The question was sudden and so jarring that you blinked open your eyes, startled. Sylus peaked up at you from between your plush thighs; his mouth and chin sticky with arousal, vermillion eyes almost swallowed by the pupils, but there’s amusement alight in them.
Your fingers, which had been running freely through his soft silver locks, froze. They remained tangled at the roots, tugging enough that he’d notice, but he didn’t seem to mind the slight discomfort.
“Wh-what makes you ask that?” You ask, perplexed but on alert.
Sylus didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he dipped back to where he was making out with your dripping cunt. His tongue laved a path from your pulsing little hole to your swollen nub, deft fingers spreading you apart for his feasting.
He murmured softly as his lips latched onto your clit and drew the bundle of nerves as far into his mouth as was humanly possible. It was like a firecracker was sent off in your brain with the pleasure that spiked through you at the action. Your spine bowed off the sheets and only a firm hand spread across your stomach brought you back to the mattress.
“Sy—fuck—answer m-me!”
With a far too smug smile, he lifted himself back up until his chin was resting on the soft yield of your lower abdomen. Idly, he swiped long fingers through the wet evidence of your arousal that saturated his cheeks and licked them into his mouth, tongue curling lewdly around the digits.
“Isn’t it obvious, sweetie?” Sylus purred. “I can taste the difference.”
Your cheeks warmed until they were hot enough to cook eggs. He couldn’t be serious… but he was. Your thighs struggled to clamp shut—an impossible task with the hulking man firmly wedged between them—and you wailed in dismay.
“Why are you struggling, kitten? I like it… you’ve always tasted sweet, but now there’s a sharp bite to it, just like when you decide to mouth off like a naughty little minx.”
He gnashed his teeth playfully, eyebrows wriggling and only then could you see the humour in it. Laughter bubbled in your chest until it spilled up and out. Sylus grinned wolfishly and repositioned himself for another course.
“We’ll be here a while,” he crooned, “I do have to get my five a day, after all…”
an: a silly little thought that popped into my head 🤦♀️ also, just to say, there is no evidence that pineapple changes your taste down there but it’s a fun little myth to write about.
-- when you get the opportunity to meet your hero in person, and you travel to make it happen 💕🍑 thanks for the drinks and exceptional company @delirious-donna
Could have talked for longer, honestly 😮💨😭 expect me to keep harassing you on Discord.
Your wailed refusal earned a click of tongue against sharp teeth. Vermillion eyes rose from your side to loom over you, an elbow braced on the mattress and his hair so perfectly ruffled you wanted to muss it just because.
A large hand slid over your too warm stomach, the graze of callouses brushing your already overly sensitive skin and causing you to wriggle. He mapped your front like the most intrepid explorer; swirling fingertips across your soft abdomen, thumb brushing your sides and hips and rubbing firmly at the line where your panties met your pelvis.
“Sweetie… you are anything but gross. That is an adjective you’re simply not capable of,” he cooed, all honey and silk. “What you are is feverish, restless and driving me insane with your little whimpers.”
“I can sleep in the spare room if I’m bothering you so much!”
Sylus reared further over you, a thigh wedging between your own to rub the seam of your sleep shorts right against the alarming heat of your cunt. He pinched your chin between finger and thumb, forcing you to look at him and dared to smirk at your evident pout.
“That,” he murmured against your lips, “is not what I meant.”
The tears gathering behind your eyes were hot and persistent, the emotions completely unstable and so not like you. A fever was the last thing you needed, and yet you both knew it was coming from how your throat felt like swallowing glass and your nose was stuffy.
An early night had seemed wise, and Sylus refused to let you go to bed alone hence the current situation of you tossing and turning in restlessness and his frustration. You were tired, desperately so, but your body just would not unwind.
“Let me help you… you’re strung tighter than a bow. I can just do this,” he breathed, kissing your neck whilst he delved beneath your panties and used his middle finger to spread you apart.
“You’re so hot here too, kitten. Fuck… so responsive.”
His praise washed over you like a soothing balm. As he touched your flushed skin, your spine arched instinctively, rutting yourself against him until the heel of his palm pressed deeply into your clit.
“I’m sick. You’ll get it too if you don’t… uh… d-don’t stop.”
The words faltered in the middle when that lone middle finger dipped into your hole, massaging the walls in slow strokes. You might be protesting with your words, but your body betrayed you. You’d never refuse his touch, not when you craved it so readily.
