”
“I know what you are doing,” Zayne scoffs amusedly, shaking his head, “have you employed such tactics before?”
You smile, eyes twinkling. “Only on handsome, royal lords who are exceedingly stubborn.”
“Is that so?” Zayne’s voice deepens, his nose brushing yours. “The thought does displease me.”
You raise your brows, eyes sparking with mirth. The hint of jealousy in his voice has nothing but hot arousal swirling in your stomach, your thighs clenching together involuntarily. Your smile grows wider when you spy the restless flex of his fingers by his side.
“That will not do,” you murmur, reaching for his hand. “I am your wife, after all.”
Blinking up at him innocently, you guide his hand under the hem of your undergarments, between your thighs until his palm presses against where you want him. Zayne’s breath hitches, his brows furrowing when he feels the heat of your bare pussy, his lashes fluttering uncertainly.
“You…” Zayne sounds choked, “you are this aroused?”
“Mhm,” you watch him carefully, a soft gasp leaving you when his fingers move suddenly, slipping through your damp, puffy folds.
You try to keep your eyes open but it’s difficult with the way he’s taken to exploring you, lithe fingers gliding and rubbing, pressing and caressing. His fingers circle your clit experimentally, his brows raising minutely with interest when your hips jerk towards him.
“Here, then,” he whispers, lowering his head to rest his forehead against yours. “Is this where you need me, my beloved? Or perhaps…” Zayne trails off, his fingers moving until they prod against your fluttering hole, “here?”
“Y– yes,” you whimper, shoving your face into his chest as your hips rock against his palm, clit catching along his calloused skin. “Yes, anywhere, just– just please touch me!”
“How desperate you’ve become,” he clicks his tongue, his fingers tangling in your hair. “Have I reduced my wife to begging?” He lets out a heavy sigh, lips pressing against your ear. “How unbecoming of the Lady of Anlan.”
A needy whine leaves you, your hazy eyes finding his as he circles your clit faster, the pads of his fingers brushing over the swollen bud. You try to speak but the words are stuck in your throat, a moan sounding through the chambers instead. Cheeks flushing with embarrassment, you blink blearily when you see a smile playing on Zayne’s lips.
“I– nghh– suppose you are enjoying this, husband,” you grit out, panting against his mouth when he kisses you roughly.
“I am giving you what you want, am I not?” Zayne rasps, a finger pushing against your clenching pussy once more, gently easing it in. “I am abandoning my duties for you, my beloved.”
You paw at his robes, eyes widening when he slips another finger inside, beginning to thrust them in and out of your pussy lazily.
“Zayne–”
“Do you think they can hear us?” he asks, lips dragging over your neck once more. “The debauched noises that you are making? Perhaps that is why they have not called for me… because they know that I must stay to satisfy my insatiable little wife.”
You manage a poor attempt at a scoff. “I am not insatiable! I simply wanted you to–”
“Bed you?” Zayne interrupts, his arm winding around your waist when your knees buckle as his fingers curl and thrust into you harder.
“Ah– fuck–,” you mewl, stumbling backwards as he walks you towards the wall, pressing you against it once more. Your eyes roll back when he bites your neck, chest heaving uncontrollably as his lithe digits crook further inside of you.
“Tell me,” he murmurs against your throat, thumb finding your slippery clit. “Is that what you want, love? For me to bed you? To take you until you know nothing but me?” He groans when your hand slides down to grip his wrist, desperately trying to deepen the press of his fingers into your leaking cunt.
You nod jerkily, faintly embarrassed by how wet you are, thighs dripping with your slick and Zayne’s knuckles coated with it.
“P– please,” you gasp, rocking up onto the tips of your toes to kiss him sloppily. “You have teased– ngh– me enough have you not?”
“I had no such intentions,” Zayne whispers, tugging your head back to kiss you deeper, his lips capturing yours in a feverish kiss, one that leaves you gasping for air. “I… I was waiting,” he admits softly, brushing the strands of hair clinging to your sweaty skin, his fingers never slowing their pace. “I thought perhaps after seeing the aurora it would be more,” he trails off, flushing pink, “romantic.”
“Romantic,” you echo breathlessly, nodding dazedly as he fucks his fingers in and out of your aching pussy, his fingers finally brushing right where you need him, the ministration making your eyes roll back. “Right– fuck– of course.”
“Alas, you could not wait so now here we are,” he rumbles, thumb brushing over your lower lip as he watches you intently. “The Lord of Anlan with his fingers inside of his desperate, lovely wife’s cunt.”
You shoot him a scandalous look, unused to such words from a man who is usually so stern and composed and above using such language.
“I spent years at military camps,” Zayne explains when he sees your expression, his breath hot against your forehead. “Naturally, stories become abundant and imaginations begin to wander.”
