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Compliance

Pairing: bodyguard!Raymond Leon x rich!Reader Word Count: 7.4k words Prompt: Punishment/Spanking Warnings: NSFW, smut, mentions of roofies, allusions to sexual assault and murder, mild violence, hand around throat, spanking (hand and belt), some degradation, name calling, he says "little girl" once but she's an adult, fingering, swearing, creampie... A/N: Took me a while to get this one out but here it is. I just....this man is so scrumptious. I can't. Thank you and enjoy!

Being part of a wealthy family has its perks—like having a hot bodyguard to make sure you aren't in any danger. He's saved your ass more times than you could count, and you keep trying to repay him, but he doesn't let you.

It's not your fault that you keep getting into trouble! You love to party, you love to live large, and you love to be as beautiful as you can be. This means that there are a lot of people out there who want to do things to you—awful, horrible, traumatizing things to you that you're too rich to even think about.

You don't see it that way, which frustrates Raymond because it means you get into more reckless trouble. He tries to tell you to be safe, but you just roll your eyes and tell him to stop being such a buzz kill.

“Lighten up, Ray. If someone wants to have some years, I'll give them some. And if you don't want to fuck me so bad, why do you have to be such a cockblock?” You ended it with a wink and a sly little smirk, and he had to refrain from correcting you about his name.

He decides not to try and tell you again that people don't want to take some of your years, they want to take all of them; and that he's not being a cockblock by not letting someone give you drinks, but that he's trying to make sure you don't end up drugged and violated in every way possible. For you, these things hardly exist—and they don't happen to rich girls like you. Surely, you'd be safe.

And again with the sex. You've been trying to fuck him since he was assigned to you months ago. This isn't even his department, but you've managed to fuck—and thus manipulate—every bodyguard your father has assigned to you. You let them get into your pants, and then they become too pussy whipped to do their job right.

Raymond won't be the same. He's got a reputation to uphold.

But damn it, you make his job very hard sometimes. You wear whatever you want, whenever you want. You're not modest, and you know how beautiful you are. He's seen you naked far more times than he can count, and it's never on his own accord. He's learned that sometimes, it's just easier to close his eyes than it is to try to get you to put some clothes on when you're in your room with no one else around.

But sometimes he can't afford to do that, because you learned that it's the easiest way to trick him into not watching you so that you can slip out of a window and escape to some party or other and make him find you. If you didn't have so many goddamn years, he'd say you were more trouble than you were worth.

You're a vixen—manipulative, sly, and so maddeningly attractive, that he almost forgives you for being so difficult.

He's not always good at keeping these thoughts locked in his mind and away from his face, but he's good enough that you don't know just how much he struggles to keep you out of his head when he's able to lay down for some much needed rest after a long day with you. He's only a man after all.

Tonight isn't much of an exception to your frustrating difficulties. It's a rare occasion that he lets you attend a party not approved by your father.

“You never let me do anything fun! And I've been good lately, don't I deserve a reward,” you'd pouted.

And while you were still as annoying as usual, you had eased up a slight (keyword: slight) in the past week—which he is beginning to realize was likely for this exact reason. Even so, he's been able to get a few extra hours of sleep because of this, so he will relent this one time.

“Fine. But you don't leave my side,” he instructed. “Don't make me have to follow you into the restroom again.” That threat alone was enough to make you agree. The last time had just been weird.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You wrapped your arms around him and lifted onto your toes to kiss his cheek. He rolled his eyes. “You are the best bodyguard ever.”

He genuinely scoffed, watching you disappear into your closet to find something to wear. You peaked out no more than five seconds later, looking him up and down skeptically.

“But you're not wearing that, darling. You look like a cop, and this party isn't necessarily legal.”

“I'm not changing.”

“Then this night will be hell for you.”

He decided it was better to just listen, rather than to challenge you on that. If there's nothing else you love to do, it's to challenge him. So he didn't fight any longer—he knew you'd win one way or another.

~

He's beginning to regret letting you convince him to come.

There's people everywhere, and with people, there's liquor and drugs and a strange amount of public sex. He stays glued to your side and your flank. He doesn't let anyone touch you without permission, he doesn't let anyone talk to you without permission. You're beginning to feel like a prison escort, rather than a rich girl looking for some fun.

“Okay. Ray-baby?”

“Don't call me that.”

“You're gonna have to back off a little bit, or I'll lose my mind. Do you want me to lose my mind?” You lay a delicate hand adorned with fingerless gloves over your chest. Your nails glimmer and your glittery lashes flutter as the rhinestones carefully glued to your cheeks shine beneath the party lights. You have to shout to be heard over the music, but you still sound so effortlessly pretty.

“Maybe if you lost your mind, my job would be easier,” he grumbles.

You lay your hands on his chest, where his black shirt stretches across his chest beneath his leather jacket. It's not much of a change from his normal attire, but it's enough to not raise too much suspicion.

You taunt again in a sing-song voice. “Ray-baby.”

“Don't call me that.”

“There's still plenty of nighttime left for me to do something you'll hate. Take a step back and stop gatekeeping me before I tell everyone here that you're a crazy stalker who's trying to kill me.”

