🔞 WARNING ADULT CONTEN, NSFW, BDSM, HARDSEX, NOT FOR KIDS, CALEB FANFICTION! 🔞
Caleb - Run Hide and Seek 🥵🔞💦
🔞 Content Warning: This story contains mature themes, including explicit sexual content, dominance, and portrayals of a step-sibling relationship that is sexual in nature. Reader discretion is advised.
Caleb × You
The afternoon sun slanted through the living room window, casting a warm, golden light across the comfortable space. You were curled up on the large armchair, a mug of tea warming your hands, while Caleb sat opposite you on the couch, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he recounted a story from your shared childhood.
"Remember that time," he began, his deep voice rumbling pleasantly, "when you convinced me there was a dragon living in the big oak tree in Grandma's backyard? You were maybe five, all wide eyes and serious little faces."
You giggled, pulling your feet further under you. "Hey! You totally believed me for a whole week!"
He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. His dark hair caught the light, and his purple eyes were soft with nostalgia as he looked at you. "I did. You were always such a brilliant storyteller, weaving tales out of thin air. And you'd drag me out there with a makeshift sword - a broom handle - ready to slay it."
"And you, brave soldier, were always right there beside me," you teased, a playful glint in your eyes. It was true. From makeshift dragon hunts to building secret forts in the woods behind Grandma's house, Caleb had always been your partner in crime, your protector, the one person who understood your wild imagination and joined you in it wholeheartedly. Even after Grandma was gone, leaving just the two of you in the quiet house, those memories lingered, threads connecting your past and your present, a foundation built on shared secrets and unwavering affection. He'd always tell you these stories, about your silly antics, about his own childhood fears and triumphs, weaving a tapestry of your intertwined lives.
Villa Vacation
The scent of pine and damp earth filled the air as you walked hand-in-hand through the beautiful, sprawling woods surrounding the villa you'd rented for your holiday. After weeks of Caleb's demanding schedule as a Colonel and your own busy life, this escape felt like a dream. The sun dappled through the canopy above, casting shifting patterns on the leafy ground.
"Did you know," Caleb said, squeezing your hand gently, "they say this particular forest stretch has whispers of ancient magic? Local myths about forest spirits who play tricks on travelers."
"Ooh, tell me more!" you said, eyes wide with playful interest. You'd always loved hearing him talk about myths and legends, his smart mind absorbing everything. "What kind of tricks?"
He smiled down at you. "They might make you see things that aren't there, or lead you astray. Some legends even say they can steal memories... or hearts." He paused, his gaze lingering on yours.
You grinned, enjoying the fantasy. "Well, I hope they don't steal my heart," you said, leaning up and planting a quick, soft kiss on his cheek. "It's already taken."
Caleb immediately stopped walking, his tall frame freezing. A faint blush, a sight you always found incredibly endearing, crept up his neck and across his cheeks. His purple eyes widened slightly in surprise.
You laughed, the sound light and cheerful in the quiet woods. "Look at you, blushing like a schoolboy!" You poked his cheek gently. "My big, tough Colonel, flustered by a little kiss?"
He cleared his throat, his blush deepening. "It's... it's not just a 'little kiss' when it's from you," he muttered, his voice a little gruff.
You loved seeing him like this, the usually composed and dominant man reduced to a blushing mess. It only encouraged you to tease him more. You leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, "Maybe those forest spirits are getting to you, huh? Making you think naughty thoughts?" You fluttered your eyelashes innocently. "Like wanting to pin me against one of these trees and show me just how much you missed me?"
His blush deepened further, but a slow, dark smirk began to spread across his lips. His eyes, moments ago soft, now held a possessive intensity that sent a familiar thrill through you. You felt his hand tighten slightly around yours. You glanced down, and couldn't help but notice the definite bulge pressing against the front of his tactical pants. Success.
You grinned, a mischievous spark igniting in your eyes. His reaction was exactly what you wanted. "Oh, look," you said, leaning up again and pressing another quick kiss, this time closer to his ear. "Looks like Colonel needs to relieve some... tension."
You didn't wait for him to respond. Giggling, you pulled your hand from his and turned, breaking into a run back towards the villa. "Catch me if you can!" you called over your shoulder, already weaving through the trees.
"Hey! Be careful!" he yelled after you, his voice laced with amusement and a hint of urgency. The chase was on. You could hear his footsteps behind you, long, powerful strides covering the ground quickly. You laughed again, the joy of the game exhilarating. You didn't slow down until you burst out of the tree line and sprinted towards the villa's entrance, slipping inside and letting the door click shut behind you. You were hiding.
°°°
You were already halfway across the living room when you heard Caleb's voice, closer now, carrying clearly from just outside.
"Hide properly, Pipsqueak," he warned, his voice low and playful but with an unmistakable edge of anticipation. "Because once I find you... I'm not letting you go."
A shiver, not of fear but of delicious anticipation, ran down your spine. You needed a good hiding spot. You scurried towards the far corner of the open-plan room, squeezing yourself behind a large, decorative ceramic vase nestled amongst some lush potted plants. Heart pounding, you pressed your back against the cool wall, trying to make yourself as small as possible.
The front door opened slowly. Footsteps, deliberate and slow, padded into the room. He was clearly enjoying this, drawing out the suspense. You held your breath, listening intently. He was circling, his footsteps soft on the polished floorboards.
"Where could my beautiful little Hunter be?" he murmured, his voice teasingly close. "Did she run off with a forest spirit? Or is she playing a game?"
He was getting closer. You could practically feel his presence. You peeked slightly from behind the vase. He was standing a few feet away, hands on his hips, purple eyes scanning the room with a predatory gleam. He knew exactly where you were, didn't he? He was just playing with you.
Before you could even think about making a break for it, he was there. He rounded the vase in a single fluid movement, his eyes locking onto yours.
"Gotcha."
He breathed, his voice a low growl that sent a jolt through you.
You instincts screamed to run again, but he was too fast. He moved instantly, pinning you against the wall in the corner. His large hands flattened on either side of your head, trapping you. His body was pressed close, leaving no room for escape.
"Trying to get away from me?" he murmured, his voice losing its playful tone. It was deeper, possessive now. His purple eyes burned into yours, intense and unyielding. "Tsk tsk. Didn't I tell you? Once I have you..." He lowered his head, bringing his face close to yours. "...I'm not letting you go. Not ever." His gaze dropped to your lips, then lower, to your neck. "And I'm going to do absolutely anything I want with you."
His words sent a thrilling shiver through you. You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks as his lips descended, not to your mouth, but to the sensitive skin of your neck. He kissed and sucked, his mouth devouring that pulse point. You gasped, startled by the sudden intimacy, and instinctively squirmed against the wall, a small, helpless sound escaping your throat.
But his hold was firm, his body a rigid wall against yours. There was no escape. After a moment of futile struggle, you surrendered, tilting your head back to give him better access. His lips continued their assault, biting gently, sucking harder, already promising a mark. He pinned his body even tighter against yours, leaving no space between you. That's when you felt it - the undeniable proof of your earlier teasing, hard and pressing against your lower abdomen. His cock was fully erect against you.
"C-caleb?"
Your blush deepened, spreading down your chest. A wave of heat washed over you, and you felt a answering ache begin to bloom deep within you. You were just as affected by him as he was by you.
He lifted one of his large hands from the wall, sliding it around your leg. With surprising strength, he lifted your foot off the ground, hooking it around his hip, tilting your pelvis against his.
"Caleb, wait..." you whispered frantically, glancing around the open room. "The couch... or the bedroom..."
He didn't listen. His eyes, when he looked at you, were darkened with need, promises of dominance swirling in their depths. His free hand went to the button of his tactical pants and, with a practiced flick, unbuckled them, pulling the zipper down in a single, swift movement. The sound seemed impossibly loud in the quiet villa.
He shifted slightly, aligning himself. You felt the warm fabric of his pants brush against your thigh as he adjusted his position. The head of his cock nudged against the thin fabric of your shorts, warm and heavy.
"No waiting," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "Right here. Right now.. Ahh,"
He pushed gently, finding your warmth, your wetness. You gasped again, clutching his shoulders as his engorged cock found your entrance. He didn't hesitate. With a slow, deep thrust, he slid inside you.
You cried out softly, the sudden fullness, the heat, the sheer rightness of him settling deep within you, stealing your breath. Your head fell back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. You could feel every inch of him filling you completely.
"Fuck..." he groaned, burying his face against your neck again, breathing heavily. "Ah- mmh so damn good..." His body pressed harder against yours, leveraging your tilted hip to bury himself even deeper.
He was still biting and sucking fiercely at your neck, leaving a trail of delicious bruises, as he began to move his hips, a slow, deliberate roll that sent waves of exquisite sensation through you. The initial shock gave way to pure, unadulterated pleasure. You couldn't help but moan, a soft, drawn-out sound that vibrated in your chest.
He pulled his head back slightly, his eyes finding yours. His usually calm face was a mask of intense pleasure and deep, raw need. He bit down on his lower lip, his gaze challenging, knowing. He looked incredibly sexy, completely primal. Seeing him like that, so consumed by you, made your knees feel weak, made you want to melt right there against the wall. He was teasing you, controlling every movement.
"Did you like that Pipsqueak?" he whispered, his voice husky, laced with dark humor. "Running away, only to be caught and filled right where I found you?"
You couldn't speak, only managed a weak nod, your breath coming in ragged gasps.
He smirked again, a slow, predatory expression. "Good," he said, the word a low rumble. He began to move again, his thrusts slow, deep, and agonizingly sensual. Each movement was a deliberate invasion, pushing you against the wall, making you feel utterly taken. "You shouldn't run from me like that," he murmured, his voice close to your ear as he leaned back in to kiss your neck. "Not when I get this hard thinking about how good you feel... how much I want you."
He moved again, a deep, slow drive that made your body arch into his. "Every single time I look at you...Aah," he hissed, his hips pausing for a moment, buried deep inside you. "...I want this. I want to be in you. Mmh, All the time." He pulled back slightly, then plunged back in with deliberate force. "Do you feel that? Hmm? Do you feel.. How much I want you?"
Just when you thought you couldn't take the slow torture anymore, his hand moved. It wasn't rough, but firm, wrapping around your throat. He didn't squeeze hard, just enough to apply a light pressure, enough to make you gasp and force your eyes to lock onto his face.
His eyes were burning, intense purple orbs that held you captive. The dominance radiating from him in that moment was overwhelming, intoxicating. "Ah.. ahh Caleb,"
You didn't feel scared, you felt a rush of something primal, a deep-seated part of you that absolutely craved being dominated by him like this, owned by his gaze, his touch, his body filling yours.
"Aahh," His mouth opened slightly, a low, guttural moan escaping his lips. He leaned his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. With a final, powerful thrust, he pulsed inside you.
"Mmh, yes," he groaned, clinging to you. He didn't pull out immediately, just buried himself against you, holding you tightly. You felt the warmth of his release flooding into you, a potent wave that mirrored your own building climax.
He didn't pull out right away, staying connected, breathing heavily into your neck. After a long moment, he finally stirred, his hand releasing your throat. He carefully pulled out of you, the sudden emptiness making you ache. He kept his arm around your waist, steadying you.
He didn't let go. Instead, he easily scooped you up into his arms, holding you against his chest as if you weighed nothing. Your legs automatically wrapped around his waist, your head resting on his shoulder. He carried you effortlessly through the villa, past the couch and towards the bedroom, his large frame radiating protective warmth.
You knew, with absolute certainty, that the night was far from over. And you were more than ready for it. He carried you to the large, comfortable bed in the bedroom and gently laid you down. He didn't waste time. He was inside you again, and again, and again. Each time was more intense, more possessive than the last. By the third time, you were completely sated, body heavy and humming with residual pleasure. He finally pulled you into his arms, shifting so you were curled against his chest, your head tucked under his chin. You drifted off to sleep, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm beneath your ear.
°°°
Morning light, soft and diffused by the villa's curtains, woke you gently. You stirred, feeling soft fabric beneath you and a strong, solid weight around you. You were still tucked against Caleb's chest, his arm a warm, protective band around your waist. His breathing was slow and even, the remnants of sleep still lingering around him.
You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his chest. He stirred, his arm tightening around you instinctively.
"Morning," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep but instantly softening as he felt you against him. One of his hands came up to gently stroke your hair.
"Morning," you whispered back, snuggling closer. You felt utterly content, loved, and cherished.
He kissed the top of your head. "Sleep well, Pipsqueak?"
You hummed in response. "Better than well." You tilted your head back to look at him. His dark hair was slightly mussed from sleep, and his purple eyes, though still a little hazy, were already filled with that familiar, intense affection when he looked at you.
He smiled, a genuine, tender smile that reached his eyes. "Good. That's all I want." He tucked you closer. "Woke up and you were right here. Best feeling in the world."
"Mmm," you agreed, tracing the line of his jaw with your finger. "It's pretty good waking up next to you too, Caleb."
He chuckled softly. He kissed your forehead, then your nose, then lingered on your lips for a soft, tender kiss. "You know how much I love you, right?" he said, his voice quiet and sincere.
You felt your heart swell. "I know. And I love you too. So, so much."
"More than anything?" he teased, a playful glint returning to his eyes.
You laughed. "Much, much more." You pressed a kiss to his chest again. "You're my favorite adventure."
His arm tightened around you, holding you securely. The quiet intimacy of the morning, the warmth of his body against yours, the easy flow of comfort and love - it was everything. After the intensity of the night, this gentle tenderness was a perfect grounding. You were safe, loved, and exactly where you belonged, wrapped in the arms of your handsome, possessive, wonderfully complicated stepbrother and boyfriend.
The air in the Wizteria garden hung heavy and sweet, a purple haze of fragrant blossoms dripping from gnarled branches overhead. Sunlight dappled through the leaves, painting shifting patterns on the stone path where you and Rafayel strolled, hand in hand.
You, a Hunter blessed with a playful spirit and a mind as sharp as any blade, felt utterly at ease here, away from the usual grind. Beside you, Rafayel, the renowned artist whose reputation preceded him in every corner of the world, was just Rafayel, handsome, dramatic, and currently sketching with intense focus on a small pad resting on the smooth bark of a thick Wizteria branch.
His dark purple hair caught the light, highlighting the striking contrast with his purple-pink eyes that were currently narrowed in concentration. You held up your smartphone, filming him, a small, amused smile on your pretty face.
"Lost in the muse, are we, Mr. Artist?" you teased, tilting the phone for a better angle of his focused profile.
He didn't look up immediately, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Just capturing a fleeting moment of beauty, cutie. Something you're intimately familiar with, of course."
You chuckled, lowering the phone. "Oh, stop it, you sassy king. What are you even drawing? Is it... the flowers? Or my exquisite filming technique?"
He finally glanced at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Neither, miss bodyguard. And you can't look. It's not finished yet."
Naturally, being the curious and playful person you are, his command was an invitation. "Not finished? All the more reason to get a sneak peek!" You took a step closer, trying to lean over his shoulder.
He laughed, a warm, melodious sound. "Ah, ah, ah! Naughty girl." He quickly moved the sketchbook away, twirling it out of your reach.
"Hey!" You swatted playfully at his hand. "That's not fair! Is it a secret?"
"It's a surprise!" He dodged your attempts, the sketchbook held high. You giggled, tackling him gently, trying to wrestle the book away. He stumbled back, putting the pad down carefully on a low stone border before wrapping his arms around you, the playful struggle turning into a light wrestling match.
He expertly maneuvered you, guiding you backward until your back met the smooth, cool wood of an old garden bench. You lay down on it, still laughing, as he leaned over you, his hands bracing on either side of your head, trapping you gently against the wood.
You were both panting slightly, the light exertion and laughter leaving you breathless. His purple-pink eyes, usually so full of humor, held a different intensity now, fixed solely on you. His playful smirk softened into something tender, his gaze tracing the line of your lips.
He leaned closer, his breath mingling with yours, the sweet scent of Wisteria surrounding you both. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the anticipation thick in the air. He was going to kiss you. Your heart fluttered, a silly, happy beat.
But just as his lips were about to meet yours, the old bench creaked ominously beneath you. With a shared gasp of surprise, the unstable wood gave way, and you both tumbled onto the soft grass below.
He twisted instantly, instinctively, pulling you against him, his arms tight around your waist as you landed with a soft thud. He held you close, cushioning your fall.
"Are you okay?" he asked immediately, his voice laced with genuine worry, checking your face, your arms, rushing his words. "Cutie? Are you hurt? Did you hit anything?"
You burst out laughing, the absurdity of the moment striking you. Tangled in his arms on the grass, under the cascade of purple flowers, after almost being kissed... it was all just so us.
"Rafayel, I'm fine!" you assured him, still chuckling, patting his cheek gently. "Seriously, I'm okay. Just a little... grass-stained."
He let out a breath he seemed to have been holding, his worried expression melting back into his usual playful grin, though a hint of lingering concern remained in his eyes. "Thank heavens. For a second there, my heart did a dramatic somersault worthy of the stage. Can't have my beautiful bodyguard getting injured on my watch." He hugged you tighter for a moment, burying his face in your hair. "That was a close one, though. Almost kissed you senseless right there."
You playfully swatted his shoulder. "Almost isn't good enough?"
He pulled back slightly to look at you, his eyes softening again. "We'll have to remedy that, won't we?"
---
Instead of risking another collapse, Rafayel gently helped you sit up, keeping an arm around you. "Come on," he said, standing and offering you a hand. "Let's find somewhere a little more... stable. And perhaps with fewer structural integrity issues."
He didn't let go of your hand, instead scooping you up carefully into his arms as if you weighed nothing. "My miss bodyguard needs to be carried to safety after such a traumatic fall," he declared dramatically, striding through the garden.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your head against his shoulder. Being carried by him felt surprisingly comfortable and... intimate. He carried you towards a glass structure shimmering in the distance - the garden's greenhouse.
Inside, the air was warmer, humid, and thick with the scent of countless blossoms. He carried you through rows of exotic plants until he reached a quiet corner. There, near a large, panoramic window that overlooked the vibrant garden outside, was a surprisingly comfortable-looking daybed, cushioned and inviting.
He carefully set you down on the edge of the bed, smoothing your hair back. "See? Much better. Exclusive seating with a view."