“Did– ahhh– did you ever take a lover?” you ask, brows furrowing irritably at the thought.
“Never,” he sighs, his hand moving to cup one of your breasts through the thin undergarment, squeezing. “You are the first, my beloved.”
Zayne smiles when he sees the shock flickering across your face, continuing to squeeze your breast, his thumb brushing over your pebbled nipple with ease. He lowers his head without warning soon after, mouth latching onto your breast through the fabric. You moan loudly, fingers sliding through his hair as he sucks, tongue flicking against your nipple, his fingers slipping from the hold of your clinging cunt to press against your swollen clit.
“I–” you choke out, toes curling against the soft rug underneath you. “I– ah! am going to cum!”
“Then cum,” Zayne says softly, guiding his fingers back into your fluttering cunt with ease, curling them before he plunges them into you at an unforgiving pace. “I should like to watch my sweet wife come undone.” His mouth finds its way to your other breast, sucking it into his mouth, his tongue swirling and flicking and teeth scraping lightly, just enough to have you seeing stars behind your closed lids.
You pull at his hair roughly drawing a wince from Zayne, but he doesn’t seem to mind when you do it again, instead mouthing at your clothed breast, his fingers scissoring inside of you when he feels you clench around him uncontrollably.
“Show me,” he murmurs hoarsely, “show me how I make you feel. Fall apart for me, love. Let me see what I have reduced you to.”
You can’t think straight, not with the way he’s taken to whispering into your ear, filth and sweet nothings pouring from his mouth as he fucks your cunt with his fingers and plays with your swollen clit. You try to peel your eyes open to watch him but it’s too difficult with how close you are, with how good it feels to have his fingers inside of you, reaching places that you never could.
“Let me hear you,” Zayne coaxes, his voice low and soothing. “You feel so lovely around me, my beloved. My sweet wife.” He kisses your cheek delicately and then your mouth, huffing amusedly when a ragged moan tears its way out of your throat. “That’s it, love. Just like that. Cum for me.”
You don’t need further instruction, squeaking when he pinches your nipple, thighs trembling violently and legs shaking as you fall into him. The force of your orgasm isn’t like anything you’ve experienced – so violent, so consuming that you can barely feel the stroke of his hand on your hair.
“Good girl,” Zayne whispers, kissing your cheek as his fingers slow their movements, slipping out of your pussy carefully.
You whimper when he rubs your clit gently, drawing out the last few aftershocks that rack through your body. Breathily heavily, you use Zayne’s arms to steady yourself, shivering when he kisses your forehead. Just when you tilt your head, you catch the movement of his arm, jaw slackening with disbelief as you watch his fingers disappear into his mouth. Your throat feels uncomfortably dry when Zayne sucks his fingers slowly – the very same ones that you had made a mess on earlier – cleaning them thoroughly while he stares down at you.
“Oh,” you breathe out, staring blankly when he licks his lips.
A surprised yelp escapes you when he picks you up suddenly, your arms wrapping around his neck as he walks behind the partitioning screen, setting you back onto your feet. He helps you into the bath and by some miracle it’s still hot, steam curling from the surface as you undo your ruined undergarment and sink down into the heated bath.
“You won’t join me?” you ask poutily, nuzzling into his palm when his thumb strokes over the curve of your cheek.
“I’m afraid you have made me avoid my duties for long enough,” Zayne sighs, shaking his head. “We may not be at war but there are still certain things I must look after as the lord of this territory.”
“That was hardly my fault,” you protest, although you’re unable to stop the smile from spreading across your face before you lean over the edge of the bath and kiss him sweetly.
“No,” he muses, standing up to straighten his dark robes, “I suppose I cannot blame you for befitting your role as the Lady of Anlan.”
You watch him quietly, stifling a laugh when he shifts uncomfortably, catching his narrowed gaze. He drops a fleeting kiss to your forehead before he turns to leave, his hair swaying prettily.
“And when you come back,” you call out teasingly, sitting up in the bath, “will you do all those terrible, wicked things to me, Zayne?”
He pauses mid-stride, glancing back at you. You don’t miss the way his gaze drops – just for a moment – to take in the swell of your bare breasts before he turns, striding towards the doors.
“Yes.”
–
“Where is it?”
You grumble under your breath, rifling through your garments and robes that had been brought here, shoving your head into the cabinet to try and find the offending garment.
You were sure you had brought it, especially following the knowing glances your maids had shot you, their giggles soft as they had helped you pack. A few more frantic rummages later, you find what you’re looking for, the sheer, silk nightgown nearly slipping out of your hands.
Zayne had to be returning soon, you were sure of it. At least an hour had passed since you had bathed, the lanterns outside glittering prettily in the growing darkness of the night. Shedding your robes, you slip into the nightgown, adjusting the straps before smoothing your hands over the thin garment.