He tsked, biting softly at your ear. “I rarely get sick, you know this. Stop objecting because you think I find you any less attractive. Can’t you feel how wrong you are?”
His erection nudged at your hip, eager, ready to be put to use if given the chance. It was impossible not to smile, your heart fluttering a little at how you affected him, even now, sick and sweaty. Sweat which he licked from your jaw to your collarbone, humming his approval.
There was no point in continuing to argue, not when the slick noises from your eager pussy were gaining volume. Your arms looped around his sides so you could hold onto the flexing muscles in his back when he added a second finger and began to pump faster.
When you reached for him, Sylus turned his hips so you couldn’t grab at his cock.
“Not tonight, sweetie. This is about you. Aht, don’t pout again or I’ll be forced to bite that pretty puckered lip. I’ll do it,” he warned, vermillion eyes sparkling like precious rubies in a dragon’s hoard.
You whined. He bit, drawing your bottom lip between his teeth until it made a satisfying pop when he finally let go.
You writhed. Sylus pinned your thigh to the mattress with his, working your clit fast and hard with the heel of his palm and never slowing the thrusts of his fingers. There was an elastic band in the pit of your stomach, stretching and stretching, the tension growing near unbearable until…
The orgasm crashed over you like the waves of an incoming tide.
They surged through you until the tension in your muscles evaporated, everything growing loose and lax for the first time today. You weren’t aware of how tightly your gripped Sylus’ bicep until your vision returned and the pink tint of crescent moon indentations marred his skin.
His fingers were still inside you, lazy in their wet strokes. He was smug, his expression very much ‘I told you so’ as your eyelids fluttered, suddenly too heavy to stay open.
“There’s a good kitten. Doesn’t that feel better? Mhm, don’t speak just get some sleep.”
For once, you simply didn’t have the energy to argue as he gathered you into his arms and fell back against the pillows. Sylus fit your head against his chest, smiling when you nuzzled into him further and gave your first soft snore.
“How could you ever be gross when you’re the best thing to ever happen to me?”
How to Get an A+ (Night Raven College Professors Edition)
an: I have become obsessed with Twisted Wonderland and this is my contribution to the fandom (I just really needed to write for Divus 😿) and whilst this title might imply the reader is a student, I have not written these thinking that. The reader is very much each professor's lover and is equally age appropriate 🙂↕️
pairings: Crowley, Crewel, Trein & Vargas x female reader (separately)
warnings: kinks listed with each character's section but warnings for breeding kink, overstimulation, edging, light degradation, discipline, pet play, praise kink, mark making, impact play, exhibitionism/voyeurism (kinda, does a mirror count?), brat taming, toys
praise, mark making, edging
The tears leaking eagerly from your eyes only brought him closer to the edge. Salty and delicious, he caught them on the tip of a clawed fingertip and brought it to his lips. The illuminated depths of his eyes were a misty haze to you; the mask still in place as you had to come to expect, but you saw how they flared at your taste.
“Oh, my precious little darling... look how good you’re doing for me,” Crowley cooed, leaning in close to inspect your flushed features.
You wriggled on the bed, pinned by his weight like a butterfly mounted to card in a museum. Split wide at the apex of your thighs, the crescendo of your impeding orgasm sneaking closer and closer. It wasn’t the first time you had neared divine bliss, but you hoped—prayed—that this would be the time that your dark lover would allow you to freefall into the pleasure.
As if sensing your thoughts, Crowley sat back and gave a lazy thrust. He chuckled at your whimpered moans, barely decipherable variations of his name on your plump, kiss-swollen lips. With delicate care, he traced the path from the hollow of your throat over the peaks of your breasts, down to your quivering soft stomach and ended at the aching bud being rubbed by the neat thatch of hair at his pelvis.
Your body was a roadmap of where his claws and mouth had been. Welted lines ran across your ribcage and decorated the sides of your exquisite breasts. Purpling marks from the ferocity of his mouth adorned your hammering pulse and various points along each collarbone.
Crowley had wrung you out thoroughly—your limit was fast approaching—and he knew it.
“You may come for me, my jewel. Yes, like that... aren’t I the most gracious man? Of course—don't fight it—feel it. All of it.”