You settled back against the soft cushions, looking out at the magnificent display of flowers, the Wizteria specifically catching the light beautifully. "Wow," you breathed. "It's incredible from here."
Rafayel sat beside you, his shoulder brushing yours as he also took in the view. You talked idly for a bit, pointing out different colors and shapes, commenting on the peaceful atmosphere. As you spoke, you noticed something else - Rafayel smelled incredibly good. Not just his usual cologne, which was pleasant, but something deeper, sweeter, like the very flowers around you.
Intrigued, you leaned closer, your nose softly touching his shoulder, then his neck. You inhaled gently. "Hmm," you hummed. "You smell like... flowers."
His body tensed slightly beside you. You felt a warmth spread from his neck upwards. When you glanced up, you saw his cheeks were dusted with a faint pink. He was blushing.
A slow smirk spread across your face. Oh, this was interesting. Rafayel, the confident, sassy artist, blushing because you smelled his neck. You decided to lean into it.
You gently nudged your nose against his neck again, nuzzling softly, inhaling deeper this time, letting the scent fill your senses. You could feel the delicate flutter of his pulse beneath your lips. The move was deliberate, playful, and aimed squarely at turning him on.
He let out a quiet sigh, a soft, ragged sound that was almost a moan. His head tilted back, giving you better access to the warm skin of his neck. His hand subtly rested on your thigh, fingers lightly gripping the fabric of your clothes.
You lingered there for another moment, enjoying the scent and the effect you were having on him, before pulling back slowly. Your eyes met his, which were now heavy-lidded and darkened with desire.
You turned your gaze back to the window, a contented sigh leaving your lips. "It really is so beautiful," you said, gesturing towards the vibrant garden outside.
He looked at you, his eyes intense. "Do you want to make it... more beautiful?"
You turned back to him, a playful spark in your eyes. "More beautiful? How exactly do we do that?"
He didn't answer with words right away. Still looking at you with that intense gaze, he reached out and plucked a perfect, fragrant Wisteria blossom from a small branch that had crept inside near the window. The purple petals were soft, almost velvety.
He brought the flower to your lips first, brushing the delicate petals softly against them. Then, his eyes never leaving yours, he leaned in, pressing his own lips gently against yours, the flower caught between.
It was a soft, sweet kiss at first, tasting faintly of the flower's essence. You closed your eyes, melting into the moment. But the touch of the flower, combined with the heat of the greenhouse and the lingering scent on his skin, seemed to ignite something primal in him.
The kiss deepened instantly, losing its initial gentleness. His hand cupped your cheek, tilting your head back, pulling you closer. His lips became more demanding, pressing harder against yours. His tongue slipped past your lips, seeking yours, tangling in a passionate dance.
You responded eagerly, your own hands finding his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss was consuming, breathtaking. After a few moments, you started to feel lightheaded, needing air. You tried to pull back slightly, a soft sound escaping your throat, a silent plea to breathe.
But he didn't stop. If anything, he went deeper, more urgent, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that bordered on desperate. He was almost punishingly good at it, playing with your tongue, drawing out soft moans from your throat.
Finally, with a ragged groan, he pulled his head back, breaking the deep kiss. His chest was heaving, his eyes wild and dark, fixed on your face. His lips were swollen and slightly parted, glistening from the kiss. He looked utterly undone.
"Hah..." he breathed, his voice low and rough, completely stripped of his usual sass. He looked down at the Wisteria flower still clutched loosely in his hand, then back at you. "That scent... you... I can't... control myself."
He leaned forward again, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "Cutie... I want to do it here. So badly."
The raw desire in his voice, the intensity in his eyes, his complete loss of control... it was intoxicating. And you wanted it too. You wanted him.
You gripped his hand, your voice breathy but firm. "Okay..."
His eyes widened slightly at your immediate agreement, then darkened further, reflecting the heat burning between you. A dangerous, dominant smirk curved his lips as he finally fully released the flower, letting it fall to the bed.
Without another word, his hands moved to the button and zipper of his pants. He worked quickly, his eyes still locked on yours, filled with burning anticipation. He shed them quickly, revealing strong thighs and the undeniable evidence of his desire.
You gasped softly, your eyes widening. He was right there, thick and heavy, fully hard and throbbing against the fabric of his boxers.
He caught your expression, and that dominant smirk returned, more pronounced this time. "See?" he murmured, his voice a low growl. "This? This is all because of you..."
He pushed you gently back onto the soft cushions of the daybed, following you down. He hovered over you for a moment, his body heat radiating against yours, the scent of flowers and arousal filling the air. His fingers found the hem of your clothes, deftly swiping your underwear down your legs and off in one smooth motion.
Then, he positioned himself between your legs, his hips pressing against yours. He braced himself on his forearms, his gaze burning into yours as he slowly, so slowly, began to push inside you.
You felt the blunt tip press against your entrance, "C..cutie.." then the gradual stretch as he began his invasion. It was a delicious, slow pressure that made your breath hitch. You arched your back, a soft moan escaping your lips as he continued to slide in, inch by agonizing inch.
He watched your face, his eyes dark pools reflecting your pleasure and anticipation. When he was fully sheathed inside you, filling you completely, he let out a deep, satisfied groan. He lowered himself down, hugging you tightly against his chest, burying his face in the curve of your neck.
You were tangled together, skin against skin, the scent of the flowers and your combined arousal creating an intoxicating haze around you. It felt perfect, complete.
"Mmh,"
He began to move, slowly at first, deep, deliberate thrusts that made you cling to him, burying your face in his shoulder. Each slow push reached deep inside you, setting off tremors of pleasure that vibrated through your core.
"A-ah.. you feel... so good," he panted against your skin. "Hah, nnh Cutie..."
The slow rhythm built the tension exquisitely. You responded by wrapping your legs around his waist, urging him closer, deeper. The greenhouse seemed to fade away, the world narrowing to just the two of you, locked together, moving as one. "Rafayel nngh.."
The flower scent seemed to intensify with every movement, driving you both further into the depths of pleasure. The slow, deep thrusts gradually picked up pace, becoming faster, more urgent. He lifted your hips slightly, increasing the angle, slamming into you with increasing speed and force.
Your moans turned into whimpers, then cries as the pleasure swelled, building towards an inevitable peak. He matched your rhythm, his breathing ragged and loud in your ear, his muscles tense with the effort and the building release.
"Almost there, cutie," he gasped, his voice thick with passion. "Let go... with me...A-aah-!"
And then, with a final, powerful thrust, he stiffened, letting out a raw groan as he spilled his hot, thick seed deep inside you. He collapsed onto your chest, panting heavily, his body slick with sweat, still embedded within you. He held you tight, raining kisses on your face, your neck, your hair.
He stayed there for a long moment, releasing everything within you, until the last drop was delivered. You lay tangled together, bodies entwined, hearts pounding against each other like twin drums. The panting gradually subsided, replaced by soft breaths and the gentle sound of the wind outside the greenhouse glass.
Neither of you moved for a while, just savoring the warmth, the closeness, the lingering echoes of pleasure. You rested your head on his shoulder, his body heavy and comforting on yours.
"Nh.. Raf..?" you whispered finally.
He shifted slightly, cradling you closer. "Yeah," he murmured back, his voice still slightly rough. "Definitely... made the view more beautiful, didn't we?"
You smiled against his skin. "It certainly added a... vibrant splash of color."
He chuckled softly. "A splash? Cutie, that was a supernova. You're my supernova."
You leaned up to press a soft kiss to his jawline. "And you... you smell like the most intoxicating flower in this whole garden."
He nestled his face back into your neck. "It's you. You're the intoxicating one. You're the one who drove me wild." He sighed contentedly. "This garden... it's always inspired me, but never like this. Never with you."
You traced patterns on his back with your fingers. "The scent of Wizteria... it's always going to remind me of this. Of you. Of... us."
"Me too," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "This is a memory I'll paint a thousand times in my mind."
You stayed there, tangled together, talking in soft whispers about everything and nothing, about flowers and feelings and the way the light was changing outside as the sun began its descent. You kissed him lazily, softly at first, then with renewed warmth as the sky outside turned shades of orange and purple, mirroring the flowers around you.
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows through the glass, but you remained locked together, kissing under the fading light. It was a memory, born under the Wisteria and consummated among the flowers, that you knew you would never, ever forget.
🔞 Please be advised: This story contains explicit sexual content, including descriptions of masturbation and consensual sexual interaction, and explores themes of possessiveness and dominance by the character. Reader discretion is advised.
The heavy oak door creaked open, revealing the grand living room of the mansion. Rumors about this place preceded you – whispers among the townspeople about how no maid ever lasted more than a month. Curiosity tugged at you, alongside the desperate need for work. This was your first day.
The room was immense, filled with luxurious furniture, gleaming dark wood, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking sprawling grounds. And there they were.
Sylus, impossibly tall and striking with his silver hair and intense red eyes, leaned over a billiard table, cue in hand, a smirk playing on his lips. Across from him, Caleb, all dark charm and playful energy, laughed as he lined up his shot, black hair falling just so over those unnerving purple eyes. To the side, nestled in a plush armchair with a laptop, Zayne, the quiet doctor, focused intently, his black hair a stark contrast to his pale, handsome face, green eyes scanning the screen. Nearby, sprawled across a chaise lounge with a book half-covering his face, Xavier, silver-haired and angelic-looking even in his sleepiness, already seemed on the verge of drifting off. And closest to the entrance, perched on an oversized beanbag chair, console controller in hand, Rafayel. His dark purple hair seemed to catch the light, his purple eyes sparkling as he grinned at the screen.
You took a deep breath, clutching your cleaning supplies. "Excuse me," you murmured, giving a slight bow.
Rafayel's head snapped up, his grin widening as his eyes landed on you. He paused his game, letting out a theatrical sigh. "Well, hello there. Look what the breeze blew in. Another one, huh?" He winked, a playful sparkle in his purple eyes.
Sylus chuckled from the billiard table. "Don't scare her off already, Raf. We just got her."
Caleb sank a shot with a satisfying click, flashing you a quick, charming smile before turning back to the game. "Ignore them, little bird. Just do your thing."
Zayne didn't look up from his laptop, but you heard his low voice. "Behave, Rafayel. She's here to work."
"Work?" Rafayel scoffed playfully, dramatically clutching his chest. "But I'm sure something so cute needs some… supervision." He let out a mock shiver. "This place is practically freezing without some warmth."
You felt a blush creep up your neck but focused on the task at hand. You started with a nearby side table, polishing it carefully. They continued their banter, their voices easy and familiar, like a group of old friends.
"Your shot, Sylus. Don't disappoint the audience," Caleb teased.
"Oh, I never disappoint, Caleb," Sylus replied, his voice a low rumble that somehow reached every corner of the room.
Xavier shifted on the chaise lounge, the book sliding down slightly to reveal more of his face. He didn't open his eyes, just mumbled, "Wake me up if there's coffee..."
They seemed... normal. Loud, maybe a bit eccentric, but kind enough. You kept polishing, the initial apprehension easing slightly. Maybe the rumors were just rumors.
Part 1
The next day, you returned to the living room, armed with dusters and polish. It was empty when you entered, the vast space silent save for the soft hum of the air conditioning. You began your cleaning routine, enjoying the quiet rhythm of the task.
A few minutes later, the doors opened, and they all filed in. You stopped, giving a polite bow, and resumed your work as they settled into their usual spots and activities – Sylus and Caleb heading towards the billiard table, Zayne to his laptop, Rafayel towards his console, and Xavier collapsing onto the chaise lounge with his book.
But something was different today. The usual casual air felt... thicker. Heavier. The silence that occasionally fell between their sparse comments wasn't comfortable; it was charged. You felt a prickly sensation on the back of your neck, the distinct feeling of being watched.
You risked a glance over your shoulder. Yes, Rafayel's console was off, the controller lying forgotten. His intense purple eyes were locked onto you, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. He got up leisurely, stretching languidly, his eyes never leaving yours as he began to walk towards you.
"Well, hello there, Cutie," he purred, his voice lower than usual. He stopped just a few feet away, circling you slowly, like a shark. "Looks like you're doing a good job. Very ...thorough." His eyes dipped down your form appraisingly.
You swallowed, focusing on the dusting rag in your hand. "Thank you, Mr. Rafayel. Just trying to keep things tidy."
"Tidy is good," he responded, his voice dropping further, laced with a playful seduction. "But sometimes... a little mess can be even better." He leaned in closer, his breath warm on your ear as he whispered, "Especially when the mess is made together."
You took a small step back, heart starting to pound. "I… I need to finish dusting this table, sir."
He chuckled, a low, husky sound that sent a shiver down your spine. He reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against your hand. "Oh, you're so cute when you're nervous. Like a little doll." His eyes held yours, the playful light now mixed with something dark and intense. "Tell me, Cutie. Do you clean everything with that much dedication?" His gaze slid down your body again, lingering. "Because there are a few places around here that could use your... special attention."
Further across the room, Zayne's voice cut through the charged air, sharp and dry. "That's enough, Rafayel. Leave her alone."
Rafayel didn't even glance at him, his focus entirely on you. "Relax, Zayne. Just admiring our new staff's commendable work ethic." He turned back to you, leaning in incredibly close now. "So, doll. About those... places I mentioned..." He chuckled again, leaning down as if to whisper something else entirely too suggestive. "You seem like the type who knows how to get into all the right nooks and crannies..."
From the billiard table, Sylus and Caleb exchanged glances, smirks playing on their lips. The air felt suffocating, thick with anticipation and something you couldn't quite name, but that made your stomach churn.
Part 2
Panic began to bubble in your chest. This wasn't just flirting; the atmosphere had shifted entirely. You had to get out. "Excuse me," you said, quickly backing away, clutching your cleaning supplies like a shield. "I... I need to grab a different cleaning spray."
You turned and practically ran towards the door, relief flooding you for a split second. But it was a split second too long. Before you reached the handle, a hand clamped onto your arm, strong and firm. Rafayel. He spun you around, pushing you back until your back hit the cool, hard wall. "Nh!"
Your eyes widened. "Mr. Rafayel, please—"
"Going somewhere, Cutie?" His voice was a low growl now, all playful pretense gone, replaced by a chilling possessiveness. His face was close, those purple eyes burning into yours.
Behind him, you saw Caleb walk calmly to the door you'd been trying to reach. With a soft click, he locked it. The sound echoed in the sudden, heavy silence of the room. You squirmed, trying to pull away from Rafayel's grasp, but he held you fast.
"Don't struggle, doll," he murmured, his hand leaving your arm only to cup your face gently. His thumb stroked your cheek. "Didn't you hear? Sometimes a little mess is better. And you, my sweet little doll... you're about to get very, very messy."
He leaned in slowly, his lips brushing against yours. It wasn't a rough kiss, not at first. It was slow, exploring, disarmingly soft, melting against your protests. A dizzying wave of sensation washed over you, confusing your fear. "Mmh," He deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing your lip, asking for entry. You found yourself parting your lips, a soft moan escaping your throat. It felt... nice. Terrifyingly, wonderfully nice.
He pulled back just slightly, his eyes dark with desire. "See? Good girl." With surprising strength, he scooped you up in his arms. You cried out softly as he lifted you towards the center of the room, towards the massive billiard table.
He set you down gently on the felt, the soft green fabric yielding beneath you. You were still breathless from the kiss and the sudden lift. Your mind felt hazy, unable to fully grasp what was happening.
Then Sylus was there, his imposing figure looming over you. His red eyes were intense, assessing. He didn't speak, just reached out and smoothly unbuttoned your uniform blouse, his fingers brushing warmly against your skin. You shivered, not from cold. He pushed the fabric aside, revealing your bra, then reached behind you to unclasp it. It fell away, leaving you exposed to his gaze. He did the same with your skirt, letting it pool around your waist. You were half-naked on the billiard table, exposed to all of them. A gasp escaped your lips, a small, helpless sound.
Sylus's gaze lingered on your body for a moment before his focus shifted. He leaned down, his silver hair falling slightly as he kissed your stomach, his touch sending shivers through you.
"Ready for a little game, Kitten?" His voice was a low, husky rumble that made your lower belly tighten involuntarily. His hand moved lower, tracing the line of your underwear, his fingers dipping slightly beneath the elastic.
You heard Caleb's voice, louder now. "Hey, Zayne! Xavier! Game on! Don't be shy!"
Zayne sighed audibly from his workstation. "Give me a minute. Still in the middle of something important."
Xavier's book hit the floor with a thump. You saw his head rise, his sleepy blue eyes now wide and fixed on you. He pushed himself off the chaise lounge, stretching slowly before starting to unbutton his shirt.
Caleb walked over to the table, a dangerous grin on his face. "Alright, boys. Since I called it, I get to go first." He looked down at you, his purple eyes blazing with an unsettling mix of playfulness and dark intent. "Don't worry, Baby. I'll be gentle... at first."
"N-no," You tried to squirm, to pull away, but the smooth felt offered no purchase, and their eyes locked you in place. Caleb reached down, his fingers fumbling with his belt buckle. He unzipped his pants, pushing them and his boxers down. Your breath hitched as you saw him, large and ready. He leaned in, his hands gripping your hips firmly, lifting you slightly.
"Hold still for Daddy," he murmured, his voice rough. Then, without hesitation, he pressed his thick shaft against your wet delta. You whimpered, instinctively arching away, but his grip was iron. He angled himself and, with a single, hard thrust, drove deep inside you.
"Ah!" cry tore from your throat, a mixture of pain, shock, and a strange, unfamiliar heat. He filled you completely, stretching you taut. He paused for a moment, letting you adjust, his breath heavy.
"Mmh, Feels good, doesn't it, Baby?" he whispered against your neck. Then he began to move, slow, deep thrusts that quickly built in pace, each stroke a heavy, pounding rhythm that rocked your body on the table. "Ah... shit-" He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace as he continued to thrust, his hips slamming against yours. You could feel his heat, his strength, the sheer dominance of his movements. You were a plaything, entirely at his mercy. You moaned, a helpless, breathless sound as his rhythm intensified. "Mh," He groaned, a deep, satisfied sound, driving harder and faster until his body tensed. With a final, desperate thrust, he cried out your name, burying himself deep inside you as he pulsed and released his burning seed. He collapsed onto you for a moment, breath heavy, before pulling back slowly, leaving you aching and filled.