It left little to the imagination, similar to your undergarments, although the fit was far more flattering. You crawl onto the bed, positioning yourself carefully, trying to channel an air of grace as you wait for Zayne to return.
But when the hours pass and Zayne is nowhere in sight, you groan, slumping back against the pillows. There’s a dull ache in your shoulders from trying to stay upright in that awkward position, although it’s nothing compared to the ache between your thighs.
You squirm, still aroused even after the bath, pussy clenching longingly as you feel the phantom brush of his fingers against your skin. Glancing at the door, you will for him to come striding through the doors, eyes narrowing in concentration. The doors stay stubbornly shut, unbending against your will and you huff out a breath, unable to wait any longer, hand disappearing under the hem of your nightgown.
You’re already wet, slick beginning to drip through your folds as you slide your fingers between them, eyes fluttering shut in bliss. The press of your fingers against your clit is enough to take the edge off for now, hips bucking when a thrill of pleasure shoots down your spine.
It’s already warm inside your chambers, but when the image of Zayne’s face materializes behind your eyes, you feel hot. Arousal curls around your body – heady and unforgiving – drawing a soft whine from your lips as you rub at your clit desperately. It’s nothing compared to Zayne’s fingers though, his lithe digits knowing as they had explored you despite his inexperience.
Even so, the thought of Zayne being all yours has a moan escaping you, your pussy clenching as you slip two fingers inside, beginning to pump them in and out. They don’t reach as deep, don’t satisfy you the way Zayne’s had.
“Z– Zayne,” you whisper, cheeks flushing with slight mortification at being so wanton.
But when your clit pulses, throbbing for attention, you whimper and move your fingers, letting them slip back up to rub at the swollen bud feverishly.
“Zayne,” you gasp, eyes squeezing shut. “Zayne… ah– I need you.”
“I see you have begun without me, my beloved.”
You shriek, flailing as you sit up, pulling your hand free from between your thighs. He stands at the edge of the bed, somehow looking like a heavenly vision, his hair loose and flowing over his shoulders, the black robes a stark contrast against his pale skin.
“Zayne, you’re here,” you laugh breathlessly, brushing your hair out of your face, “I… I was waiting for you.”
“Wearing that?” he murmurs, gaze dark as it travels over your body hungrily. “You truly have no shame, love.”
“Shame?” you echo indignantly, crossing your arms over your chest. “You did not have any shame when you were sucking my breasts through my undergarments!”
Zayne hums, his head tilting as he watches the way your thighs squeeze together. Your arms drop, the mattress dipping under your weight as you crawl towards him, settling near the edge of the bed.
“You need not stop on my account,” Zayne says finally, his hand reaching out to caress your cheek. “I want to watch you. May I?”
“You… you want to watch?”
“Yes.” Zayne’s voice is soft when he answers, a pretty flush of pink sitting high on his cheeks, the tips of his ears reddened.
His request has heat pooling low in your stomach, your fingers tightening into the blankets before you nod slowly, moving to sit back against the pillows, spreading your thighs for him.
Zayne inhales sharply when he sees you, nightgown pulled up to your hips, pussy spread open for him.
“Only if I can watch you,” you whisper, biting your lip as you let your fingers drift over your puffy folds.
You half-expect him to protest, but you receive a curt nod instead, your eyes widening as you watch him shed his robes and silks, breath catching when you finally see him bare.
A few scars litter his muscled chest and abdomen, similar to the ones streaking across his forearms. You swallow harshly as you follow the lines of his body, gaze dipping down to find his cock already hard. It’s longer than you’ve ever seen and thick too, pre-cum glistening at the tip as it bobs gently, struggling with its own weight.
“I do not think it kind of you to hide something like this from me,” you manage out, unable to look away from his fat cock, your fingers beginning to move against your own will, rubbing at your clit.
“My body?” Zayne murmurs, his hand wrapping around his cock as he begins to stroke his length, pace lazy and relaxed. “The opportunity never arose.”
You whimper softly, hips beginning to roll as your fingers move, circling your clit faster, hazy eyes watching as Zayne’s hand tightens around his cock, the muscles in his forearm and bicep flexing with every stroke.
“You look beautiful like this,” he whispers hoarsely, watching as you squeeze your breast through the nightgown. “Spread open and wanton for me to gaze upon.”
“Only for you,” you mewl, thrusting your fingers inside your aching cunt with a needy moan. “I need your fingers, Zayne,” you gasp, beginning to rub at your clit with your other hand, trying to spread your legs open wider, “mine– nghh– do not reach deep enough.”
“I am too weak to resist you,” Zayne groans, stepping forward, his fingers brushing yours aside as he sinks two digits inside of you without pretense.
