Hey, so I know you're constantly exhausted, which is totally cool and valid, but it's actually affecting your productivity which isn't cool. Maybe stop doing the things you enjoy so you have more time to be productive? Thanks
need a Luke Hemmings smut!! esp related to his spiked hair and the new era their in, returning to pop punk. something possessive, rough and whiney plz <3
Beautiful Mess. ♡
Luke Hemmings x f!reader
summary: Y/N can't help herself but feel especially attracted to her husbands new era...
warnings: making out, dom!luke, sub!reader, smut, more smut, did i mention smut
A/N: first time getting a req for 5SOS kinda nervous ^_^ also this was requested oh so long ago im so sorry anon. Btw have yall heard not ok, boyband and telephone busy?? Shit had me throwing my cheeks in circles on GOd anyways (what in the world i need to shut the fuck up) enjoy ^3^
He looked good. Dangerously good. Watching him from behind the cameras, sitting next to Crystal whilst Michael was practically eye fucking her from afar (freak 😭), meanwhile your eyes were glued on Luke.
You weren’t really used to this new era, but you definitely were not complaining about it. You were kinda happy they were going back into their punk rock era like the good old days, but you were more focused on his new look. It had you going insane (in the best way of course!!).
Your mind began to wonder, thinking about the things you would like to do when the others weren’t around. The way you would let him fuck you-
“Y/N!”
You were so busy staring at Luke you hadn’t noticed Cal trying to catch your attention.
“Wha- huh??” You replied, whoops.
“Jesus, are you that busy staring at Luke that you couldn’t hear me??” Cal had said loud enough to catch everyone’s attention, quickly slapping him on the arm. He chuckled.
“Can you not?” you said sarcastically, laughing with Calum as you both playfully catfighted, now sidetracked from Luke, your attention on Calum.
Luke knew you were staring at him, he knew you wayyy too well. He could feel your eyes on him, he knew damn well you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. He genuinely had to hold in a smirk when he heard Calum call you out for staring at him. Maybe his ego was just too high.
But he knew he couldn’t let you suffer from afar.
૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡
on the way home…
The car ride home was awkward to say the least, the both of you quiet as a mouse. But there was a tension that filled the air of the car and in between you two, that could be cut like a knife on silk.
Those thoughts never left your head, if you were wondering. It was all you could think of the whole day including now. And again, Luke knew damn well. He was smiling like an idiot just thinking about it.
૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡
at home…
Walking into the comfort of your own home, you were practically pulled in and then slammed against the door in some way to close it– by none other than Luke. His lips collided against yours desperately, what you had been fantasizing all day is coming into fruition.
Melting into the kiss as it grew more erotic– you threw your arms around Luke’s neck whilst he rushed to pick you up from under your thighs, multitasking as his lips detached from your lips, discontinuing the messy kiss and pressed against your neck, all while carrying you to your shared bedroom, restarting the kiss and making out like animals.
૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡
some time later…
“Hnnnfuck- Luke!!”
It had been like what, an hour since you guys started fucking?? You couldn’t even remember. Hell, how could you? You couldn’t even think from how good Luke was dicking you the fuck down, hell count yourself lucky.
It was messy, the sheets were soaked in cum, sweat, spit and what not, not to mention the wet and squelching sounds of skin on skin accompanied by yours and Luke’s pornographic moans filling the room was filthy.
But you couldn’t stop, not now.
You didn’t know how much more you could take, not that Luke really cared. He didn’t want to stop, like he was in a trance or something. Shit, he damn well felt like he was being hypnotised by the way your walls clung to him so well.
He looked at you below him. A mess, but a pretty one. Luke loooved seeing you like this. All fucked out because of him, it really scratched a part of him.
“Jesus christ baby, y’so loud..” Not that he was complaining. He loved hearing you scream out his name when he was dicking you down, he felt like that guy. If anything it boosted his ego.
