Come When I Tell You
Got carried away with this one 🥰
modern AU,
plot
You arrives at Rhysand’s penthouse after a texted summons. What follows is a night of relentless, explicit sex across the apartment and balcony, with Rhysand taking you repeatedly in every hole, filling you, and promising more until morning.
Content warning
Includes: detailed descriptions of oral, vaginal, and anal sex; multiple penetrations and creampies; cum play; rough/dominant sex; hair-pulling; spanking; public/semi-public sex; degradation language; overstimulation; and continuous high-intensity smut with minimal plot.
3.6k words
I slide the keycard through the lock of the penthouse suite and the door clicks open under my hand. The city stretches out beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, neon bleeding into the night, but I barely notice. All I can think about is the text that brought me here.
*Come upstairs. Now. Leave the dress on.*
Rhysand is leaning against the marble island in the open kitchen, sleeves of his black dress shirt rolled to the elbows, dark hair slightly mussed like he’s run his hands through it. Those violet eyes lock on me the second I step inside. He doesn’t smile. He just watches, slow and assessing, the way a predator watches something it already owns.
“You’re late,” he says, voice low and rough.
“Traffic,” I answer, but it comes out thinner than I mean it to.
He pushes off the counter and crosses the space between us in three long strides. One hand finds my waist, the other my jaw, tilting my face up. His thumb brushes the corner of my mouth.
“I don’t give a fuck about traffic.” His mouth is right there, so close I can taste the whiskey on his breath. “I told you to come. You come when I tell you to.”
I nod, already wet just from the way he’s looking at me. He notices. Of course he does. His hand slides down my side, over the curve of my hip, then lower, gathering the hem of the short black dress I wore for him. His fingers brush the bare skin of my thigh and keep going until they find the edge of my panties.
“Already soaked,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Filthy little thing.”
He doesn’t kiss me yet. He just presses two fingers against the damp fabric and rubs, slow and deliberate, watching my face while I try not to rock into his hand. My breath stutters. He hums in approval and slips those fingers under the lace, dragging through my cunt like he has every right to it.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
“That’s the plan.” He pushes one finger inside me, then a second, curling them just right. “You’re going to take everything I give you tonight. Every inch. Every load. And you’re going to thank me for it.”
I nod again, because my mouth isn’t working properly. He fucks his fingers into me harder, the wet sound of it filthy in the quiet apartment. My hands fist in his shirt. He leans in and finally kisses me—deep, claiming, tongue sliding against mine while his fingers keep working. When he pulls back I’m panting.
“On your knees.”
I drop without hesitation. The marble is cold under me. Rhysand unbuckles his belt, unzips, and pulls his cock out. It’s thick, heavy, already hard, the head flushed dark. He strokes it once, then rests the tip against my lower lip.
“Open.”
I part my lips and he pushes in, slow at first, letting me feel the stretch. I hollow my cheeks and suck, tasting salt and skin. He groans, low and satisfied, and threads his fingers into my hair.
“That’s it. Take it deeper.”
I do. I work him into my throat until my nose brushes the neat dark hair at the base. He holds me there for a few seconds, cock throbbing against my tongue, then lets me pull back for air. Spit strings between my mouth and his dick. He wipes it with his thumb and feeds it back between my lips.
“Again.”
I suck him harder, messier, letting him fuck my face in short, deep strokes. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. He doesn’t slow down. He just watches me with those violet eyes half-lidded, jaw tight, like the sight of me choking on his cock is the only thing that matters.
When he pulls out I’m gasping, chin wet. He hauls me up by the arms, spins me around, and bends me over the island. The cold marble bites my cheek. He shoves my dress up over my hips, yanks my panties down to mid-thigh, and spreads me open with both hands.
“Look at this cunt,” he says, voice dark with hunger. “Dripping down your thighs already. You were thinking about this the whole way here, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
“I was thinking about you fucking me,” I admit, cheeks burning. “Hard. Making me take it until I can’t walk.”
He spanks me once, sharp, right across my ass. The sting blooms hot. Then he lines up and sinks into me in one long, relentless thrust. The stretch is brutal and perfect. I cry out, fingers scrabbling on the marble. He doesn’t give me time to adjust. He just starts fucking me, deep and steady, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the kitchen.
“Fuck—Rhys—” I moan.