Your toes curl, hands pawing at his thighs before you find his cock, fingers greedily curling around the fat length. “I like it,” you murmur, hips rocking into his hand as you stroke him uncoordinatedly, “your cock.” Your eyes light up when it twitches, gasping softly when a glob of pre-cum beads at the tip, rolling down the side of his cock.
You surge forward without thinking, tongue dragging up along the length of his cock to catch the glob, lashes fluttering at the heady taste that spreads over your tongue. Zayne’s moan startles you, his chest rising and falling heavily as he stares down at you.
“I thought you were innocent,” he rasps, pushing your hand away when you reach for his heavy balls with interest. “I thought you were sweet, my beloved. But it seems as though…” Zayne trails off, leaning over you as he quickens his pace, fucking his fingers in and out of you, his eyes glinting when you cry out, thumb pressing hard onto your clit, “my wife is a temptress.”
“Then– ahh– fuck– you ought to be glad I am wed to you, Zayne.”
A low snarl tears its way out of his throat. “Eternally, love.”
You squeal when he drives his fingers into you roughly, the snap of his wrist audible before he’s kissing you eagerly. Your noises are muffled by his mouth, Zayne’s lips searing as he kisses you, his hand sliding up to settle around your throat loosely. He licks into your mouth the moment your lips part, stroking and taking until you’re left dazed and breathless.
“I wish to taste you,” he mutters gruffly, his nose brushing against yours as he kisses you again. “Will you let me, my sweet?”
“Yes,” you slur, nodding and whining at the loss of his fingers, “I need you, Zayne.”
As though he’s been waiting for this very moment, Zayne drops to his knees, guiding your legs over his shoulders. Your fingers slide into his hair when he kisses your thighs, cleaning the slick smeared over your skin messily with a broken groan.
“Are– are you sure?” you squeak out, thighs trembling when his hot breath fans over your fluttering cunt. “You need not– Zayne!”
His name leaves you in a wail, your elbows giving out underneath you when he buries his face into your pussy. Your back arches, toes curling as you try and cling onto something – his hair, the sheets, anything – eyes rolling back when his tongue glides through your warm folds.
“You taste divine,” he rasps, thumbing apart your folds, his lips pursing before he spits down onto your messy cunt. “Like the finest nectar.” A low groan escapes him as he presses his face into your pussy again, the bridge of his nose shoved against your clit, his tongue lapping at the velvety skin of your pussy before his lips move, suctioning around your clit.
Your hands slam against the bed, hips bucking uncontrollably as your inhibitions are pushed aside with every movement of his tongue, every squeeze of his hands around your thighs.
“You– oh– you said you did not take a lover,” you whisper dazedly, fingers fisting his hair to pull, one of your hands moving to press his face harder into your throbbing pussy, head tipping back when he moans. “How did you learn such things, Zayne? Your tongue– fuck!”
“The Imperial Library holds a great wealth of information,” Zayne murmurs, kissing your clit gently, drawing back to watch the pitiful clench of your pussy around nothing. “And a royal education covers… many things.” He glances up at you, the lower half of his face shining with your arousal, your cheeks flushing when he smiles up at you tenderly. “I only want the best for my wife.”
“The best,” you echo, mouth dropping open when he spits once more, spreading it all over your cunt as though it were something normal, “of course.”
“Are you not pleased with my efforts, my beloved?” he whispers, his voice lilting as he laps at your pussy, tongue prodding against the fluttering hole.
“Quite ahhh– the contrary, dear husband.”
It is wicked, you realize, the way he’s able to draw such debauched noises from you, to have your body moving so wantonly to his ministrations. The coil of pleasure in your lower stomach keeps winding tighter and tighter, your breathing growing more violently ragged, thighs squeezing around his head.
Your legs jerk when he presses his tongue into your pussy suddenly, eyes flying open in a panic to find him watching you, always watching, his tongue beginning to fuck in and out of your cunt.
“Oh my–” you whimper, sweat beading over your skin, your body shaking as he holds you down by your hips, rising up to shove his face between your thighs deeper as though trying to force his tongue in further. “Zayne– Zayne!”
“Are you close?” he asks, words slurred with how his tongue is still buried into your cunt. “Hm? Will you cum for me once more? Fall apart on my tongue, my sweet?”
You let out a strangled noise in response, trying to grab for his hand, guiding it to your clit. Zayne understands immediately, his fingers beginning to rub in quick, tight circles while his tongue works into you, his free hand sliding up over your chest, long fingers pressing into your mouth.
Your lashes flutter at the unexpected intrusion, but you suck before you can stop yourself, grasping his wrist as you let your tongue swirl over the digits, hips rolling to meet his mouth. Zayne grunts when your thighs tighten around his head involuntarily, feet slipping over his back until his mouth finds its way back to your clit.
