Hmmmm anyway what about the opposite of Devoted Loyal Noble Knight. What about Knight that is Chained to his Duty like a Rabid Dog in a Cage. What about Knight that fucking Loathes The King but is bound by a magic oath that prohibits him abandoning his post or harming his liege. Knight that feigns subservience while boiling with bloodlust. Knight who finds every innocuous form of disobedience and rebellion he can within the limits of his Oath. Knight who decides, after a virtuous little Consort is betrothed to the King and sent to the Palace, he'll make it his mission to corrupt and ruin the Consort with filthy, feral seduction. Fucking them over and over and over again while the King is none the wiser, in every room in the Palace, on the throne, in the King's bed, always an inch away from getting caught.
My Hands Are Not Strong Enough to Hold Her (Please Lend Me Your Hand) pt.12
A/N: part 12 of my Zayne/Sylus/MC fic. wc: ~6.2k You can also find it here on ao3 if it’s easier to read there :3 this took 6 months so here's 1k word for every month i made you wait !! Content warning: vaginal sex / stomach bulge / dom/sub undertones / minors dni
pt.1 / pt.2 /pt.3 /pt.4 /pt.5 /pt.6 / pt.7 /pt.8 / pt.9 / pt. 10 / pt. 11
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You woke for the first time to voices whispering above your head. One heavy arm was slung over your waist, thumb rubbing mindless stripes over the sleep-warm skin of your navel. Another hand gripped and released the fat of your hip with the same cadence of someone thoughtlessly squeezing a stress ball.
Your mouth was dry, body and brain heavy with both the many glasses of wine you stress-drank at dinner and the bone-deep satisfaction of a life-changing night. Full wakefulness escaped you, your consciousness resting just under the water of warm sleep and damp skin. The voices continued on, recognizable but flowing together as though they were one droning lullaby pulling you deeper under the water. A thumbnail scratched just below the dip of your belly button, dry lips pressed against your forehead.
It all served to push you further back into the heat and sweat sticking your body to the ones surrounding you. You must have mumbled something, because the voices both stopped at once, a hand rising to swipe your hair from your cheek. A kiss was dropped against your fluttering eyelids, another smacked quietly behind your ear.
"Shh…" a small brush of air curled under your earlobe, "Keep sleeping, kitten." And how could you resist, when you were so warm, hands kneading your skin and turning your bones to softened marzipan. The tension in your neck—the idea of lifting your heavy head from the water and waking fully—dissipated immediately, and you descended again.
You woke for the second time alone, body sprawled on the large bed with no one there to bracket you into the small, perfect space that only existed between Zayne and Sylus. One arm was flung across the sheets, knuckles brushing the nightstand, the other covering your stomach as if trying to trap the heat left behind by a much larger hand. The blanket was rucked over your waist, tangled around your legs like you had thrashed in unconscious anger at being left alone.
Your eyes cracked open, then squeezed back shut with a groan at the bright light pouring through the tall windows of Zayne's bedroom. You patted around the bed blindly, knowing that you were alone but still wanting to check for warmth in the sheets. Soft, thick fabric bumped against your finger tips, and when you dragged it above your head, you saw clutched in your fist a sweatshirt with white block letters.
Shaking the folded sweatshirt to better read the text let loose a smaller bundle of fabric that tumbled onto your chest. You picked it up with your other hand, noting the softness. Squinting through the light, you realized you were holding an old Skyhaven University sweatshirt and a dark grey pair of boxer briefs. Suddenly, you remembered your nakedness, nipples pinching tight and skin breaking out into gooseflesh from the back of your neck to your calves.
Flinging yourself from the bed, you quickly pulled the underwear on, pleased by the snug way the waistband sat on your hips and stretched at the tops of your thighs. But, when you pulled the sweatshirt over your head, you paused, a heady rush of scent overcoming you. You stood there, arms through the sleeves but shirt collar resting atop your head like a crown, breathing in deep through your nose.
Cool spearmint and sweet florals. The underlying touch of a watery, masculine cologne, and the redolent smell of sticky, yeasty sweetbread. You pressed the fabric against your nose and breathed even harder, huffing the weave like you could breathe Zayne straight into your lungs and keep him there. This was an old, well-worn piece from his closet that seemingly never left the house, smelling like Zayne distilled. It was untouched by the stink of the world and cutting sharpness of povidone-iodine.
You don't know how long you stood there, looking decapitated with your head swimming in Zayne's scent, but you eventually pulled the sweatshirt on fully. The light was still blinding, and you jumped with a startled yelp when you finally blinked your vision back only to see Sylus leaning against the doorframe to the hallway.
He was smiling in that infuriating way he did when he knew he won something he had no business having. Though, you knew he would argue, that if he wanted something then it was his business to have it. Regardless, there he was—smug and overly pleased, softened only by the adoration glinting off his garnet eyes.
His arms were crossed loosely over his bare chest, shoulder propped up against the frame. Dark sweatpants sat low on his hips, large block letters that matched the ones on your sweatshirt tumbling down his right leg. His lips were quirked in a small smile and bitten red in a way you couldn't recall doing.
You propped your fists on your hips and huffed, stomping over to him and planting yourself under his chin.
"You left me," you said, voice petulant and annoyed. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, forcing a frown you know he could see through. He tilted his head down, dipping into your space and thumbing lightly at a sore spot on your neck.
"Don't forget to give this same treatment to the good doctor downstairs, seeing as he left you as well. Unless…" Sylus paused, pressing deeper into that sore spot that you knew was likely a dark purple surrounded by twin, red crescents. A thrill of warm pain made you drop your shoulder with a small keen from the back of your throat, the pleasure of a mark flushing your cheeks the way it always did when Sylus dug his teeth into you. He dropped even further into your space, breath washing over your hot cheeks.
"Unless you're willing to forgive us over a lovingly prepared breakfast?" Your body, forever a traitor, chose this moment to make its hunger known, grumbling loudly in the otherwise quiet room. Squinting, you dropped your pout and pushed past Sylus, leaving him laughing as you marched through the hall and down the stairs. You felt him press behind you halfway down, and at the same time, thick smells drifted past you.
Dark espresso and the char of bacon set to cook for a moment too long—your mouth was already watering at the thought of how it would melt over your tongue—mixed with hot butter and table syrup. When you rounded the corner, following your nose to the kitchen, you were met with Zayne's wide shoulders as he steadily stirred a pot at the stove.
Spread across the kitchen island was a western breakfast that seemed like far too much food for only three people. Sylus slipped past you while you stared in awe. He seemed comfortable in Zayne's kitchen, pulling a carafe of dark coffee from the fridge and setting it and a carton of milk on the counter top before flipping through a cabinet for a tall glass. Zayne turned, gazing at you over his shoulder fondly as you stumbled into the warm room. He gestured for you to come to him with a raise of his chin.
"Good morning," Zayne murmured, a shiver dancing down your back from his tone. So quiet, yet bursting with an unbelieving happiness that you couldn't help but smile as you slotted yourself next to him. You kissed the side of his shoulder, then tilted your head against it as you looked down at the pot he stirred. It was filled with a thick, white liquid that parted around his spoon before collapsing on itself after each pass.
Zayne pulled the utensil from the pot, tested the consistency with a swipe of his pinky over the back of the spoon, and, seemingly satisfied, held the coated finger out to you. Unthinkingly, you stuck out your tongue to catch a drop that threatened to fall, closing your mouth around his finger then pulling off with a pop.
Congee, lovingly stirred and thickened, dripped over your tongue and you sighed. It was sweetened with sugar and vanilla, and warmed you from your mouth all the way down into your stomach. Zayne's ears burned red as he looked down at you expectantly.
"Too sweet?" he asked, and you shook your head.
"Uh-uh. Do you have dates?"
"Yes. Would you like me to add some?"
"Please," you said, rising on your toes to kiss his ruddy cheek. When your heels touched the ground, you heard a quiet laugh from the other end of the kitchen. Turning to Sylus, you saw him watching you, iced coffee in hand.
"Do you two always do that when you eat together?" he asked. You tilted your head in question.
"Do what?"
"Feed each other."
"No," you said, indignant, but Zayne replied the opposite simultaneously. You jerked your head to face him, and he looked at you questioningly.
"Why lie? You have said food tastes better when we share. Is that no longer true?" His sweet, green eyes rounded slightly, and you could see beyond his expression that he was baiting you. You hated being baited, already suffering it from Sylus at any chance. Now, from kind and considerate Zayne? It felt like a small betrayal. With a sneer, you looked away from both men.
"Of course it's true! But it's not every time." Sylus approached you, dropping the coffee in your hand even as you refused to meet his eye. Taking a sip, you groaned, the caffeine and cream perfect for your aching head.
"It's been every time that I've seen you two eat," Sylus said, leaning his hip against the island. You turned to him and narrowed your eyes.
"And how many times have you seen that?" He shrugged, gesturing casually with his hand.
"Last night at dinner. And just now."
"Twice isn't every time," you said, looking back down at your coffee. Then you stopped, brows furrowing as a thought suddenly struck you. "Unless…"
You looked back up, mouth opening, then closing into a deep frown. Sylus's expression remained unmoved under your scrutiny.
"Mephisto was there, wasn't he?" You jabbed a finger into his bare chest, incensed. Sylus laughed, deep and infuriating, slipping away from you to grab plates of food from the island. You stomped after him, berating him even as you helped carry food from the kitchen. Zayne stood at the stove for a moment longer, then followed you to the living room, smile small and fond as he listened to your high-pitched anger and Sylus's melodic laughter.
"You two have not had sex?" Zayne's voice was causal, tinged with curiosity. Heat rushed to your face immediately, and you sputtered around your bite of food.
"We've had sex before! Just not…" you paused, the heat in your face sliding down your neck and getting caught in your chest. You waved your hand around, gesturing with your fork like it could answer for you. "…Just not full, uhm... penetrative sex." Sylus sat quietly between you and Zayne, happily alternating between bites of food and sips of tea like he were completely unbothered by the topic of conversation. His eyes moved from you to Zayne as you spoke, enjoying your embarrassed blustering and Zayne's dawning astonishment.
"You will have to pardon my prying, but…" Zayne trailed off, setting his utensils down and slotting his fingers together. His eyes followed yours, trying to catch your jumping gaze. "Is it due to a lack of interest in that kind of sexual contact?"
Zayne's voice did something you hated. The casualness of his tone disappeared, covered smoothly by the clinical detachment he wore every time something touched him somewhere tender. It felt as though, instead of a meter away from you on his couch, he were on the other side of his desk, shirt buttoned to his chin and guarding the soft dip of his throat.
You could hear it immediately, that sudden fear that he had hurt you somehow with his affection. A small flare of frustration ignited in you—had you not been clear enough last night that the pain he could cause you was nothing compared to the pleasure he could give?—but you tamped it down quickly. This fear was years old, born from a time you barely recall, and it would take more than one night of passion to kill. Honesty would be your strongest weapon, and so you dropped your fork and turned to him, leaning past Sylus's large frame.
"No, not at all," you started, eyes flicking to Sylus then back to Zayne, "I actually really want to. He's just…Oh man." You dragged your hands down your face, blush burning brighter. Muffled, you continued. "He is very big. And I am not."
Your hands dropped with a thwap against your thighs. Zayne's expression was pinched, eyebrows drawn down and together, and you caught the way his eyes twitched minutely towards Sylus's crotch then back to you. For his sake, you did not mention it, pressing on.
"Not that I think I can't do it, I just haven't felt mentally—ugh—prepared enough for it." You slapped a hand on Sylus's thigh and smiled, deflecting, "Plus, surprisingly, Sylus has proven to be very much a giver, so its not come up as often as you'd think."
"Surprisingly?" Sylus asked, finally taken aback by the conversation happening around him. Wounded, his hand covered yours and he pulled it to his chest. "Surprisingly?"
You patted his hand with your free one but your attention remained on Zayne. He still looked apprehensive, though his expression softened when you reached out to him.
"You've got to trust that I won't do anything I don't want to, okay?" Your fingers rested on Zayne's knee, smoothing the fabric of his sleep pants with your thumb. He placed his over yours, dropping his eyes down to where his own fingers curled around your palm. There was a moment where no one spoke, something tense hanging in the air that you worried would make Zayne shut down further. The sound of fall wind brushing against the windows was nearly as loud as your heartbeat in your ears.