“Take it.” He grabs my hips harder, pulling me back onto every stroke. “This is what you came for. My cock stretching this tight little hole until you forget how to speak.”
He’s right. Every thrust knocks the air out of me. I can feel him so deep it borders on pain, and I love it. He reaches around and finds my clit, rubbing tight circles while he pounds into me. My orgasm builds fast, sharp, and when it breaks I sob into the marble, cunt clenching around him in helpless pulses.
He doesn’t stop. He fucks me through it, chasing his own pleasure now, pace turning brutal. When he cums he buries himself to the hilt and groans my name, cock pulsing as he fills me. Hot cum leaks out around his shaft when he finally pulls free. He watches it drip down my thighs for a second, then pushes two fingers back into me, scooping some of it up and pressing it to my lips.
“Clean it up.”
I suck his fingers clean without hesitation. He makes a low, approving sound and turns me around again, lifting me onto the edge of the island so I’m sitting there with my legs spread, dress still hiked up, panties tangled around one ankle. His cum is still leaking out of me. He steps between my thighs, cock already half-hard again, and rubs the head through the mess.
“We’re not done,” he says. “Not even close.”
He kisses me again, slower this time, while he pushes back inside. I moan into his mouth. He fucks me like that for a while—deep, rolling thrusts, one hand tangled in my hair, the other holding my thigh open so he can watch himself disappear into me. The wet sounds are obscenely loud. Every time he bottoms out I feel his cum being pushed deeper.
“You’re going to cum again,” he tells me, voice rough against my ear. “And then I’m going to put you on your back on that couch and fuck another load into you. And if you’re still conscious after that, I’ll take your ass.”
I shudder. He feels it and grins against my throat.
“You like that idea. Filthy girl.”
I do.
He reaches between us and works my clit again, relentless. I cum a second time with his name broken on my tongue, walls fluttering around him. He keeps thrusting through it until I’m oversensitive and whimpering, then pulls out, scoops me off the counter, and carries me to the massive black couch in the living room.
He lays me down and strips the dress the rest of the way off, then my bra. I’m naked under him now, flushed and marked with the imprint of his hands. He sheds his own clothes without hurry, all lean muscle and dark ink across his chest and arms. When he settles between my legs again his cock is fully hard, glistening with our combined mess.
He pushes in slow this time, watching my face as he fills me. Once he’s seated he stays there, grinding deep, letting me feel every thick inch.
“Tell me what you need.”
“You,” I breathe. “Harder. Please.”
He gives it to me. The couch creaks under the force of his thrusts. I wrap my legs around his waist and dig my nails into his back. He growls and fucks me harder, the head of his cock dragging over that perfect spot inside me on every stroke. Another orgasm coils tight and low in my belly. When it hits I arch under him, crying out, and he follows a few thrusts later, burying his face in my neck as he empties into me again.
We stay locked together for a long minute, breathing hard. Then he eases out, rolls onto his back, and pulls me on top of him. His cum is a thick, warm mess between my thighs. He doesn’t seem to care. He just runs his hands up and down my back, proprietary.
“Ride me,” he says after a while. “I want to watch you work for it.”
I straddle him, reach down, and guide his half-hard cock back into my slick, used cunt. It takes just a few strokes before he’s fully hard again inside me. Then I start to move—slow rolls of my hips at first, then faster, grinding down so my clit rubs against him. He watches me with dark eyes, hands on my waist, letting me set the pace until I’m chasing another climax.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Fuck yourself on my cock. Show me how much you need it.”
I do. I bounce harder, tits swaying, and he sits up enough to catch one nipple in his mouth, sucking hard. The dual sensation tips me over. I cum with a broken moan, cunt spasming around him. He holds me through it, then flips us again so I’m on my back once more.
He pulls out, flips me onto my stomach, and drags me up onto my knees. One hand spreads me open. The other gathers the mess leaking out of my cunt and smears it over my asshole.
“Breathe,” he says.
I do. He presses the head of his cock against the tight ring and pushes. The stretch is intense, burning in the best way. He goes slow, inch by inch, until he’s fully seated in my ass. I whimper eagerly into the cushions. He stays still, letting me adjust, one hand stroking my clit in gentle, precise circles.
“Good girl,” he praises, voice rough. “Taking my cock in your ass like you were made for it.”