The harsh suck he delivers to the throbbing bud of nerves sets you alight, a hoarse scream echoing through your chambers as your back arches off of the bed, your teeth sinking into his fingers as you writhe on the bed. You can vaguely hear Zayne’s wince and a slight tug has you releasing his fingers in a daze.
“If anyone is driving another to madness, it is you,” you mumble, refusing to look at him when he kisses your cheek, your body hot with embarrassment.
“There is no reason to be shy,” Zayne whispers, smiling against your sweat-slick skin, his hands rubbing over your sides and back when you curl up.
“No reason to be shy?” you retort, swatting his chest. “Everyone must have heard!”
“It is snowing,” he soothes, his fingers adjusting your nightgown, “the wind is deafening and no one is stationed outside our chambers, my beloved. You may be as loud as you wish.”
“That is not the issue!”
“You were not concerned with propriety earlier,” Zayne counters, his eyes shining when you sputter.
“Propriety is one of my greatest concerns,” you say indignantly. “I am extremely passionate about propriety, Zayne.”
He laughs, pulling you up into his lap, your eyes widening when you feel the brush of his cock against your thighs. “Is that why you infiltrated my home?” he asks, his arms wrapping around you to draw you closer to his chest. “Hm? Is that why you scale walls and–”
You surge forward, shutting him up with a kiss, mewling when he sighs into your mouth. His hands can’t seem to sit still, wandering over your body but never straying as he deepens the kiss, fingers tangling into your hair.
“Be quiet,” you whisper, your hand slipping between your bodies to grasp his cock, still hot and hard.
“As you wish, my love,” Zayne murmurs, his head tipping back when you begin to stroke his cock.
You follow the length of his neck, down his muscled chest and abdomen, biting your lip as his cock twitches in your hand. Leaning forward, you kiss his neck delicately, smiling when you hear his breath hitch.
When you squeeze his cock, drawing out a spurt of pre-cum, a whine slips free from Zayne, his eyes fluttered shut and cheeks darkening in color. You click your tongue, teeth scraping over his neck in chastisement when he whines again, glancing up to find his teeth buried into his lower lip in an attempt to muffle the sound.
“Are you have a hard time staying quiet?” you ask teasingly, your free hand reaching down to cup his throbbing balls, smiling when his abdomen tenses and his hips buck. “It is almost as though you are… desperate, Zayne.”
“Gods,” he groans, his hand cupping the back of your head when you kiss his neck again, your breasts pressed against his chest through the sheer, silk fabric. “How is one to stay quiet when his wife plays with his cock?”
“You do make such pretty noises,” you coo, smiling up at him when he glances down at you with half-lidded eyes.
Not looking away, you let your tongue loll out, spit dripping lewdly from the tip of it, coating the head of his cock. Zayne moans, his fingers tightening around your hips as he pants, his forehead pressing against yours heavily.
“That’s it,” you murmur when Zayne whimpers, his eyes squeezing shut when you pump his cock faster, taking in the unbidden pleasure flickering across his face. “You’re doing so well, my love.”
“You– hahhh– you are using my own words against me.”
“And you are enjoying it,” you muse, spitting down onto his cock again, your pussy clenching when his cock throbs and leaks with heavy globs of pre-cum.
It coats your hand, his cock slick with his own arousal and your spit, leaking over your knuckles and down to his balls, staining the sheets below you. His cock twitches and you can feel his thighs tremble beneath you, the press of his fingers into your flesh becoming almost painful.
“You’re making such a mess, Zayne,” you sigh, kissing him sweetly, mewling when he whines into your mouth. “How unbecoming of a royal lord.”
“You– ahh– are wicked,” he rumbles, inhaling sharply when you squeeze his fat cock hard. “Such a wicked wife.”
A contented hum leaves you, your face nuzzling into the crook of his neck as you lick and suck, your hips rolling with need as you continue to play with his cock, your thumb swiping over the head of it. Zayne groans loudly, lurching into you as your wrist twists, dragging your hand along the length of his thick, hot cock.
“Fuck,” he breathes out, his hand finding yours, trying to slow your movements. “You ought to stop.”
“Why?” you pout, teeth scraping along his jaw roughly, tongue laving over the fine stubble that lays across his skin. “Do you not wish to cum?”
“Not like this,” Zayne rasps, a ragged gasp leaving him when you massage his balls eagerly, letting them sit in your hand as you rub your thumb over the silken skin. “My beloved– hahh– I… I wish to be inside of you.”
You blink up at him, hands settling on his shoulders when he moves you, laying you down onto your back. Zayne’s fingers move deftly, rucking your nightgown up until it’s up over your head, his hands smoothing over your waist and hips.