The dam finally broke free, and your crying intensified as the long-denied pleasure finally surged through your body. You clenched, dragging a guttural groan from Crowley as he lost his own fight with his release. He shuddered above you, praising words falling from his lips like prayers offered by a devote worshipper.
Each compliment lit you up inside, warming your heart and soul, and extending your high. You were going to be sore tomorrow, but it was worth it to see Crowley sigh in satisfaction, his smile reaching his masked eyes for the next time in days...
brat taming, impact play, light degradation
“You really are so very easy to read, pup... my my, what am I to do with you?” Crewel asked, not expecting an answer. Not that you could give one when you were desperately trying to catch your breath.
The skin of your backside and inner thighs throbbed with delicious heat from each and every strike landed by his diligent hand. You’d struggle to sit come tomorrow, but given your earlier mood, it was a necessary evil.
You sniffled and shoved at your tears as if that would hide them from him. “... ‘m sorry. It was only a joke,” you lied, the taste of the lie thick on your tongue and equally as obvious to the man standing over you.
Crewel swatted his implement of choice—a wide black paddle with a white handle—across his gloved palm. The sound of leather being struck caused you to twitch, as if anticipating the hit yourself. His shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbows, the tail of his red tie tucked between two shirt buttons, and a high flush stained his handsome cheeks.
“So funny that I forgot to laugh,” he drawled, eyes towards the sky. “I suggest you refrain from further lies, I can smell them as easily as I smell the scent of your cunt on the air. Greedy little thing is begging to be touched, isn’t she?”
You whimpered and hid your burning face behind your palms. Your insides were molten liquid, and what was worse was that he was absolutely correct. The shame burned, but not as hot as your lust for him.
His demeanour softened as he took a step closer to you, your body bent over the couch in his personal study, ass high and on display. A gentle hand ran along your spine from the small of your back until he reached your neck—each divot caressed with adoration and unspoken devotion.
Crewel took your chin between finger and thumb and carefully tilted your head until you were locked into his sultry grey eyes.
“Your body never lies to me, not like your dirty little mouth. Such a shame that you haven’t yet learnt that you can ask me for anything, there is no need for this charade every time you want to feel the sting of my hand on your delicate skin. You like to be put in your place, you love to hear me call you my filthy slut... admit it.”
Crewel spoke steadily, though you had grown to understand the subtle nuances behind the words. He was as turned on as you were, and if you were brave enough to reach for him, you knew you’d find him hard and straining.
“Only if you’ll admit that you like when I deliberately test the boundaries,” you countered in a moment of madness.
He smiled, and the rest of the afternoon was a blur.
discipline, pet play, toys
A pair of tufted felt ears sat atop your head, they twitched with the right amount of magical influence, as did the long luxurious tail at your butt. The plug filled you nicely—the depth and fullness—making your movements loose and languid. Feline.
Two long fingers reached for the pretty bell attached your bejewelled collar, flicking it gently to hear the tinkling sound and then trapping the silver accessory to silence it once more. Trein gave a hum of approval, your eyes flicking upward in awe at the noise, for it was so rarely heard.
“Tch... don’t spoil it so soon, darling.”
Your hands spread, palms up, on your thighs whilst you blew out a subtle steadying breath. It was getting easier with each time you adopted the position that was requested of you. No longer did your thighs tremble, your palms didn’t sweat, your posture remained perfect with the allowance of those feline movements that he liked so very much.
He stroked a hand through your hair, the corners of his mouth tilting upward when you affectionately nuzzled at him. Your eyelids fell low and sultry, a purr building in your chest at being so carefully pet. It made you feel loved, which was all you ever wanted.
The toy inside your panties buzzed to life and it took all your willpower not to mewl and lose your focus. Vibrations assaulted your clit, your skin prickling with goosebumps and every hair on your head tingled like live wires.
Trein watched from his study chair, one ankle crossed over the other and his spine rigid. If not for the ruddy colour of his cheeks and you might think him entirely indifferent, but this was not your first time dancing this particular waltz.
Your chest rose and fell whilst the muscles in your thighs burned with exertion. How badly you wanted to clamp them shut and increase the friction at your core, but should you give in then the toy would stop altogether.
Licking over parched lips, you spoke. “Please?”
“I suppose I should reward your diligence. Tell me how badly you want it?” he asked, tilting his head and tapping the arms of the chair in a gentle, practiced rhythm. “Does kitty want to come?”