To your surprise, Zayne's eyes were dark when he looked back up at you; sharp in their focus, but the intensity of them made you shiver. His grip tightened fractionally.
"Would you like me to help you?" he asked, voice low, and you tilted your head in confusion. You opened your mouth to ask for clarification, then closed it, utterly lost for words. Your mind jumped immediately to last night—to the way Zayne's cock had slid so easily into you after his mouth and fingers shook you apart—and your face bloomed scarlet again.
"You don't mean… You don't—" you sputtered, shoulders rising to your ears, "You want to help Sylus… Fuck me?" Zayne nodded once, small and quick, and your cheeks burned brighter. In your periphery, Sylus straightened, and even from the corner of your eye you could see how a smirk split his face.
"And just how would you do that?" Sylus asked, voice both smug and encouraging. Zayne cut his eyes to him, jaw tight.
"If you can be patient and listen well, then you'll find out." Sylus leaned back then, crossing one knee over the other and laying his long arms across the back of Zayne's couch.
"That I can do," Sylus said, dragging his gaze from Zayne to you, "Want to give it a try, sweetie?" When you finally turned to him, you watched the tip of Sylus's tongue dip out to wet his lower lip, and you fought to rip your eyes away at the sight.
"Right now?" you asked them both, voice thin and high, both nervous and excited by the thought of finally taking Sylus.
"Mhm."
"If you wanted," Zayne began, rising from the couch, "I would just need to grab some things from upstairs." You waited a breath, shifting as you sat to gauge just how sore you were from last night. There was a pleasant pain in your lower body, the aftermath of a stretch that delighted more than it hurt. Also present was a growing wetness, arousal springing from just the thought alone. You nodded, then, remembering Zayne's promptings last night, said aloud, "Yes, I want to try."
Zayne's smile was soft when he leaned down to kiss you, lips falling first on the corner of your mouth before they found yours. He pulled away when your hands came up to his chest, cutting you short just as the kiss heated. Before a pout could form, he leveled you with a quick look, and your attitude melted away.
"Take off your underwear and straddle his lap," Zayne said as he stood upright, voice dropping to a register that offered no room for question. A familiar tingle zipped up your spine then; there had always existed within you a small, static-like ball of pleasure that only manifested when following Zayne's directions.
Even in childhood, when he would correct your slouching posture or quietly scold you when bandaging a scraped knee, your body would glow with elation at his careful directions. How strange it was for that feeling to return now, but you enjoyed the way it tinkled across your nervous system, settling in your fingertips like they had fallen asleep.
Your eyebrows rose, but you stood regardless, slipping the soft boxer briefs from your hips and swinging your leg over Sylus's after he uncrossed them.
"Hi," you whispered, a shy giggle tumbling out of you as planted your hands on Sylus's shoulders. His eyes crinkled at the corners affectionately.
"Hi," he whispered back, one hand leaving the couch to rub against your side. His fingers slid under the oversized sweatshirt, dragging it up from your hips. A heat pressed against your back, and suddenly Zayne's breath was on your ear, making you shiver despite the heat.
"I want you like this when I get back," Zayne said, one hand pulling your hips up while the other pushed down at your spine, arching you just shy of painfully. The position turned your shivers into a full body shake, body trembling immediately from the strain on your sore muscles and the way it exposed your growing wetness to the cold air of the room. Your head fell to Sylus's collarbones, fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders to both hold yourself up and keep yourself grounded. The tingling in them worsened, traveling up your arms like you were slowly losing feeling.
Zayne peeled himself away from you, fingertips lingering on the dimples of your lower back before he walked away. You could hear his unhurried footfalls, counting them in your head like they were seconds on a ticking clock.
"You're sure you want to do this, sweetie?" Sylus's voice was rough from arousal, but it fell softly on the crown of your head. You nodded, still counting Zayne's steps.
"I—I really want to do this," you said, fighting to keep the tremble out of your voice. Both of Sylus's hands wrapped around your hips, thumbs wedging in the spaces where your thighs met your stomach. Your weight fell immediately into his palms, his grip holding you up effortlessly while keeping your hips exactly how Zayne had maneuvered them.
You sighed against his chest, relief washing through you. Sylus used his grip on you to make you sway gently, rocking you side to side until your shaking dimmed back down to small shivers.
Zayne stepped carefully down the stairs, and you could feel the weight of his eyes on you. You stilled, listening as his bare feet walked across the living room, stopping just behind you. Though you wanted to turn to face him, you kept your forehead pressed against Sylus's neck, focusing on the thrumming under his skin. Sylus's hammering heartbeat nearly drowned out the creak of a lid and the slick sound of something wet being spread around.
You jumped when cold fingers slid from your entrance to your clit, circling twice before retreating back to where you leaked, two sinking into you immediately. Your jaw dropped open, pushing your hips back onto the fingers as they fucked into you slowly. Zayne's other hand pushed your sweatshirt up higher, bunching it in his fist between your shoulder blades.
"When I tell you to," Zayne said, thrusting slower and resting a third finger against the rim of your sex, "I want you to bear down on my fingers like you're trying to push me out. Can you do that?"
"Y-yes," you said, head buzzing from the sudden stimulus and that sticky-sweet feeling of Zayne once again telling you what to do. Your body clenched involuntarily, muscle fluttering around his fingers. You heard a small huff of laughter from behind you, one single breath through Zayne's nose, and you flushed down to your chest.
"Sylus," Zayne said, third finger breaching you without fanfare, "Are you hard?" You whimpered, opening your eyes to look down his body. The bulge straining against the thick fabric of his borrowed sweatpants made your mouth water.
"Mhm. How could I not be with how pretty she sounds?" One of Sylus's hands left you, pulling himself from his sweats. He wrapped a loose fist around the base, long fingers squeezing at the thick shaft intermittently. You watched the way he gripped himself, pulling at his cock in long, languid strokes, and a line of spit fell from your open mouth.
"F-uck," you moaned, the reality of the situation finally settling on you. Sylus's cock, thicker than your wrist and long enough to bump against your belly button any time you ground against him, was going to somehow fit inside of you. Your mind was floating away, already imagining the stretch.
A loud squelch brought your mind back to your self, humiliated by the loud churning of your body around Zayne's diligent fingers. He moved slowly, reaching as deep as he could within you, then twisting at the wrist so that the pads of his fingers rubbed against your front wall. You groaned when they pushed against a soft spot, and he stroked over that spot again, pressing hard.
"Clench for me, sweet girl," Zayne said, murmuring praise against your spine when you did. You sighed when he told you to relax, focused on the way he spread his fingers within you, forcing you open even further. After each clench and release, he opened his fingers wider, eventually sliding his slender pinky finger along with the rest.
Time dripped past you like honey over your head. You had found yourself trapped again between Zayne and Sylus, one slowly pulling you apart while the other groaned in response to your every twitch and moan. Drool glistened on Sylus's chest, but you were too lost in the way Zayne tracked hot kisses up and down the length of your back to register embarrassment.
Zayne pulled his fingers from you, making you whine high in your throat at the loss, but the whine thickened into an open-mouthed moan when you felt his cock slide all the way to the root. No resistance, only fullness and the wet sound of your arousal coating him.
"You are incredible," he breathed, hands tight on your hips to hold you flush together.
"Mmm—T-thank you, Zayne," you struggled to speak, cheek pressed hard against Sylus's pectoral and body still bent in a deep arch. You didn't know what you were thanking him for exactly—finally filling you, the praise, or the relief of holding your hips up for you—but it got the reaction you wanted.
"Again—" Zayne pulled out abruptly, leaving just the head of his cock inside, "—Say it again." When you repeated it, you were graced with a sharp grunt and a thrust that pushed your face even further into Sylus's chest. You dropped thank yous against Sylus's chest like prayers, each one rewarded with thrusts so deep they nearly hurt.
"Clench again for me," Zayne grunted, working hard to keep his voice steady. When you did, he cursed softly—now the second time you have ever heard an expletive leave his regal mouth—and you mewled at the feeling. A hand wound around your hip, wet fingers finding your clit with ease.
"Oh—Fuck, Zayne…" you whimpered as he rubbed tight, brutal circles over your sensitive clit. Your body instinctively ran away from the onslaught of sensation, hips falling and back arching in the other direction. You wrapped your arms around Sylus's neck, clinging to him while Zayne wracked your body with unrelenting pleasure. Zayne's fingers and hips chased you, refusing to soften his touch.
"I need you to clench again, my love," Zayne gritted, front pressed against your back and keeping you captured between them. You did, fighting against Zayne's cock pushing and pulling over your taut muscles. His breath was so hot against your ear that it scorched you.
"Again—Tighter," he commanded, but you couldn't. You shook you head, a miserable sound crawling through your throat.
"I can't—" you gasped, "I can't!" You shook your head again, hair sticking to your sweating skin. Sylus, red-faced and panting, kissed your cheek and slotted his lips next to your other ear.
"Yes, you can," he said, and you felt something nudge against your inner thigh, reminded then of Sylus's cock straining just under you.
"Oh, fuck," you drawled out, fighting to tighten your muscles again. You felt Zayne's jaw tick where it was pressed against the side of your head, fly-away hairs fluttering from his breath.
"Hold it," Zayne said, "as tight as you can." You whimpered, nails biting into Sylus's shoulders, but you clenched as hard as you could, focus entirely on keeping your muscles tight that you failed to notice Zayne's movements around you.
"Now relax," he breathed, and you heaved a deep sigh as your muscles melted. But, before you could sink into the bliss of Zayne's cock, it was pulled from you in one smooth motion. Within a breath, Zayne's strong hands pushed your hips forward, then down. You had only a second to process the movement before you were split open, body half-way down Sylus's cock before you even registered the change of position.
A yell pushed itself from your throat, so visceral that, to anyone else, they would imagine it came from a wounded animal. Sylus's matching moan vibrated against your chest where you were pressed tight against his. His arms wrapped around your middle, cradling you. He didn't move, letting you both adjust to the feeling of him sheathed, even partially, within you.
Sylus mouthed at the space between your breasts, dragging his teeth against your sternum. You wound your fingers in his hair, gripping tight enough to make him groan against you.
You were so full that you ached, thighs shaking as you strained to keep yourself from falling further onto Sylus's cock. Zayne pulled your sweatshirt over your head and tossed it to the side, leaving you naked and heaving. His hand caressed your back, running soothingly over the backs of your ribs.
From your new position, you could see your reflection in the tall window behind the couch. You looked dazed, blush coloring your cheeks, neck, chest. Behind you stood Zayne, flushed in the same colors. You watched, entranced, as one of his shoulders continued to move. He stroked himself behind you, focused on where you and Sylus's were joined.
The hand that soothed your back slid up to your shoulder, pressing down on you so that you would sink even lower. Your sex throbbed, stretched to its limit, but you breathed and forced yourself to relax more, knowing that Sylus only thickened the closer you got to the root.
He breathed with you, tongue lolling across your breast until it found a nipple. He sucked and licked, groaning deep in his throat when you bounced incrementally, rising and falling in small movements until you finally sat flush against his groin. You stayed there, reeling as the tight ring of your entrance pulsed in time with your pounding heart, with Sylus so deep it felt as though he were bumping the insides of your ribs.
Your body hunched over Sylus, trapping his head against your chest as you struggled to breathe through the fullness. You dared not move more, willing your body to melt into the sensation. Sylus's large hands slid down your back, resting heavy in the dip of your waist to hold you still.
"Sweet girl," Zayne called to you from over your shoulder. You rested your cheek on the crown of Sylus's head and made a small, strained sound in response. "Rock your hips."
"Mm-mm," you grumbled against Sylus's hair, "Can't. Too much." One of Zayne's hands slipped over Sylus's, urging you to cant forward. You rolled your hips once, slowly, and the groan that it pulled from you was agonized.
"Keep going," Zayne said, gripping tighter over Sylus's fingers, "It will feel better the more you move." You wanted to fight, to plead, but instead you grit your teeth and circled your hips again. Every movement burned, every breath shallow and useless. But, you had come so far, and every grind of your clit against Sylus's pelvis made your tense body loosen until finally the clenching of your muscles eased.