Part 3
You lay there, breathless and trembling, the aftermath of Caleb’s intensity leaving you weak. His withdrawal felt like a sudden cold plunge. But there was no time to recover.
Xavier was already there, his usually sleepy blue eyes now wide and blazing with an almost frightening intensity. He hadn't bothered with preamble. His large dick, thick and hard, was already pressing against your entrance. "A-aah" He didn't wait for you to catch your breath, didn't wait for your body to recover.
With a sharp intake of breath, he slammed himself into you.
"Nggh!" You cried out, the force of his entry breathtakingly intense after Caleb. He filled you instantly, stretching you even further than before. He was a stark contrast to Caleb’s building rhythm. Xavier was all raw, unrestrained power from the start.
He began to thrust immediately, hard and fast, his silver hair flying slightly as he moved. "Hah, ahh" His face was a mask of intense concentration, almost savage. He wasn't just entering you; he was claiming you with each brutal slam. "You're mine, now lil bunny," he muttered, his voice rough and unfamiliar, lost in the sounds of his own exertion and your whimpers. He pounded into you, his hips slamming against yours and the billiard table with punishing force. He looked so innocent, so gentle usually, but right now he was a monster inside you, relentless and unforgiving.
Tears pricked at your eyes as the intensity became almost too much to bear. He didn’t slow, didn’t soften. Just kept slamming, harder, faster, deeper until his body shuddered violently. With a loud, guttural groan, he pulsed inside you again and again, emptying himself deep within your core. He sagged slightly, resting his forehead against yours, panting heavily before pulling away, leaving you slick and utterly ravaged.
You were weak, trembling, every muscle screaming in protest. You just wanted it to stop. Just wanted to curl up and disappear. But Sylus was already there, his presence a powerful, commanding force. He looked down at your trembling form on the table, his dark red eyes assessing.
He didn't rush. His large hand reached down, his fingers tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, then moving upwards. His thumb found your swollen clit. He began to stroke it, slowly, deliberately, "Unnggh!" his touch sending jolts of pleasure mixed with the deep ache inside you. You whimpered, arching slightly at the exquisite sensation.
"Hmm, feeling good, Kitten?" His voice was a low, dark growl that vibrated through you. You were too breathless, too overwhelmed to reply. He continued to tease your clit with his fingers, making you writhe under his touch.
Then, he positioned himself above you, his large dick, thick and long, pressing against you. You gasped. He was massive. He lowered himself slowly, beginning his penetration with a deep, deliberate thrust that felt like it reached your very core.
"Ah...!" You screamed, a raw sound torn from your lungs as he filled you completely. He was slow, his movements a stark contrast to Xavier's frantic pace, but each thrust was incredibly deep, stretching you painfully, pleasurably. "F..fuck," His face was a picture of dark satisfaction, his eyes half-lidded with intensity. "Hah, ah... Such a good girl," he murmured, thrusting again, deeper this time.
As you screamed, unable to contain the sounds of pleasure and pain mingling in your throat, Rafayel was suddenly right above you, his purple eyes dark and hungry. He didn't hesitate. He lowered himself, his own cock pressing against your face. Before you could even process it, he pushed it into your mouth.
You gagged around him, silent cries trapped behind the thick shaft filling your throat. Rafayel and Sylus were a symphony of deep groans and harsh breaths above you, Sylus pounding slowly and deeply inside you while Rafayel thrust rhythmically into your mouth. The sensations were overwhelming, impossible to separate, a brutal fusion of fullness and violation.
You saw Caleb and Xavier on the couch, watching, identical smirks on their faces. Caleb gestured towards Zayne, who was finally closing his laptop with a resigned sigh.
"Come on, Zayne! You're missing all the fun!" Caleb called out, laughing.
Zayne stood up, running a hand through his black hair. He looked tired, but there was a flicker of something else in his green eyes as he looked at you on the table. He began to unbutton his coat, his movements economical and precise.
Part 4
"Mmh," Sylus let out a final, deep groan, his body tensing before he pulled out of you slowly, leaving you slick and raw. Rafayel pulled his cock from your mouth, "W-wait, mmph-" he letting you gasp for air, though you were still gagging slightly. He didn't give you much time to recover.
Rafayel climbed fully onto the billiard table with you, positioning himself above your trembling body. His purple eyes were dark, filled with a fierce, almost desperate hunger. He plunged into you, deeper than anyone else, his thrust burying himself to the hilt.
"Ah.. m-mine," he growled, his voice a low rasp as he began to move. He wasn't just having sex; he was mating with you, his body clinging to yours, his movements powerful and possessive. "Mmh," He wrapped his arms tightly around you, pulling you flush against his chest, thrusting hard and fast now, the rhythm of his hips urgent and demanding. He leaned down, kissing you fiercely, his tongue tangling with yours as he kept up his relentless pace inside you. He groaned, a long, drawn-out sound of pure sensation, his body shuddering against yours. "Aahh," He emptied himself deep inside you, pouring his cum into your already full core. He collapsed onto you for a moment, heavy and breathless, his heart hammering against your chest. Then, with a final, lingering sigh of release, he pulled back, leaving you saturated and utterly spent.
You were shaking uncontrollably, your body aching in places you didn't know could ache. You felt used, violated, a rag doll tossed between them. You just wanted it to be over. You closed your eyes, trying to block it all out.
Then, Zayne was there. He lifted you gently from the billiard table, carrying you towards the massive, plush couch. You were too tired to resist, too weak to even protest. He set you down on the soft cushions. You looked up at him, begging silently with your eyes.
"Mmh, p-please," you whispered, your voice hoarse. "Stop."
He looked down at you, his green eyes holding a complex mix of exhaustion and something else you couldn't decipher. He wasn't smiling, wasn't smirking like the others. "Can't, Honey," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "Stressful day at work. Need to unwind." He leaned down, his lips finding your neck. He began to suck, hard, leaving a stinging mark just below your jawline. "Nhh," You whimpered as he bit down gently, marking you as his.
Without another word, without any warning, he adjusted himself and slammed his hard dick into you.
"Ahhngh" You cried out, louder this time, a sound of pain and shock. He was rough, his movements efficient and deep. He grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand, effectively trapping you on the couch. "That's ah.. a good sound, Honey," he murmured, his face impassive as he began to fuck you hard, pushing deep inside you with every thrust. His rhythm was relentless, pounding you into the couch cushions.
Sylus, Caleb, Rafayel, and Xavier were watching from nearby, talking among themselves, laughing. They didn't seem to care about your distress; they were just enjoying the show."Fuck.. ah hhahh.." Zayne kept going, his focus solely on his own release, driving into you until he groaned, a deep, guttural sound, and climaxed inside you, his body rigid for a moment before he slumped slightly, still holding your wrists.
After Zayne finished, he pulled out. But the 'game' wasn't over.
They did it again. On the couch. On the living room's chaise lounge. Against the wall. Even hoisted onto the massive mahogany coffee table, their faces flushed with exertion and satisfaction. They took turns, sometimes two at once, sometimes one after the other, using your body until they were completely satisfied, until you were trembling, slick, and utterly empty.
You were exhausted beyond belief, muscles screaming, your core a raw, throbbing ache. Your skin was covered in marks, your mouth stinging, your throat raw from suppressed cries.
And then, it was over. They finally stopped, gathering around, some pulling on clothes, others still naked, looking down at your battered, exhausted form. Their eyes held a mixture of possessiveness and satisfaction.
Now you knew. Now you understood completely why the other maids had quit. It wasn't the work; it was them. This was what they did. You were their plaything, their release, trapped in their gilded cage.
You lay there, body heavy and aching, mind reeling. It was brutal, overwhelming, non-consensual...
And yet.
As you took shallow, trembling breaths, feeling the phantom weight of them inside you, feeling the lingering heat on your skin, a strange, unsettling thought surfaced through the exhaustion and pain. You couldn't deny it. Amidst the violation, there had been moments... moments that felt intensely good. The forbidden pleasure, the sheer force of their attention, the feeling of being completely claimed and used...
You had lived alone for so long, felt so invisible. Now, for the first time, you had felt the intense, undivided touch of five men. Possessive, yes. Cruel, undeniably. But also... undeniably there. Filling the emptiness you hadn't even realized was so profound.
You were tired. So achingly tired. But you couldn't entirely lie to yourself. That terrifying but also good.
NSFW, Fanfiction, Not for kids!, 18+, Dominance, BDSM
What if They Caught You Watching Porn in Their Bedroom? 🔞💦
🔞 Please be advised: This story contains explicit sexual content, including descriptions of masturbation and consensual sexual interaction, and explores themes of possessiveness and dominance by the character. Reader discretion is advised.
Okay Hunter (MC/You) here are five individual scenarios depicting how each of the Love and Deepspace characters would react if they walked in on you watching porn in their bedroom within this alternative universe.
1. Rafayel
You were sprawled out across Rafayel's ridiculously soft bed, letting the afternoon sun warm your face. He was supposed to be at the studio, sketching or dealing with some gallery drama. Perfect time for... research. You'd found a particularly interesting video online and were completely engrossed, the screen glowing with explicit details.
Suddenly, the bedroom door burst open with a cheerful, slightly dramatic flourish.
"Cutie! I'm home! Guess what I got you-"
You jumped, slamming the laptop shut with a speed you didn't know you possessed. Your face instantly flamed, blood rushing to your cheeks. Rafayel stood in the doorway, eyes wide not with anger, but with surprise, his signature playful grin already starting to form. He had a small box in his hand, likely a gift.
He tilted his head, purple eyes sparkling with mischief. "Whoa there, Miss Bodyguard. What's got you looking like a ripe tomato?" He took a step closer, his gaze flicking towards the closed laptop on the bed. "And what were you hiding?"
He sat on the edge of the bed, leaning in conspiratorially. "Don't tell me... were you watching something spicy?" He wiggled his eyebrows, completely unashamed. "Getting ideas, Cutie?"
Your embarrassment was a physical wave. "N-no! It was... uh... a documentary!"
He let out a light, musical laugh. "A 'documentary,' huh? Does it feature... anatomy in great detail?" He leaned closer still, his voice dropping to a playful purr. "You know, you don't have to watch static images on a screen when you have the real thing right here. Isn't my physique much more... artistically inspiring?"
He reached out and gently traced the line of your jaw, his grin turning softer but still full of knowing charm. "Maybe I could offer a private, live-action tutorial instead? Much more... interactive, don't you think?" He didn't seem jealous, just highly amused and eager to turn the situation into a chance to tease and flirt.
"So," he whispered, his face close to yours, "about that 'documentary'... care to share what you learned?"
2. Zayne
You were in Zayne's impeccably neat bedroom. He had an emergency shift at the hospital, giving you unexpected free time in his quiet, sterile space. You'd been feeling a bit stressed lately and decided a distraction was in order. You found what you were looking for on your tablet, headphones on, lost in the private world on the screen.
The door opened quietly, no preamble, no loud entrance. You didn't even hear it until you felt a presence standing near the foot of the bed.
You pulled off your headphones with a gasp, the bright screen still visible in your lap. Zayne stood there, dressed in his scrubs, looking at you with his usual calm, intelligent gaze. His expression was unreadable for a moment, then his eyes drifted down to the tablet screen.
Your face felt like it was on fire. You fumbled with the device, trying to turn it off, wishing the floor would swallow you whole.
"Honey?" His voice was soft, carrying an unexpected hint of surprise but no harshness. He didn't look away from the screen immediately, his expression remaining composed, though you thought you saw the tiniest flicker of something in his green eyes.
Finally, he looked back at you, his expression gentle, almost clinical in its lack of judgment, yet with that specific tenderness he reserved only for you. "Is... everything alright, Baby?"
You stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence.
He walked closer, sitting carefully beside you on the bed. He didn't snatch the tablet or scold you. Instead, he just looked at you, his gaze steady and reassuring. "There's no need to be so flustered, Honey. It's... a natural human interest."
He paused, a very faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching his lips. "Though, I must admit, I'm curious. Are you... studying something specific?" His voice was low, simple, devoid of any overt flirtation, yet the implication hung in the air.
He reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "Perhaps if you have questions... or require further practical demonstration... you could just ask me, Baby." His eyes held yours, calm, rational, but with an underlying sweetness that made your heart flutter even amidst the embarrassment. "I'm always available to help you... understand."
3. Xavier
You were relaxing in Xavier's room, the one place you both felt truly safe after a long day hunting Wanderers. He'd said he was just grabbing something from his car. You took the opportunity to browse, and well, ended up on a site that definitely wasn't about alien biology. You were captivated by the on-screen action, forgetting about the world outside the glow of the screen.
The door opened slowly, and Xavier shuffled in, looking typically sleepy, eyes half-closed. "My Love, where did you put my..."
His voice trailed off as he saw you, eyes wide with surprise, laptop open on your lap. His sleepy haze vanished in an instant, replaced by sharp alertness as his gaze fell on the screen. His blue eyes narrowed slightly.
Your heart leaped into your throat. You slammed the laptop shut with a cringe. "Xavier! I... um..."
He stood straighter, the charm fading into a look of intense focus. He walked towards the bed, his earlier weariness completely gone. He sat down beside you, not roughly, but with a possessive closeness.
"My Love," he said, his voice low and serious, a hint of possessiveness already coloring it. "What were you watching?" He didn't wait for an answer, his eyes searching yours. "Why are you looking at that?"
His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking softly, but his gaze was firm, almost troubled. "Do you... do you need something more than I'm giving you?" The question was laced with insecurity and fierce protectiveness. "Why look at strangers... when you have me?"
He leaned closer, his scent of ozone and something uniquely him surrounding you. His voice dropped to a gravelly whisper. "Let me show you, My Love. Let me show you there's nothing on that screen that compares to what we have." He leaned in, kissing you with a depth that was both possessive and desperately wanting to prove his point.
"You only need me," he murmured against your lips, pulling you closer. "Just me, My Love."
4. Sylus
You were in Sylus's luxurious, almost intimidatingly large bedroom. He was out handling Onychinus business - something involving 'negotiations' and 'asset management'. You felt brave enough to occupy his space, and maybe just bold enough to indulge in something equally bold on your tablet. You were enjoying the explicit display when a deep voice cut through the silence.
"Well now, kitten. What have we here?"
You froze. Sylus stood in the doorway, a tall, commanding figure leaning casually against the frame. He wasn't smiling, but his dark red eyes held a glint of amusement and something undeniably predatory as they scanned you and then the tablet screen in your lap.
You snapped the tablet off, your face burning. "Sylus! You're back early!"
He pushed off the doorframe and walked slowly towards you, his movements smooth and confident. He didn't look surprised or embarrassed, only intrigued. "Early? Or just in time?" His gaze lingered on the tablet, then back to you, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "Getting ideas, sweetie?"
He reached the bed and stood over you, his sheer size making you feel like a tiny creature caught in his gaze. He reached down and gently took the tablet from your trembling hands, placing it aside without looking at it.
"You know, kitten," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated with power and charm. "I find it incredibly... stimulating... knowing you're in my personal space, thinking about carnal things." He leaned down, bracing his hands on either side of you on the bed, trapping you.
"But," he continued, his voice turning more dominant, "didn't I tell you? The only man you need to study... is me." He lowered himself further, his face close to yours, his eyes intense. "Let me show you how a real man pleases his sweetie. Let me show you all the things you were only dreaming about."
His smirk widened, bold and unapologetic. "No need for a screen, kitten. The show is live, and you have a front-row seat."
5. Caleb
You were in Caleb's room, which was a chaotic mix of military neatness and personal indulgence. He was often away on duty, leaving you to occupy his space when you missed him. You were watching something particularly intense on your laptop, lost in the visuals, when the door swung open sharply behind you.
"Pipsqueak? Thought I'd find you here." His voice was light, playful, but there was an undercurrent of something else you knew well.
You flinched, spinning around, trying to hide the screen. Your face must have given you away instantly. Caleb stood there, already shedding his jacket, but his playful expression vanished as he saw your reaction and the laptop on the bed. His black eyes, usually warm with affection, turned sharp and intense, the purple depth within them seeming to darken.
He didn't say anything else immediately. He just walked towards the bed, his footsteps deliberate. He reached you and his hand shot out, not to touch you gently, but to snatch the laptop closed with a sharp snap.
"What the hell were you watching?" His voice was no longer playful. It was low, rough, laced with possessiveness and a controlled fury. His eyes bored into yours, demanding an answer.
Your breath hitched. The casual charm was gone, replaced by the dark, obsessive side you knew existed beneath the surface. "Caleb, I... it was just..."
He leaned over you, his body language dominating, trapping you against the headboard. "Just what, Pipsqueak? Looking at other people? Imagining things with someone who isn't me?" His grip on the laptop tightened, his knuckles turning white.
"Didn't I make it clear?" he growled, his voice dangerously soft. "You belong to me. Your eyes are only for me. Your thoughts are only for me." He tossed the laptop carelessly onto the floor. "Why do you need that when you have me?"
He leaned in closer, his face inches from yours, his intensity overwhelming. "You will only see these things with me, Pipsqueak. Only me." He gripped your chin firmly, his thumb tracing your lip. "Now, let me remind you who you belong to." His kissed you, not sweetly, but with demanding possessiveness, a clear statement of ownership. "You're mine. And you will never look at anyone else like that again. Understand?"
🔞 Please be advised: This story contains explicit sexual content, including descriptions of masturbation and consensual sexual interaction, and explores themes of possessiveness and dominance by the character. Reader discretion is advised.
_________________________________________
The quiet hum of the city outside your apartment window was usually a soothing backdrop, but tonight, it barely registered. A warmth was building within you, a familiar tension that demanded release. Left alone with your thoughts and needs, you had sought solitude in your bedroom, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting intimate shadows.
You were reclined against your pillows, your breath catching in your throat as your fingers explored sensitive skin, tracing patterns that intensified the building pressure. A soft moan escaped your lips, a fragile sound lost in the private sanctuary you had created. Your eyes were half-closed, lost in the physical sensations, the world outside this moment receding. You were on the cusp, trembling with anticipation, utterly absorbed in the journey your own body was taking you on...
And then, a sound. A door clicking open, footsteps, a voice calling your name...
1. Rafayel
A cheerful, slightly breathless call echoes from the living room, "Cutie? Miss Bodyguard, are you in here?"