The fluffy tail swished with a mind of its own, curling around your waist and batting lazily at your stomach. You watched as Trein’s eyes narrowed then grew hazy, the pupils dilating until the grey was completely eaten by the black.
Your ears twitched. Trein squirmed—he visibly squirmed.
“Oh, so badly... I tried so hard to please you.”
“And you have, darling girl... you’ve done marvellously,” he confirmed, showing you the small remote as he turned it on to the max.
The full-length mirror reflected a scene that even the most sexually open person might blush at. You were held tight against a barrelled chest, skin flushed and sweaty, a hand groped leisurely at your breasts.
Slick arousal dripped down your thighs to stain the sheets. Your cunt stretched by a thick cock decorated with coarse black hair speared into you over and over. Your lover wore a look of utter pride, eyes gleaming with voracious approval.
“Taking me s’well,” he slurred, pushing a hand into his hair to tame it before returning his bruising grip to your hip. He could feel your walls squeezing him again, and he gleefully awaited your next orgasm.
Vargas was going to paint your insides white, fill you over and over until you were leaking his seed. Except he wasn’t going to allow that, oh no, there was no way he’d let that precious commodity escape your eagerly awaiting womb.
Thoughts of you round with his child clouded his vision. Growing life in your stomach whilst your body adapted to nourish his child—the first of many. It was his greatest dream, to ensure the continuation of his robust bloodline. That was why he stopped himself from releasing before now, you weren’t ready. Your body needed to be properly warmed and prepped if he was going to make this stick.
Each orgasm stroked his already inflated ego, and he indulged in the sight of watching you taking him, of him being strong enough to keep going and going. He surely was the epitome of man. Strong. Virile. Masculine.
“I-I can’t take...much...more.” You wheezed out every word, body lax with the accumulative pleasure of hours being bent into every feasible position and listening to Vargas’ fantastical ideations of how he was going to breed you over and over.
Vargas grasped your chin and brought your gaze up to his in the reflected surface of the mirror. Never had you ever hoped more that the host of the magic mirror couldn’t suddenly pop up and see you looking perfectly ruined.
“See?” he said on a thrust. “Your body is made for me.” He smoothed a massive hand down your front, cradling your stomach. “This will swell soon, and so will these.” Vargas cupped your breasts and thumbed your nipples until you yowled.
“Fuck... fuck. You’re milking me, baby. That’s... it!” he roared, finally unloading into you with such force that your eyes rolled over.
You hoped for a break, but Vargas had other ideas as he pulled out and remounted you once you were splayed out on your stomach.
A sentiment you had heard many times over, but always in the context of combat. That was until the morning you woke with an aching need so powerful it felt like you were being ripped apart from the inside. Your lust addled brain would not—could not—be denied and the warm body asleep beside you was the perfect relief.
He didn’t stir at first; not when you clambered on top and skimmed your trembling fingertips down the definition of his chest and abdomen. You licked your lips and let out a pitiful moan when another part of him awakened first… your body grinding down to eagerly meet the hard length of his erection.
Of course, Sylus was no heavy sleeper and he was no fool either. A slow smile spread across his face, even though his eyes remained closed. He let you touch him, kiss him, run your tongue across his collarbone and down to his pecs. He could feel the wetness of your dripping cunt coating his pelvis, the sticky heat of you saturating through layers of expensive silks, and it drew a hum from his throat.
“Some men are so clueless,” Sylus mused to himself, his ruby eyes fixed on his treasure, his world.
What had started out as amusing was quickly morphing into something else, something edged with the potential for cruelty.
Leaning casually against the bar, he waited for his order to be served. Sylus let his gaze wander once more over to the cozy little corner booth you were occupying and smirked at the man who was leaning down in an attempt to talk with you.
His silver-white hair ruffled as his head canted to the side, wondering what lame pick-up line the unassuming and completely forgettable man was trying to ply you.
Long, tapered fingers drummed against the smooth countertop, picking up pace as his agitation increased. You could more than handle yourself, of that he had no fear, but he wanted to return to his place by your side as hurriedly as possible. Call it protectiveness, possession, whatever… he had no qualms in being honest with how he felt because he knew you understood.
Sylus watched your head shake firmly from side to side along with the obvious 'no' that formed and fell from your pretty parted lips.