You breathed, breath shuddering as you pulled it deep into your lungs, then rose on your knees until all that remained within you was the tip of Sylus's cock. Where you expected relief, there was instead an ache; an emptiness that your body loathed now that it knew what it could take. You knew better than to deny your body's greed for the man panting beneath you, and so you dropped your hips against his again.
"Fuck," Sylus said, nearly growling, his breaths sharp and quick and forced through his teeth. His hips stuttered up in an aborted thrust, holding himself back from fucking up into you before you were ready. You bounced again, pulling his head back by your grip in his hair so that you could see his expression, hoping it matched just how debauched you felt.
The red glow of his Aether Core matched the bloody blush splattered across his cheeks, and you moaned into his mouth as you dove to kiss him, body rocking in a reckless rhythm. The kiss was little more than you both panting and moaning against each other's lips, lost in the way your bodies joined.
Zayne groaned behind you, and you and Sylus answered with your own sounds of pleasure, both of you pulling away to look over your shoulder at him. His green eyes followed the rise and fall of your body, one hand layered over Sylus's at your hip, the other stroking himself roughly, as if punishing himself for not being the one inside of you.
You had to close your eyes for a beat as the sight overwhelmed you. When you reopened them, you called out to Zayne, reaching back for him.
"Zayne, will you—ahh—will you please cum on me?" you asked, fingers brushing against the hand wound tight around his cock. His eyes jumped to yours, pupils blown wide and mouth slightly open as he panted. "I didn't get to—fuck," your head dropped for a moment as you fell apart, "—Didn't get to feel you. Want to, please."
He nodded, the wild look on his face so unlike the Zayne you've come to know that it almost made him unrecognizable. You brushed his hand again, then turned back to Sylus, dropping your face to his neck to grind your teeth against the tight cords of muscle there. His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, mumbling encouragements that melted into your skin and spurred your hips even faster.
"Beloved…" Sylus panted against the side of your head, "Look at yourself." He pushed your head down from his neck until you were hunched over yourself. When you opened your eyes, you nearly gagged in both excitement and horror.
Just below your navel a shadow moved, the plush of your stomach bulging in the unmistakable shape of a cock too big for the space you had forced it into. Your body, sturdy as it was, was somehow being rearranged from the inside to fit Sylus, and it dawned on you numbly that this was likely the most fair you have ever been to him.
He never forced himself into your life, instead making sure he fit nicely in any space that you allowed him, even if it meant he had to fold his long legs uncomfortably or bump his head against the ceiling. And yet, he encouraged you to live within his life as your full self.
He never once tried to dim your greed, your ambition. You were never too loud with him, never took up too much space. He would shrink himself time and time again to fit in your world, and never once asked you to do the same to fit in his.
It was only fair that this time it would be your turn to make room for him.
Sylus's hand descended on the bulge, pressing just enough for you to feel as you dropped again. You howled, nearly clacking your head against Sylus's jaw as you threw it backwards. Zayne stood so close behind you that your head thumped against his shoulder, and you felt his disbelieving groan as he looked down your body at the way Sylus distended your belly.
"My love," he breathed, reaching the hand on your hip around to your front, lightly brushing his fingertips over your stretched skin. The cool touch soothed you, and you leaned back against his chest. He supported your weight immediately, hand resting gently over your stomach to feel Sylus move inside you while he continued to stroke himself behind you.
Your head was swimming, the stretch so devastating at this new angle that you couldn't bring yourself to rise any more. You sat there, panting, your grip on Sylus's shoulder weakening as you stared down at your stomach.
"Sylus," you sighed, pawing at his chest, "I can't do it—hahh—please fuck me, please." You dragged your words, begging breathily until you felt him plant his feet and thrust. "Oh, fuck!"
Your hands shot over your head, wrapping around Zayne's neck from behind. Sylus's thrusts were at once so brutal you saw stars, gasping out syllables for words you couldn't fully form. You bounced in his lap, eyes closed and mouth agape as you took every thrust. Through the onslaught, you occasionally felt Zayne's fist meet your lower back, his pre-release leaving cool spots on your heated skin.
You were desperate to cum, begging with your eyes since your mouth was too busy gasping and gaping. Sylus, a man who knew you and loved you so well it was often scary, slid the pad of his thumb over your aching clit and your body bowed so hard something in your spine cracked. You came cursing, staccato fucks pouring from you until you were left with nothing but Sylus's cock to fill the empty space in your body.
Without them both holding you, you would have collapsed into a boneless mass on the floor between Zayne's sofa and coffee table. Instead, they held onto your hollowed out body, letting your arms flop limply beside you while Zayne rested his cheek against your head to hold it in place.
"Sweetie," Sylus panted, and by the strain in his voice you knew he was close, "where do you want me?" You blinked, struggling to make your mouth move. Your lips were trembling, voice wrecked from every moan and yell. Instead of words, you lifted your weak arm and placed it over where the two of you became one. "Inside?" he asked, and you nodded with the last bit of strength you had.
"Haah—Anything for you," he grunted, thrusts turning shallow and hard as he reached his peak. Suddenly, his grip tightened and he held you flush, and the heat that you felt penetrated you so deeply you thought he had somehow dug his way past your diaphragm and into your lungs. Your body is tilted forward, and a rush of something slick ran down your things as some of Sylus's release is forced out of you by the change of position.
You groan helplessly, falling against Sylus's chest. His peak was still cresting, replacing what had spilled from you before you could even register the loss. And then, Zayne grunted behind you, the strangled sound followed by the hot splashing of his release across your spine. You jumped, startled by how hot it was, then sighed as it cooled against your skin, feeling it drip through the valley of your back and down over the curve of your ass.
Obscene was the only way you could imagine you looked, with Sylus's cum still seeping out of your stretched pussy and Zayne's dripping down your cheeks to join it. Sated was the only way you could describe how you felt, knowing that you were finally able to take Sylus fully, and that it was Zayne that helped you accomplish that.
Sated, and a little sore, but so loved that the ache in your body was nothing compared to the ache of your full heart.
🫧 Pairings: Crosshair X Female!Reader
🫧 word count: 12.5k (it might be worth it)
plot summary: Tasked to gather intel on a spice shipment, yourself and crosshair find yourself in a luxurious hotel but with only one bed and have to pretend to be married. But after a tense couples meal, you wonder what it would be like to truly be in his arms.
warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY. Fake dating trope, only one bed trope, sub/dom sexual content, explicit language, cunnilingus, blowjob, kissing, neck sucking/biting, spanking, dirty thoughts, dirty talk, praising and teasing, marriage kink, slight possessive sex, soft and rough sex, all consensual, creampie, aftercare, jealous crosshair, brief alcohol mention, reader wears a dress and minimal makeup, implied medium to long hair, minor sexist comment made to reader (not by crosshair), flirting, not proofread, pre order 66 so crosshair is not crossbald x
Anon, this is for you.
You pushed your way through the crowded bar, weaving between patrons with a small smile tugging at your lips. The parcel you’d just dropped off for some locals hadn’t paid much, but credits were credits. However, the smile didn’t last.
At the far end of the bar, the boys were clustered together in an unusually tight knot — heads tilted in, voices low. The closer you got, the more you caught the hiss of “shh, shh”.
You stopped in front of them and let your gaze sweep the circle. Hunter avoided eye contact by pretending to adjust the strap on his breast plate. Echo suddenly found his drink fascinating. And Wrecker’s big frame actually shifted behind Tech like he could use him as cover.
“Alright,” you said, planting your hands on your hips. “What’s going on?”
They exchanged a silent conversation with just their eyes. Eventually, Hunter straightened, cleared his throat, and said, “We’ve just got word on a potential new job. Good money.”
“Great.” You nodded slowly, scanning their faces. “…Is there a catch?”
Tech pushed his goggles higher on his nose, as if the gesture would somehow make his delivery smoother. “You will be the one doing the mission.”
You blinked at him. That wasn’t exactly unusual. “Okay… and what is it?”
Wrecker’s grimace was the first giveaway. Echo’s wince was the second. You knew those expressions — the last time they’d looked at you like that, they were trying to talk you into playing “happy wife” for some sleaze.
Your hands went up immediately. “Nope. Not a chance. I am not pretending to be married to some sleemo again.”
A vivid memory surfaced where it was one of Cid’s old jobs, where the fake husband in question had taken the role far too seriously. You’d told them you wouldn’t ever do something like that again after that, and a few months ago when they tried to pitch you something similar, you laughed in their faces.
“Maybe you’ll change your mind with this one?” Hunter offered, a faint smirk at the corner of his mouth.
“Doubt it.” You turned on your heel, but curiosity got the better of you two steps later. “…Go on.”
“You’ll be with Crosshair,” Hunter said.
Your gaze slid sideways to where Crosshair was leaning against the bar like the galaxy’s most bored sharpshooter, a toothpick balanced between his teeth. His eyes met yours for half a heartbeat before drifting away again.
You turned back to Hunter. “As in, he’ll be with me while I fake-date some idiot?”
“Not exactly,” Tech corrected, eyes still on his datapad. “You will be dating Crosshair.”
Your jaw actually dropped. “Huh?”
Hunter took over, laying it out in his steady, matter-of-fact way: a heavily guarded resort on Corellia, a contact who only worked with “registered guests,” the cover being a couple in a hotel suite.
“So, will you do it?” Echo asked, leaning on the bar.
“No,” you said instantly with a scoff. “Just because I know him doesn’t mean I want to spend an entire mission holding hands and pretending we’re madly in love. And did you even ask him if he’s okay with this?”
“Oh, he already agreed,” Wrecker said with a big grin.
Your head whipped toward Crosshair. “You what?”
He shrugged one shoulder, unbothered. “And hey,” Wrecker then added, “he cleans up real good.”
“Not the point,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face.
“It’s good money,” Hunter reminded you, knowing exactly how to push.
You groaned, glaring at each of them in turn. “Fine. But if this blows up in our faces, I’m blaming all of you.”
“Atta girl,” Wrecker said, giving you a pat on the back that nearly sent you into the bar.
The others drifted off to start planning, leaving you and Crosshair alone. He finally pushed off the bar, sauntering past you as he pulled the toothpick from his mouth.
“Don’t worry,” he drawled, his voice low and mocking, “I’ll be a good husband for you.”
You opened your mouth to shoot back, but he’d already walked away.
This was going to be interesting.
When the Marauder settled down in the landing bay at the location, you and Crosshair stood side by side at the open hatch, bags in hand, both wearing expressions that could curdle milk.
“Maker,” Wrecker said from behind you, grinning in amusement, “You two’ve got faces like a slapped arse.”
You didn’t dignify him with a response as Crosshair just gave him a long, flat look that said Wrecker was lucky they were on a timetable.
The hatch closed behind them and the ship began to lift away, the sound of its engines fading as the Marauder disappeared into the hazy Corellian skyline.
You let out a quiet huff, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “Well,” you muttered, “guess we’re doing this.”
Without waiting for him, you started up the paved path toward the resort. At least the place was nice. More than nice, actually.
The white stone gleamed in the sun, balconies lined with planters spilling over with flowers in deep reds and golds. There was even an elaborate fountain glittered in the courtyard. It was the kind of place you could almost enjoy if you weren’t here to play pretend.
You were halfway up the front steps when Crosshair’s voice stopped you.
“Wait.”
You turned just enough to give him a questioning look. “What?”
His brown eyes scanned the building like he was sighting a target. “You remember the plan?”
You rolled your eyes and resumed walking. “Yes. Do you?”
“Just making sure.” He replied, his mouth twitching in slight annoyance.
The two of you were… sort of friends. He was quiet, moody, and impossible to read, but you’d learned to tolerate him. In his own prickly way, he seemed to tolerate you too.
Crosshair fell into step beside you, lowering his voice as you reached the ornate glass doors. “We’re here to meet Sabaz Trill. Dinner with him tonight, part of some couples’ mixer the resort is hosting. You smile, you nod, you make it look like we belong here.”
“And tomorrow?” you prompted as he maps out the plan again just for reassurance.