You freeze, your hand still. Panic shoots through you. You scramble to pull your shorts back up, to cover yourself, your face burning crimson. But it's too late. The bedroom door is already pushed open gently, revealing Rafayel.
"R-rafayel,"
He stops dead in the doorway, his dark purple hair a soft halo around his face, his purple eyes wide. The cheerful expression he wore moments ago melts into something unreadable – a mix of surprise, curiosity, and a sudden, intense focus that locks entirely onto you.
His gaze drops to your still-shaking hand, the flushed skin of your chest visible where your shirt is slightly askew, the frantic way you're trying to compose yourself. He doesn't look away. His expression shifts again, softening slightly, but a possessive heat enters his eyes.
He speaks, his voice dropping to a low, warm timbre that's suddenly laced with something dark and hungry you rarely hear. "Oh, Cutie," he murmurs, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. He doesn't approach immediately, just leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, his purple eyes never leaving you.
"You called for me to help, didn't you, Miss Bodyguard?" he asks, though it's more of a statement, a playful challenge beneath the surface. A slow, dangerous smile spreads across his lips. "Or were you just... holding a spot for me?" He pushes off the door, strolling towards the bed with a predator's grace. "Looks like you got started without me. Naughty, naughty..." His voice is a purr now, laced with a possessive jealousy that makes your breath hitch. "Don't worry, though. I'm here now. Let me show you how much better it is when I help you finish." He sits on the edge of the bed, reaching out to gently take your hand. His fingers intertwine with yours, guiding it, his eyes burning into yours. "Let me take care of you properly, hm? Just for me. Only for me."
2. Zayne
The soft click of a key in the lock is followed by the familiar measured tread of Zayne's footsteps. "Honey? I'm home."
You flinch, pulling your hand away as if burned. He pauses in the doorway, his black hair neatly styled, his green eyes scanning the room. His usual composed demeanor is slightly unsettled by the sight of you, flushed and disheveled.
He doesn't say anything initially, his gaze sharp and assessing as a doctor's. He takes in your rapid breathing, the slightly trembling of your hands where they're now clasped together in your lap, the tell-tale blush staining your cheeks and neck. His expression remains neutral, but there's an intensity in his green eyes that speaks volumes. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
Slowly, deliberately, he closes the door behind him. He walks towards the bed, his movements economical and precise. He sits down carefully beside you, not touching you, but his presence is a sudden, grounding weight.
He finally speaks, his voice low and quiet, devoid of judgment, but laced with a deep undercurrent of concern and something else... a quiet possessiveness. "Baby." It's his usual pet name, but said with a gravity that makes your stomach clench. He doesn't ask what you were doing, he already knows.
Instead, he reaches out, taking one of your hands in his. His touch is cool, steady, anchoring. He gently rubs the back of your hand with his thumb. "Are you... okay?" he asks, his green eyes searching yours. It's a simple question, but packed with unspoken complexities. He pauses, then adds, his voice barely a whisper, "Why didn't you call me? You know you don't have to do that alone." His gaze drops to your lips, then back to your eyes. "I'm here, Honey. For anything you need. Always. Let me... let me help." His thumb strokes your hand again, before his fingers slide between yours, intertwining, a silent promise and a quiet claim.
3. Xavier
A soft rap on the door, followed by a mumbled "My Love? You in there?" The sound of your neighbor, Xavier, makes your heart leap into your throat not from excitement, but from pure, unadulterated panic.
You scramble to cover yourself, pulling the blanket up to your chin, praying you can disappear. But the door opens before you're ready, revealing Xavier, his silver hair slightly mussed, his blue eyes still holding a hint of sleepiness despite being wide with surprise.
His sleepy haze clears instantly as he takes in your state – the flushed face, the frantic movements, the way you're clutching the blanket. His blue eyes narrow slightly, and the usual gentle warmth in them is replaced by a sudden, intense focus that sends a shiver down your spine. His hand tightens on the doorknob.
He closes the door with a soft click, his gaze never leaving you. He doesn't say anything immediately, just stands there, observing. The air in the room suddenly feels heavier, charged. The protective aura that usually emanates from him is now tinged with a possessiveness you recognize from your hunts together, the way he guards you fiercely from wanderers, but turned unsettlingly inwards, towards you.
He finally speaks, his voice a low rumble, slightly rougher than usual. "My Love?" he questions softly, his blue eyes scanning your face, your body language. He takes a step closer, then another, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey.
He reaches the edge of the bed, his hand hovering near your leg, not touching. "Were you... needing something?" he asks, his voice dropping lower. His eyes flick down to the hand you had hidden beneath the blanket, then back up to yours. A possessive darkness enters his gaze. "You should have just told me, My Love," he murmurs, leaning in closer. "I'm right here. I'm always here." He raises his hand, gently brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. "Don't ever hide what you need from me. Especially not... this." His voice is a deep whisper now, laced with possessive hunger. He leans down further, his breath warm on your ear. "Let me help you, My Love. Let me show you everything I can do for you. Only for you."
4. Sylus
A firm, confident knock echoes, followed almost immediately by the door opening without waiting for permission. Sylus stands in the doorway, a towering figure in a perfectly tailored suit, his silver hair catching the light, his dark red eyes scanning the room with the practiced ease of a man accustomed to taking charge.
He stops, his dark red eyes fixing on you. The hint of a smirk playing on his lips vanishes instantly, replaced by an intense, unreadable expression. His gaze sweeps over you, lingering on your flushed face and the way you're trying to conceal yourself. He doesn't look away, his presence dominating the room.
He steps inside, closing the door behind him. He doesn't rush, his movements smooth and powerful. He doesn't need to say anything to command attention. The air crackles with his energy, his usual bold confidence now laced with a dangerous edge of curiosity and something overtly dominant.
He walks towards the bed, his dark red eyes never leaving yours. He stops at the edge, looking down at you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. He finally speaks, his voice a low, rumbling baritone, laced with amusement and a blatant, carnal interest. "Well, well, well," he drawls, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his lips. "What do we have here, kitten? Playing by yourself?"
"D-daddy,"
He reaches out, his large hand gently but firmly covering yours where it rests on the blanket. He doesn't move your hand, just presses his down, a silent assertion of dominance. "Didn't know you were feeling lonely, sweetie," he purrs, his dark red eyes burning into yours. "You should have called me. I'm an expert at keeping you company." His thumb strokes the back of your hand slowly. "No need to do this alone when you have me. I can show you things you never even imagined." He leans down, his voice dropping to a low, seductive whisper, closer to your ear. "Let me take over, kitten. Let me show you what it's like when daddy helps you play. You'll like it so much more, trust me."
5. Caleb
The door is pushed open roughly, without a knock. Caleb stands there, already inside your space, his black hair slightly disheveled, his purple eyes hot and intense as they immediately find you. He's breathing slightly hard, as if he's rushed here.
He sees you, and his expression shifts instantly from whatever was on his face before to a look of absolute, burning possessiveness. His purple eyes zero in on your flushed skin, the way you flinched, the hand you instinctively tried to hide. His jaw clenches, and his beautiful face hardens into something undeniably dark.
"Caleb- it's not- i.. i just.. "
He doesn't close the door – he doesn't need to; his presence is already an impenetrable barrier. He stalks towards the bed, his movements quick and predatory. There's no gentleness, no hesitation. He is here, and he sees you.
He reaches the bed, his large hand reaching out and roughly pulling the blanket down, exposing you. His purple eyes rake over you, burning with an intensity that is both thrilling and terrifying. His voice, when he speaks, is a low, dangerous growl, laced with pure obsession. "Pipsqueak."
He doesn't ask what you were doing. He doesn't ask if you're okay. His focus is solely on the fact that you were doing this without him. He grabs your hand, the one you had been using, his grip firm, almost painfully tight. "What do you think you're doing?" he demands, his voice rough. "Why are you touching yourself like that when I'm right here?" His purple eyes flash possessively. He leans down, his face close to yours, his breath hot against your skin. "You shouldn't be needing anyone else, Pipsqueak. Not even yourself." He releases your hand only to slide his own under your shirt, his fingers already exploring, his touch hot and demanding. "You only need me to feel good. Only me. I'll make sure you remember that. I'll make sure you only cum for me."
Let's begin, Princess. You stand at the precipice of a grand ballroom, the shimmering lights of Philos casting a warm glow on your playful smile. You are a Princess, the darling of the court, known for your bright laughter and even brighter spirit - a stark contrast to the stoicism usually expected of royalty. Across the room, a figure stands sentinel, more a force of nature than a man. That is Caleb, your knight, your protector, woven into the very fabric of your life since childhood. He is the embodiment of strength, sculpted muscle beneath polished armor, a smoldering intensity in his gaze that sets whispers fluttering among the ladies. They call him breathtaking, devastatingly handsome - and they wouldn't be wrong.
But to you, Caleb is simply... Caleb. In the bustling halls of the palace, he addresses you with utmost formality, "Your Majesty," a deep rumble that vibrates through the very air. Yet, steal away to the secluded gardens, or the quiet sanctuary of your chambers, and the mask melts. Then, you are just "Princess" to him, a familiar, affectionate murmur that speaks volumes of a bond forged in shared childhood adventures and unwavering loyalty. What the court does not see, what they are oblivious to in their admiration of the imposing knight and the radiant princess, is the silent language that flows between you two, the glances that linger a fraction too long, the unspoken understanding that binds your souls. Caleb loves you. A love as silent and steadfast as the stars, a secret he guards more fiercely than he guards your life. And tonight, at this grand ball, even amidst the swirling gowns and forced smiles, you feel the weight of that unspoken truth, a silent hum in the air between you.
Part 1
The orchestra swells as you gracefully navigate the dance floor, a kaleidoscope of colors and polite smiles blurring around you. Lord Harrington, a Duke with more land than charm, attempts to steer you into a waltz, his eyes lingering a beat too long on your décolletage. You deflect his advances with a gentle laugh, a playful remark about needing to catch your breath. He is persistent, though, his hand lingering on your waist. Across the room, you feel Caleb's gaze like a physical touch, hot and unwavering. He stands by the wall, a silent guardian, his posture impeccable, yet you can sense the tension radiating from him. His eyes, dark pools in the flickering candlelight, never leave you, tracking your every movement, every interaction. You see the subtle clench of his jaw when the Duke's hand brushes your arm again, the almost imperceptible tightening of his grip on his goblet. Jealousy, a green-eyed serpent, coils around him, though his face remains an impassive mask.
Enough is enough. You excuse yourself from the Duke with a polite curtsy, his disappointment barely concealed behind a veneer of aristocratic charm. As you move away, your eyes find Caleb's again, a silent conversation passing between you. You approach him, your steps light, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Caleb," you say, your voice just loud enough to carry over the music, "Would you be so kind as to escort me back to my chambers? I suddenly feel rather... unwell."
His composure cracks instantly. Worry creases his brow, his eyes darkening with concern. "Your highness? Are you alright?" His formal address is automatic, but the underlying anxiety is genuine.
"Just a touch dizzy," you murmur, placing a delicate hand on your temple. "Perhaps the heat of the ballroom."
Without hesitation, he steps forward, his strong arm a steady presence at your elbow. "Of course, Your Highness. Let us go at once." As you walk, he is a pillar of support, his pace perfectly attuned to yours. You feel secure, protected within his orbit.
The corridor is quieter, the music fading to a distant hum. Caleb sheds his heavy cloak in one fluid motion, the rich fabric falling like dark water. Before you can protest, he gently drapes it around your shoulders, the warmth and scent of him enveloping you. "For warmth, Princess," he murmurs, the informal address slipping out in his concern.
You smile, a genuine, soft smile that reaches your eyes. "Thank you, Caleb." And then, you let your act deepen. You sway slightly, your head swimming just as planned. You let out a soft gasp, your knees threatening to buckle.
In an instant, Caleb is there, his arm scooping you up before you can even stumble. You find yourself cradled against his chest, strong arms holding you securely. You look up into his face, his eyes stormy with worry, the green serpent of jealousy forgotten in the face of your supposed distress.
"Princess!" he exclaims, his voice rough with alarm. He doesn't hesitate, lifting you effortlessly into a bridal carry. Your arms instinctively loop around his neck, your breath catching at the sudden intimacy. He is so close, his warmth radiating through his tunic, the scent of leather and steel and him filling your senses.
"Summon a physician!" he commands, his voice echoing down the corridor. Maids scramble from the shadows, their eyes wide with concern, rushing to obey his order as he strides purposefully towards your chambers, you held securely in his arms.
Part 2
After a flurry of concerned maids and a rather flustered physician who declared you simply overheated and in need of rest (you managed a convincing pale face and a weak voice), you were tucked into your silken sheets. Caleb, ever the dutiful knight, stood guard just outside your chamber doors, a silent sentinel in the dimly lit hallway.
An hour passed, the palace settling into a quiet hush. You called softly, "Caleb?"
The door creaked open almost immediately, and he was there, his imposing figure filling the doorway. "Your Highness? Are you alright? Is there anything you need?" His voice was low, laced with worry.
"Come in, Caleb," you beckoned, gesturing to the chair beside your bed with a languid wave of your hand. He hesitated for a moment, then stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. He remained standing, stiff and formal, even in the intimacy of your chambers.
"Sit, Caleb," you insisted, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "You look like you're about to face down a dragon, not a slightly overheated princess."
He finally settled into the chair, though still perched on the edge, his gaze fixed on you, searching, concerned. "Are you truly feeling better, Princess?"
"Much better, thanks to your swift action," you said, your smile widening. "Though, perhaps carrying me bridal style was a tad... excessive?" You teased, a mischievous glint in your eyes.
A rare blush crept up his neck, staining his cheeks a delightful shade of crimson. "I... I was concerned for your well-being, Your Majesty." He stammered slightly, the usually unflappable knight momentarily flustered.
You chuckled softly. "Relax, Caleb. I'm just teasing." You leaned forward slightly, your playful demeanor shifting to something softer, more intimate. "Tell me, did you truly think I was about to faint?"
He met your gaze, his eyes locking with yours. The formal façade melted away, replaced by a raw vulnerability that made your heart skip a beat. "I... I was terrified, Princess." His voice was barely a whisper, husky with emotion.
"Terrified?" you prompted gently, intrigued by this glimpse beneath his armor.
He shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with such open emotion. "You are... precious, Princess. The thought of you being harmed..." He trailed off, unable to articulate the depth of his feelings.
Silence settled between you, thick with unspoken words, with years of suppressed emotions. You looked at him, really looked at him. The strong lines of his jaw, the slight scar above his brow, the way his dark hair fell across his forehead - all the familiar details suddenly sharpened, imbued with a new intensity. He looked back at you, his gaze no longer formal, no longer merely protective, but something deeper, something yearning, something that mirrored the ache in your own heart.
The air crackled, the unspoken tension reaching a fever pitch. You leaned forward, drawn to him as if by an invisible force. Your hand reached out, hesitantly, and rested on his arm, the warmth of his skin radiating through his tunic. His gaze dropped to your hand, then lifted back to meet yours, his eyes dark and questioning.
And then, without conscious thought, without hesitation, you leaned in further, closing the space between you. Your eyes fluttered shut as your lips met his.
The kiss was tentative at first, a soft brush of lips against lips, a question and an answer in a single touch. Then, as if a dam had broken, years of unspoken longing poured forth. His lips parted beneath yours, and you deepened the kiss, a soft sigh escaping your lips as his arms came around you, pulling you closer, closer, until there was no space left between you. The world outside your chamber faded away, leaving only the taste of him, the feel of his strong arms, the burning connection that had finally, irrevocably ignited.
Part 3
The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more demanding. Caleb's hand moved from your arm to cradle the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the angle. Your own hands moved to his shoulders, gripping his tunic, pulling him closer still. You felt the heat of his body against yours, the hard muscles beneath the fabric, the intoxicating scent of him filling your senses.
He broke the kiss, gasping for breath, his forehead resting against yours. His breath was ragged, his voice husky as he spoke, "Hah, Princess..."
Then, he shifted, moving closer still, until he was kneeling beside the bed, his body half-leaning over you. He braced his hands on either side of you, trapping you beneath him, his gaze burning into yours. "Princess," he repeated, his voice thick with emotion, "I... I can't... I've loved you for so long. I can't resist anymore."
He confessed it then, the secret he had guarded for years, the love that had been simmering beneath the surface of duty and formality. The words hung in the air between you, charged with unspoken desire, with years of longing.
And you, breathless and flushed from the kiss, your heart pounding a wild rhythm against your ribs, you looked up at him, at the raw vulnerability in his eyes, and you knew you couldn't deny it any longer. "Caleb," you whispered, your voice trembling, "I... I love you too."
Relief washed over his face, chasing away the tension, replaced by a radiant, almost disbelieving joy. He lowered his head again, his lips finding yours once more, this time with a fierce tenderness, a possessive urgency that made your senses reel.
This kiss was different, deeper, fueled by the open declaration of your shared love. He kissed you with a hunger that mirrored your own, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips, then slipping inside, exploring the sweet depths of your mouth. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper into the kiss, lost in the intoxicating sensation of being held, of being loved, of finally, finally being his.
When you finally broke apart, breathless and giddy, you both dissolved into laughter, light and airy, the release of pent-up emotions bubbling forth. You giggled, burying your face in his shoulder, the sound echoing softly in the quiet chamber. He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest that vibrated against you, holding you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you.
For a long moment, you simply lay there, intertwined, breathing each other in, the laughter fading into comfortable silence. Then, as the warmth of his body and the lingering dizziness from your earlier feigned illness began to catch up with you, a yawn escaped your lips.
He instantly tensed, pulling back slightly, his eyes filled with concern. "Princess, you are still unwell," he murmured, misunderstanding your exhaustion.
"No," you said softly, reaching out to cup his face, tracing the strong line of his jaw with your thumb. "I am... happy. And a little sleepy."
Understanding dawned in his eyes, softening his features. He smiled, a tender, loving smile that made your heart melt. "Rest, Princess," he whispered, kissing your forehead gently. "I will stay here."
He settled back beside you, his arm still around you, holding you close. You nestled against him, the warmth of his body a comforting presence. He could have taken you then, in that moment of raw desire and confessed love. But he didn't. He held you, gently, respectfully, his own desires held firmly in check because you were still, in his eyes, "unwell." And as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you knew, with absolute certainty, that you had given your heart to a man who would cherish it, protect it, and love you with a fierceness that burned brighter than any crown.