That's my girl, he enthused silently.
The bartender returned with his drink order and a cheery smile. Smoothly, he handed over his black card and a generous tip. He was still half amused and half annoyed, but that didn’t mean he would be a dick about it to anyone other than the man who deserved his wrath. His subtle smile remained in place until he turned.
That smile shattered as he was met with the scene of the interloper seated on the opposite side of your booth, the side that he had been occupying. Panic was written all over your face and if the guy didn’t realise that, he was a fucking idiot. Either that or he got off on scaring women, and that was even worse.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
You felt the weight of his stare before you could make him out in the light crowd, the crashing waves of an unfamiliar emotion licked at your skin and deeper into bones. It only deepened your frown.
Your aggressive admirer seemed none the wiser to his impending demise, still trying to get you to admit that you weren't here with your boyfriend, it was just a line to keep the perverts away.
Clearly, it wasn't working.
He made you feel uncomfortable in the worst way, and although you might feel sorry for him when your boyfriend did appear, you were breathing a heavy sigh of relief when sparkling vermillion eyes met your own panic widened ones.
"Here you go, princess," he said with a smile that didn't quite reach those hypnotic eyes, "who’s our new friend?"
You watched as the man opposite shrank back at the imposing presence of Sylus. His stature, tall and broad, shadowed you both and you suddenly felt safe again.
He slid in next to you, an arm curling around your waist to gently tug you into his side with all the possessive dominance he dared to display—yet.
"No one. He was just leaving, weren't you?"
Sylus tsked, sipping his whisky before resting his chin on his fist. He stared directly into the soul of the now ashen-faced man, who was clearly trying to stammer something out but failing miserably.
"That's a shame. He'll miss the show," Sylus rasped.
In one fell swoop, your powerful beau had lifted you from the plush leather seat and deposited you fully atop his lap. A large, warm hand slid up your soft stomach, between the valley of your breasts and curled gently around your throat, just… resting.
Your back pressed tight against his chest, hips settling so your rear was directly over his crotch and his other arm wrapped around your waist once he was happy with your position.
You had almost forgotten about the clueless man, too wrapped up in the feel of your man and how this possessive side of Sylus was turning you on more than you thought possible. That was until the sound of him half falling from his seat to sprint for the nearest exit caught your attention.
"Mm, think you scared him, baby."
An answering hum met your ears, warm breath fanning against your neck as hungry lips pressed kisses to your throbbing pulse, making your head roll back to grant him even more access.
The subtle side-to-side movement over his zipper did not go unnoticed, and the faint mewl did not go unheard.
"Drink up, kitten."
~
"Sy—fuck—think I’m gonna… gonna pass out," you whimpered, white spots twinkling into your vision.
Spread out like a feast fit for a king, the granite of the kitchen island was no longer cool given how hot your bare flesh was. Silver-white hair nestled between your parted thighs, one commanding hand pinning you open as the other continued its merciless ministrations on your sopping cunt.
Magnetic garnet eyes assessed you through hooded lids, yet his mouth never broke the suction around your puffy, overstimulated clit. The bud throbbed between his lips and yet another gush tried to force his two fingers out of your clenching cunt, but he refused to relent or ease up.
Sylus was a man on a mission and you were at his mercy until he considered to completed to his satisfaction.
There was no way of knowing how many times he had made you cum since carrying you in here, having been unable to continue counting when the control of your body was willingly handed to the man worshipping you, but you were well past your limit.
Regardless, he showed no sign of slowing down.
With a wet 'pop' he released your bud and lapped lazily at the nectar that coated your folds, your plush thighs and his fingers.
"Just making sure you're still mine, sweetie.”
an: another thought that popped into my head... can someone please come drag this man out of my brain?! He can't stay!! 😩
Not the boring insurance type adjuster, but a man who cannot go five minutes without adjusting himself.
It didn’t take you long to notice after being stuck in several meetings with him. You exchanged equally bored glances and sympathetic smiles, knowing that you were both in for at least an hour of corporate chatter that had little to do with either of you.
Whilst absently tapping your pen against your lips, your eyes glazed over and roaming around the room, movement caught your eye—Higuruma’s hand disappearing below the desk only to reappear a few seconds later. You frowned, attention snared, wondering what he could be doing and so frequently.
The next meeting rolled around and you chose the seat one down from him this time, too curious on the mystery of a man you simply did not know well enough (yet).