“That’s when we get the intel on the spice shipment,” he finished. “Clean, simple.”
You gave him a side glance. “With us? There’s always drama.”
He snorted faintly but didn’t argue. You reached for the buzzer beside the grand glass doors when Crosshair’s hand landed lightly on your upper arm.
“Wait.”
You froze mid-reach and turned your head toward him, irritation slipping into your voice. “What now? The sooner we do this, the sooner it’s over.”
His eyes flicked past you toward the courtyard. “We need to act like a couple,” he murmured, his tone low enough not to carry.
You frowned but then followed his gaze. Right. All around you, other guests strolled hand-in-hand or with arms linked, smiling like they were in a holonet romance. Every one of them screamed we’re in love and on vacation. You and Crosshair on the other hand…
You bit your lip and nodded. “Right. Okay. Uh…”
The pause dragged, the two of you standing stiff as statues. You could probably fake coupledom with someone like Wrecker which would probably be more easy and natural. But Crosshair? Tall, quiet, and perpetually unimpressed? It felt like trying to warm up to a wall.
“Should we hold hands?” he asked finally, rubbing the back of his neck and looking very uncomfortable.
You hesitated. “Uh… no.”
His gaze dropped, not offended exactly, but definitely unreadable.
Guilt gnaws you, so you quickly held out your travel bag instead. “You could carry my bag for me, though?” Your smile was a little sheepish, a silent peace offering.
One dark brow arched at you, but then his mouth curved into the faintest smirk. “Fine.”
He took the strap from your shoulder in one smooth motion, slinging it over his own like it weighed nothing. Somehow, that small shift of just him holding your belongings made the whole act feel just a little more real.
“Better?” he asked, the corner of his mouth still twitching upward.
“Better,” you admitted, trying not to overthink why his smirk made your stomach swirl.
You both walked up to the reception desk, where a young, overly-joyous man practically beamed at you like the sun itself had possessed his face.
You tried to match his enthusiasm with a polite smile. Crosshair, of course, did not. His expression screamed I hate every second of this before the poor man had even spoken.
“Hello, and welcome to Under the Hearts Hotel! How can I help you?” the receptionist chimed.
“Hi,” you begin, doing your best impression of a cheerful tourist. “We have a room and meal booked for tonight?”
“Perfect! What name is it under?”
You froze. Right. The names. No one had told you what cover identities you were supposed to use.
For a heartbeat too long, your brain went completely blank. Then, mercifully, Crosshair leaned in ever so slightly: “Eres.”
You let out the tiniest breath of relief, glancing at him with a quick, grateful nod. He didn’t acknowledge it, eyes fixed on the desk clerk like he was ready to shoot the man for smiling too much.
The receptionist’s fingers tapped away at the monitor, his grin never faltering. Honestly, you were starting to wonder if it was painted on. Then he looked back up, eyes positively sparkling.
“Ah yes, here we are! The honeymoon suite — booked and ready for you! Rose petals on the bed and champagne on ice.”
Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.
You turned slowly to Crosshair, who looked equally frozen. Neither of you had been prepared for that particular detail.
The receptionist chuckled lightly at your strained expressions. “Oh dear, trouble in paradise already?”
Crosshair’s brow furrowed instantly. “Is that any of your business?”
“Cross!” you hissed under your breath, snapping out of your horror long enough to act. Quickly, you slid your arm through his and plastered on a sweet smile, tightening your grip on him — not a reassurance, but a don’t you dare warning.
“Sorry about him,” you said brightly, practically grinding your teeth through the smile. “We’ve… well, we’ve been traveling a long way to get here. Just need to put our feet up for a bit. Don’t we, my love?”
Your grip on his arm tightened enough to make the point.
Crosshair closed his eyes, jaw tight, then forced the stiffest excuse for a smile you’d ever seen. “Yes. Sorry. Long day.”
“Of course, of course,” the receptionist chirped, undeterred. He slid the room fob across the counter, still smiling that terrifyingly wide grin. “No worries at all. Our jacuzzi baths will wash that stress away in no time!”
You snatched up the fob like it was a lifeline. “Wonderful, thank you,” you utter quickly, already tugging Crosshair by the arm toward the lifts before he could open his mouth again.
Once you were safely out of earshot, you released him with an annoyed huff, spinning to face him. “So much for acting like a couple, Cross.”
He arched an eyebrow at you, unimpressed. “What? He asked, I answered.”
You threw your hands up at his lack of care. “Fantastic. Just fantastic. At this rate, they’ll kick us out before we even make it to dinner. Great job, husband.”
He smirked then, sharp and smug, clearly enjoying himself now that you were wound up. “Relax, sweetheart. Nobody’s buying the ‘happy couple’ act if you keep hissing at me like that.”
“Oh, don’t you start—” you groaned, stomping into the lift as soon as the doors slid open.
It’s not long until you get to the suite and as the key fob beeped and the door slid open with a smooth hiss, you both stepped inside and instantly froze.
The room looked like something straight out of a holovid romance: soft golden lighting, a massive circular bed in the center draped with pristine white sheets, rose petals scattered across the duvet, and a bucket of champagne on ice by the bedside table.
You blinked once. Twice. “...kriff,” you muttered under your breath.
Crosshair didn’t say anything, but you felt the shift beside you. His usual scowl faltered into something halfway between disbelief and annoyance. He let out the faintest exhale, almost like a laugh, before muttering dryly: “Subtle.”
Your eyes landed on the bed again, and your brain screeched to a halt. One bed. Of course it was one bed. It was the honeymoon suite. But at least there was a loveseat just at the end of it.
You didn’t point it out. Neither did he. The both of you just stood there, staring at the sheer lavishness of it all, like maybe if you ignored the obvious, it’d disappear.
You tugged at the collar of your shirt, suddenly aware of how warm the room felt. Or maybe that was just you. The whole setup—the petals, the champagne, the bed that looked entirely too inviting—was making your skin tinge in the worst possible way. Heat crawled up your neck, and you quickly turned toward the bathroom.
“Maybe I’ll, uh… check out the shower,” you said quickly, voice a little higher than intended. “Y’know. Before the dinner.”
Crosshair quirked an eyebrow at you, as if he could hear the nerves bleeding through your tone. He glanced toward the large jacuzzi tub visible just through the bathroom’s frosted glass door and gave a faint snort.
“Not good enough for the roses and bubbles?”
You shot him a look over your shoulder. “I’m thinking cold shower.”
The shower hissed to life, steam curling around the refresher stall as you stepped in. The hot water poured down your shoulders, washing away the travel grime and some of your stress. Eyes closed, you let out a soft sigh and tilted your head back.
But as the room filled with steam, another thought nudged its way in, uninvited. You hadn’t locked the door. Crosshair could come in at any moment. And for some reason… the idea didn’t repulse you.
It intrigued you.
Your pulse spiked at the thought of him stepping through the fog, his sharp eyes narrowing as they trailed over you, water dripping down your skin, steam sticking hair to your face. Would he hesitate? Or would he… join you?
You caught yourself sucking in a breath and immediately bow your head under the spray. “Get a grip,” you hissed at yourself, flicking water from your lashes. Maker above, what was wrong with you? Crosshair wasn’t someone you ever saw in that light. He was moody, sarcastic, aloof. Hardly your first thought for a lover. And yet… now, in this ridiculous hotel room, with only one bed and all the pretending you’d have to do…
No. Stop.
With a sharp twist, you turned the dial colder. The shock of icy water stung your skin, snapping you out of the fantasy as you scrubbed your face. By the time you shut the refresher off, the steamy images were shoved firmly to the back of your mind.
You dried quickly, wrapping yourself in one of the plush white robes—ridiculously soft, of course, because this was that kind of place—and wrung a towel through your damp hair.
When you stepped back into the room, Crosshair was leaning against the balcony railing. His posture was casual, but his eyes were distant, scanning the horizon like he always did. Always watching. Always wary.
“Like the view?” you asked, attempting something lighthearted as you rubbed at your hair.
For a moment, he didn’t move. Then he turned his head toward you and stilled.
Not long. Barely a heartbeat. But you caught it: the way his gaze flicked over you in that robe, the way his jaw tensed. It was gone almost immediately, his expression flattening back into its usual disinterest.
“It’s alright,” he muttered, eyes snapping back to the balcony. His voice was just a touch lower, rougher. “We’ll be safe here tonight.”
“I should hope so, if the client booked us,” you chuckled, padding over to the bed and perching on the edge. The mattress dipped under you, petals shifting with a faint rustle. It was ridiculously comfortable.
You tilted your head at him. “But I bet you brought your sniper anyway. Didn’t you?”
Crosshair’s lips twitched at the corner smugly as he moved back inside. Without a word, he crouched by his pack and unzipped it, pulling out the long, gleaming rifle like it was an extension of himself.
You let out a short laugh. “Figures. Romantic suite, rose petals, champagne… and you’re cuddling your blaster.”
He glanced up at you with that smirk which again made your stomach swirl. “At least it doesn’t snore.”
You scoffed, tossing the towel at him. He caught it one-handed, but instead of throwing it back, he just set it aside, unbothered. Somehow, that smug little win of his only made your chest feel hotter.
Crosshair disappeared into the refresher with a muttered, “Don’t touch my rifle,” which gave you just enough time to get yourself sorted.
The dress slipped smoothly over your skin, the fabric hugging in all the right places without being too much. Knee-length, off the shoulder—simple, elegant, and just enough to look like you belonged in a place like this. You dried your hair, styled it with a little extra care (because Maker forbid you look out of place next to a table of polished couples), and added a touch of makeup for good measure.
You’d barely finished adjusting the hem of your dress when Crosshair reappeared. His damp silver hair had been combed back neatly, and he’d traded his blacks for a crisp white shirt and fitted black slacks. And for a second, you forgot yourself.
He stood at the mirror, tugging at his collar and you just couldn’t stop your gaze from dragging over him. Simple, understated, but undeniably… handsome. You swallowed the thought down and busied yourself with your earrings, pretending you weren’t staring.
Neither of you said much as you left the suite. The quiet stretched between you as you moved through the elegant halls; both of you so out of place with the expensive décor. Crosshair walked with his hands tucked behind his back, eyes flicking here and there, ever alert.
Then, almost without thinking, your arm slipped through his. The movement was instinctive and you found yourself leaning closer, your shoulder brushing against his as if it had always been that way. He stiffened for a moment, but he didn’t pull away.
By the time you reached the dining hall, it was already in motion. A long, polished table stretched across the room, covered in glittering glassware and plates that looked far too pristine to ever eat from. Couples mingled and chatted with easy smiles. You had expected Sabaz Trill. You hadn’t expected all of this.
Crosshair leaned down, his voice low in your ear. “Didn’t realise we’d be dining with the whole kriffing hotel tonight.”
You gave his arm the faintest squeeze. “Smile and nod. Let me do the talking.”
He shot you a look, dry as bone. “Wasn’t planning on anything else.”
Together, you approached the table, sliding into your seats that were the only ones available. The schmoozing began almost instantly. Other couples introduce themselves, complimenting your dress and asking about “your story.” You smiled, laughed, told little fabrications as if you’d been rehearsing them for years. Crosshair played his part the only way he knew how: quiet nods, forced polite smiles. If you're lucky, he will push out the occasional one-word reply.
Then Sabaz Trill himself turned his gaze on you.
“Ah, there she is,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying over the chatter. “My dear, you look radiant tonight.”
Before you could reply, he lifted a bottle and poured wine into your glass—only yours.
The crimson liquid swirled in the crystal, catching the candlelight as you blinked at him, a polite smile plastered onto your face. Crosshair’s hand tightened almost imperceptibly on his napkin, but his expression didn’t change.
You raised the glass lightly in thanks, meeting Sabaz’s eyes with the same warmth you’d given everyone else. “You’re too kind. I should be careful though,” you added with a playful lilt. “A few more of these, and I might embarrass myself in front of the table.”
The other couples chuckled politely. Sabaz didn’t. He only smirked, his gaze lingering on you just a beat too long before shifting back to his plate.
Crosshair’s jaw ticked. You felt it more than saw it.