He noticed you tried to muffle your noises a little bit after he said that, that didn’t go unnoticed at all.
“Nonono, please, don’t hide them. Hnn, love hearing you,” He was close. Dangerously close. The thing was, so were you. It wasn’t the first time you came that night, but damn well you couldn’t hold it. And truth be told, neither could Luke.
“L-Luke, m’so close..” “Me too baby, ~fuck~ come with me.”
With the confirmation, you damn well listened; letting go for what you hoped was the last time that night, eyes rolling back, nails digging into Luke's back which took him to the edge not no much longer after you, throwing his head into your neck and letting out the most pornographic moan you think you’ve ever heard.
Heavily breathing, your bodies were limp against each other, obviously trying to catch your breath from how long the both of you were going at it, fucking like bunnies if you will.
✿ summary: you go to a party with the sole purpose of fucking luke up and it works... kinda?
✿ warnings: p in v, spitting, degradation, shower sex, bitting, oral (m receiving), i think thats it??
✿ word count: 5.2k
✿ author’s note: this was a special request from a close friend and is loosely based off of the song unpunishable by ethel cain, if you squint hard enough.
there may be a spelling mistake or two, but hopefully not
thank you to all who reblogged and liked my first post, i have more coming up that are either already finished or in the works.
thank you to all my friends who read, edit, and come up with concepts I love you all you know who you are <3
anywho I hope you enjoy and keep an eye out for more stuff coming in the near future ;)
The house was a madhouse. Every corner is packed tight with bodies buzzing on cheap beer and louder music. The air was thick and sticky with sweat, cigarette smoke curling in lazy spirals overhead and the kind of wild chaos that only a frat party on a Friday night could deliver.
I stepped inside late, the door swinging shut behind me with a soft click that somehow felt louder than the music. I didn’t scan the crowd like I usually did. Didn’t look for anyone in particular. I didn't need to.
I could feel him before I saw him.
That pull in my chest– a familiar kind of tension, electric and sharp. He was here, somewhere. The air shifted, subtle but undeniable.
I caught the flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye– him. Sitting low on the stairs, jaw clenched tight so I could see the stubborn glint of his lip ring. The way his fingers gripped that nearly empty beer bottle was like he was trying to keep from smashing it on the floor.
He didn’t look like he belonged here, not really. Not in the thick of this mess. But there he was, and every muscle in my body tightened. I leaned back against the wall near the keg, just far enough from the chaos to watch it without getting swallowed up. My dress was short, black fabric barely skimming the curve of my hip. I didn’t bother with underwear tonight, part of the game, part of the tease. I could feel his eyes burning into me like heat through fabric.
I caught a guy’s eye from across the room– one who’d been talking my ear off since I got here. Lean, confident, trying way too hard. He said something, and I laughed– slow and deliberate. My lips parted slightly, gloss catching the light as I slowly licked the rim of my plastic cup, savouring the feel of it, the taste of cheap vodka lingering on my tongue.
I wasn’t here to be polite. I wasn’t here to be safe.
I knew he was watching me.
I could feel it in the way his body tensed– how his hands curled into fits at his sides, and how his jaw clenched so tight I could almost hear the grinding. His lip ring flashed with every hard suck of his teeth, a silent warning. Half-hard, I bet. Fuck, I could feel the heat of him from across the room.
Someone else– some asshole who didn’t know better– brushed up against me from behind. I didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. I let it happen.
He probably thought he was claiming something. Maybe even that I was an easy mark tonight. I just smiled– slow, teasing, like I was sharing a secret with the dark air around me. Like I was daring him to try harder.
My smile spread as I caught Luke standing. The world seemed to tilt.
His eyes were fire. His movements were like a storm breaking loose.
He pushed through the crowd, voice low and rough. Cutting through the music like a blade.
“Party’s over!” he yelled. “Go the fuck home.”
The crowd went silent, shock rippling through the room. Then bodies started moving, clearing out like a tide pulling away.