Barely five minutes in and you caught his hand moving below the desk. You strained to follow without outright ogling.
His hand passed over the front of his crotch. A cursory touch, nothing lewd about it other than the thoughts immediately jumping to your mind.
He moved himself then stopped. You felt like a pervert for watching, but you couldn’t help it. Higuruma adjusted himself no less than ten times during the one hour meeting.
It made you wonder if he was particularly large… or maybe his underwear was just a touch too tight… or perhaps he was pent up and needed a warm hole—
Stop that!
“Everything okay?” a tired voice called out as everyone was filing out. Tired eyes met your flustered ones, a sparkle of something knowing in their rich coffee depths.
“Absolutely! I—uh—I should get back to my desk.”
“Don’t let me stop you,” he said softly, smiling. “Oh, before you go…”
The haze of sleep receded in slow lazy waves. A crease wrinkled your brow as the words filtered into your brain, the meaning incomprehensible when you were still half asleep.
A familiar chuckle followed, and it was enough to pry your eyelids open, quickly blinking away sleep and everything else that impaired your vision.
“Hm…wh—?” you managed sleepily, voice thick with confusion.
Sylus lay beside you with an arm propped on the pillows and his cheek resting on a closed fist. His garnet eyes twinkled mischievous in the dark of the room, a slight curve of his lips highlighting his amusement.
“I said… you sleep like a vampire,” he repeated slowly.
Your frown deepened before you thought to glance down. The covers had long since pulled low to only drape across your lower half, exposing the death embrace you currently exerted on your beloved teddy bear.
With arms folded like a protective cross over the plush, you held him tightly as if scared someone might try to steal him in the night. With Sylus around the chance of that was never zero…
The bear stared outwards as if looking uncertainly at Sylus, who stared back with a mixture of good humour, devotion and a healthy dose of something darker—jealousy.
“You’re one to talk,” you quipped back.
“Oh? And what, pray tell, do you mean by that?”
You gave a final hug to your bear before setting him to the side so you could roll over further and look directly at Sylus. His eyes followed the movement, an eyebrow arching in question.
It was hard to concentrate on your point when he was half naked—maybe fully naked but you weren’t sneaking a peak to find out—and his skin glowed from the one light illuminating the bedroom. His hair was carefully tousled, his lips plump and unkissed… what were you saying again?
“Sleeps during the day. Hates too much light. Eats like a demon. Employs literal minions to do your bidding.” You ticked off the list of overwhelmingly damning evidence on your fingers until a chuckle broke your focus.
He moved with inhuman speed. One moment you were lying side by side and the next you were on top of him, his broad palms massaging your hips whilst you blinked down into his carmine eyes. “You forgot something, sweetie.”
“Oh?”
Sylus nodded solemnly, but you didn’t buy the act. His touch coasted up your side and along your arm until he twined his fingers with yours and brought your hand to his lips. He moved to press a kiss to your knuckles. At the last moment he turned your wrist and nipped at the fast pulse thrumming beneath the fragile skin.
“I like to bite.”
You chirped in surprise, trying to extract your hand to no avail. He was too strong and deep down… you didn’t want to be free of him.
“Hey! I’m meant to be the vampire, according to you. What if I take a bite out of you instead, huh?” You taunted, bending over him so your nose pressed to curve of his neck and shoulder.
His scent flooded your nose instantly. Woodsmoke and gun oil mixed with heady mahogany. Your mouth salivated, tongue darting out to lick the skin so teasingly close.
You felt more than heard his inhale of breath. His Adam’s apple bobbed hard, and his fingers tightened around yours. The hand at your waist curled around you whilst his hips shunted up to show you exactly how much he liked that idea.
“A willing donor… Sylus, you’re so kind,” you cooed into his neck, feathering kisses to the expanse from his strong jawline down to his clavicle and back again.
Carefully, you scraped your teeth across his sensitive skin. His breathing hitched and you bit back a moan when his erection pressed at the seam of your sleep shorts, stroking you through the fabric until you were dawn near soaked.
Sylus grasped you harder and you could have sworn that a tiny whine crawled out of his throat. It sounded perfectly desperate and so unlike him that you didn’t dare draw attention to it lest it stop him from giving in to you.
“Bite—please—make it hurt,” he said and you almost blacked out.