You smiled at Crosshair, soft and sweet and the way a woman in love ought to. But his eyes were elsewhere, distant. It made your chest pinch a little.
Slipping your hand beneath the table, you let your fingers brush his knee before resting there with the lightest pressure. It startled him just slightly, meeting your gaze.
“Are you okay, my stars?” you murmured.
The words left your lips in the same careful tone you’d used all night but this time, it didn’t sound like part of the act. Not to him, anyway. For the briefest moment, his chest tightened.
“Fine,” he answered steadily. “Just taking it in.”
You didn’t believe him, not entirely, but you didn’t press. Before you could, the couple seated across from you smiled warmly, drawing you into conversation.
“So,” the woman leaned forward, “How did you two meet?”
You let out a little laugh, your hand still ghosting Crosshair’s knee as you launched into the story you’d rehearsed.
“Oh, it’s hardly romantic,” you said, feigning modesty. “We met when I was visiting Coruscant for work. I was lost and asked him for directions. He was polite, but very blunt. I thought he was the rudest man I’d ever met.”
The table chuckled, and you reached for Crosshair’s hand on the table, lacing your fingers through his.
“But,” you continued, glancing at him with that same staged fondness, “I ran into him again two days later at a café. He bought me a caf to make up for being so… well, him. And we’ve been together ever since.”
The woman sighed, clearly enamoured. “That’s wonderful. Fate has a way of working, doesn’t it?”
Her husband, however, leaned back in his chair with a smirk. “And have you given him any children yet?”
The question caught you so off guard you awkwardly laughed aloud, shaking your head quickly. “No… not yet. We only recently got married.”
“Well,” the man chuckled, lifting his glass, “give it time, eh? And I assume you don’t have to work, not with a husband like that. He looks like the type who brings home the credits while you get to lounge about. Lucky thing.”
Your jaw ticked, but you forced your expression into one of pleasant neutrality. Beside you, Crosshair set down his knife with deliberate care.
“I don’t know about luck,” he begins, his voice calm but carrying an edge sharp enough to slice the air. “She does more than her share. I’d be nowhere without her.”
The man faltered, clearly not expecting such a clean rebuttal. Crosshair didn’t flinch or waver, just leaned back with the ghost of a smirk tugging his lips.
“I’d suggest you don’t underestimate her,” he added smoothly, raising his fork to his mouth. “Wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself.”
The table chuckled again, but this time the sound was thinner, laced with unease. You, meanwhile, found yourself fighting a different reaction entirely. The sudden, overwhelming urge to drag him back upstairs and–
Okay, stop.
Leaning in, close enough that your lips just barely brushed the shell of his ear, you whispered, “Thank you for that.”
Crosshair didn’t so much as twitch, though you felt the faintest tilt of his head toward you, like he was subtly indulging the warmth of your breath. “No need. I’m just saying the truth.”
Your chest gave an odd little pull at that, but you covered it with another soft smile as you sat back, reaching for your knife and fork to focus on the meal placed before you. You ate in silence for a few minutes, letting the rich flavours distract you, until Sabaz’s voice broke through the murmur of the table.
He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice. “Tomorrow,” he said, “we can speak of… private matters. No need for heavy words tonight. But I trust you understand what I mean.”
His words were subtle enough not to draw suspicion, but clear enough for you to understand. You inclined your head smoothly, lifting the delicate glass of wine to your lips.
“Of course,” you replied. “Tomorrow.”
Sabaz’s eyes glinted as he watched you drink. “And? How does it taste?”
You couldn’t hide the small hum of approval as the flavour lingered on your tongue. “It’s… honestly the nicest wine I’ve ever had.”
His mouth curved, amused. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Turning, you nudged your glass toward Crosshair. “Want some?”
He shook his head without hesitation. “Not my thing.”
Sabaz’s chuckle was low, a little too warm. “A shame. It suits her, don’t you think? Expensive tastes…”
You thought nothing of it, brushing off the remark as idle banter, but Crosshair’s jaw twitched almost imperceptibly. Sabaz was clearly referring to himself and as the meal stretched on,
Sabaz’s comments came in trickles. Harmless, on the surface. But Crosshair’s eyes tracked every word and every look.
Finally, after one particularly lingering comment about how “gorgeous” you looked in the candlelight, Crosshair snapped.
“Tell me,” he drawled, tone calm but carrying steel. “Do you flirt with all the women who are married, or just mine?”
The words silenced the table around you. You turned wide-eyed at him, stunned, your knife clinking faintly against your plate.
Sabaz chuckled, leaning back with the relaxed confidence of a man who already knew more than he should. “Married, are you? Mmm. Perhaps you’d give her more attention.”
Your eyes drop to your half-eaten grub, finding it hard to breathe all of a sudden. You can’t have tonight screw up over some… some… jealousy? Was he?
Crosshair, however, didn’t flinch at his words. He leaned back as well, long fingers drumming idly against the table, his gaze cutting through the man opposite him.
“She has all the attention she needs,” he responds coolly, voice like a blade sliding free of its sheath. “From me.”
The way he said it was utterly possessive and you can’t help but feel the heat curling low in your stomach.
Sabaz only chuckled again, raising his glass in mock salute before turning the conversation back to lighter topics. But you could feel it—the tension buzzing under your skin.
You left the dining hall together a little later on, the heavy atmosphere of the meal clinging like smoke. Another couple joined you in the lift, chatty and smiling, and you forced yourself to match their tone, your hand looped neatly through Crosshair’s arm. But the second the lift doors slid shut after the couple exited on their floor, your hand dropped from his arm like it burned.
The silence stretched for a beat before you sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. “Want to tell me what that was about?”
Crosshair didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed straight ahead on the lift’s closed doors. His voice was calm, as if nothing had happened. “What’s the issue? We’re still meeting him tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” you huffed, sharp and low. “Thanks to me. Because I had to apologise to him after the meal for the way you acted.”
Crosshair’s eyes flicked to you then, narrow and unimpressed. “The way I acted? You didn’t notice him? The way he kept looking at you? Talking to you?” His lip curled faintly. “I didn’t like it.”
Your jaw tightened, heat pricking the back of your neck. “You didn’t like it? We’re not actually married, Crosshair.”
The silence that followed was thick, humming with all the unsaid things between you. Crosshair’s expression barely shifted, but his shoulders set, rigid under the crisp fabric of his shirt.
The lift pinged. Doors opened. Neither of you moved at first, locked in that silence. Then you both stepped out, footsteps echoing too loud against the plush carpet of the corridor.
When you got back to the suite, you didn’t even glance his way as you made a beeline for your travel bag, pulling out the little bundle of satin nightwear you’d tucked away earlier. Without a word, you slipped into the bathroom and shut the door behind you with a soft click.
You perched on the edge of the jacuzzi bath, hands braced on your knees, and just breathed. Maker, tonight has been… a mess.
Crosshair had been jealous, there was no other word for it.
And yet… stars above, you’d never found him more attractive than when he’d calmly cut down that other man’s sleazy sexist little jabs at dinner.
It made your thoughts twist in knots. Jealous Crosshair was frustrating. Protective Crosshair was devastatingly sexy.
You rolled your eyes at yourself, muttering something under your breath that this whole place felt like a huge aphrodisiac. Soon you stripped out of the dress, letting it pool on the tiled floor. The satin nightwear slipped over your skin with a soft sigh, the fabric clinging in all the right places. The colour brought out the warmth in your skin, and though you weren’t dressing for anyone’s eyes but your own, you couldn’t help but imagine what Crosshair might think if he saw—
You stopped that train of thought before it could wind you up further.
A splash of cold water on your face dulled the day’s makeup, you tied your hair up, loosening the strands around your face, and studied your reflection for only a heartbeat before flicking the light off and stepping back into the suite.
Crosshair was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, still fully dressed and deep in thought.
“Do you want some caf?” you asked quietly after a moment, nodding toward the sleek caf machine gleaming on the dressing table.
He shook his head, then looked at you. The sight of your satin nightwear hit him like a blow, pupils dilating before he could stop it. His throat bobbed with the faintest swallow as he cursed himself silently and dragged his gaze away.
“You should get some sleep,” he muttered, voice low.
You tilted your head. “I could say the same thing about you.”
Your bare feet padded across the carpet, rose petals soft beneath your toes and you stood directly in front of him. He looked up, sharp eyes catching yours for a charged moment before closing them.
Crosshair pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll take watch.”
You frowned, confusion flickering. “Crosshair, the door is locked. We’re safe here.”
He didn’t meet your eyes, just reached for his rifle and moved toward the small loveseat at the foot of the bed. “You can never be too sure.” He gestured at the bed with a tilt of his chin. “Get some rest.”
There was so much more you wanted to say, but you swallowed it down. No good would come of pressing him tonight. Not when everything already felt odd.
So you slid into the left side of the bed instead, sinking into the impossibly soft mattress. The sheets smelled faintly of lavender and something warm and expensive. You didn’t even bother to remove the rose petals.
The lamp across the room threw a faint amber glow over Crosshair where he sat, long legs stretched out, rifle propped against his thigh. A sentinel in the half-dark, sharp eyes fixed on some distant threat only he could see.
Your body melted into the mattress, the exhaustion of the evening tugging at you like a tide. You watched him for as long as your heavy eyelids would allow, the image of him—silent, watchful, stubborn—burning behind your eyes until sleep finally dragged you under.
You stirred, rolling onto your other side with a groggy sigh, only to find the chair opposite the bed still occupied. Crosshair sat there like a shadow carved into the half-light, rifle propped against the armrest, a toothpick twiddling absently between long fingers.
Your eyes flicked to the chrono on the wall. Only two hours had passed.
Chewing the inside of your cheek, you tilted your head as you sat up and whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, “Cross… come get some sleep.”
His eyes lifted, shadows and conflict tangled in his gaze. He shook his head once. “No… I can’t.”
You frowned softly, leaning forward. “Why not?”
The sound he made was halfway between a scoff and a tut, quiet but sharp. His jaw flexed. “I can’t sleep in the same bed as you. It’s…”
Your brows arched. “It’s what?” You pulled the duvet back and shifted onto your knees. The simple movement snagged his attention; his sharp gaze lingered, “It’s just me.”
Crosshair drew in a long breath through his nose, pressing the heel of his hand over his eyes as if that might ground him. “I don’t want to bother you,” he muttered, voice rough. “I’ve already done that enough tonight.”
For a moment, you said nothing. Then slowly, you crawled toward the foot of the bed, knees sinking into the mattress until you sat back on your heels, steadying yourself.
Your hand extended, palm open, reaching across the small distance between you. “Come to bed.”
His amber eyes locked onto you. He watched you as though weighing a hard decision, gaze running over your face, your hand and the space you’d made for him.
“We need to act like a couple, right?” You prompt and that’s when he finally, with the faintest exhale he flicked the toothpick into the bin and rose to his feet.
He crossed the few steps to the bed in silence. He stopped just before you, the mattress dipping faintly under your shift forward.
Your lips parted, breath caught, as you tipped your chin up to look at him. He loomed above, gaze tilted down, unreadable except for the faint storm flickering beneath.
You straightened, sitting taller on your knees, and without hesitation placed both hands flat against his chest. The warmth beneath the fabric hit you instantly, as did the hammer of his heart pounding against his ribcage. It made a small smile tug at your lips, your eyes softening as you whispered, “You can’t sleep in this shirt…”
His breath caught with an imperceptible hitch.
Your fingers curled into the fabric at his chest, tugging gently. He hesitated, but only for a moment, before his arms moved, allowing you to peel the white shirt away from him. Inch by inch, the fabric slid over his shoulders, revealing lean muscle and skin mapped with faint scars.
Your eyes went wide, breath catching as you pushed the shirt down his arms and let it fall to the floor. A sound, no, an almost moan, threatened to escape you, but you swallowed it back. Still, your hands had a will of their own and began trailing slowly up and down his torso.
You felt the hard ridges of his stomach, the steady rhythm of his breathing. His reaction was immediate, his eyes fluttering shut as his jaw tightened. The bottom lip caught between his teeth betrayed what he was trying to suppress.
The sight made a heat coil low in your stomach, your own breath turning shallow.