You squirm on the bed, swallowing nervously when he settles between your thighs, his cock brushing against you briefly. He pauses when he sees your conflicted expression, his hands reaching for yours, fingers lacing together tightly.
“Do you wish to stop?” he murmurs gently.
“No,” you say, shaking your head, heart thudding in your chest. “I just… I… I like you a lot,” you mumble, biting your lip. “I did not think you would feel so affectionate towards someone like me.”
“You saved me,” Zayne says, his words sincere. “It was you that delivered the keepsake. Without you, everything would have been lost.”
Your lower lip trembles for a moment, your fingers slipping over his chest tentatively before your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him down towards you. Zayne’s lips find yours, soft and sweet as he kisses you, his long hair brushing along your skin.
“The gods have blessed me with your presence,” he continues, lips drifting over your jaw to place a gentle kiss to your fluttering pulse. “Do not doubt my affection towards you, my beloved. I–” he clears his throat, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, muttering your name. “I love you.”
“Oh.”
The air is punched out of your lungs as you register his words, gaze flickering as Zayne presses himself closer, like he can’t bear the thought of being kept away from you. Your stomach flips when he kisses your neck, arms tightening around his neck whilst your heart beats so violently that you can hear it in your ears.
“I…” you stare up at him when he draws back, eyes fluttering shut when he strokes his hands over your hair and down the sides of your cheeks. “I love you too, Zayne.”
He lets out a heavy breath, a small, affectionate smile playing on his lips. You smile back, allowing yourself to let out a shaky laugh when he kisses your forehead.
“Then I shall be yours,” Zayne whispers, his hands finding your hips, squeezing gently, “for as long as you wish to have me.”
You watch hazily as he grasps his cock, sliding it through your folds before he presses the head against you, his hips moving forward minutely. You bite back a whine when the head of his cock slips inside, already having begun to stretch you. Zayne groans, his heady gaze watching as your pussy stretches around the thickness of his cock, his brows drawn together as he rocks his hips forward.
“It–” you gasp, hand reaching for his blindly, your fingers entwining together, “it is too big, Zayne.”
Zayne growls, spurred on by your words as he thrusts experimentally, burying more of his fat cock inside of you. “And yet you take me so well, my love. Look at how well we fit.”
You glance down, watching with dazed eyes as his cock disappears into your pussy, inch by inch, gasping when you clench around him and realize how utterly full you are.
“Sucking my cock in so greedily, hm?” he murmurs, shifting his hips until he’s buried to the hilt inside of you, massaging your waist as your walls flutter around his fat length, trying to accommodate him. “What a pretty, greedy little cunt.”
You whimper, words failing you as he draws his hips back, his hazel-green eyes watching your every expression intently.
“Feels– nghhh– good, Zayne,” you hiccup, nails digging into his broad shoulders, eyes rolling back when he drops some of his weight down onto you, his chest pressed firmly against yours.
“You’re so tight,” he groans, his hand sliding over your hair to hold you in place as he begins to snap his hips harder. “So warm– fuck– entirely and utterly perfect.”
“For you,” you cry out, feeling the bed sway with every thrust. “Only– only ever for you.”
That seems to encourage Zayne more than anything, his lips pressing against your ear as he snarls deep and rough, his thrusts beginning to grow quicker. You think you may very well be seeing the aurora, let alone stars as he grips your hips, drawing back before lowering his head, mouth latching onto your breasts.
You shake when he thumbs and pinches at one of your nipples, hands flying to his hair as his tongue swirls around an areola, flicking against your hardened nipple without abandon. The dark, coarse hair at the base of his cock scratches along your clit with every thrust, his balls slapping against your ass rapidly, the lewd noises erupting through your chambers.
“I want you– oh– forever,” you slur out, cock-drunk and warm under his affectionate motions, a dopey smile spreading across your lips as he kisses your cheek. “May I have you forever, Zayne?”
“May the gods have mercy,” Zayne mutters under his breath, nodding against your cheek, a disbelieving laugh slipping out of him. “Yes, my beloved,” he replies, thrusting hard, burying his cock inside of you, a groan leaving him when your pussy clenches desperately around his throbbing, fat cock, “you may have me forever.”
A satisfied coo leaves you at his answer, your legs tightening around his hips as he rocks his hips, finding an unforgiving rhythm that has you whining uncontrollably. He muffles your noises with a rough kiss, hissing when your nails rake down his back.
“That’s it,” he rasps in between kisses, fingers cupping your jaw to hold your head still, spit leaking from the corners of your mouths. “Mark me, my sweet. Make me yours, forever. Show me what I mean to you.”
In a sudden surge of boldness, you push at Zayne’s chest, shoving until he moves, falling onto his back. You’re crawling atop him before he can protest, relishing in his broken, hoarse moan as you sink down on his cock, rolling your hips without abandon.