And still, I stayed.
Leaning against the wall. Breathing steadily. Waiting.
I tipped my cup toward him– a mock toast. “That for me?”
He stepped closer, teeth sucking hard on the edge of his lip ring. His voice dropped low, a growl that shook something loose inside me.
“You know it is.”
My smirk deepened, and I whispered, “Then come prove it.”
I went and hopped over on the kitchen counter while Luke cleared out the rest of the house.
Outside, you can still hear the hum of the engines and voices– the stragglers clearing out, the night collapsing in on itself. But here it’s just us. The air’s heavier than it should be, thick with something unspoken, and I swear I can feel the vibration of him pacing behind me before I can even see it.
I’m perched on the counter like I own the place. Because, right now, I do.
My legs swing slightly, heels tapping against the cabinets, fingers curled loosely around the edge. There’s a half-drunk cup of something forgotten beside me, but I don’t need it anymore. My buzz comes from him— riling him up, and pulling him taut.
Luke’s pacing was in slow, agitated strides, his boots hitting the floor harder than necessary. He can’t stand still, not with the way I’ve wound him up. Broad shoulders rising and falling. That silver chain around his neck was swinging with every sharp turn of his body. His hands are twitching like he doesn't know what to do with them.
He’s unravelling.
And I’m the thread in his teeth.
He stops suddenly, standing in front of me, chest rising with shallow breaths. His jaw tightens, and he mutters, almost like he’s talking to himself. “You like punishing me.”
I tilt my head, watching him from under heavy lashes as he steps between my knees.
There’s no fear in me. Just heat. Thrill. The slow, sweet pulse of power slides through my bloodstream like honey and smoke.
“You like being punished,” I murmur, dragging my fingers along the chain at his throat until they reach his lip ring. I brush it with my thumb, just the softest pressure, just enough to feel him tense.
He sucks on his teeth again, jaw flexing beneath my touch. That little gleam of metal disappears between his lips for a beat– a tell. His version of restraint.
He looks like sin in skin. Wild curls, flushed cheeks, hands curling into fists at his sides. I can feel the heat rolling off him. I can feel what he’s holding back.
“You gonna let me fuck that attitude out of you, sweet girl?” he growls low, voice like gravel dragged across velvet.
I laugh. Quiet. Dangerous.
“You don’t have it in you.”
My words slice clean, sharp, designed to land where he’s already raw.
He moves in a flash, hands snapping to my hips like he’s starving for something he can’t name. His grip is firm, grounding, but he still hasn’t pulled me to him. Not yet. He’s holding back. Still giving me space to run– even if we both know I won’t.
I don’t flinch. Don’t move. Just look up at him with something just shy of pity in my eye.
“You think you’re in control?” he asks.
My lips part slowly, the space between us now small enough I can taste his breath on mine– mint, beer and tension.
“No,” I whisper. “I know I am.”
Silence snaps tight between us, a string pulled to breaking.
And still– I don’t look away.
His fingers twitch again against my hips, like he’s one breath away from losing the last bit of self-control he’s pretending to have. His eyes go darker. His shoulders square like he’s remembering just how much space he takes up. He stares at me like a challenge. Like a question he already knows the answer to.
The air feels thinner suddenly, too charged to breathe properly. That chain around his neck catches the kitchen light again– a glint of silver against flushed skin.
“You talk a big game,” he says, voice thick, slow, drawn from deep in his chest. He leans in, his mouth grazing the shell of my ear. “Are you sure you can handle it?”
I don’t answer. Just smile. Because he still doesn’t get it.
He thinks this is about handling him.
It's not.
It’s about making him melt.
I reach for his belt. Slow. Purposeful. My knuckles brush against the hard line of his abs as I undo the first loop. I keep my eyes on his lip ring– watching it gleam, watching him breathe through his nose like he’s trying to behave. I drop my gaze to his hands. Big, calloused, twitching. Then back to his body– the way he towers over me, broad and hulking like a storm barely restrained.