Your gaze drifted lower, tracing the line of his abdomen until it landed on the waistband of his black slacks. He seemed to sense the shift in your attention, because his voice came low, rough, like gravel dragged over velvet.
“Do you want them off, too?”
The rasp sent a shiver racing down your spine.
You blinked, meeting his eyes again, a laugh slipping from your throat, “If it will make you comfortable… yes.”
The corner of his mouth twitched into a faint smirk, but his gaze burned steady on you as he reached for the latch of his trousers.
You swallowed hard, watching as his long fingers hooked into the waistband of his trousers and pushed them down. The sound of the fabric sliding over his legs seemed louder than it should’ve been. When they hit the floor, he straightened, standing there in nothing but his briefs with hs hand not-so-subtly shielding the hard outline straining beneath the thin fabric.
A hot pulse bloomed deep inside you, your arousal pooling between your thighs as your breath caught. You broke your gaze away, feigning innocence, though the ache in your chest gave you away. “See? Is that better?”
Crosshair’s eyes dragged over you with open hunger, the sharp angles of his face softened by the shadow of want. “Much…” he breathed, like it was the only word he could find.
Your pulse stumbled, your eyes drawn back down before you could stop yourself. His hand shifted just slightly, enough that you caught the movement of the deliberate, slow palm against himself. Your heart stalled, then thundered.
You licked your lips, your voice almost breaking into a whisper as you shifted back. “Like what you see?”
“Do you?”
Your head tilted, eyes half-lidded as your fingers danced at the band of your satin shorts, teasing without quite committing. “I do,” you murmured, letting your body arch ever so slightly, the pose dripping with invitation as you leaned back on your hands. “Now tell me, do you… husband?”
His eyes narrowed, studying every subtle shift of your body. His jaw worked, and then he gave the smallest of nods, voice rough and quiet. “A lot.”
The words sent your skin prickling with awareness. Your hand slid from the band of your shorts to your thigh, fingertips tracing upward, grazing your skin softly as though demonstrating exactly what his stare made you crave.
His eyes followed your movements, darkening as though he were fighting to keep control.
You raised a single finger, crooking it toward him. A wordless summon.
Crosshair’s gaze burned hotter, but he obeyed without hesitation. His long, lean frame shifted forward as he planted both hands on the mattress for the first time, the springs dipping beneath his weight as he prowled closer. When he reached you, he hovered over your body, his face so close you could feel the warm graze of his breath against your lips.
“What do you want?” he asked, low and rough, his voice scraping like gravel, like he already knew but needed to hear it from you. He dipped his head nearer, inhaling deeply, his nose brushing your temple as though memorising the scent of your skin.
Your lips parted, your tongue darting out to wet them, every nerve in your body trembling as you leaned in, close enough your mouth brushed his. Your voice broke into a heated whisper, “I want you to fuck me.”
The words detonated between you.
A sharp hiss of need left him and before you could second-guess yourself, his mouth was on yours, scorching and demanding.
His lips moved with bruising force, teeth catching your bottom lip as though he’d been starving for the taste of you. One hand slid from the bed to your waist, gripping and dragging your body flush against his until there wasn’t an inch of space left. You could feel every inch of his arousal pressed against your belly, hot and unyielding.
You gasped into his mouth, fingers tangling in his short hair that soon became unkempt as his tongue swept past your lips, claiming you with a hunger that made your head spin.
When he broke from your mouth, it was only to trail searing kisses along your jaw, down your throat. His breath was hot, uneven, his teeth scraping sensitive skin before his tongue soothed the sting. “You have no idea…” he rasped between kisses, “…how long I’ve wanted this.”
You blush intensely, arching your back into him, craving more of that heat, that weight. His hand dipped lower, spanning your hip, fingers digging into the satin of your shorts as though he could crush the fabric away.
Your lips brushed his again in a soft, fleeting kiss. You pulled back with a mischievous glint in your eyes that made Crosshair chase the contact immediately but you giggled and tilted away, planting a kiss instead against his cheek.
“Tch,” he mutters, but you only laughed again, moving lower. You kissed along the sharp cut of his jaw, slow and deliberate, feeling the subtle twitch of the muscle beneath your lips. He exhaled through his nose, trying to keep control, but you knew you had him wound tight.
Your mouth hovered at his ear, your words a sinful whisper. “You like fake dating me, then?” you teased, lips brushing the sensitive skin just beneath. “Is this how you’d treat me if I was yours?”
He groaned under his breath, his hands clenching against your hips as though debating whether to hold you still or let you drive him mad. His chest heaved against yours, hot and solid, and when you kissed lower down his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.
And then, almost in the same breath, you were pulling at each other’s clothes, the tension too much to keep contained. His hands fumbled your satin vest before he pulled it over your head meanwhile you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his briefs, tugging impatiently. He then stripped you of your shorts as you shoved his last layer down.
When his lips crashed back onto yours, your words slipped out between ragged breaths, needy but daring: “It was sexy… watching you defend me at dinner.”
Crosshair froze for only a moment, pulling back just enough to smirk down at you. “Sexy, huh?” His voice was a rasp of sin. “Did it turn you on?”
You didn’t give him the satisfaction of a verbal answer. Instead, your hand slid boldly between your bodies, fingers wrapping around his rigid heat. The sound that left him was a low, primal and guttural groan that vibrated in his chest and into your palm. His head dropped against yours, lips parting as his eyes squeezed shut, every muscle in his body shuddering under your touch.
Your smirk was wicked as he whispered, “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Confidence blooming inside you, you gave him a little push that made Crosshair fall back into the mattress. His long body stretched out beneath you, skin lit faintly by the bedside glow.
You straddled him, your bare skin sliding against his as you pressed down into the lines of his chest and abdomen. Lower still, the thick weight of him rested against your thigh, hot and heavy. His eyes tracked you like a predator and yet… there was awe in them too, something reverent, almost disbelieving.
It made you ache.
“Cross…” you purred, dragging your palms down his chest, tracing the scars and sharp dips of muscle, before raking your nails ever so lightly across his stomach. He hissed, the muscles flexing beneath your touch, his fists knotting in the sheets.
“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his chest before sliding lower.
Your hand wrapped boldly around him then—thick, hard and burning against your palm. His whole body jerked at the contact, a sound low in his throat. You gave him a slow, deliberate pump, feeling him twitch against your hand, and his breath hitched.
He bit his lip, sharp eyes flicking away as he tried to choke back the groan threatening to break free.
Now that wouldn’t do.
You leaned down, lips brushing against the swollen head of his cock as you looked up at him. “No,” you whispered, sultry and commanding. Your tongue flicked out, teasing a slow lick across his length, tasting the salt of him. His hips bucked despite himself. “Don’t hold back from me. I want to hear you, husband.”
That broke him. His marriage kink unable to be tamed any longer.
A guttural moan spilled free, raw and gravelly, vibrating through his chest as his head tipped back into the pillow. His long fingers shot into your hair, not forcing, but clutching like he needed to anchor himself.
“Fuck…” he rasped, eyes squeezing shut as you stroked him firmly, your tongue teasing at his tip. His voice dropped lower, almost desperate now. “You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”
You let your lips ghost over the head of his cock, just enough to make him twitch. His sharp inhale was music, the kind of sound that made your pussy ache. You opened your mouth slowly, letting him slide past your lips inch by inch, your tongue flattening against the underside to savour.
Crosshair’s body went rigid, another deep groan breaking from his chest before he managed to stifle it behind his teeth. His hand clenched tighter in your hair, the other curling into the sheets so hard the fabric threatened to tear.
“Stars…” he hissed, voice gravel rough. His eyes cracked open to watch you, his pupils blown wide, jaw tight as he fought for control. “You’re—.”
“Mhmm? A good cock-sucking wife?” You hummed around him, the vibration making his hips twitch up involuntarily before you slap his cock against your tongue.
He cursed again, raw and breathless, as you then sank lower, taking more of him into your throat with a languid patience. When you finally pulled back, strings of saliva connected your lips to him. You stroked him with your hand, pumping lazily as you licked your lips, gaze never leaving his.
“Sloppy enough for you, sniper?” you teased, your voice husky.
He swallowed hard, chest heaving. His eyes darted to your mouth, wet and swollen, then back to your gaze. “Fuck—don’t tease.”
You smirked and slid him back between your lips, this time messy, unrestrained. Your spit coated him as you bobbed your head, tongue working every sensitive ridge. The wet sounds filled the room were obscene and echoing.
And Crosshair lost the last of his composure.
His hips thrust up, shallow at first, testing your tolerance. When you moaned around him in approval, he swore viciously and gave in, driving himself into your mouth with snapping thrusts. His groans grew louder, unfiltered now of pure need.
“Fuck—sweetheart—you feel so—” His head tipped back, tendons straining in his neck as he lost himself in the wet heat of your throat. His grip on your hair was tight but not cruel, guiding the momentum. “Don’t stop… don’t you dare stop.”
Your eyes watered, spit dripping from your lips and chin as you let him use your mouth, the sight of his unraveling making you slick between your thighs.
The more he thrust into your mouth, the less control he had, his rhythm breaking into jagged, needy snaps of his hips. His jaw slackened, head tipped back and his voice dropped into a low, desperate growl.
“Stars—” his hand fisted your hair tighter, his thighs tensing under you, “I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”
You hollowed your cheeks and moaned, and that did it. Crosshair groaned in pleasure as he spilled hot and thick into your mouth, the taste of him flooding your tongue. You swallowed around him greedily, gulping down every drop, your eyes fixed on him while his face contorted with the kind of pleasure he’d never let anyone else see.
When his hips finally stilled, his chest heaving, you pulled back slowly, breathless, lips shining. A stray strand of saliva clung to your chin as you licked him clean and swallowed the last of him with a shaky exhale.
Crosshair stared at you like you were a miracle. In a blur, he sat up and pulled you into him, his mouth crashing onto yours. The kiss was searing, teeth and tongue, his taste mingling with the faint salt still lingering on your tongue. His hands framed your face like he couldn’t get enough, like he was starved for you.
Then he was easing you down onto the bed, his body covering yours as he grabbed a pillow, slipping it beneath your head with an odd, almost tender care. His lips broke from yours only long enough to mutter against them, voice rough and hungry:
“My turn.”
His breath fanned hot over your lips before he started kissing lower—your throat, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. His hands roamed as though he had to touch every inch of you, his mouth trailing fire down your body.
When he finally reached the edge of the bed, Crosshair settled between your thighs, his sharp gaze fixed on your glistening pussy like it was the only thing in the galaxy worth worshiping. His lips parted, his breath hitching audibly, and he muttered low—more to himself than you—
“Fuck… you’re perfect.”
Crosshair didn’t dive in straight away. He hovered, eyes locked on your pussy as though the sight alone could undo him. His lips curved into a lazy smirk, and he dragged two long fingers down your inner thigh, stopping just short of where you needed him most.
“Maker…” he murmured, “You don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”
Your breath hitched as he finally let his fingers ghost over your folds, feather-light, so teasing you nearly whimpered. He let them trail lower, then flicked—just the faintest tap against your clit. The jolt of sensation had your hips twitching and a broken whine slipping from your lips before you could swallow it back.
His smirk deepened. “There it is. Thought you were gonna keep all those sweet little sounds from me, hm?” Another tap, deliberate this time, making your thighs clench around him.
“Cross…” you gasped, tangling your hands into your hair in frustration as he refused to give you what you wanted.
“Patience, sweetheart,” he drawled, his breath ghosting hot over you as he leaned closer. “Gonna take my time with you.”
And then, instead of another flick, he pressed his lips to your pussy. Not a lick. Not a graze. A kiss—slow, tender, as if he were kissing your mouth. His nose brushed your clit as his lips molded against your folds, and your back arched helplessly.
“Oh, stars—” you whimpered, every nerve alight.
“Mmm,” he hummed against you, his lips moving in lazy, wet kisses over every inch of your cunt, the sound obscene and intimate all at once. Between each press of his mouth, he whispered filth in that low gravel of his:
“So soft…” kiss.
“So sweet…” kiss.
“Mine…” another kiss, deeper, his tongue teasing past his lips just enough to taste you.