“Gods– are you trying to kill me?” Zayne murmurs, his voice strained as you shift, shins coming to rest across his thighs as you place your hands on his chest, using him as support to let your hips rise and fall.
“I… I want you,” you slur, mewling when his hands move to squeeze your breasts, his nimble fingers toying with your nipples as you ride him. “Zayne– nghhh!! I want you, I want you, I want you!”
You jerk in his lap when his hand comes down on your ass, arms wrapping around his neck when he sits up, crushing his mouth to yours. It’s filthy and so terribly unbecoming for a royal lord and lady to be acting in such a way – so lewdly, so uninhibited.
“Then have me,” he says roughly, hands clamping onto your hips before he’s guiding your movements, dropping you down onto his cock before lifting you and repeating the motion. “Fuck– have me, my sweet. Take my cock, that’s it, good girl… take everything I give you.”
You pant against his mouth, clinging to him, hands lost in his long tresses, pulling at his soft hair as you lick into his mouth messily, letting him jerk you up and down on his impossibly thick cock.
It’s all so overwhelming, especially with the way his cock is hitting exactly where you need him, against that sensitive spot that has you moaning loudly.
“It’s too much,” you whine, face pressed into the crook of his neck, the pleasure in your stomach growing with every press of his cock inside of your dripping cunt. “Zayne, I– I’m close!”
“So am I,” Zayne whispers, an arm wrapping around your waist, his biceps flexing with every motion. “You’ve done so well for me, my beloved. Let go, hm? Cum on my cock like a good girl.”
You pull back to look into his eyes, stomach swirling in a shy, flustered daze when you see the warmth in his eyes and the soft smile that plays on his lips.
“I love you,” you mumble, hips rolling to meet every press of his cock inside of you, your brows furrowing as you watch his eyes flutter shut. “I love you, Zayne.”
“Forgive me.”
Your mouth opens to ask whatever for, but he’s moving you onto your back, hands finding yours, squeezing tightly as his hips pound into you. A sharp scream tears its way out of your throat, your knuckles whitening as you hold his hands, eyes rolling back when he buries himself to the hilt with a particularly harsh thrust.
“Cum,” Zayne snaps lowly, his lips pressing against your cheek. “Cum for me, my sweet wife. Cum on my cock and I shall make you mine in every possible way.”
You don’t need any more encouragement, body thrashing under his when his fingers rub against your clit in one brief circle, the coil of pleasure snapping as you cry out and moan. Zayne groans at the sight, his hips stuttering when your pussy clenches hard, stubbornly keeping him inside.
“My beloved, we mustn’t–” Zayne gasps, his head falling forward as a long-drawn groan leaves him, his cock twitching inside of you.
You mewl, squirming when he spills inside of you, hot, thick cum flooding your pussy as your walls continue to flutter around his fat cock, the grip on his hands loosening. Zayne pants, his head falling against your shoulder, hair sticking to his back and arms, his breathing ragged.
His softening cock slips out of you a few moments later and Zayne manages to draw himself off of you, both of you exchanging dumbstruck glances when you notice his thick cum leaking out of you slowly.
“I…” Zayne swallows, brushing his hands over your aching thighs gently, “was not intending on an heir so soon.”
You flush, thighs squeezing shut. “Perhaps it will not take?”
You poke your stomach with mild interest, squealing when Zayne drapes himself over you, arms wrapping around his neck as he peppers kisses all over your face.
“And if it does?” he murmurs, nuzzling into your cheek.
“If it does,” you sigh, cupping his cheeks, thumbs stroking over his skin tenderly, “I should expect my husband to take the utmost care of me.”
“Naturally,” Zayne smiles, his lips soft as he kisses you, a hand smoothing over your stomach.
You run your fingers through his hair when he shifts, biting your lip when he kisses your stomach. He glances up at you, and you smile, brushing his hair out of his eyes. You yawn as the heady, lustful atmosphere fades, replaced by something slow and syrupy in the aftermath of your intimacy, enough to have your eyes drooping shut sleepily.
But perhaps the wind was never as deafening as Zayne thought because something loud thumps against the doors to your quarters, a flurry of hushed whispers following before someone mutters something about keys.
Your eyes snap open, mortified, while Zayne pulls himself off of you, tripping over his discarded robes before he’s grabbing at them and draping the thick robes over you. You try and sit up, to make yourself look at least a measure more presentable, Zayne cursing under his breath as he finds a new set of robes, pulling them over his body.
“My Lord! My Lady! Do not fret! We have heard your distress–”
A group of maids and guards alike stumble into your chambers, their panicked expressions fading as they digest the scene before them – Zayne leaning against a wall awkwardly, you sprawled over the bed, sheets rumpled and an utter mess and you engulfed in Zayne’s robes no less.