“God, you’re big,” I murmur, tugging at his belt, pulling it through the loops of his jeans. I tilt my chin just enough to meet his eyes. “Bet you’ve ruined girls for less.”
His breath catches– just for a second.
“You want me to ruin you?” he asks, words dripping from his mouth with ego, with need.
I tug him forwards by the open belt. “I want you to try.”
That does it.
He steps in closer, flush against the counter, between my knees. My dress hikes higher. His body heat slams into mine. And still– I’m calm. My fingers toy with the undone belt like it’s a leash.
His lip curls, jaw twitching.
And then, bold and deliberate, I lift my hand to his jaw and spit in his mouth.
He doesn’t flinch.
He swallows.
His throat works around it slowly, intentionally, and when his eyes meet mine again, they’re blown wide and black with something dangerous.
“Good boy,” I whisper, praising him.
He shudders.
And then his hand wraps around my throat– not hard, not rough. A warning.
He leans in, lips ghosting over mine as he mutters, “Be nice.”
I laugh, the sound catching between us like a spark. “Why?” I hiss. “So you don’t finish too fast?”
His grip tightens around my throat just enough to make my pulse jump.
And I know I’ve got him.
He talks like he’s in control. Acts like he’s the one running the show. But I can feel the tension in his arms, the way he’s holding himself back. The way his breath stutters when I lick the edge of his lip ring. The way his body is already betraying him– hard, desperate, aching for the permission I haven’t given him yet.
He’s not fucking me.
I’m breaking him apart.
And he’s going to thank me for it.
Luke lifts me off the counter effortlessly, like I’m nothing more than a feather. The heat radiating off his skin presses against me as he carries me across the room, his grip tight and commanding. He finds a room and slams the door shut behind me. Hard. Final.
We’re already breathing like we’ve run for miles. But neither of us is tired– just strung out on the edge of something that’s about to snap.
He doesn’t look around the room. Doesn’t care what bed we’ve landed near. Doesn’t bother with the light. His attention is razor-sharp, locked on me like I’m prey and he’s forgotten how to be gentle.
My back hits the wall. His hand wraps around both my wrists, slamming them above my head. His body crowds into mine, thigh between my legs, chest heaving. His breath fans across my face, and I can taste the desire in it.
“Stay still,” he snarls.
So I tilt my hips into his thigh, grinding against him. Slow and deliberate.
“Make me.”
His mouth crashes into mine like punishment.
It’s not a kiss, not really. It’s a bite. A devouring, teeth dragging my bottom lip open, and I bite back harder. He groans, growls, and grinds into me. Hands everywhere– yanking at fabric, tearing my dress to my waist. His shirt is already gone. We’re nothing but heat, sweat and spit.
My nails rake down his chest– long, deliberate stripes. Red blooms under my fingertips, and he groans like he likes it too much.
“You’re so fucking–” he chokes out, biting down hard on the curve of my shoulder, “--fucking mean.”
“Good,” I whisper. “You like it when I’m mean.”
He yanks me from the wall like he’s done pretending.
I land on the bed with a bounce. Knees spread, dress still bunched at my waist. I don’t reach over for him. I just look– slow, possessive– watching him tear his belt off and shove down his jeans. He’s flushed, panting, hard and twitching with need. That damn chain still hangs around his neck, swinging, and muscles in his broad shoulders flexing as he crawls over me.
I slide down the bed, plant my knees, and sink to the floor.
“Let me taste you,” I murmur, voice all silk and poison. “Let me take control.”
He’s breathing so hard I can see his ribs stutter.
I take him in my mouth, slow, savouring the taste of him. My tongue circles the tip. My lips wrap tight around his shaft, and I hum low, just to feel the way he twitches against my tongue.
His head tips back. One hand fists in my hair. His thighs shake.
“You like that?” I purr, pulling back with spit glistening on my lips. “You want me to take care of you, baby?”