Your thighs trembled around his shoulders as his hands held you steady, his kisses reverent and filthy all at once. The sensation was maddening, tender enough to make you shiver but edged with hunger that had your body straining for more.
When he finally let his tongue part your folds and give one long, deliberate lick, he groaned into you like he was the one unraveling. “Fuck, you taste better than I imagined.”
And then he was back to kissing, savouring and making you whimper and writhe with every press of his lips.
Your breath hitched when Crosshair finally gave in to what you’d been silently begging for. His lips parted and his tongue slid between your folds, slow at first and deliberate. He pushed deeper, tongue-fucking you with unhurried precision, dragging every needy whimper out of your chest.
Your fingers fisted the duvet, crushing a rose petal or two between them as your back arched off the bed. “Baby—” your voice broke, strangled, your thighs trembling against his shoulders.
He groaned low, the vibration making you gasp, before his tongue left you only to wrap his lips around your clit. He sucked once, hard enough to make you cry out, then let it go with a wet pop, smirking up at you with his mouth glistening.
“That’s it,” he cooed, voice soaked in lust. His grip shifted, long arms sliding under your thighs so he could pin your hips down, your body useless against his strength. “Such a good wife, taking it just like that.”
The filthy words made your pussy clench, heat flooding you in a new wave, and you let out something between a whimper and a moan. “Fuck…Crosshair…”
He chuckled against you, the bastard, and dragged his tongue back through your slit before sucking your clit again, longer this time. Your body jolted against his hold, toes curling, fingers grabbing fistfuls of bedding and petals alike.
“I’m so glad it’s you who volunteered,” you gasped, words spilling out broken, your thighs tightening around him. “So glad it’s—ah—fuck!”
His chuckle was muffled against your folds, his tongue relentless, before he pulled back just enough to mutter against your swollen pussy:
“The others wouldn’t treat you like this.” His teeth grazed your clit, playful, making you shudder. “They wouldn’t know how to worship you.”
Then his mouth sealed over you again, sucking hard, tongue teasing, his hands keeping you caged and helpless as he devoured you.
Crosshair pulled back again with that maddening pop of his lips leaving your clit, strings of spit shining between you. He didn’t go far though—just hovered, breath hot against your swollen flesh, and you swore the sound of him inhaling your scent was almost louder than your whimpers.
“Maker, look at you,” he murmured, thumb coming up to flick your clit once, twice—sharp little sparks that made your hips buck against his unrelenting grip. “All puffy and dripping for me. For your husband.”
“Cross—” you tried, but it came out as a broken moan, your thighs twitching around his shoulders.
“You like this, don’t you?” His tongue darted out, giving a light, taunting lap over your slit before moving away again. “Being spread out like this, my mouth on your sweet cunt, making a mess of my face.” He chuckled, low and dark, and flicked his thumb over your clit harder, making you cry out. “Bet you’d let me keep you here all night if I wanted.”
Your hands tangled in your own hair, pulling at the strands, desperate. “Please—” you gasped, voice shaking as your body jerked when he suddenly tapped your clit with his fingers, light but fast, like he was testing how far he could push you. “Fuck, please!”
He groaned, sounding almost feral, like your begging was better than any victory he’d ever had in battle. His teeth grazed you again, soft nips that made you jolt. “Not yet,” he rasped, giving your clit another sharp flick that made your whole body seize. “I want you begging properly first.”
You sobbed his name, hips fighting his hold as he alternated between sucking you into his mouth and pulling away with those obscene, wet pops that echoed in the quiet room. Each time he left you empty you wanted to scream, and each time he came back it was too much, your orgasm building like a storm he refused to let break.
“Tell me,” he drawled, lips brushing your clit, not giving you the pressure you craved. “Tell me you want to come for me. Tell me no one else could get you this way.”
Your head thrashed side to side against the pillows, sweat beading at your temple. “I—fuck—I want to come for you, Cross. Please. No one else—no one could—just please let me—”
He hummed in satisfaction, mouth closing over you again, sucking slow and deep while his fingers tapped in time with your racing pulse. “Good wife,” he muttered against your soaked heat, “that’s my girl…”
Your whole body tightened, teetering right on the edge, held hostage by his mouth.
Crosshair must have the way every muscle in your body went taut beneath his grasp. How your breath came in sharp little gasps like your lungs couldn’t keep up. He groaned into your cunt, and then mercifully gave you what you’d been begging for.
His mouth sealed over your clit, sucking hard and steady, tongue flicking in relentless little strokes that pushed you right past the edge. His grip on your thighs tightened, locking you down as your body jolted violently against him.
The orgasm ripped through you like fire, so sharp it almost hurt, and you cried out his name in an almost a sob as you broke apart as your vision blurred.
Crosshair didn’t stop. He groaned against you, drinking every drop of you down, his lips and chin slick as he worked you through it. “That’s it,” he rasped between licks, voice ruined but steady. “Good girl. Come on, give it to me. Give it all to me.”
You were shaking, trembling uncontrollably under his hold, pleasure crashing in waves so strong it left you breathless. He eased the pressure only when you began to whimper from overstimulation, his kisses softer now, soothing little laps that felt almost adoring against your swollen clit.
When he finally pulled back, his lips and chin glistened and he tenderly kissed the inside of your thigh before crawling up the bed. His body caged yours in, the hard weight of his cock pressing heavy against your hip as he gathered you into his arms.
You were still gasping, chest heaving, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity of it all. He brushed damp hair away from your face with surprising gentleness, thumb swiping at the sweat along your temple.
“Good girl,” he whispered again, voice gravelly, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. “You did so well cyare.”
You hummed weakly against his mouth, lazy and sated but achingly aware of the thick length pressed against you. He groaned as your thigh shifted, brushing it on purpose, and his hips twitched forward helplessly.
“Fuck,” he muttered, forehead pressed to yours, his cock throbbing now and resting against your stomach.
He kissed you slowly as though you hadn’t just come undone screaming his name minutes before. His tongue brushed yours, unhurried, while his hand slid down your hip, anchoring you. “More,” you moan beautifully into his mouth, “I want more.”
When he shifted, rolling halfway onto his side beside you, you felt the slick head of him glide down against your folds. You gasped, shuddering at the sudden jolt of sensation as your pussy was still swollen and tender from his mouth. He didn’t push in, though. Just stroked his length along your soaked slit, letting the tip bump your clit in maddening, teasing drags.
Your hips did a desperate little roll that had his lips curve into that infuriating smirk. “Still sensitive, huh?” he rasped, the gravel in his voice betraying just how tightly he was holding back. You tried to answer, but all that left you was a breathy whimper as he dragged himself down and back up again, coating his cock in your wetness.
“Look at you,” he murmured, gaze locked to your face as his hand tilted your thigh open wider. His tip nudged right at your entrance, circling but not pushing in yet. “So fucking ready for me.”
He then lowered his head, lips kissing your shoulder so tenderly that your heart melts. You caught his eyes when he finally lifted his head. Neither of you spoke, but the air between you thrummed with silent consent, the kind that left no room for doubt.
His forehead brushed yours, lips hovering as he rasped low, “I’ll go slow.”
And then, slow but steady as he promised, he started to press forward. His breath stuttered the second his tip pushed inside, the blunt head parting you inch by inch.
Heat—wet and velvet-tight—closed around him, and Crosshair almost crumbled then and there, his body trembling faintly as he held himself back. “Ffff—” He bit off a curse, jaw tightening.
You whimpered softly, the initial stretch making your walls flutter around him. It wasn’t painful. Just thick and slow. A fullness that made you gasp. Your fingers clutched at his arm, nails grazing the skin as you whispered, “Cross…”—your voice shaky, needy, urging.
His cock twitched deep inside at the sound, his hips rolling forward another careful inch. “You alright?” he rasped, voice breaking low.
You gave a quick nod, looking down as his cock disappeared inside you with every slow movement.
He didn’t slam, didn’t shove. He inched forward, then drew halfway back, then pressed in again with a rhythm of patience. The drag of him pulled a breathless moan from your throat.
“Breathe,” he muttered, his lips brushing your temple as if grounding you as much as himself. He let you cling, let you adjust, every tiny movement deliberate. “I’ve got you, mesh’la.”
The way he said it made your heart lurch, like it wasn’t just about sex…like he meant all of it.
And when you finally tilted your hips, just slightly, letting him know you were ready for more, his control frayed. He sank in deeper, a low moan slipping out of his throat at the way your body welcomed him.
Crosshair bent close, lips brushing over the shell of your ear as he murmured, voice roughened with memory, “When you called me ‘your stars’ back at that meal…” His hips pressed deeper, making your body jolt against the mattress. “…Maker, I wanted you then and there. Didn’t care who was watching.”
Your mouth fell open, breath catching, a whimper spilling out with the way his words wrapped around you as intimately as his body did. You tilted your head back, enough to find his lips. The kiss was soft, slow, your tongues brushing as his cock slid out and then back in with a steady glide.
Each thrust melted into the next, your body clenching around him instinctively as you clung into his chest. His groan rumbled against your mouth, and when he broke away, his forehead pressed to yours. “Feels so good like this. You, wrapped around me, taking me slow.”
The pace wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t about release. It was about every inch of him inside you, every shiver of your body responding, every sigh and moan you gave him like it was for him alone.
He kissed you again, even more gentler this time, lips brushing yours in little whispers of touch before pulling back to watch your face twist in pleasure as he filled you over and over.
His rhythm stuttered for a moment, pulling all the way out of you with a slick, obscene sound that made your body twitch in protest. The sudden emptiness tore a desperate whine from your throat, your hands clutching at the sheets.
“Shh,” he rasped, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Already needy, aren’t you?”
Before you could form a reply, he shifted up, long fingers curling under your thighs. In one smooth move he lifted your legs and hooked them over his shoulders, folding you open for him as he sat on his knees. You gasped at the change and at how vulnerable it made you feel… owned.
And you fucking loved it.
Crosshair smirked, eyes gleaming as he angled himself, the fat head of his cock nudging back against your soaked entrance. “Yeah,” he murmured, dragging it through your folds, coating himself in you. “That’s it. This is where you want me, isn’t it?”
You nodded helplessly, breathless. “Yes—fuck, yes, Cross—”
He slid back inside with a single, deliberate thrust that made your vision spark, filling you to the hilt. A strangled moan tore from your throat, your back arching against the bed. He groaned deep in his chest, bending forward so your calves squeezed tighter against his neck. “Shit, you feel so good. So fucking tight. Like you were made to take me.”
The pace changed—no longer slow and sweet, but harder, sharper, his hips snapping against yours with wet, slapping sounds that echoed in the suite. Every thrust pushed you further up the bed, rose petals clinging to your damp skin.
Crosshair turned his head to the side, his lips brushing your calf before biting lightly, sending another shiver racing through you. “Look at you,” he muttered against your skin, voice dark and possessive. “Spread out for me. Letting me fuck you like you’re mine.”
Your nails clawed at the duvet, head tipping back as the words spilled out of you before you could stop them. “I am yours, Cross. No one else—just you.”
The admission made his hips slam harder, a ragged growl leaving him. His hands wrap around your legs, holding them tight to his body, keeping you pinned. “Say it again,” he demanded, amber eyes burning into you as he drove deeper, harder.
“I’m yours!” you cried out, voice shaking, tears stinging your lashes with the force of it. “All yours, Crosshair!”
He smirked, satisfaction dripping from every thrust as he fucked you rougher, his possessiveness unraveling in every movement. “Good wife,” he groaned, bending lower so your thighs framed his face, “my perfect fucking wife.”
He didn’t even pause to catch his breath, just gripped your hips and dragged you to the edge of the bed. With a swift, fluid motion, he flipped you onto your stomach, and you gasped at the sudden change of angle, the cool sheets against your bare skin.
“You like it when I take control, don’t you?” he rasped, one hand landing hard on your arse, sending a delicious shock through your body. You grinned, breath hitching, letting out a low laugh that was part pleasure, part defiance.
“You’re mine,” he whispered, sliding himself back inside you from behind.
Your legs instinctively spread wider as he pulled you closer, his hand tangling in your hair. He tugged sharply, bringing your head back so you bounced against his cock with each controlled thrust. “That’s it, bounce for me. Show me how good it feels, wife,” he growled, every word thick with control.