Part 4
You awoke to the soft morning light filtering through the silken curtains, feeling gloriously rested and... different. A smile bloomed on your lips as you remembered the events of the previous night, the stolen kisses, the whispered confessions, the overwhelming feeling of being loved. You stretched languidly, feeling a lightness in your step, a joy that bubbled up from within.
The maids entered soon after, their usual morning routine taking on a new, almost celebratory air. They fussed over your bath, the scented oils swirling in the warm water, their gentle murmurs and knowing smiles hinting that perhaps they weren't as oblivious to the unspoken tensions between you and Caleb as you had thought.
Dressed in a light, flowing gown of pale rose silk, your hair cascading in soft waves around your shoulders, you felt radiant, vibrant. "Send word to Caleb," you instructed, a playful lilt to your voice. "Tell him I require his... presence."
A few moments later, he appeared at your chamber door, his expression a mixture of concern and anticipation. He stepped inside, his gaze immediately locking with yours. He was dressed in his usual tunic, his hair slightly tousled, his eyes still holding that smoldering intensity that made your heart flutter.
"Princess," he began, his voice low, his eyes scanning you, searching for any sign of lingering illness. "How are you feeling this morning?"
You smiled, a slow, radiant smile that lit up your face. "Much better, Caleb," you said, stepping towards him, your bare feet silent on the plush carpet. You reached out, taking his hands in yours, your fingers intertwining with his. "In fact, I feel... wonderful."
His gaze softened, a smile mirroring yours spreading across his face, chasing away the residual worry. He squeezed your hands gently, his thumb stroking your knuckles. "I am glad, Princess."
And then, he leaned in, his eyes dropping to your lips. He kissed you, softly at first, a gentle exploration, a reaffirmation of the night before. Then, as your own lips parted beneath his, the kiss deepened, becoming more passionate, more demanding.
You blushed, a delightful warmth spreading through your cheeks as you kissed him back, your hands moving to cup his face, drawing him closer. He tasted of morning, of warmth, of him. The kiss went on and on, a silent conversation of desire and unspoken promises.
He broke the kiss, breathless, his forehead resting against yours. "Princess," he murmured, his voice husky with need, "I...hah, last night, I held back because you were unwell. But now..." He trailed off, his eyes searching yours, a question unspoken but clear in his gaze.
You looked at him, at the raw desire in his eyes, the unspoken plea, and your own desire mirrored his. You knew what he was asking, and you wanted it, craved it, yearned for it with every fiber of your being.
You nodded, just a small, almost imperceptible nod, but it was enough.
A low groan escaped his lips, a sound of both relief and anticipation. "Mmh," He kissed you again, fiercely, passionately, his hands moving to cup your face, then sliding down your neck, tracing the delicate line of your collarbone, then lower, to the soft curve of your breasts beneath the silk of your gown.
He pulled back just slightly, his eyes burning into yours, his voice rough with need. "Princess, ah are you sure? Can I...?" He couldn't bring himself to say the words, but the question hung heavy in the air between you. Consent, respect, desire - all intertwined in his gaze.
You nodded again, more firmly this time, your eyes locking with his, your own desire mirroring his. You reached out, your hand tracing the strong line of his jaw, then pulling him closer, whispering against his lips, "Yes, Caleb. Please."
And then, all restraint shattered. He kissed you again, a kiss that was no longer tentative, no longer questioning, but a full-blown assault on your senses. He swept you up into his arms, carrying you to your bed, laying you down gently amidst the silken sheets.
He shed his tunic quickly, his movements urgent, his eyes never leaving yours. He was magnificent, all sculpted muscle and raw masculinity, the warrior stripped bare, vulnerable and powerful all at once. He knelt beside you, his gaze worshipping, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for the ties of your gown.
The silk whispered as it slid down your body, revealing you to his gaze. He drew in a sharp breath, his eyes darkening with desire, with awe. "You are... beautiful, Princess," he breathed, his voice rough with emotion.
And then, he was upon you, his body pressing against yours, the heat of him igniting a fire within you. He kissed you again, deeper this time, his tongue plunging into your mouth, mimicking the act to come. His hands moved over your body, exploring every curve, every inch of skin, igniting sparks with every touch.
You moaned softly as his lips trailed down your neck, nipping and sucking at your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His hand slid between your legs, finding the sensitive nub between your thighs, and you gasped, arching against his touch.
"Caleb...ah," you moaned, your voice breathless, your body arching with need.
He looked at you, his eyes filled with a fierce possessiveness, a burning desire that mirrored your own. "Yes, Princess?" he murmured, his voice rough against your ear.
"Please," you whispered, your hips lifting instinctively towards his hand.
He needed no further encouragement. His fingers worked their magic, driving you wild with pleasure, until you were writhing beneath him, begging for release. And then, finally, he shifted, positioning himself between your legs, his gaze locking with yours.
"Are you ready, Princess?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
"Yes," you breathed, your eyes wide with anticipation, with desire, with love. "Yes, Caleb, please."
He entered you then, slowly at first, stretching you, filling you, until he was buried deep within you. You gasped, a sharp intake of breath as pleasure and a slight sting collided. He paused, waiting for you to adjust, his eyes searching yours, filled with concern.
"A-are you alright?" he murmured, his voice low.
You nodded, your breath catching, the initial discomfort giving way to a burgeoning pleasure. "Yes," you whispered, "Mh, Don't stop."
And he didn't. He began to move, slowly at first, then with increasing rhythm and intensity. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure rippling through you, building, intensifying, until you were lost in a sea of sensation. You moaned his name, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your body arching up to meet his every thrust.
"Princess... ah, ahh..." he groaned, his voice ragged, his body slick with sweat. He moved faster, harder, driving you both higher and higher towards the precipice. The world narrowed to just the two of you, the feel of his body inside yours, the rhythm of your movements, the gasps and moans that filled the chamber.
And then, the world exploded. A wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure washed over you, consuming you, shattering you into a million pieces and then putting you back together again, stronger, brighter, more alive than ever before. You cried out, your body convulsing around him as you reached your peak.
"Hahh," Caleb followed close behind, his own release a raw, guttural sound as he thrust into you one last time, burying himself deep, his body shuddering as he emptied himself inside you.
He collapsed on top of you, his weight heavy, his breath ragged against your neck. You held him close, your arms wrapped tightly around him, your bodies slick with sweat, intertwined, inseparable.
After a long, breathless moment, he shifted, rolling to his side, pulling you with him, holding you nestled against his chest. He kissed your forehead, his touch tender, loving. "Princess," he murmured, his voice soft, "Thats amaizing,"
You smiled, a sleepy, contented smile, burying your face in his chest. "So are you, Caleb," you whispered back, your voice husky with sated desire.
He held you close, stroking your hair, kissing your forehead again and again. "I love you," he murmured, the words soft, heartfelt, a promise whispered in the quiet intimacy of your chamber. "More than life itself."
And you looked up at him, your eyes shining with love, your heart overflowing with happiness. "I love you too, Caleb," you whispered back, and you knew, in that moment, that your life, and your love story, had only just begun.
NSFW, Not For Kids. 💋🔞💦 OC Fanfiction Lads Rafayel
Rafayel: Secret Library💦
You are a Princess of Philos, a kingdom known for its serene landscapes and wise rulers. But your world, vibrant and full of laughter, wasn't just defined by royal duties and courtly life. It was intertwined with Rafayel, the Prince of neighboring kingdom. From the time you both could toddle, Rafayel was a constant presence in your palace. He’d arrive with a mischievous glint in his dark purple eyes, his playful charm filling the halls with energy. You were his Princess, always, and he was just Rafayel, your dearest friend, a whirlwind of dark hair and playful smiles. You, with your own blooming beauty, found in him a kindred spirit, someone who understood the unspoken language of childhood dreams and shared adventures. Your days were filled with games and study, side-by-side, shaping a bond that felt as natural as breathing.
Part 1
"Race you to the maze!" Rafayel's voice, always a melody to your ears, pulled you from your embroidery. Sunlight streamed through the palace windows, beckoning you outdoors. "You're on!" you laughed, dropping the needle and thread onto the silken cushion.
You both burst through the palace doors and raced towards the sprawling garden, a kaleidoscope of colors and scents. The maze, a tall, green labyrinth, awaited your playful chase. You dodged and weaved through the leafy corridors, Rafayel’s laughter echoing close behind. "Not so fast, Princess!" he called, his hand reaching out to playfully tug at your trailing ribbon.
Finally, you reached your secret spot, a small clearing hidden deep within the maze, a place you'd discovered as children, shrouded by fragrant jasmine and whispering willows. "Home base!" you declared, collapsing onto the soft grass, slightly breathless. Rafayel dropped down beside you, grinning. "Still the best hideout."
"Always," you agreed, leaning back against a willow trunk. "Want to play hide and seek? Like old times?"
"Of course, Princess. You hide first." Rafayel covered his eyes with his hands, turning away, and started counting. You giggled, scrambling behind a thicket of roses, their petals brushing softly against your cheek. Silence fell except for Rafayel's muffled counting. Then, a sharp crack echoed through the garden.
Before you could react, the ground beneath you gave way. A startled yelp escaped your lips as you tumbled downwards, the scent of earth filling your nostrils. Darkness enveloped you, and you landed with a soft thud on something cool and dusty.
"Princess!" Rafayel's voice was laced with panic, echoing from above. "Amara, are you alright?!"
"I… I think so," you called back, your voice trembling slightly. "I fell… in a hole."
Moments later, a shadow fell over you, and Rafayel's worried face peered down into the darkness. "Are you hurt?" he asked urgently, clambering down into the hole, landing gracefully beside you.
"Just a bit shaken," you replied, brushing dust off your dress. Your eyes adjusted to the dim light, and you gasped. "Rafayel, look!"
The hole had opened up into a small, stone-lined passage. It was clearly not a natural cave but man-made. Curiosity replaced your fear. Hand in hand, you and Rafayel cautiously stepped into the passage. It sloped downwards, leading you into a surprisingly spacious basement. Dust lay thick on everything, cobwebs draped like ghostly curtains, but there was a strange sense of forgotten history here.
Following the passage further, you rounded a corner and stopped dead in your tracks. Before you, bathed in a soft, ethereal light filtering from some unseen source, was a library. Shelves lined every wall, reaching up into the shadows, overflowing with aged books and scrolls. The air smelled of old paper and forgotten stories.
"A secret library," you breathed, your eyes wide with wonder.
Rafayel was equally awestruck. "In your own palace garden? How is this possible?"
Excitement bubbled up inside you both. You and Rafayel had always been avid readers, spending hours lost in the pages of tales of bravery, magic, and faraway lands. A secret library? It was a dream come true.
Part 2
Days turned into weeks, and the secret library became your shared sanctuary. Every afternoon, after your lessons and duties, you and Rafayel would slip away to the garden maze and descend into your hidden world of books. You catalogued the collection together, marveling at the ancient tomes and forgotten histories.
One afternoon, while exploring a dusty corner, you stumbled upon a book unlike any you had seen before. It was bound in dark, unmarked leather, with no title on its spine. It was heavier than it looked, and the pages felt thick and strange beneath your fingers. "Your Highness, come look at this," you called, your voice hushed with intrigue.
He joined you, peering over your shoulder as you carefully opened the heavy book. Instead of words, the pages were filled with intricate drawings and paintings. But these were not illustrations of knights or dragons; they were depictions of men and women, intertwined in ways that made you blush, though you didn't quite understand why.
"What is this?" you whispered, your brow furrowed in confusion.
Rafayel tilted his head, studying the images with the same innocent curiosity. The drawings showed couples embracing, kissing, and then… other things. Limbs tangled together, bodies pressed close. Some drawings were clearer than others, showing male and female bodies in explicit detail.
"They're… hugging?" Rafayel ventured, pointing to a picture of two figures closely entwined. "Very… tightly."
"Yes, but… look," you pointed to another image, where the figures were positioned differently, their bodies joined in a way that seemed… strange. "What are they doing here?"
"Maybe… it's a dance?" Rafayel suggested, though his tone was uncertain. "A very close dance."
You both exchanged puzzled glances. Neither of you had ever seen anything like this. Words were often inadequate to describe the complexities of the adult world, but these images… they were even more perplexing. Yet, despite the confusion, or perhaps because of it, you found yourselves drawn to the book. You continued to turn the pages, studying the drawings, trying to decipher their meaning with innocent eyes.
Part 3
The images from the strange book lingered in your minds long after you left the secret library. You found yourself thinking about them during lessons, during meals, even as you drifted off to sleep. Rafayel, you knew, was equally intrigued. It became a shared puzzle, a mystery that drew you back to the library day after day.
"Maybe we should try to understand it better," Rafayel suggested one afternoon, his voice thoughtful. You were sitting together, the heavy book open between you, studying a drawing of a couple kissing.
"Understand what?" you asked, tilting your head. "What they are… doing?"
"Yes," he replied, a hint of daring entering his tone. "Maybe… maybe if we try to do what they are doing, we will understand."
You considered his words, a flutter of nervousness and excitement stirring within you. It seemed like a strange idea, and yet… curiosity was a powerful force.
"Like… like the kissing?" you asked hesitantly, pointing at the drawing.
Rafayel nodded, his dark eyes meeting yours. "Yes. Like the kissing."
A blush warmed your cheeks. You and Rafayel had shared innocent pecks on the cheek before, as friends, but this felt different. The drawing depicted a kiss that was… closer, more intimate.
"Okay," you whispered, your heart suddenly beating faster.
You both leaned in, hesitantly at first. Your lips met, softer than you expected, a gentle pressure. It was strange, unfamiliar, and yet… not unpleasant. You stayed like that for a moment, then pulled back, glancing at Rafayel.
"Well?" he asked, his eyes wide with anticipation. "Do you understand?"
You giggled, a nervous, shaky sound. "Not really," you admitted. "But… it felt… different."
"Different how?"
You shrugged, trying to find the words. "Strange… in my belly. Like… butterflies?"
Rafayel chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Butterflies? I felt something too. Maybe we need to try again?"
"Again?" you repeated, your voice a little breathy.
He nodded, leaning closer once more. This time, the kiss was less hesitant, a little longer. A warmth spread through you, a tingling sensation that wasn't just in your belly. The air in the library seemed to grow hotter, charged with an unspoken energy. When you finally broke apart, you were both slightly breathless, your cheeks flushed.
"Mmh, Still… butterflies," you managed, your voice a whisper.
"And… hah, and something else," Rafayel murmured, his gaze fixed on your lips. "Something… hot."
Part 4
You turned the page, your fingers trembling slightly. The next drawing was even more explicit. It depicted the male and female form in detail, pointing out… things you had never seen so clearly before. "That’s…" you stammered, your eyes wide.
"That’s… where babies come from, maybe?" Rafayel guessed, his voice low. "I think I read something about that once, in a very old book."
The drawing showed a man's… part, and a woman’s… part. And it showed them… together.
"They are… taking their clothes off," you observed, pointing to the next picture. "Should we… take our clothes off?" The thought made your heart race, a strange mix of fear and excitement churning in your chest.
Rafayel’s gaze flickered down to your dress, then back to your eyes. "Just… just the bottom ones?" he suggested hesitantly. "Like in the picture?"
It felt daring, almost forbidden, and yet the curiosity was overwhelming. With trembling fingers, you reached for the ties of your undergarments and loosened them, letting them fall to the dusty floor. Rafayel, his face flushed a deep crimson, fumbled with the buttons of his breeches, his own undergarments soon joining yours on the ground.
The next image showed the man positioned above the woman, their bodies pressed together. "Okay," Rafayel breathed, his voice husky. "Like this."
He moved closer, his body hovering over yours. You lay back on the dusty floor, the rough stones surprisingly cool against your skin. You could feel his breath warm on your face, his heartbeat thumping against yours. He positioned himself as in the drawing, his legs between yours. You felt a strange pressure against your… there.
"This is… strange," you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest.
"Yes," he agreed, his voice strained. "Very strange."
He moved a little, and suddenly, something pushed inside you. A sharp, unfamiliar sensation shot through you, a brief sting of pain. "Ahh!" You gasped, your eyes widening.
"Princess- A-are you alright?" Rafayel's voice was filled with concern.
"It… mh, it hurts a little," you whispered, tears pricking at your eyes.
But then, something shifted within him. "Ah, princess," A deeper, more primal instinct seemed to take over. He didn't stop, didn't pull back. Instead, he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, and began to move.
A low moan escaped your lips, involuntary, surprising even yourself. Rafayel made a similar sound, a guttural groan that vibrated against your skin. The initial sting faded, replaced by a new sensation, a throbbing ache that was… strangely not unpleasant.
He moved again, and again, his body pressing into yours, a rhythm taking hold. You gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into the fabric of his tunic. The air grew thick, heavy with the scent of dust and something else… something musky and intoxicating.
"Your highness, ah, mhh," you gasped, your breath coming in ragged bursts.
"Princess…" he groaned, his movements becoming faster, more insistent. He seemed to be losing himself in the sensation, his eyes half-closed, his face flushed and strained.
The pain was still there, a dull ache, but it was overshadowed by a growing heat, a building pressure deep within you. You felt yourself arching against him, your body responding in ways you didn't understand, couldn't control.
"What's happening?" you whimpered, your voice barely audible.
He didn't answer, just tightened his grip on you, his movements becoming frantic. Then, a wave of intense pleasure washed over him, a shudder racking his body. "Mhh! ahh," he cried out, his voice thick with raw sensation. He hugged you tighter, burying his face in your neck.
And then, something… exploded inside you too. A rush of heat, a wave of overwhelming sensation that made you cry out, your body clenching around him. A warm, thick liquid pulsed deep within you, filling you with a strange fullness.
Rafayel collapsed onto you, his weight heavy, his breathing ragged. You lay beneath him, panting, your heart pounding like a drum against your ribs. The world seemed to spin, the ancient library fading into a hazy blur.
After a long moment, he rolled off you, lying beside you on the dusty floor, still breathing heavily. You both stared up at the shadowy ceiling, the silence punctuated only by your gasping breaths.
Finally, you turned to him, your voice still trembling. "Was… was that… good?" you whispered, your cheeks flushed.
He turned to you, his purple eyes dark and intense. A slow smile spread across his face. "Yes, Princess," he murmured, his voice husky. "That was… very good."