He groans. Deep and wrecked.
I work him again– deep and slow, then fast and shallow, a rhythm just out of reach. My hands dig into his thighs. He jerks. Moans. Tries to fuck my mouth, and I pull back with a grin.
“Not yet,” I say. “You haven’t earned it.”
“Fuck–, I’m gonna–”
“You’re not gonna do shit until I say.”
He growls, yanks me up off the floor with both hands and flips me onto the bed like a rag doll. Before I can tease him again, he’s inside me– no warning, no build up, just raw, thick heat slamming into me from behind.
I cry out, half-shocked, half-shattered. My body seizes around him. He fucks me hard, hand tangled in my hair, dragging my back to his chest as he ruins me from behind.
“You want to be in charge?” he spits against my neck. "Still think you’re calling the shots, baby?”
But I’m laughing through every thrust.
“Oh, Luke,” I pant. “You’re already losing.”
That flips a switch.
He growls– deep and primal– and pushes me down into the mattress, his hand closing around my throat as he holds me there. Not too hard. Not too soft. Just enough to feel it. Just enough to know I could stop this any second– but I won’t.
Because I want to drown in it.
His other hand slides between my legs, fingers slick and skilled. He knows exactly where to touch me, how to push me towards the edge– and just when I get there, he stops.
“No,” he snaps. “Not yet.”
I sob through clenched teeth, body aching, desperate.
“Please,” I choke out.
He pulls out. Flips me over. Stares down at me like I’m something holy and unholy all at once.
His hand skims down my torso, slow, intentional. But his eyes? Still wild. Still starving.
Luke bends down between my legs.
Then–
He leans in and bites the inside of my thigh. Hard. Not playful– possessive. Like he wants to make me again, deeper this time. My breath catches, spine arching. He soothes the sting with his tongue, then licks upwards, right to where I’m dripping for him.
I twitch.
He pulls back just enough to look up at me– mouth slick, jaw clenched like he’s holding back from eating me whole.
Then he says it, voice all dark smoke and promise.
“You wanna come?” he asks.
My hips twitch again. His eyes narrow.
“Beg.”
I grab his face, drag him down by the chain around his neck until our noses brush.
“I’ll do worse than beg.”
I flip him over. Straddle him.
And ride him agonizingly slow.
His head tips back with a strangled gasp. His hands are gripping my thighs like he might lose his mind. I grind down, rocking my hips in tight, punishing circles. Every movement is torture.
“You’re–fuck–” his voice cracks. “You’re my favourite.”
I tighten my grip on his jaw, leaning close. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I fucking better be.”
He moans like it hurts, like it heals. And then– eyes still locked on mine– he reaches up and grabs my throat again. His thumb brushes my pulse point, gentle, reverent. But his grip is still firm.
And that’s when I do it.
I lean down, spit in his mouth again.
He groans like it’s a goddamn prayer. Swallows. Then whimpers.
“Mhm– fuck.”
His hands clamp hard on my hips, and he starts thrusting up into me, taking over the rhythm.
I claw down his chest, leaving welts. Blood beads at one scratch. His body jerks. He loves it.
“You want me to come?” I gasp, riding him harder. “Make me.”
He grabs my ass, slaps it once– loud and stinging. “Fucking come, pretty thing. I want it all over me.”
His voice is wrecked now. He’s close. I’m closer. I can feel it in my spine. In the shake of my thighs, in the way my breath starts catching on every thrust.
And he does it– slides one hand between us, rubs my clit just right, and I can’t hold back any longer.
The orgasm rips through me like a scream– my body locks, my hips grind down hard, and I cry out his name like it’s sacred.
Luke shouts– hips stuttering– thrusting deep one last time as he comes with a guttural groan. He clutches me tight, fingers digging bruises into my ass as he spills inside me, body twitching through every pulse.
He doesn’t let go right away.
Still inside me. Still panting. Still shaking.