You cried out, loud and unrestrained, the bed creaking under the force of him driving into you. “Oh, Cross—yes! Harder! Please—don’t stop!”
He chuckled darkly, leaning over you so your cheek pressed into the sheets, his lips brushing the back of your neck. “Good girl,” he praised, hand slapping your arse again, rough and loving at the same time. “So fucking good for me. Look at you, taking me so well.”
Your chest heaved, legs trembling but you kept bouncing back, your body obedient and desperate, lips parted in a moan that didn’t care who could hear.
He angled himself just right, hitting deep and slow at first, then snapping his hips faster, letting you feel every inch. “Maker, you’re perfect,” he groaned, voice low and commanding. “So wet, so tight… all mine.”
You pressed your face further into the sheets, moaning around the muffled sounds, your body arching up instinctively. “Crosshair! Oh—yes! I’m yours! Always yours!”
He responded by tugging your hair harder, his cock driving into you with relentless force, hand roaming over your hips and arse, marking you with every movement, praising and claiming you at once.
You turned your head just enough to catch his burning eyes over your shoulder. Your lips curved into a wicked grin even as your body shuddered with every rough slam of his cock.
“Look at you,” you moaned, voice sharp and sultry, “losing yourself inside me. You can’t help it, can you? I’ve got you wrapped around my finger just as tight as I’ve got you wrapped inside me.”
His thrust faltered—just for a second—as if the words themselves had tripped him. His eyes narrowed, mouth falling open, but the sound that came out was a raw and pathetic whimper betraying how undone he really was.
“You love it,” you taunted, rolling your hips back against him with a delicious grind that had him growling through clenched teeth. “My good husband, falling apart because of me. Cockdrunk.”
“F-fuck—” he hissed, the word tearing out of him. His pace grew erratic, desperate, like he was chasing something he couldn’t hold back any longer.
Then suddenly he hauled you, panting and trembling, onto your back again. Your legs spread wide as he pressed himself flush against you, cock sliding right back into your soaked heat without hesitation.
The air punched from your lungs as he buried his face in your neck, breath hot and ragged, his weight pinning you down deliciously. Your nails raked down his back, dragging red marks into his skin while he drove into you with merciless force. The headboard slammed rhythmically into the wall with every thrust, each clap of wood-on-wall punctuated by your screams and sobs of pleasure.
“Yes—yes, Crosshair, please—” your voice broke, cracking under the relentless pace. Your body arched under him, sweat slick between you, every nerve ending aflame as his hips pounded into yours.
“Where—” he groaned into your throat, biting your skin like he needed to anchor himself, “where do you want it, baby? Tell me—fuck—where should I come?”
Your head snapped back, eyes wild, desperate tears clinging to your lashes. You clutched at his back, pulling him tighter, legs wrapping around his waist to lock him in place.
“Inside!” you cried, voice shaking, pleading. “Please, Cross, come inside me. I want it, I need it—fill me with your hot cum. P-please!”
He groans like a man possessed, hips snapping even harder, his control shredding as he buried himself deeper and deeper.
Crosshair’s movements became almost frantic, hips stuttering as he drove into you with a desperate rhythm. His hand slid down between your bodies, fingers landing squarely on your clit, rubbing with perfect pressure and speed, coaxing you closer and closer to your edge.
“Come for me, right now, right now,” he growled, his teeth grazing your neck as he slammed his cock into you. “I’m going to fill you up, good girl—come on my cock.”
Your body convulsed at his words, every nerve screaming as your climax hit with a white-hot force. You grabbed his face, forcing your lips to his, biting his lower lip as you panted hotly into his mouth, gasping, moaning and utterly undon. .
“Baby…” you whispered between ragged breaths, your fingers tangling in his hair as your body shuddered uncontrollably around him.
Crosshair’s groan deep as he tensed, shuddered, and finally spilled inside you. Warm and overwhelming. You felt him pulse inside you, his hips stuttering with each breathless thrust, as your own climax trembled out against his hand, still pressing your clit with maddening rhythm.
Even after he came, he stayed buried deep, hips rocking slightly, his chest pressing to yours, letting you feel every lingering pulse of him. He nuzzled against your neck.
Crosshair let out a low, almost inaudible sigh of relief, his forehead resting against yours as you melted into his side. His hand lingered soflty on your waist, fingers tracing lazy circles over your hip.
There was a small tension as you saw him look down where his hands had been on you. You use your finger to angle his face back to you and say reassuringly, “you didn’t hurt me.”
“I can’t believe we just did that,” you rasp, voice trembling slightly from exertion and lingering arousal.
He hesitated for a moment, the usually unshakable Crosshair sounding almost vulnerable. “Do… do you regret it?”
You cupped his jaw with one hand and silenced any doubt with a slow, deliberate kiss. And when you pulled back, your eyes softened.
“Definitely not, my stars,” you said fondly, voice carrying sincerity. His lips twitched, almost a smile, though he’d never admit it outright. Relief settled into his posture, the tension leaving his shoulders, and for the first time since the two of you had been tangled together, he seemed… at peace.
Your fingers brushed over his chest, tracing the rapid rise and fall of his breath. “You feel… amazing,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his neck, feeling the steady thrum of his pulse beneath your lips.
He let out a low hum, nudging you closer with his shoulder. “So do you,” he murmured, still holding you like he was afraid to let go.
The two of you lay there, sweaty, sticky, and utterly spent, yet somehow more connected than ever.
You do eventually shift, muscles sore but tingling from the aftermath of everything, and groan quietly as you attempt to tug your nightwear back over your body. Crosshair watches you with a glint in his eyes, “You look ridiculous like that,” he teases.
You shoot him a mock glare, though your cheeks betray the flush of heat and lingering pleasure. “Oh, and you don’t?” you retort, finally wriggling into your nightwear.
He hums, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Maybe not,” he admits, voice edged with amusement, “but I think we’ve earned a bit more… relaxation.”
Your brow quirks, intrigued. “Relaxation?”
Crosshair tilts his head, smirk growing. “The jacuzzi,” he says simply, climbing off the bed. “Warm water, bubbles… think you can handle that after an hour like this?”
You let out a breathy laugh, the soreness in your thighs reminding you just how much fun you’d had. “I think I could manage. Maybe,” you tease, still rolling your shoulders to loosen the tension.
He steps closer, eyes tracking your movements, and reaches for your hand. “Then come on,” he says, dragging you toward the bathroom. “Let’s make the next hour… just as enjoyable.”
You let him lead you to the jacuzzi once it’s filled, the scent of soap and warm water filling the room. And as you both sink into the bubbling warmth, the world outside ceases to exist.
Crosshair leans back, one arm draped across your shoulders, and you curl against him, feeling both soothed and mischievous as you ponder just how long you two could stay here.
Silence stretched comfortably between you. He shifted after a moment, reaching for a bar of soap resting at the edge. Without a word, he lathered it between his hands, then pressed his palms gently against your back, his fingers smoothing over sore muscles. He was careful as he washed down your arms, sliding his touch from your shoulders to your wrists. Every stroke was accompanied by a quiet kiss to the back of your head, your temple, the damp strands of your hair sticking to his lips.
“You’re spoiling me,” you teased softly.
“Good,” he muttered against your crown, fingertips tracing over your skin like he was memorising it.
A sly smile pulled at your lips. “You know, you enjoyed calling me your wife a little too much back there.”
You felt him stiffen almost imperceptibly, his hands faltering just for a second before resuming. “…You noticed.”
You turned your head, grinning up at him. “Hard not to. You sounded like you meant it.”
For a long moment, he said nothing, eyes fixed on the water, jaw tight. But then his shoulders relaxed, and he exhaled, lips brushing your temple once more. “…That’s because I did.” His voice was low, almost grudging, but the truth in it made your heart soar.
“Crosshair—”
“You’re… marriage material,” he cut in, avoiding your gaze as you tilt your head back, as though the words embarrassed him more than any of the filthy things he’d whispered between the sheets. His thumb traced circles absently on your shoulder. “Don’t ask me to say it twice.”
You blinked, stunned into silence for a moment before a soft laugh slipped free. The sound made him glance down, eyes narrowing like he regretted saying anything at all—until you leaned up and pressed your lips against his.
nothing’s hotter than putting a hand over someone’s mouth to muffle their moans and screams while i push into them. feeling their breath against my palm. just watching their eyes roll back as they suffocate on their own pleasure. leaning down to whisper “shut up and take it for me” straight into their ear.
Though it wasn’t like he shamed you for it, or told you to stop for that matter—it still felt like a tragedy trying to feel good under his touch.
There was just something so… hard about it.
Not only were your hips giving up on you the moment you’re on top; you couldn’t even bear to have a good orgasm because of your inability to ride him.
Therefore, when you decided to try for a second (or third) time, you didn’t ask him for anything, and rather did it your own way again.
He of course let you do what you wanted (before he could snap) because he knew you were going to give up eventually. Which was why, for some reason, you felt like there was something a little different compared to the first time—a rather shift in the air.
Your hands slapped on his shoulders, the tip of your fingertips dug into his skin as you desperately moved against him. Warm skin collides with one another, making Sylus chuckle as he continues observing your every tiny move.
When he notices you staggering more than before, his hands—that were initially ghosting over your hips—carefully grab onto your skin and gently revert you back into a comfortable rhythm.
“Don’t focus on bouncing too much if you're getting tired, sweetie.” His voice was soft. Way too sweet, it only made you grit your teeth and shake your head.
“I don’t need your h-help.”
“Really now?”
You nod again, but those hands that were once on your hips started travelling further along your body, the touch was so warm yet so chilly—it made you shiver.
A gasp gets caught in your throat and you stare at Sylus, mouth agape as your hips that were once moving at a relaxed pace, suddenly lose their control again.
But Sylus doesn’t interrupt and rather watches as he waits for the right moment to catch you again. The moment where he notices you breathing a little heavier, slowing down—
“Hngh- y-you-"
“Lean forward.”
Your body starts moving on its own and suddenly, there's a light pressure on your back that is guiding you to the right position. The moment you were leaning above Sylus; the tension in your body left and you felt more...relaxed. But you didn't properly move yet.
"Don't tell me you feel better now, huh?"
You moan in response and he only laughs.
"Where was all that confidence when you started it?" The mock in his voice made your response delayed for a second. You shake your head and plant a kiss on his shoulder, causing Sylus to spit out a sound of something with a mix of a chuckle and groan and kiss you back.
The moment his lips left yours, the glint in his eye was so evident, like he was hungry—thirsting for more. His hand, which you were totally unaware about, eventually makes contact with your ass and gives it a tiny smack! which only caused you to jump.
"Don't give up on me now," He whispered. "You were doing good just a few minutes ago."
The words of encouragement flooded your mind and it was now all you could think about; all you could listen to—it was like he was reading too much into your mind, he knew exactly what you wanted despite not saying it out loud, or, showing it.
The moment you started moving again—properly—grinding him like your life depended on it, Sylus started reacting. Louder than before. You could hear the tiny gasps and breathless chuckles leave his lips, not only did you think it was only making him feel good, but you, too, were also feeling...better.
"Thaats it," Sylus huffed, tangling his fingers through your hair, lightly holding onto you as you started regaining your composure again. "Keep going, sweetie."
the cruel reality of being a smut writer is that you have to write all the sex scenes when you're not horny, otherwise you get too distracted by your own horniness and it just sounds like "they smashed super sexy style and it felt really good"
in defense of smut and romantasy readers, the eroticism comes from the fact that it is a fantasy, and oftentimes would not be nearly as satisfying if you did try to recreate it in real life. that's not to say that actually practicing kink is unfulfilling, but there is still an aspect of play in kink that allows you to recreate an approximation of those fantasies. like, you're not really being degraded or kidnapped or whatever kinky shit you're into, you're just agreeing to play pretend with someone. now, I can't really recreate a scene from a romantasy book where the mc is like a 7 foot alien with a proportional dong who fucks me while he soars through the air with me in his arms, I guess unless my partner happened to also work in a theater that would allow us to use their fly system for my nasty purposes. wait post suspended I have to look into this
prguitarman
gummygunk
turnnoffyourmind
snowghoul