And you knew, in that moment, with a strange certainty, that he was right. Despite the confusion, the pain, the strangeness of it all… it had been good. More than good. It had been… something else entirely.
Part 5
Days melted into weeks, and the secret library remained your hidden world. The strange book became your guide, its explicit drawings no longer perplexing, but rather, a map of uncharted territory. You and Rafayel explored its pages together, with a mixture of innocence and burgeoning desire, experimenting with the positions, learning the language of touch and sensation that the book so vividly depicted.
You learned about kissing that wasn't just pecks on the cheek, but deep, lingering kisses that stole your breath away. You learned about touches that sent shivers down your spine, about places on your body that hummed with pleasure when caressed. Each visit to the library was an exploration, a secret shared adventure that deepened the bond between you and Rafayel, transforming your childhood friendship into something far more complex and intoxicating.
The dusty basement became your private playground, the ancient books silent witnesses to your growing intimacy. The secrets you discovered within those pages, and within each other, became your own, a shared language of pleasure whispered only in the hushed silence of your hidden sanctuary. And you knew, with a thrill of excitement and a touch of forbidden knowledge, that this secret, this hidden library and the passions it had awakened, would forever remain yours and Rafayel's alone.
The salt-laced breeze of Whitesand Bay whips through your hair as you practically skip towards Rafayel's art studio. He'd called, just like always, his voice laced with that impatient cheerfulness you've come to adore. "Miss Bodyguard! Where are you? My muse is missing, and my canvas is weeping from neglect!" Honestly, the man was a drama king, but that's part of his charm, isn't it? You smile, the familiar scent of turpentine and paint already tickling your nose as you reach the vibrant blue door of his studio. He is clingy, and he hates waiting. But knowing Rafayel, the impatient wait will likely be forgotten the moment he sees you. And you, well, you can't deny you kind of love being his "Miss Bodyguard," even if your actual role is... girlfriend. Though, bodyguard sounds way cooler when he says it.
Part 1
The door bursts open before you even knock, Rafayel’s dazzling smile almost blinding in the afternoon sun. “Miss Bodyguard! Finally!” He pulls you inside, the studio a glorious chaos of colors and canvases. He’s even more handsome in person, his dark purple hair adorably messy, paint smudged on his cheek, and those purple eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Hey, Raf,” you laugh, letting him tug you further into the room. “I came as fast as I could, drama queen.”
“Drama? this is passion!” He winks, his arm already snaking around your waist. “But you know what this room is missing? Your touch.” He gestures to a blank canvas propped up on an easel. “Come Cutie, paint with me.”
“Paint? You know I’m more of a… stick figure artist,” you tease, but his enthusiasm is infectious.
“Nonsense! Art is feeling. And I feel… the need to teach you.” He grins, pulling out a fresh canvas and a palette of vibrant colours. “Sit, sit.” He pats his lap.
You raise an eyebrow playfully. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. Best seat in the studio.” He looks at you with those irresistible puppy-dog eyes, and you melt, giggling and settling onto his lap. It’s surprisingly comfortable, his warmth radiating through your clothes.
He hands you a brush loaded with a vibrant cerulean blue. “Now, imagine the ocean, Miss Bodyguard. The way it crashes, the way it whispers… let it flow onto the canvas.”
You tentatively touch the brush to the white surface, feeling a little self-conscious but also thrilled by his closeness. He gently guides your hand, his fingers warm and sure against yours. “See? Don’t be afraid. Just feel it.”
As he leans over, explaining about mixing colours, his cheek brushes against yours. A soft, fleeting kiss that makes your heart flutter. You glance up at him, a smile playing on your lips.
“Focus, Miss Bodyguard, focus!” he chuckles, but then nuzzles your cheek again, a longer, sweeter kiss this time. You giggle, trying to concentrate on the canvas, but his playful kisses keep distracting you. He kisses your cheek again and again, each one sending shivers down your spine.
“Rafayel,” you laugh, “stop it! I’m trying to paint!”
“But you’re so much more interesting than paint,” he murmurs, his breath tickling your ear. “You’re my masterpiece.”
He steals another quick kiss, making you burst into laughter. He’s being utterly ridiculous, ridiculously lovable, and ridiculously flirty. And you’re absolutely eating it up.
Part 2
As you start to get into the rhythm of painting – swirling blues and greens across the canvas, trying to capture the essence of the Whitesand Bay waves – Rafayel’s focus shifts again. He leans his head closer, his breath warm against your hair.
“Mmm, you smell amazing.” He gently inhales, his nose buried in your hair. “What is that perfume you’re wearing?”
You blush, suddenly self-conscious. “Just… just something my grandma gave me. Why?”
“Why?” He pulls back slightly, those golden eyes looking deeply into yours. “Because it’s intoxicating. Like wildflowers and sunshine.” He kisses your cheek again, soft and lingering.
You giggle, pushing playfully at his chest. “Hey.. Rafayel, stop! Really, I need to focus.”
He pauses, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Okay, okay.” He leans back a little, giving you some space… for all of two seconds. Then, his lips are back on your cheek, this time moving lower, tracing a path down towards your jawline.
He kisses along your jaw, then down your neck, each touch sending little sparks through you. You gasp softly, trying to keep your focus on the swirling colours of your painting, but it’s getting harder and harder.
“Mmh, Raf…?” you whisper, trying to sound firm, “stop, ah.. Seriously.”
He ignores you, his mouth now at the hollow of your throat, gently sucking at your skin. A wave of heat washes over you, your paintbrush slipping from your fingers and clattering to the wooden floor.
You instinctively move to pick it up, shifting on his lap. As you lean forward, your backside brushes against something undeniably hard and throbbing against his thigh. Rafayel lets out a low whine, his arms tightening around your waist, pulling you back against him.
“Woah!” you gasp, startled. “Rafayel!”
“Shhh, just… stop moving for a second,” he murmurs into your ear, his voice suddenly husky, different.
You freeze, your heart pounding against your ribs. He’s still hugging you from behind, his chest pressed against your back, his breath warm on your neck. And then, he starts to move his hips. Slowly, deliberately, grinding his bulge against your backside.
A gasp escapes your lips. You can feel him, very clearly, pressing against you. "Cutie," He whimpers again, a low, guttural sound, still holding you tightly. The scent of paint and turpentine is suddenly overwhelmed by something else, something hotter, more primal, radiating from him, and now, from you too.
Part 3
Just as you’re about to completely lose your grip on coherent thought, your phone buzzes loudly in your pocket, shattering the charged atmosphere. You groan inwardly, pulling it out to see Tara’s name flashing on the screen.
“Oh, damn it,” you mutter, pulling away from Rafayel slightly. “It’s Tara. I’m supposed to meet her for coffee…” You turn to face him, apologetic. “Sorry, Raf, I totally forgot.”
He looks at you, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his breathing slightly ragged. “Tara?” he repeats, his voice low. He reluctantly loosens his grip on you, letting you slide off his lap.
“Yeah, my bestie. We made plans ages ago.” You gather your things, feeling a strange mix of disappointment and relief. “I should probably go.”
You start to walk towards the door, feeling his gaze intensely on your back. You reach for the handle, but before you can open it, he’s there. He catches you, his arms wrapping around your waist from behind again, his body heat instantly engulfing you.
“Rafayel!” you breathe, your cheeks flushing crimson.
He nuzzles your neck again, his hold tightening. Then, with a decisive click, you hear the lock engage on the door. Your eyes widen. “Raf? What are you doing?”
He doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he smoothly scoops you up into his arms, lifting you effortlessly and carrying you towards a sturdy wooden table near the window, cluttered with art supplies. He gently lays you down on the table, amongst the scattered brushes and tubes of paint.
You look up at him, his face inches from yours, his eyes burning with desire. His body is pressed against yours, hip to hip, thigh to thigh. You can feel the heat radiating off him, feel the hard ridge of his desire against your stomach.
“Miss Bodyguard,” he whispers, his voice thick with passion, “I am so bad, so fucking horny right now.” He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “I need you. Just once. Before you go.”
You try to protest, to squirm away, but his body is a heavy weight on yours, trapping you against the hard table. He’s already lifting your skirt higher, his fingers brushing against your thigh, sending shivers of anticipation down your spine.
Resistance melts away. You surrender, the urgency in his eyes igniting a fire within you too. He fumbles with his belt buckle, the sound loud in the suddenly silent studio. Then, he’s pulling down his zipper, and you feel the hot, thick length of him pressing against you, right through your panties.
He positions himself between your legs, lifting your hips slightly. And then, he’s inside you. Hot, deep, filling you completely. "A-ah," You gasp, a surprised moan escaping your lips as pleasure explodes through your senses.
“Oh.. mmh, ah f-fuck..” he groans, starting to thrust, slow and deep at first, then faster, harder. You wrap your legs around his waist, meeting his rhythm, your moans echoing around the studio, mingling with his guttural sounds of pleasure.
“Ah- Raf… Rafayel…” you cry out, your body arching off the table. He thrusts deeper and deeper, his hands gripping your hips, holding you tight as he fucks you, his gaze locked on yours.
The sensations are overwhelming, building and building until a wave of pure ecstasy crashes over you. "I- rafayel!" You cry out his name as you come, your body convulsing around him. He keeps moving, his thrusts becoming frantic now, his breathing ragged.
"Ah.. yes.. Cutie, i'm close,"
Then, with a final, shuddering groan, he comes, burying himself deep inside you, his orgasm pulsating, filling you with his seed, again and again, hot and thick. He collapses against you, still inside, panting, his heart hammering against yours.
Part 4
You lie there, breathless and exhausted, the scent of sex mingling with the paint fumes in the air. Rafayel’s weight is heavy but comforting. He lifts his head slightly, looking down at you, his eyes still dark with desire.
“Not satisfied yet,” he murmurs, his lips nuzzling your neck. He starts to move his hips again, slowly at first, then picking up pace. "Ah- ahh,"
“Ngh, no wait- ahh! Rafayel, wait…” you moan, trying to push against his chest weakly, but he’s too strong, lost in the throes of passion. He keeps fucking you, his thrusts becoming deeper and more insistent.
He lifts you off the paint-splattered table, somehow managing to carry you across the room while still deeply connected. He stumbles slightly, then gently places you on a plush, paint-stained couch. He doesn’t break contact, his body still fused with yours as he continues to fuck you on the soft cushions.
“Ahh, Rafayel,” you whimper, your hands clutching at his shoulders, your head thrown back against the couch. The sensations are still intense, the pleasure almost unbearable.
Suddenly, a shrill ringing cuts through the haze of passion. Your wrist-watch alarm. Tara. Again.
Rafayel slows his movements, his golden eyes locking with yours, questioning. You know you can’t possibly meet Tara now, not in this state, not after this.
With a shaky hand, you reach for your watch, answering the call with a trembling voice. “Hey, Tara… uh, hi.” You try to sound normal, failing miserably.
“Hey! You almost ready? I’m already at the coffee shop,” Tara’s cheerful voice rings through the watch.
“Um… Tara, listen,” you stammer, trying to regain some composure. “Something… something came up. I can’t make it.”
“What? What came up? Are you okay?” Tara sounds concerned.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you rush out, avoiding Rafayel’s probing gaze. “Just… something at home. Raincheck?”
“Yeah, totally fine! Talk to you later, okay? Bye!” You practically slam the ‘end call’ button, your breath catching in your throat.
Rafayel’s gaze is still fixed on you, intense and questioning. But then, he smiles, a slow, knowing smile that sends shivers down your spine all over again. He throws his head back and laughs, a deep, rumbling sound of pure satisfaction.
And then, he starts fucking you harder again, faster, more urgently, as if fueled by your little act of defiance, your choice to stay with him, here, now. "Hah.. baby, look at me," He thrusts and thrusts, until finally, with another earth-shattering climax, he comes again, and you come with him, your bodies shaking with release.
This time, when he collapses, it’s with true exhaustion. You both lie tangled on the couch, limbs intertwined, breathing heavily, until the studio is bathed in the soft glow of twilight.
He showers you with kisses, whispering sweet, slightly possessive words in your ear, caring for you as if you were made of glass. Later, he draws you a warm bath, the scent of lavender filling the air. "Stay here tonight, " he says. And that night, you don’t go home. You sleep in his bedroom, wrapped in his arms, feeling utterly content, completely and utterly his, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit like his very own, very lucky, Miss Bodyguard.
From the moment you opened your eyes in the opulent palace of Philos, Sylus was there. Not just present, but a constant, elegant figure in your life. Your butler. He towered over most, a man sculpted from shadows and silk, his features sharp yet undeniably handsome, his movements fluid and graceful. You, Princess [Your Name], were known for your spirit, your bright laughter echoing through the royal halls, and perhaps, a touch of royal stubbornness. "Your Highness," he'd always address you, his voice a low, soothing rumble that sent shivers down your spine, even when he was scolding you for your latest scraped knee or muddy dress. You were prone to adventures, to pushing boundaries, and sometimes, to a few mishaps. Sylus, with his unwavering patience, was always there to pick up the pieces, his handsome face etched with a mixture of worry and weary affection that always made your stomach flip. He was a whirlwind of polite efficiency, yet beneath it, you sensed something deeper, something that mirrored the chaotic flutter in your own chest whenever he was near.
Part 1
The afternoon sun dappled through the leaves of the ancient oak in the palace garden. Ignoring the gentle protests of your maids, you scrambled higher, branches scratching at your silk gown as you sought a better view of the kingdom beyond the palace walls. From below, you heard Sylus’s calm voice, “Your Highness, please be careful.” He wasn’t frantic like the maids, his tone was even, controlled, but you caught the subtle tightening of his jaw, the way his dark eyes followed your every move. He was watching, always watching. You, ever the playful princess, just grinned down at him, a thrill coursing through you as you climbed higher, knowing you were testing his composure.
Then it happened. A branch, weakened by age, snapped beneath your weight, and the world tilted. You gasped, a startled cry escaping your lips as you plummeted downwards. In a blur of motion, Sylus was there. Strong arms encircled you, catching you against his chest with a force that stole your breath. The rough texture of his uniform grazed your cheek, and the solid wall of his body absorbed the impact. For a heartbeat, everything was still, just the frantic thumping of your own heart and the steady rise and fall of Sylus’s chest beneath your ear.
He slowly lowered you to your feet, hands lingering on your arms as he examined you with intense concern. “Your Highness, are you alright? Are you hurt?” His voice was closer now, deeper, vibrating through you. You looked up into his dark, searching eyes, and something shifted within you. It wasn’t just relief at being caught; it was something…more. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat that drowned out the birdsong in the garden. His gaze held yours, and for that fleeting moment, the world narrowed down to just the two of you.
A blush crept up your neck, warming your cheeks. You forced a casual shrug, trying to appear unaffected. “I’m fine, Sylus. Just a little…clumsy.” You attempted a light laugh, but it came out a bit breathy. He didn’t smile. His expression remained serious, his eyes still locked on yours, searching, assessing. “Please, Your Highness,” he said softly, his voice laced with a gentle reprimand, “try to be more careful.” He finally released your arms, stepping back, his usual composed butler persona returning. But the lingering warmth of his touch, the intensity of his gaze, and the racing of your heart – those sensations remained, a confusing, exhilarating echo of the fall, and the catch.
Part 2
Days turned into nights, yet the image of Sylus’s face, etched with concern as he held you in the garden, wouldn’t fade. His dark red eyes, the strength in his arms, the way his voice resonated…it played on repeat in your mind, distracting you from lessons, from courtly duties, from everything. You found yourself seeking him out, inventing reasons to call for him, just to catch a glimpse, to hear his voice. It was becoming an obsession, a thrilling, unsettling secret you kept locked within your heart.
Impulsively, one evening, you found yourself outside his quarters. You told yourself it was to inquire about palace security, a flimsy excuse, but your heart pounded a different rhythm, a yearning rhythm. You knocked softly on the wooden door.
It swung open almost immediately, revealing Sylus in a simple tunic, his silver hair slightly dishevelled, as if he’d been interrupted. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw you. “Your Highness? Is everything alright?” He stepped back, allowing you entry, his brow furrowed with concern.
Just then, the rhythmic clang of armored boots echoed from the corridor. Soldiers on patrol. Sylus’s eyes flicked to the sound, then back to you, a flicker of alarm in their depths. Before you could even process what was happening, he reached out, his hand closing over your mouth, and pulled you swiftly into his room, pressing you back against the closed door.
The soldiers passed, their voices a low murmur fading into the distance. Sylus’s hand remained over your mouth for a moment longer, then he slowly lowered it, his gaze meeting yours. You were pressed close, his body heat radiating through his tunic, the scent of him – sandalwood and something uniquely masculine – filling your senses. Your own breath hitched, and you felt the familiar heat rise in your cheeks, spreading like wildfire.
His eyes searched yours, a question in their depths. “Your Highness,” he began softly, his voice a hushed whisper in the small room, “I apologize for the…impropriety. But I didn’t want them to see you here.”
You nodded, your heart still hammering against your ribs, struggling to find your voice. He looked at you more intently, his brow furrowed. “Your face is flushed. Do you have a fever?” He reached out a hand, his long fingers extending towards your forehead.
“Don’t,” you blurted out, stopping his touch, the words escaping before you could censor them. He froze, his hand hovering in the air, confusion clouding his features. He withdrew his hand immediately, stepping back slightly. “I apologize, Your Highness. I overstepped.”
You shook your head, the confession tumbling out, raw and unfiltered. “It’s not that…it’s…your face, Sylus. It’s always on my mind.”
Silence descended, thick and heavy, broken only by the frantic pounding of your own heart – and, you realized, his too. You could see it in the rapid pulse beating in his throat, in the sudden stillness of his body. His eyes, wide and dark, were fixed on yours, searching, disbelieving, hopeful.
Time seemed to stretch, suspended in that small, dimly lit room. Then, slowly, deliberately, Sylus reached out, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. His touch was feather-light, reverent. He leaned in, his breath warm against your forehead, and pressed a soft, tender kiss there.
“This is wrong,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with emotion. “So very wrong.” He pulled back slightly, his gaze locking with yours again, his eyes filled with a turbulent mix of longing and conflict. “But…Your Highness,” he confessed, his voice barely a whisper, “I…I’ve liked you for a long time.”