His arms wrap around my waist like a cage– like he’s scared I’ll slip through his fingers if he loosens his grip even slightly. His forehead presses to the curve of my chest, sweat-slick and heavy with breath, his mouth open against my skin. He mutters something– low and broken– that I don’t catch, and I don’t ask him to repeat it.
Because his hands are already sliding.
Down my thighs, around the backs of my knees. Up my spine with his fingers splayed like he’s learning the shape of me from scratch.
He’s too spent to move properly, but his mouth doesn’t stop. He kisses up the center of my chest, slow and dragging, tongue flicking out where his lips pass the edge of my sternum. It's not sweet. It’s not even gentle. It’s worshiping. And borderline unhinged.
And then his voice, still hoarse, “Where does it hurt?”
I blinked down at him, confused.
He pulls back slightly, just enough to look up at me. His face is flushed and wrecked and still beautiful– hair plastered to his forehead, pupils blown wide, mouth kiss-swollen and twitching.
“Show me,” he rasps. “Where it hurts.”
I don’t answer.
So he takes my silence as permission.
He flips us fast– too fast, still high on adrenaline– and pins me underneath him, mouth already trailing down my chest again.
I let out a breathy curse, hips shifting, too sensitive to bear it but not willing to stop him.
His lips skim lower. Over the curve of my ribs. Down the center of my stomach. He pushes my thighs apart and hums, as if he’s cataloging damage.
“You left scratches here.” His thumb brushes a spot on his chest– four red angry lines dragged across his front from when I clawed at him earlier. He smiles crooked and almost proudly.
But then his voice drops again. Rougher. Closer to a growl.
“But I know I fucked you up worse.”
He slides down between my legs. Doesn’t even pretend to be coy about it. Just settles there, his hands pushing my thighs wide open, mouth trailing over the inside of my knee like it’s a threat. Like he’s warning me.
I arch involuntarily when he kisses and licks the tender, bitten place on the inside of my thigh– the one he marked earlier.
“Here?” he mutters. “Did it hurt when I bit you?”
I nod, breath catching.
He bites again. Not hard enough to leave new bruises, just hard enough to sting. Then licks the mark gently, tongue slow and warm.
“Good.”
He drags his mouth up–up–up, and doesn’t stop.
Another scrape of teeth near my hip. Another kiss just beneath my navel. His tongue swipes through the mess between my thighs, making me jolt from overstimulation, but he holds me down– hands firm on my hips like he’s anchoring me to the bed.
“Still so fucking wet,” he whispers, more to himself. “You liked that, did you, sweet girl? Being ruined like that?”
I moan– shaky, helpless.
He licks into me again– deeper this time, slower– then pulls back, lips slick, eyes locked on mine.
“Tell me where else it hurts.”
I manage a whisper, “My throat.”
A flash of heat from his eyes, “Yeah? From my hand?”
I nod, embarrassed, but he looks anything but sorry.
He climbs back up my body and presses a kiss to the base of my throat– then licks slowly up the length of it like he’s soothing something scorched. His hand comes up to gently cup my jaw. Fingers curling beneath it– not choking this time, just holding.
“That’s mine now,” he says into my neck. “Every sound that comes out of it.”
Another kiss. Softer.
Then rougher again as he slides his palm around the side of my neck and presses just enough to feel my pulse flutter against his thumb.
“Show me more.”
I barely get the words out–” My chest", before his mouth is already there. Dragging down, teeth grazing the swell of one breast. He kisses right above my heart, slow at first– then bites.
Hard.
I gasp, fingers flying to his hair, pulling and clawing.
And he groans– like pain and pleasure have blurred together beyond distinction. Like this isn’t about fixing me. It’s about claiming what he broke.
“Say it,” he growls.
I blink, dizzy. “Say what?”
“That I’m your favourite.”
I exhale a laugh, but he’s not joking.
He pushes his hips down, against me, still semi-hard, unbelievably, and his voice comes lower, more desperate now. Almost boyish.