“No.”

You jut your bottom lip out, frowning deeply as this look of fear and sorrow crosses your face. He knows this look well, has learned not to oppose it. He's embarrassed to admit that he nearly startles when your lip begins to tremble.

“Fine,” he huffs. He finds himself relenting to you a lot more often than he means to. “Don't you dare scream.”

You beam at him, patting his chest lightly. “Thank you, Ray.”

You turn on your heel to get back to the party. He follows you, biting the inside of his cheek at the way your hips sway in your tiny, skin-tight dress. Your legs are completely exposed, and he knows the only reason you're not freezing is because there are too many bodies around preventing any kind of chill into the crowded house.

He almost doesn't realize he's not following you before he kicks into gear once more.

The next half hour runs smoothly. You spend more time dancing with some friends you run into, ordering drinks from the bar that he ensures are clean before they're even given to you.

Someone sidles up next to you after a while, a charming man with a charming smile whose eyes are a bit glossy. You'd managed to ditch Raymond.

(“Ray, darling, would you please get me some water? You want me to stay hydrated, don't you?” “Why can't you get it while I follow?” “I won't do anything! I’ll stay right here with Tracy and Delia. Promise.” “No.”)

After another threat to scream, he relented. You left the two as soon as he was out of sight. He's probably looking for you now.

He says some pick up line you're not paying attention to. When he leans in, you hook your hand around the back of his neck and bring him down for a kiss. You're pushed against a wall, his hands all over your body as you hold onto him in turn.

You giggle into his liquor tinted mouth when you feel his knee splitting between your thighs, up and up as he teases you with it. He's almost reached where you're waiting before he's suddenly being pulled away with a harsh tug.

You look to see Raymond, his face furious as he takes the man by his shoulder in a tight grasp. “Ray,” you whine. “C’mon. I just wanted one.”

He ignores you, turning toward the guy you were sucking face with and patting him down.

“What the fuck are you doing, man?” he complains, worse when Raymond starts checking his jacket for contraband. “Get your hands off me!”

He grabs him by his cheeks, squeezing until his mouth is wide and he can see into it. He looks around for anything peculiar—you don't know what the fuck he'll find—before letting him go with a couple smacks to the cheek.

“Get the fuck out of here.” He gestures with his head before turning back to you, pouting against the wall with your arms crossed.

When he doesn't move, Raymond turns around again with a harder glare in his eyes. He repeats it with a little more force but no more volume. “Get the fuck out of here.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, fixing his jacket roughly and walking away. He shoots you one last smirk, waving slowly with a tiny wink.

You wave back, lip curled out and brows furrowed. You wiggle your fingers in farewell, like you're torn apart by this nameless man’s departure. Raymond smacks your hand down with no actual cruelty.

“You lied,” he states simply.

“I didn't lie. I said I would stay put,” you shrug. “I just never specified for how long.”

He gives you a hard stare—but that kind of thing hardly ever works for you, especially not when you've managed to (finally) have a full drink in you. Nowhere near tipsy but loose enough to be able to avoid any manipulation.

“We're leaving.”

“No, we're not.”

“If you can't behave, that's exactly what we're doing. Let's go,” he grabs your arm and begins to pull you away. You decide instead to drop all your weight and make him have to drag you—it won't be a good look for someone like him to be seen forcing someone like you out of a party like this so late at night. And even if he tries to explain, you'll just scream bloody murder.

So he stops and lets go of your wrist. You cross your arms again and pout. He can't help but think you look like a petulant child pretending to be a grown-up—despite nearing thirty.

He says your name, a warning. “We're going home, and that's final. You're not listening to me, which means I cannot trust you to be here around all these people whose intentions are not well-suited for you.” He takes a step closer to you. “So you and I are going back home, or I'll drag you there myself—kicking and screaming, if I must…”

You refuse to admit the effect his voice has on you. You should feel threatened or upset, but his threat sounds more like a promise than anything else. You'd be thrown over his shoulder, his hands on the back of your thighs to keep you steady.

But you decide against it. You stare him down thinking over your choices and deciding that maybe tonight, you'll listen.

Clenching your jaw and sighing heavily, you glance away. “Fine.” You drop your arms by your side. “Home.”

His gaze is still just as hard as it was before. “Thank you.”

You roll your eyes, shoving past him to walk back into the crowd of the party. He walks closely behind you, his gaze sharp as a hawk as he follows after.

You really did intend to listen. But there was something about tonight that made you want to test him.

Shaking him off your trail without being suspicious is hard. You're just lucky there are so many people around, especially when the song switches to something with such a heavy bass that you feel it in your chest and in your head and into your gut. Excitement floods the party like a wildfire until it's a horrible mix of elated dancers, a wild beat of up and down as the music rages on in a room of packed bodies.

He loses you in the crowd. He had a feeling you would try something like this, but even he can have difficulty keeping up with you in a place like this. He stands still and tries to spot you through the mess, but it's of no use. There are too many bobbing heads and shouting attendees, too much chaos to see through.

You wouldn't leave the party. If nothing else, you know better than that. He just hopes he can find you before someone else does.