The air crackled between you, charged with unspoken desires, with the forbidden thrill of the moment. Your heart leaped, soaring, plummeting all at once. You stared at him, breathless, speechless, your own unspoken feelings mirrored in his gaze.
He took a step closer, closing the remaining space between you. “May I?” he whispered, his eyes pleading, question hanging in the air.
You didn’t need words. You leaned in, closing the distance, your lips meeting his. It started tentatively, a soft exploration, a hesitant dance of lips. Then, as if a dam had broken, the kiss deepened, becoming urgent, hungry, filled with years of unspoken longing. "Sylus," His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, molding your body to his.
He broke the kiss, breathless, "Hah.." his forehead resting against yours. “Nh, I need to lock the door,” he murmured, his voice husky, his hands trembling as he reached behind him and turned the key in the lock.
He turned back to you, his eyes burning with desire. He kissed you again, harder this time, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips, demanding entry. You opened your mouth, inviting him in, and he surged forward, his kiss becoming possessive, claiming.
He lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist, and carried you to his small, narrow bed. He laid you down gently, then followed you, his weight pressing you into the soft mattress. He kissed you again, his hands moving over your body, setting your skin ablaze.
He unfastened the delicate clasps of your gown, his fingers surprisingly deft, his eyes never leaving yours as he revealed your skin to his hungry gaze. "W-wait Sylus.." He kissed his way down your neck, your collarbone, his lips and teeth sending shivers of pleasure rippling through you.
“Your Highness, may i touch you even more?” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with passion, with a hint of hesitation.
“Y-Yes,” you breathed, your voice trembling, all doubts, all reservations melting away in the heat of his touch, in the intensity of his gaze. “Yes, Sylus.”
He needed no further encouragement. He moved between your legs, and you gasped as you felt the hard length of him pressing against you. "I'm going to do something bad..." He paused, looking at you, his eyes searching, questioning, making sure this is what you truly wanted. You nodded, your fingers tangling in his hair, urging him closer.
"Ah.." He pushed into you slowly, deeply, filling you completely. A sharp intake of breath escaped your lips, "M-mmh," a mix of pain and pleasure, and you clung to his shoulders as he began to move. He was surprisingly gentle, his movements controlled, deliberate, drawing out the pleasure, building the tension with each slow thrust.
“S-s Ah- Sylus,” you whimpered, his name a broken whisper against his shoulder. The sensations were overwhelming, consuming you, each thrust sending waves of heat through your body. You wanted to scream, to shout, to release the pent-up energy, but the walls were thin.
He seemed to sense your struggle. He leaned down, kissing you deeply, his mouth muffling your cries, his tongue dancing with yours, distracting you, intensifying the sensations. “Shhh, Your Highness,” he whispered against your lips, his voice rough with passion. “Be quiet for me.” And somehow, that made it even more thrilling, the forbidden nature of it, the hushed sounds, the secret intimacy.
He moved faster, harder, his control slipping, his breathing ragged against your ear. "Ahh.. hah.."
You arched beneath him, your body tightening, coiling, ready to explode. And then it happened, waves of pure, unadulterated pleasure washing over you, consuming you, shattering you. You cried out, a muffled sound against his shoulder, as you climaxed around him.
He groaned, his body shuddering above you, his thrusts becoming frantic, desperate. "Ah.. Princess,"
He pressed deeper and deeper, his release imminent. And then, with a guttural cry, he came, again and again, filling you with his seed, his hot, thick release pulsing deep inside you.
Part 3
He collapsed against you, his weight heavy but welcome, his breath hot against your neck. For a long moment, you lay tangled together, the only sound the ragged rhythm of your breathing, intermingled with the soft thumping of his heart against yours.
He finally lifted his head, pulling back slightly, his dark eyes filled with a mixture of tenderness and remorse. “Your Highness…I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I shouldn’t have…”
You reached up, cupping his face in your hands, silencing his apologies with a gentle kiss. “Don’t be,” you murmured against his lips. “I wanted this, Sylus. I wanted you.”
He looked at you, his red eyes searching, disbelieving, then softening with a love that mirrored your own. "I love you," he confessed, the words raw and heartfelt.
"I love you too," you whispered back, your heart overflowing, finally free to express the feelings you had kept hidden for so long.
You were still intimately connected, his hardness nestled deep within you, a comforting, lingering warmth. You hugged him tighter, burying your face in his chest, feeling safe, cherished, utterly and completely his.
Several minutes passed in comfortable silence, just the two of you tangled together in the aftermath of passion. Finally, with a sigh, Sylus stirred. “We should…you should return to your chambers, Your Highness.”
He gently withdrew from you, the loss leaving a pang of emptiness. He helped you sit up, his touch careful, reverent. He gathered your scattered clothes, his fingers brushing against your skin, sending shivers down your spine once more. He dressed you with a tenderness that stole your breath, fastening clasps, adjusting your gown, his eyes meeting yours, filled with unspoken promises.
Blushing, you both stood, the events of the past hour hanging heavy in the air, a delicious secret shared between you. He led you to the door, unlocking it and peering out cautiously before ushering you into the dimly lit corridor.
You stood outside your royal chambers, the heavy oak door looming before you. You turned to Sylus, your heart aching at the thought of leaving him, of returning to the formality of your princess life. Before he could retreat, you reached up, pulling him down for one last kiss. This one was softer, sweeter, a silent promise, a whispered vow.
He pulled back, his lips curved into a gentle, breathtaking smile, a rare and precious sight that made your heart soar. “Goodnight, Your Highness,” he murmured, his voice filled with love, with longing, with a secret understanding that transcended titles and duty.
He turned and walked back down the corridor, his tall figure disappearing into the shadows. You watched him go, a secret smile playing on your lips, the memory of his touch, his taste, his love, burning bright within you, warming you from the inside out. You knew things were complicated, forbidden, but for now, in this stolen moment, you were simply yours, and he was simply yours. And that was all that mattered.
The scent of rain hangs thick and comforting in the air, a constant drumming against the windowpanes of the living room you share with Caleb. Grandma’s absence is still a raw ache in the quiet corners of the old house, but in a strange way, it’s just you and Caleb now, a new chapter carved out of grief. He's your stepbrother, technically, but the label feels almost foreign, especially when you look at him.
Right now, he’s sprawled on the couch, that long, lean body taking up more than its fair share, completely absorbed in some action movie on Netflix. His dark hair, always a little messy, falls across his forehead, and even in the soft glow of the screen, you can see the sharp angles of his jaw, the way his muscles move beneath his worn t-shirt. Hot. God, he’s always been hot. And playful, infuriatingly so.
You pad over, grabbing a throw pillow from the armchair and sidling onto the couch next to him. The cushions dip with your weight, bringing you closer. Way closer. He doesn’t even glance at you, eyes glued to the screen, and a mischievous grin tugs at your lips. Perfect.
Your fingers reach out, ghosting lightly over the back of his neck, just beneath the hairline. He doesn't react. You get bolder, threading your fingers into his hair, gently tugging strands.
“Pipsqueak...” he grumbles, voice low. "Stop that dummy.."
“Stop what?” you ask innocently, eyes wide, as you continue to play, your fingers now massaging his scalp, a little harder, maybe a little more…annoying.
He sighs dramatically, shifting on the couch, finally tearing his gaze from the screen. His eyes, a deep, warm brown flecked with gold, fix on you. “You know exactly what. You’re doing that annoying thing again.” A small smile plays around his lips, though, betraying his words.
“Am I?” you ask, batting your eyelashes playfully. Your fingers are still in his hair, and you give a gentle, almost teasing tug. “Maybe I just like your hair.”
“Sure you do,” he says, a smirk now fully formed. “You just like getting on my nerves.”
He reaches up, his hand covering yours in his hair, stopping your ministrations. His touch is warm, firm, and sends a little jolt of something unexpected through you. You meet his gaze, the playful banter suddenly hanging in the air, replaced by something…thicker.
“Maybe I do,” you whisper, your voice softer than you intended. You don't move your hand from his hair. He doesn't remove his either.
The air crackles. The movie on screen blares meaningless explosions in the background, completely ignored. The rain outside seems to intensify, a rhythmic beat to the tension tightening between you.
Then, his patience – or maybe his playfulness – snaps. In one swift movement, he shifts, his body rolling towards you. You gasp, a surprised little sound caught in your throat, as suddenly you’re on your back, the soft cushions of the couch pressing against you, and Caleb is hovering above you, braced on his hands on either side of your head.
His eyes are darker now, the playful light replaced by something more intense, more… predatory. Your heart hammers against your ribs. You try to scramble back, to wiggle out from under him, but he’s effectively trapping you.
“Caleb,” you say, a nervous laugh bubbling up. “What are you doing?”
“You know what you’re doing,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down your spine. “Always pushing, always teasing.”
“I was just…playing,” you stammer, trying to keep your voice light, but it wavers. There’s something different in his eyes tonight, something that’s making your pulse race in a way that’s not entirely uncomfortable.
He lowers his head, his face coming closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “Is that all you want to do?” he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks, sending a shiver of pure sensation through you.
“Nh.. Caleb..?” Your voice is barely a breath. You can smell his cologne, a familiar, musky scent that suddenly feels intoxicating.
He nuzzles at your neck, his lips tracing the sensitive skin there. You gasp, a surprised sound escaping you as he finds the spot just below your ear and gently sucks, his teeth grazing lightly. A moan involuntarily escapes your lips.
“Mmm,” he hums against your skin, his hands now moving down, tracing the curve of your waist, settling on your hips, holding you in place. “You taste good,” he murmurs. “Did you know that?”
“Caleb, Ah.. stop,” you manage, but your voice is weak, breathless. You know you should stop him. This is… wrong. Forbidden. He’s your stepbrother. But… god, it feels so good. And that look in his eyes, that raw desire… it’s doing something to you.
“Why?” he asks, his voice a low growl, as he lifts his head, his gaze locking with yours again. “Don’t you like this?”
His thumb traces a slow circle on your hip, sending sparks of heat radiating outwards. You swallow hard. “It’s… mh.. wrong,” you whisper, the word feeling hollow even to your own ears.
He chuckles, a low, rumble in his chest. “Is it?” he challenges, his eyes burning into yours. “Or is it just forbidden?” He leans down again, his lips finding yours this time, in a slow, deliberate kiss.
It’s not gentle. Not playful. It’s possessive, demanding, his lips parting yours, his tongue sliding inside, tasting you, exploring you. You gasp again, but this time it’s swallowed by his mouth. Your hands, which had been braced against his chest, now instinctively grip at his shoulders, holding on as if for dear life.
The kiss deepens, becomes hungrier, more desperate. He pulls back slightly, just enough to breathe, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks again, his voice thick with desire. “Tell me to stop,” he whispers, his breath hot against your mouth. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
He’s giving you a chance. He truly is. But the words won’t come. All you can feel is the heat between your bodies, the intoxicating scent of him, the way his mouth makes you feel, a dizzying mix of confusion and pure, unadulterated desire.
"Cal-nng.." instead of words, a soft moan escapes you, and you tilt your head back, offering him your neck again, the unspoken answer clear.
He takes it as permission. He kisses your neck again, harder this time, leaving no room for doubt about his intentions. His hand slips under your shirt, his fingers trailing up your ribs, sending shivers of anticipation through you.
He starts kissing you again, his mouth devouring yours, his body pressing closer, harder against you. You can feel his erection against your thigh, a hot, insistent pressure that makes you gasp again.
He breaks the kiss, his eyes dark and blazing as he looks down at you. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice raw, but there’s a hint of uncertainty in his eyes now, a flicker of something deeper beneath the lust.
You meet his gaze, your own breath ragged, your body trembling with a mixture of fear and excitement. You know this is crossing a line. A big one. But in this moment, caught in the storm of the rain and the storm raging between you and Caleb, all you can feel is a desperate, undeniable need.
“Yes,” you whisper, your face is really bright red, the word barely audible, but it’s enough.
A slow smile spreads across his face, a primal, triumphant expression that sends another shiver through you. “Good,” he breathes. “Because I’m not stopping.”
He starts kissing you again, his mouth moving down your neck, your chest, tugging at the fabric of your shirt. His hands are everywhere now, exploring, teasing, igniting every nerve ending in your body. He unclasps your bra, his touch sending a wave of heat through you as your breasts spill free.
"Hah.." his mouth closing over one nipple, sucking, biting gently. You arch into him, a moan ripped from your throat. You’re lost now, completely lost in the sensation, in him. The wrongness of it all fades, replaced by the overwhelming rightness of the way his body feels against yours, the way his touch sets you on fire.
He pulls back, his eyes burning as he looks at your exposed breasts, flushed and swollen from his attention. He moves lower, his mouth trailing down your stomach, his fingers working at the button and zipper of your jeans. You help him, your own fingers trembling as you fumble with the denim.
Soon, you’re both naked, tangled together on the couch, the rain drumming a passionate rhythm outside. He kisses you everywhere, his mouth and hands worshipping your body, building the tension, driving you closer and closer to the edge.
"Ready honey..?"
Finally, he positions himself between your legs, his gaze locking with yours once more, a silent question passing between you. You nod, your eyes half-closed, your breath coming in ragged gasps.
He enters you slowly, stretching you, filling you. "Ah.. fuck.." he moan.
You gasp, a sharp intake of breath, as you adjust to his size. It feels… incredible. Forbidden, yes, but undeniably, powerfully incredible. "Caleb.. hah.. thats big.. wait"
"Ssh,"
He starts to move, slowly at first, then faster, deeper. "Ahh ahh-" You meet his rhythm, your body arching to meet his thrusts. Moans escape your lips, mingling with his grunts of pleasure. The world narrows down to just the two of you, the feeling of him inside you, the frantic rhythm of your bodies.
“Fuck, fuck ahh,” he pants, his voice strained, as he pushes deeper, harder. "Take this ah.. baby mmh,"
“Ahh calebb,” you gasp, your nails digging into his back as the pleasure builds, crests, explodes through you in a wave of pure sensation.
"I-iam close,"
He cries out too, his body tensing, his movements becoming more frantic as he pumps into you one last time, before collapsing against you, shuddering, groaning as he comes inside you.
"Ah.. hah.."
You hold him tight, your own body still trembling, your heart racing. The rain outside has slowed to a gentle drizzle now, as if mirroring the aftermath of the storm that just erupted between you.
You catch your breath, the reality of what just happened starting to sink in. It was wrong. Confusing. And yet… as Caleb shifts off you, his eyes still dark and heavy-lidded as he looks at you, you can’t deny the raw, undeniable pull you feel towards him, the lingering heat that still radiates between your bodies.
“Hah... you okay pipsqeak?” he breathes, a small, shaky smile playing on his lips as he traces a finger down your arm. You still can't talk and just nods.
And in that moment, lying tangled together on the couch, the rain finally ceasing its drumming against the windows, you know that things between you and Caleb have irrevocably changed. And you're not entirely sure if that’s a good thing, or a very, very bad one. But one thing is certain: you’ll never look at him the same way again.
Linkon City nights were always interesting, a delightful mix of creepy crawlies and the genuinely terrifying kind that needed a well-aimed arrow or two. You loved the thrill of the hunt, the adrenaline pumping through your veins as you tracked your quarry. It was a life that kept you on your toes, sharp and ready. And it was a life Zayne, your boyfriend, found utterly fascinating, though he’d never admit it in so many words.
Zayne. Doctor Zayne, to be precise. Sharp mind, even sharper tongue when he wasn't directing it at you. People saw him as cold, detached, a man who lived in a world of logic and scalpel blades. And yeah, the ‘cold’ part was pretty accurate most of the time. But then there was you. Somehow, you’d chipped away at that icy exterior, and underneath, just for you, was a surprising warmth. He even had a pet name – “Honey”. Corny? Maybe a little. Did it make your stomach flip every time he said it in that low, slightly rough voice? Absolutely.
You were curled on your couch, phone pressed to your ear, Zayne’s voice a calming balm after a particularly close call with a rather grumpy Ghoul. “Hey, Honey,” he answered, his voice automatically softening. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, all good now. Just calling to ask… you know you’re always going on about being prepared for anything?” you teased, knowing this would pique his interest.
“Preparedness is a virtue, yes,” he replied dryly, but you could hear the hint of a smile in his tone.
“Well, I was thinking… what if I came across someone, like, really needed help? Like, accident victim type of help?”
“Are you planning on becoming a professional rescuer now, Honey?” he chuckled, a rare sound that always made you feel special.
“No, silly! But seriously, what if? I mean, I know first aid basics, but I was thinking… CPR. I should probably know CPR, right? Just in case.”
There was a pause. You could practically hear the cogs whirring in his brilliant brain. “CPR,” he repeated slowly, considering. “Yes, that’s… a practical skill. And frankly, given your profession, not entirely improbable that you might encounter a situation where it’s necessary.”
“Exactly!” you said, pleased he was agreeing. “So, uh… could you teach me?”
Another pause. “Me? I suppose I could. I do happen to be a doctor.” Sarcasm dripped from the words, but you knew he was amused.
“Come on, Zayne, please? You’re the best person to teach me! Plus,” you added, lowering your voice playfully, “it would be… fun?”
You heard him sigh, a long-suffering sound that you knew was mostly for show. “Fun, Honey? CPR is hardly ‘fun’.”
“It could be! Especially with you teaching me,” you purred into the phone.
Silence again, then, “Alright, fine. Come over tomorrow evening. I have… the necessary equipment.”
“Equipment?” you asked, intrigued.
“A torso,” he clarified. “For practice. Unless you were planning on practicing on me?”
You laughed, a bright, happy sound. “Maybe later. Tomorrow evening then?”
“Seven?”
“Perfect. See you then, Honey.”
“See you, Honey,” he echoed, and the line went dead. You grinned, already anticipating your private CPR lesson with Dr. Cold-and-Suddenly-Sweet Zayne.
The next evening, right at seven, you stood on his doorstep, a little nervous flitter in your stomach that had nothing to do with CPR. He opened the door, dressed in a dark grey shirt that hugged his shoulders just right. He looked… good. Distractingly good.
“Honey,” he greeted, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he stepped aside to let you in.
His apartment was exactly as you’d imagined – minimalist, modern, and impeccably clean. Everything had its place, neat and orderly. A stark contrast to your own cozy chaos. And then you saw it, on the dining table. A life-sized anatomical torso, staring blankly at the ceiling.