“Please.”
I freeze.
His eyes are wild. Red-rimmed. Big. He’s panting. Big, sweaty, shaking overtop of me.
“Say I’m your favourite.”
I lean up, hand fisting in his curls and whisper:
“You’re my favourite.”
His whole body shudders.
I tighten my grip. Pull his mouth to mine until we’re nose to nose, breath tangled.
He groans– loud, wrecked, undone– and kisses me like he’s trying to crawl inside my lungs. Like ‘favourite’ isn’t a title, it’s a need.
Then, without warning, he pulls back, breathing ragged and grips my hips, pulling me across the bed towards him. “Come with me.”
He lifts me– strong arms folding around my waist, pulling me flush to him. The heat radiating off his skin is almost unbearable, but I don’t want him to stop. Not yet. I let my hands drift up to his shoulders, fingertips tracing the taut muscles.
His mouth finds mine, rough and demanding, tongue sliding over my lips as he walks us to the bathroom. I cling to him, breath hitching when his teeth scrape my jaw with just enough pressure to sting. I tug his curls, tug him closer, desperate to feel every inch.
I feel the cool countertop at the back of my thighs as he sets me down to turn the shower on. The sounds of our breathing mix with the pounding water. I can’t help but let out a breathy laugh, heart pounding. His eyes flicker with dark amusement as he spreads my legs, placing both hands on my knees before tracing them up to my hips.
“I’m going to make you beg,” he promises, voice low and thick. His fingers tease along my inner thigh where he bit earlier.
“Tell me how much you want it,” he murmurs, his fingers curling tighter against my thigh, sending jolts of pleasure.
I bite my lip, eyes locked on his, trying to keep my voice from trembling. “Please…”
He grins, wicked and possessive, biting his lip. “Say it.”
I breathe out, “I want you.”
“Say it again,” he demands.
“I want you, Luke.”
“Good girl,” he growls, voice thick with approval.
He lifts me from the counter and carries me into the shower. The warm mist greets us, steam swirling, tiles slick.
He turns me toward the water, his hands pressing into my back, guiding me beneath the hot spray. His lips find mine again– urgent, demanding– I wrap my arms around his neck as the water pounds over us.
His hands roam, mapping my curves, fingers trailing over skin slick with water and desire.
The weight of him, the scent– it’s overwhelming, dizzying.
I feel the tile press against my back as Luke moves us, one hand gripping my thigh, guiding it over his waist, as the other is sliding up to curl around my throat. The pressure is perfect– just enough to take my breath, to make my pulse race.
“Look at me,” he demands, forehead pressed to mine, eyes dark and intense. “Wanna see you fall apart.”
I swallow, breath hitching, voice barely more than a whisper. “I am.”
His thumb brushes lightly over my pulse point, then drags down my neck, slow and deliberate. He studies the way I shudder under his touch, eyes narrowed, calculating.
“You think that’s falling apart?” he murmurs, voice low and amused. “You’re not even close.”
Before I can answer, his grip loosens and his hand slips under my jaw, tilting my face up. His other hand comes to my mouth, thumb teasing at my bottom lip until I part them instinctively.
His gaze stays locked on mine—unchanging.
“Open.” The command is calm, but absolute.
I obey. Breath shallow. Chest rising and falling.
And then he spits—slow, deliberate—into my mouth. The sound of it, the intimacy, the complete surrender it pulls from me…it sends a fresh wave of heat straight to my core.
“Swallow,” he says, thumb still resting just inside my lips.
I do. Never looking away from him.
He groans low in his throat, eyes flashing. “Atta girl.”
The praise floods through me like wildfire.
His hand slides down my sternum, between my breasts, across my stomach. Not touching where I need him, not yet. Just skimming, teasing. Mapping me like I’m his to memorize.
“You’re burning up,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my jaw, then another under my ear. “But you still haven’t begged enough.”