When I nod, he starts to move—shallow thrusts at first, then deeper. The dual sensation of being so full and the constant pressure on my clit has me shaking. He fucks my ass with the same relentless control he always has, one hand still working between my legs. I cum again, harder than before, the orgasm ripping through me until my vision whites out for a second.
He doesn’t stop. He keeps thrusting into my ass until he cums with a low, guttural sound, flooding me. When he finally pulls out I feel empty and wrecked and dripping from both holes. He gathers me against his chest, both of us sticky and breathing hard.
For a while we just lie there. Then his hand drifts back between my legs, fingers sliding through the mess he left in me.
“Still so wet,” he says softly. “I think you can take one more.”
I make a weak, needy sound. He smiles against my hair, rolls me onto my side, and spoons up behind me. His cock—somehow hard again—slides back into my cunt from behind. This time the fucking is slower, deeper, almost lazy. One of his arms is under my head; the other reaches around to play with my clit in perfect, devastating rhythm.
“You’re mine,” he murmurs into my ear as he thrusts. “This cunt. This ass. That pretty mouth. All of it. I could keep you here for days and fill you until you can’t hold any more.”
I cum again under his fingers and the slow roll of his hips, softer this time but no less intense. He follows soon after, burying himself deep and letting another load join the others already inside me.
When he finally pulls out I’m a wreck—trembling, covered in sweat and cum, thighs sticky, throat sore from taking him earlier. He doesn’t let me go far. He carries me to the massive shower in the master bathroom, turns the water on hot, and washes me with careful hands. Even then his fingers linger between my legs, gentle now, cleaning the mess he made.
After, he wraps me in a towel and brings me back to the bed. We collapse into the sheets. His arm settles heavy across my waist. I can still feel him everywhere—inside me, on my skin, in the ache between my legs.
“Sleep,” he says against the back of my neck. “I’m not finished with you. When you wake up I’m going to fuck you again.”
I believe him. My body is already humming with the promise of it. I close my eyes, still feeling the ghost of his cock stretching me, and let exhaustion pull me under.
Sometime later I wake to the feeling of his mouth between my legs.
Rhysand is on his stomach between my thighs, holding them open, tongue dragging slow and filthy through the mess he left earlier. I gasp and try to close my legs on instinct. He doesn’t let me. He just looks up with those violet eyes and keeps licking, long, deliberate strokes that end with a flick over my clit.
“Morning,” he says against my cunt, voice rough with sleep and hunger.
I can only moan. He settles in and eats me like he’s starving—tongue fucking into me, then sealing his mouth over my clit and sucking until my hips are rolling helplessly against his face. Two fingers push inside, curling, and he works them in time with his mouth until I’m coming hard, thighs shaking around his head.
He doesn’t stop. He keeps going until I’m oversensitive and trying to squirm away, then climbs up my body and kisses me so I can taste myself on his tongue. His cock is hard against my hip. He reaches down, guides himself to my entrance, and sinks in with one smooth thrust.
“Fuck, you’re still so wet,” he groans. “And still full of me. I love feeling my cum inside you while I fuck you again.”
He sets a deep, steady pace, one hand braced by my head, the other holding my thigh high against his side so he can go deeper. The wet, filthy sounds of him moving through the mess from last night fill the room. I dig my nails into his shoulders and take every thrust.
“Harder,” I beg.
He gives it to me. The headboard starts knocking against the wall. He leans down and bites the side of my throat, not hard enough to break skin but hard enough to mark. I cum again with a broken cry, cunt clamping down around him. He fucks me through it, then pulls out, flips me onto my hands and knees, and pushes back into my ass without warning.
The stretch is easier this time, my body already trained to take him there. He fucks my ass with long, powerful strokes, one hand fisted in my hair, the other reaching under to rub my clit. I cum a third time like that, sobbing into the pillow, and he follows with a low curse, flooding my ass again.
He stays buried for a long moment after, breathing hard against my back. When he finally pulls out I feel empty and used in the best possible way. He collapses beside me and pulls me into his chest.
“You’re going to be sore,” he says, almost smug.
“Good,” I answer, voice hoarse.
He laughs, low and dark, and kisses the top of my head. His hand slides down my back, over the curve of my ass, fingers brushing the sensitive, used entrance there.