“Whoa,” you breathed, approaching it cautiously. “That’s… intense.”
Zayne chuckled, a low rumble. “It’s for medical training, Honey. Perfectly sanitary. And significantly less… messy than a real person for practice purposes.”
“Right, messy,” you repeated, trying to suppress a giggle. “So, torso it is.”
He gestured to the torso. “Let’s start with the basics. Chest compressions. You need to find the center of the chest, between the nipples…” He moved closer, and you felt a jolt as his hand gently guided yours to the correct spot on the torso’s chest. His touch was warm, firm, sending a shiver that had absolutely nothing to do with medical training.
He explained the rhythm, the depth, demonstrating with his own hands, his movements precise and efficient. You watched, focused, trying to absorb every detail. Then he moved onto rescue breathing.
He tilted the torso’s head back, pinched its nose, and breathed into its plastic mouth. It was just a torso, inanimate plastic, but watching him perform mouth-to-mouth, even on a dummy, ignited a strange little flicker in your belly.
“Your turn,” he said, stepping back and gesturing to the torso.
You knelt down, mimicking his actions. Finding the correct hand position, you started compressions, counting aloud as he’d instructed. “One, two, three, four…” You could feel his eyes on you, assessing, judging, but there was something else there too, a warmth that made your cheeks flush.
“Good, good rhythm,” he murmured, his voice close to your ear. “Depth is good too. Now, rescue breaths.”
You performed the rescue breaths as he’d shown you, feeling a little self-conscious as you puffed air into the plastic mouth. You were concentrating hard, trying to get it right, and then he said, “Excellent, Honey. You’re a fast learner.”
You straightened up, a genuine smile blossoming on your face. “Thanks! Guess I’m a natural at saving lives, even fake plastic ones.” You instinctively touched your lips, a habit when you were pleased with yourself.
And that’s when you noticed the shift in him. He was silent, his usual composed expression tightening just a fraction. His gaze was fixed on your lips, and something dark flickered in his eyes.
“Imagine,” he said, his voice suddenly lower, rougher, “if it wasn’t a torso. If it was… someone in real need of rescue.”
You blinked, unsure where this was going. “Yeah, well, that’s the whole point, right? To be able to help someone.”
He nodded slowly, still staring at your lips. “And what if,” he continued, his tone almost challenging, “what if that someone was a guy?”
Oh. Oh, you understood now. Jealousy. Under that controlled doctor exterior, your usually stoic boyfriend was jealous. It was… unexpectedly endearing. And maybe a little hot.
You chuckled softly. “Zayne, are you jealous of a hypothetical, unconscious man I might have to give CPR to?”
He didn’t answer directly, just kept that intense gaze locked on you. “Let’s… practice again,” he said, his voice still husky. “But this time… let’s make it more realistic.”
He stepped around the table, towards you. “Roleplay,” he announced, a glint in his eyes. “You be the rescuer. And I’ll be… the victim.”
Before you could even process the words, he’d moved to the table, smoothly clearing off a few stray medical journals, and then he was lying down on it, torso discarded to the side. He looked up at you, his expression serious, but with a faint, dangerous edge in his eyes.
“Alright, Doctor,” you said, playing along, your heart starting to beat a little faster. “Victim, are you breathing?”
He remained perfectly still, eyes closed. “Unconscious,” he mumbled, his voice muffled slightly by the table.
You knelt beside him, your knees brushing against his side. He smelled faintly of antiseptic and something else, something uniquely Zayne, a scent that always made you feel… things. You hesitated for a split second, a sudden rush of shyness washing over you. This was different from a plastic torso. This was Zayne, warm, real, lying right in front of you.
You took a breath and leaned in, mimicking the CPR steps. Tilting his head back, you pinched his nose, and then, you hesitated again. Rescue breaths. On him. It felt… incredibly intimate. Like kissing, but not quite. Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson.
You leaned closer, your lips hovering just above his. You could feel his breath on your face, warm and steady. You took another shaky breath, and then gently placed your lips over his, just for a second, a soft puff of air. It was ridiculously awkward, and yet, undeniably electric.
He remained still for a moment, then his eyes flickered open, meeting yours. They were no longer cold, not at all. They were dark, pupils dilated, burning with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.
“Focus, Honey,” he murmured, his voice rough, barely a whisper. “You’re supposed to be saving my life.” But his eyes said something entirely different.
You knew you were blushing furiously, your concentration completely shattered. “I… I’m trying,” you stammered, your voice breathy.
He reached up, his hand capturing your wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. “No, you’re not,” he said, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin of your inner wrist. “You’re distracted.”
“Maybe,” you admitted, your gaze locked with his. The air between you crackled with unspoken desire.
“Then maybe,” he said, his voice even softer now, “I should teach you again. Properly. From the victim’s perspective.” And before you could even register his words, he’d smoothly rolled over, pulling you with him, so you were now lying on the table, him looming above you, his weight pressing against you, light but undeniably there.
Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat. He was so close, his face inches from yours, his eyes intense, searching. His calm doctor persona had completely vanished, replaced by something primal, something raw.
Then came the rescue breaths. He tilted your head back. His breath ghosted over your lips as he positioned his mouth. Your eyes fluttered closed, waiting.
His lips pressed gently against yours. It was supposed to be CPR, you knew that, but it didn't feel like CPR. It felt… like a kiss. A soft, hesitant kiss at first. You tried to focus on the breathing, on the procedure, but your mind was a blank, filled only with the pressure of his mouth on yours.
Then, something shifted. The gentle pressure became firmer, more insistent. His hand that was on your forehead slid down, cupping your cheek, and his mouth opened, deepening the kiss. It wasn't CPR anymore. Not even close.
"M-mhh Zayne-"
You gasped into his mouth, a surprised sound that turned into a moan as his tongue slipped past your lips, exploring, teasing. His other hand came down, pinning your wrists to the countertop on either side of your head. You squirmed beneath him, a thrill of panic and excitement coursing through you.
The kiss deepened, becoming more insistent, more demanding. His tongue slipped into your mouth, exploring, tasting, stealing your breath. He pinned your hands to the table above your head, his weight shifting, pressing you further into the hard surface. You squirmed beneath him, a small, involuntary sound escaping your lips, but he only pressed closer, his body a warm, solid weight against yours.
"S.. stop-mmh,"
The kiss became brutal, possessive, and you were drowning in it, lost in the sensation of his mouth on yours, his body against yours. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but surrender to the overwhelming wave of sensation. You kicked instinctively, your heel connecting with his thigh.
"H-ah-"
He gasped, a sharp intake of breath, and broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to look down at you. You were both panting, chests heaving, your world narrowed down to just him, just this moment.
“Honey,” he groaned, his voice thick with desire, his gaze raking over your flushed face, your parted lips. You whined softly, a needy sound you couldn’t control. His eyes darkened further, if that was even possible. His gaze was making you melt, making you burn. You felt a hollow ache between your legs, throbbing, empty.
“Zayne…” you whispered, your voice hoarse, desperate. “I… ah... I need you.” The words tumbled out of you, raw and honest. “Fill me, mmh..please.” you whine.
"Shit," A low growl rumbled in his chest. He was already unbuckling his belt, his movements frantic, impatient. The sound of the zipper sliding down echoed in the suddenly silent room. He kicked off his pants, and then his hands were on your hips, tugging at the waistband of your jeans. He didn’t bother with the buttons, just ripped them open, fabric tearing with a satisfying rip. Then your underwear was being peeled away, and cool air kissed your exposed skin.
His cock was hard, thick, throbbing against your thigh. He positioned himself between your legs, his eyes locked on yours, burning with lust. "Take my dick Baby, mmh," And then, with a groan, he thrust into you, filling you completely in one glorious, stretching motion.
"Ah-!"
You gasped, a sharp cry of pleasure escaping your lips. He was inside you, deep, hot, perfect. He started to move, thrusting hard and fast, the table vibrating beneath you with each powerful stroke. “Fuck, Honey,” he grunted, his voice thick with passion.
His words were dirty, raw, fuel to the fire raging inside you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. He drove into you again and again, each thrust sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. The rhythm was frantic, desperate, matching the frantic beating of your hearts.
Suddenly, he stopped, pulling back almost completely, leaving you aching, wanting more. He moved off the table, his feet hitting the floor with a thud. You gasped, confused, reaching for him. But instead of leaving you, he reached down, grabbing your waist, and lifted you off the table, your legs dangling around his hips.
Before you could even register what was happening, he thrust into you again, standing now, your bodies pressed together, his cock buried deep inside you. He hugged you tight, his arms wrapped around your back, holding you to him as he continued to fuck you, standing there in the middle of his living room, his thrusts deep and powerful.
"Ah.. baby.. mmh, fuck.. fuck fuck.."
He thrust you like that, standing, holding you close, until with a guttural cry, he shuddered, his body tensing, his seed erupting inside you in a hot, pulsing wave. You cried out too, your own orgasm tearing through you, a shattering release that left you weak and trembling in his arms.
"Aahhh!"
He held you close, his breathing ragged, his chest heaving against yours. He kissed your neck, slow, lingering kisses, as he finally came down from the high of passion. The silence was thick with the aftermath of their explosive encounter, the only sound the steady rhythm of their breathing, slowly returning to normal. And in the quiet, you knew, with a thrilling certainty, that CPR lessons with Doctor Zayne were going to be a regular occurrence from now on.
Let's start from the beginning. Rafayel, your boyfriend – God, just saying the word ‘boyfriend’ still makes butterflies flutter in your stomach even after all this time. He's like sunshine bottled up, constantly bubbling with energy, always joking, and yet, beneath all that playful exterior, he's genuinely brilliant. Especially when it comes to his art. Rafayel is a painter, and not just any painter, a damn good one. He lives and breathes his art in his studio, Mo studio, nestled right on the edge of Whitesand Bay. That place is his sanctuary, paint splattered floors and canvases leaning against every wall. And me? Well, you’re… you. Cute, your friends say, and funny, Rafayel always laughs at your jokes, even the bad ones. He calls you ‘Cutie’, and the way he says it, all soft and warm, it makes your heart melt every single time.
Today, you decided to surprise him at Mo studio. The salt air hits you as you step out of the car, the sound of waves crashing a constant, calming rhythm. You can already see the studio from here, a little white building perched overlooking the bay. You push open the door, and the familiar scent of turpentine and oil paint washes over you, home. “Rafayel?” you call out, your voice echoing in the high-ceilinged space.
“Cutie!” he shouts back, his head popping up from behind a huge canvas, a grin splitting his face. “You’re here!” He bounds over to you, wrapping you in a hug that lifts you off your feet for a second. “I was just… you know, making masterpieces.” He winks, and you playfully roll your eyes.
“Masterpieces, huh? Or just more splatters?” you tease, gesturing to the colourful chaos around the studio.
He laughs, grabbing your hand and pulling you further inside. “Come on, I have a surprise for my favourite muse.” He leads you to a little table laden with bags of colorful candies. “Ta-da!”
Your eyes widen. “Rafayel! You bought all the candy in town!” There are gummy bears, hard candies, chocolate ones, sour ones, every kind imaginable.
He grins sheepishly. “May have gone a little overboard. But I thought… you know, for us.” He shuffles his feet, suddenly a little shy.
An idea sparks in your mind, a playful glint in your eyes. “I have a game.” You pick up a handful of the colourful sweets. “Candy tasting! But with a twist.”
Rafayel raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “A twist?”
“Yeah,” you say, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Guess the flavor, but…whoever is guessing has to close their eyes. And the tester... well, the tester gets to lick the candy and then kiss the guesser. After the kiss, the guesser has to tell the flavor.” You watch his reaction, a slow blush creeping up his neck.
His eyes widen slightly, a playful smirk spreading across his lips. “A…kiss? For every flavour?”
You nod, grinning. “That’s the rule. Unless you’re scared, Mr. Masterpiece Painter?”
“Scared? Please, Cutie,” he scoffs, puffing out his chest playfully. “I’m an artist. Fear is not in my vocabulary.” He dramatically closes his eyes. “Bring on the candy, and the kisses.”
“Alright, alright, cocky painter,” you chuckle, picking up a bright yellow lemon candy. “First victim… you.” He dramatically squeezed his eyes shut, a playful smirk playing on his lips.
You pop the lemon candy in your mouth, savoring the tartness for a moment. You lean in, your hand gently cupping his cheek, and press your lips to his. The lemon flavor explodes between you as your lips meet, a sweet and intensely sour shock. You pull back, giggling as his eyes snap open, his face scrunched up.
He pulled back, his eyes still closed, concentrating. He licked his lips, a thoughtful frown furrowing his brow. “Lemon!” he exclaims, making a face. “God, that was sour!” He laughs, shaking his head.
"Bingo!" You laughed, and he opened his eyes, a surprised and slightly puckered expression on his face. "Sour, huh?"
"God, yeah!" He chuckled, shaking his head. "But… worth it." He leaned in for another quick kiss, this time just sweet and Rafayel-flavored. "Okay, your turn, Cutie. Close your eyes."
Your heart fluttered a little as you squeezed my eyes shut. You could hear the crinkle of a candy wrapper, then a soft, wet sound. He was licking the candy, and a warmth spread through your cheeks. You waited, anticipation building. Then, you felt his gaze on him, even behind your closed eyelids. You could sense him hesitating.
"Raf?" You asked softly, your voice a little breathy. "Why are you stopping?"
He didn't answer, but you felt his breath warm on your face, then his fingers gently tracing the line of your jaw. You hear him inhale sharply. When his lips finally meet yours, it’s gentle at first, hesitant, almost shy. But then his lips soften, and the kiss deepens, the sweet mango flavor mingling with the taste of him. He pulls back, his eyes searching yours as you open them. His cheeks are flushed, a beautiful pink color rising in his neck. He looks…nervous?
“Well?” he asks, his voice a little breathy. “What flavor?”
“Mango,” you say, a smile playing on your lips. “Definitely mango.” You giggle, pointing at his reddened cheeks. “Someone’s blushing.”
He playfully swats your hand away, pouting slightly. “Am not. It’s… warm in here, from the sun.”
You laugh, teasing him. “Sure it is, sunshine. Sure it is.”
He rolls his eyes, but a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Okay, okay, my turn again. Redemption time.” He closes his eyes once more, a determined expression on his face.
You pick up a strawberry candy this time. As you unwrap it, you deliberately make a soft licking sound against the plastic. You see his Adam's apple bob in his throat. You lick the candy slowly, the sweet strawberry flavor coating your tongue. You can practically feel the anticipation radiating from him. You gently touch his cheek, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. You leaned in and kissed him, deeper this time. His lips were warm and responsive, and he kissed you back instantly, his hands coming up to cup your face. But then, something shifted. The kiss deepened further, no longer just a playful game. His hands tightened on my jaw, pulling me closer, his tongue slipping past your lips.
And then, he lost it. He groaned softly into your mouth, his hands moving from my face to your hips, gripping them tightly, pulling me flush against him. You gasped, startled by the sudden intensity, and instinctively pushed against his chest, breaking the kiss.
"H-hey.." You pant.
Suddenly, he pulls back, his eyes snapping open. “Rafayel! You opened your eyes!” you complain playfully, but your voice is shaky.
He's panting, his chest heaving, his face flushed a deep, intoxicating red, like he’s drunk on something stronger than candy. “Fuck,” he breathes out, his voice rough. He curses under his breath again, quieter this time, but no less intense. He pulls you back to him, his grip tightening on your hips, crushing you against him.
"Mmh- Rafayel.. mmh"
This time the kiss is different. Urgent, hungry, almost desperate. His tongue plunges into your mouth, tasting of strawberry and something else now, something raw and primal. You squirm at first, surprised by the sudden intensity, but then, something inside you melts. You surrender to the kiss, kissing him back with equal fervor, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.
He breaks the kiss again, but this time only to breathe, his eyes dark and blazing. He snatches the strawberry candy from your hand, pops it in his mouth, and then his lips are on your neck, hot and wet. He licks and sucks, sending shivers down your spine. Before you can even register what’s happening, he’s scooping you up in his arms, carrying you a few steps and gently laying you down on the soft rug on the studio floor.
His eyes are locked on yours, burning with desire. He reaches down, his fingers finding the hem of your skirt, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he pulls it up, bunching the fabric around your waist. Then, he reaches lower, his fingers sliding beneath the elastic of your underwear. He tugs them down, a slow, agonizing striptease, until they’re pooled at your ankles.
He drops to his knees between your legs, his gaze lingering on your exposed cunt, wet and swollen with desire. He takes a deep breath, and then his mouth is on you. He licks and sucks, his tongue tracing every curve, every fold, sending jolts of pleasure shooting through you. You gasp, your hands clutching at his hair, moaning his name. He teases and torments you with his tongue, building the pressure, until finally, you can’t hold back any longer. "Rafayel..nngh!" You cry out, your body convulsing as waves of pure, shattering orgasm wash over you.
He continues to lick and suck even as you come, savoring your release, until you’re trembling and breathless beneath him. He finally lifts his head, his face flushed, his lips wet and glistening. He unbuckles his pants, his hard cock springing free, thick and pulsing.
He rubs the head of his cock against your wet cunt, teasing you, sending another jolt of desire through your already sensitive nerves.
"Cutie.. a-ah.."
With a groan, he thrusts into you, burying himself deep inside. You gasp, your hips arching up to meet his thrust. He hugs you tight, his arms wrapped around your small body, his hips moving slowly, deeply, filling you completely. You whimper, your nails digging into his back as he fucks you, each thrust sending waves of pleasure radiating outwards.
“Ahh.. hhhmhm... Rafayel,” you moan, your voice thick with lust. He kisses your neck, nuzzling into your skin as he continues to thrust, his rhythm building, deepening. You come again, and again, each orgasm more intense than the last. You plead with him to stop, your body overloaded, but he just kisses you harder, deeper, his thrusts becoming faster, harder, driving you both closer to the edge.
"Ah hh ahh.. Cutie.. i- i love this mmh.. game.."
He hugs you tighter, "Ah.. fuck.." his big body trembling against yours as he pours his cum deep inside you, a long, shuddering release. He collapses on top of you, his weight heavy but welcome, his breath hot against your ear. He sucks on your lips, tasting of you and strawberry candy, and whispers against your mouth,
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