I let out a strangled sound—part whimper, part challenge. “What if I don’t want to beg?”
His mouth curves into something dark, amused. Dangerous. “Then I’ll just keep you like this. On edge. Shaking.” His fingers drift to my inner thigh, maddeningly close. “Needy.”
I try to shift my hips toward his hand, desperate for contact. He steps back just enough to deny me, and the frustration makes my breath catch in a soundless gasp.
“Please.” It slips out before I can stop it.
“Not good enough.” He presses a single finger between my legs—barely any pressure, but it makes me cry out.
“Luke—please,” I try again, voice thinner, needier now. “Touch me. I need you.”
That gets him. Something shifts in his eyes. He growls again—low, rough—and lifts me like I weigh nothing.
“Fuck, baby,” he groans, voice wrecked and low, dragging his mouth down my throat. “That’s it. That’s my fucking girl.”
His other hand fists in my hair, pulling just enough to tip my head back further, to expose all of me to him. Then his mouth is on mine again– rough, punishing, all tongue and teeth. He kisses like he owns me.
And maybe he does.
He trails a hand down, slow and teasing, dragging over the curve of my stomach before slipping between my thighs. Fingers stroke once– slick heat– and then he pauses. Teasing. Circling. Pressing. His rhythm is precise and devastating, just enough to make me shake but not enough to let me fall.
“Say it,” he murmurs against my lips.
“I’m yours,” I whisper, hips already grinding against his hand, chasing friction.
He growls low in his throat, hips rolling forward until I feel the hard length of him press against me, a threat and a promise. “Who’s in control?” he asks again, more forcefully now, as if daring me to lie,
“You are,” I gasp.
“Louder.”
“I’m yours,” I say, louder this time, breathless and raw.
He grins– dark and triumphant– before biting down on my other shoulder, teeth sinking into skin. I cry out, half in pain but more in pleasure. He doesn't apologize, just licks the mark.
Then water splashes, hot and sudden, as he lifts me and sets me on the built-in bench of the shower. The spray hits us both, steam curling around our bodies like smoke.
He steps between my legs, dragging me to the edge of the bench until I’m straddling him. I move against him slowly, teasing myself with every inch as he holds me in place. His hand grips my waist with bruising force, fingers flexing, thumbs tracing the edge of my ribs like he’s memorizing every breath I take.
“Beg for it,” he barks, eyes locked on mine.
“Please, Lu, I need it. Need you.” I mumble out, dizzy with need. “Please… please make me come.”
He thrusts deep and slow, each movement a measured burn. His mouth finds my neck again, biting and sucking, branding me in places everyone can see. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, clinging, moaning into the steam-filled air as he works me open.
The water drums harder, but not louder than my moans, not louder than the way his name breaks from my lips like a prayer.
“You want me to come?” he pants, voice thick and tight.
“Yes,” I gasp, nails clawing down his back. “Please.”
“Say it.”
“I want you. I want all of you.”
That’s all it takes.
He snarls, low and broken, before slamming into me harder. Faster. Hands on my ass, my hips, holding me down as he thrusts up into me like he can’t get deep enough. Every grind of his hips steals my breath. Every groan wrecks me further.
My orgasm slams into me fast and vicious. I convulse, around him, crying out, nails biting into his skin as everything goes white, hot and blinding,
“That’s my girl, doing such a good job,” He praises, pushing the hair out of my face, coaxing me through my high before he hits his.
“Fuck–” he chokes, hips suttering. Then his arms lock around me, and he comes with a guttural shout of my name and a bite to the neck as his whole body shudders against mine.
We stay like that– soaked, panting– while the shower rains over us, washing away everything but the heat between us. His breath is ragged against my skin. My heart is still racing. I don’t know where I end and where he begins.
His hands never leave me. His mouth presses one last kiss to the mark he left on my throat.
Between the quiet hum of heartbeats racing and water pouring, something unspoken lingers.