“Rest for a bit,” he murmurs. “Then I’m going to make you ride my cock until you can’t cum anymore. And after that I’m going to bend you over the balcony railing and fuck you where anyone in the building across the street could see if they looked hard enough.”
My cunt clenches at the thought. He feels it and smiles against my hair.
“Greedy,” he says. “I like it.”
I do rest—for a little while. But my body is still humming, still open and wet and aching for more. When I shift against him I feel his cock twitch against my stomach. I slide down the bed without a word, take him in my mouth, and suck him back to full hardness. He groans and lets me, fingers carding through my hair as I work him with tongue and throat until he’s leaking precum onto my tongue.
“Enough,” he says eventually, voice tight. “Come here.”
I climb back up. He guides me to straddle him and I sink down onto his cock in one smooth motion. The stretch is familiar now, perfect. I start to ride him, slow at first, then faster when he grips my hips and helps. His eyes never leave my face. Every time I rise and fall he watches the way my cunt swallows him, the way his cum from earlier is pushed out around his shaft only to be fucked back in.
“Touch yourself,” he orders.
I do. I rub my clit in tight circles while I bounce on his cock. The dual sensation has me coming fast, walls fluttering around him. He groans as he holds me down through it, grinding up into me, then sits up so we’re chest to chest. One arm wraps around my waist; the other fists in my hair. He fucks up into me hard from below while I cling to him, another orgasm building almost immediately.
“That’s it,” he growls against my mouth, it's almost feral “Cum on my cock again. I want to feel it.”
I do. I shatter with a broken moan, and he follows right after, burying himself deep and pulsing inside me. We stay locked together, breathing hard, until the oversensitivity forces me to lift off. His cum spills out of me onto his stomach. He watches it with dark satisfaction, then gathers some on his fingers and pushes it back into my cunt.
“Keep it in,” he says. “I want you full when I take you outside.”
My heart kicks. He stands, pulls me up with him, and walks me naked to the glass doors that lead onto the wide balcony. The night air is cool on my overheated skin. The city lights glitter far below. He positions me facing the railing, bends me forward until my elbows rest on the cool metal, and kicks my feet apart.
Anyone looking up from the right angle could see us. The thought makes my cunt throb.
Rhysand steps up behind me, rubs the head of his cock through the mess between my legs, and pushes into my cunt in one long thrust. I moan, loud enough that it carries a little on the wind. He doesn’t care. He just starts fucking me, deep and steady, one hand on my hip, the other reaching around to play with my clit.
“Look at you,” he says against my ear. “Bent over my balcony with my cock in you and my cum dripping down your thighs. Anyone could see how well you take it.”
I cum hard at the words, clenching around him. He keeps thrusting through it, pace turning almost punishing. When he pulls out it’s only long enough to press the head of his cock against my asshole and push back in. The dual stretch of earlier has me open and ready. He fucks my ass under the open sky, one hand still working my clit, until I come again with a broken cry that echoes off the buildings.
He follows soon after, groaning low as he fills me one more time. When he finally pulls out I can feel his cum leaking from both holes, sliding down my inner thighs. He turns me around, lifts me so my back is against the railing, and kisses me deep and filthy while the city stretches out behind us.
“Inside,” he says eventually. “I’m not done.”
He carries me back in, lays me on the bed, and spends the next hour using his mouth and fingers to wring two more orgasms out of me while I tremble and beg. Only then does he settle between my legs again and push into my cunt one last time. This fucking is slower, deeper, almost tender in its intensity. He watches my face the whole time, thumb stroking my cheek, and when I cum he follows with a low, satisfied groan, filling me once more.
Afterward we lie tangled in the sheets, both of us wrecked. His hand rests possessively on my hip. I can still feel him everywhere—the ache, the stretch, the wet heat of his cum inside me.
“You’re staying the night, again.” he says, not a question.
I nod. He kisses the side of my throat, right over the mark he left earlier.
“Good. Because in a few hours I’m going to wake you up with my cock in your mouth, and then I’m going to fuck you until the sun comes up.”
I shiver, he is already half-hard again at the promise. His arm tightens around me.
“Sleep while you can,” he murmurs. “You’re going to need it.”
I close my eyes, body still humming, and let the weight of him and the filthy promise of more pull me under. The night is far from over. And Rhysand has never been known for mercy when it comes to taking what’s his.