“We are perfectly well,” Zayne manages out, pinching the bridge of his nose irately.
You smile wanly at them, your hands moving belatedly to smooth down your tousled hair.
“Perfectly well,” a maid echoes, staring between the two of you before she’s ushering everyone else out of the chambers, her head poking inside before she shuts the doors. “I shall have a bath drawn. Would you perhaps like some tea? Cake? Sweet tea? I seem to recall we had–”
You bury your face into the pillows.
Zayne sighs aggrievedly. “Please leave us.”
–
The new novel is delivered to you past midday.
You stare down at the title, rolling your eyes irritably. “The Cold Lord’s Boundless Affection: The Thrilling Sequel?” you scoff, beginning to flip through the pages agitatedly, skimming through the passages. “Why is a sequel needed? The first two were already bad enough.”
“Now, now,” Zayne murmurs, his lips brushing over your forehead as you squirm in his lap uncomfortably, “you mustn't be so easily vexed, my beloved.”
“You should be more concerned about this,” you hiss, waving the novel in his face. “This– this is a farce!” You scan a passage, finger pressing against the page roughly. “Upon noticing his wife’s distress,” you read aloud, “the cold lord swept her into his arms with such affection that she began to swoon.” You shake your head vehemently. “That is simply untrue!”
Zayne smiles up at you, his hand rubbing against your stomach. “Is it?” he asks, feigning confusion as his brows furrow, “I do seem to recall some swooning on your part.”
“I did not swoon, dear husband,” you grouse, tossing the book aside as you shift in his lap once more, trying to ease the dull ache permeating through your lower back. “If anything I was in charge of the situation and you were the one overcome with emotion.”
He laughs at that, his body shaking beneath yours and you huff out a breath, feeling warm with your own feelings of affection as he kisses your cheek.
“In any case,” Zayne says, helping you stand as you sway unsteadily on your aching feet, “my affection towards you is boundless, is it not?”
“Is that why you have given me another child?” you mumble, staring down at your swollen stomach, rubbing your hand over it gently. “I cannot do with another set of twins, Zayne.”
“You did this all on your own, my lovely wife,” Zayne muses, his hand pressing over yours, eyes shining when he feels the baby kick gently. You smile faintly, leaning back into his chest, head tipping back as he dips his head, kissing you. “Was it not you who stormed into my chambers and demanded another?”
You huff out a breath, chasing after his lips when he tries to pull back, tugging him down to kiss him deeper.
“I hardly demanded,” you whisper against his lips, eyes fluttering shut as he cups your cheeks, calloused fingers stroking over your skin soothingly. “I very cordially requested that you take care of me, Zayne. You took it upon yourself to bend me over your desk.”
He hums, lowering his head to whisper into your ear. “You were wearing my favorite nightgown, my beloved. One might have been inclined to think that his wife may have been tempting him.”
You bite back a whine, pressing your face into his chest to breathe him in. “I cannot fit in it anymore,” you mumble sullenly, playing with his robes.
“And yet you look as radiant as ever,” Zayne whispers, his fingers sliding under your chin to tip your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze. He smiles when he sees you pout, kissing you gently.
You sigh when he rubs your stomach again through your robes, the tension in your shoulders beginning to bleed out slowly. It’s short-lived however, the sound of a maid’s alarmed shriek making you jolt as a blur of color rushes past you.
“Young Master! Young Miss!”
Blinking owlishly, you watch as your twins – only four – laugh and run away from their maids and tutors, darting through the middle of the courtyard and behind pillars and trees.
“Again?” you sigh exasperatedly, unable to stop the fond expression spreading across your face as your children wave at you both, their little heads poking out from behind a statue, chubby cheeks rosy and eyes glittering with mischief.
Zayne smiles, his arms wrapping around you carefully, holding you tighter against him.
“They seem to take after their mother, no?”
You swat his arm, rolling your eyes. “You encourage them too much.”
A soft wince escapes you when the pain in your lower back worsens, your hand flying to your swollen stomach when you feel a strangely familiar wave of pressure beginning to press downwards.
“Zayne, I think…” you trail off, sucking in a sharp breath of air as you stagger, clinging to his arm tightly.
Concern flickers across his face, his hands moving to keep you upright as you gasp, feeling something wet rushing between your thighs until you glance down to find a small puddle of water at your feet.
You blink up at Zayne, watching as his composure wavers when he sees your dampened robes. The slight tinge of pallor to his skin and look of panic flaring through his eyes would make you laugh if not for the rapid waves of pain currently racking through your body.
You smile bemusedly, feeling the baby kick with renewed vigor.
“Our baby is coming.”
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