You manage to find the bar, leaning on it as you wait for one of the servers to serve you. You just want one drink before Raymond finds you and drags you out by your hair.

You sit perched on the stool, growing more and more impatient as you drum your fingers against the countertop. “Excuse me?” you call, huffing when you're met with no response. What kind of service is this?

“Hey, baby.”

You turn around and recognize the same man from before, a smirk on his face as he walks up to lean against the bar next to you.

You smile at him, leaning forward on your palm and fluttering your lashes at him. “Hey, there,” you coo gently. Maybe you might get what you want after all.

“Seems we were interrupted before.”

“We were.” You reach out to graze the neckline of his shirt, and he steps forward gently, two glasses in his hands. “Are we gonna fix that, handsome?”

He hums, eyes slightly droopy as he takes in the sight of you. He hands you one of the glasses. “Your little bodyguard isn't gonna stop us again? I feel like I was just starting to get to know you.”

You giggle lightly, taking the glass happily and reaching into your purse. “I don't know where he is. But we better make it quick before he finds me again and takes me away.”

You jut your bottom lip out in another pout, still smiling as you grab your lipstick and a tiny vile. He steps forward, one hand on your waist as he dips his head into the crook of your shoulder and neck. “We better…”

You hum, opening the vile and dropping a couple drops into the drink he'd given you. Your smile falls into a pout as you watch the color change with a taunting swirl. You make a little whining noise, and he pulls back to see what the problem is.

His eyes fall down to the drink he'd given you, no longer the light amber it was when he presented it. His charm slips into something of a disappointed huff.

“Really?” You whine. “I never get anything I want.”

His face changes, and you can see a glimmer of anger flashing across his face. You tilt your head, no more than curiosity shining through as the threat he presents to you goes almost entirely over your head.

When your name is called, you turn to see Raymond standing expectantly only a few feet away. His face is set in a hard glare and his arms are crossed over his chest.

“Ray, he spiked my drink.” You pointed to the man in front of you, who blanches as he struggles to come up with a poor excuse when Raymond's hard glare directs solely on him, this time with way more fire and something far too threatening not to inspire fear.

“Wha– I didn't! Why would I do that? She liked me anyway,” he insists, shaking his head and backing away.

“I'm not a liar,” you roll your eyes. Raymond would beg to differ if the matter wasn't so serious. “He spiked my drink, Ray. Get him.” You say it like a petulant child more than a boss giving an order.

He's too concerned for your well-being to roll his eyes or refuse. Catching the man before he can run away, he grabs him tightly by the back of his neck and slams his head onto the counter top. You smile contently. The man passes out immediately, falling to the ground with a heavy thud as Raymond clenches his jaw.

He turns to you, no more relaxed than before. “Stand up.” You roll your eyes but do as he says. In the next moment, you're being thrown over his shoulder like a ragdoll as he carries you through the crowd.

“I'll walk!” you insist. He doesn't listen, doesn't pay you any mind as he continues to walk. The hand holding you wraps around your thighs, the dress so small but he keeps having to pull it down before you're revealed to the whole of the party still raging around you both. Some people look over as they see you being carried away, your elbows in his back as you hold yourself up with a profound pout. Upon seeing your lack of distress, they laugh and pay you no mind.

“You always ruin my fun.”

“Stop talking.”

~

Raymond doesn't talk to you on the car ride home. He doesn't talk to you as he parks, or opens your door, or leads you into the manor with a harsh look in his eyes. You're actually too nervous to try and speak to him. He's given you silent treatments before, but this one feels different.

You walk up the stairs with him behind you, walking into your bedroom as he still follows. You drop your purse haphazardly in a chair, sitting at the edge of the bed and patting your knees awkwardly as he stares at you.

The silence stretches. You swallow thickly, crossing your leg as you clear your throat as quietly as you can.

“I know you're angry.”

“Angry doesn't begin to describe it.”

“I was fine!”

“You didn't listen to me.” He takes a few steps toward you. His hard glare is the only thing giving off his anger. He doesn't raise his voice or add any extra force. He speaks so calmly. “My job is to protect you and make sure you don't do anything stupid, and what did you do? Something stupid.”

“You act like I can't handle myself.” You roll your eyes, not feeling particularly shameful, just awkward about being told off by this man who is not your father. “I was fine.” He says your name. “I'm not dumb, I tested my drink because I didn't see it being made like you told me to. And look,” you raise your wrist, green numbers counting down on your arm, “all my years are intact.”

Staring at you, he feels his last nerves fraying. You're so oblivious to all the threats out there, whether you claim not to be or not. You stare with a whiny pout, eyes low and disinterested with a level of sass that runs his last will to keep his hands to himself. Your legs are crossed with your arms. You're using them to push your breasts up like you're showing them off to him.

“The point is,” he insists, “I won't always be there in time to save you. One day–”

You groan loudly. “Ugh, you're so fucking annoying! You never let me do anything–!”

His hand wraps around your throat so suddenly. You startle, gasping as you stare up at him in shock. It happened so quickly. He's never done anything like this before. He's never so much as grabbed your wrist with as much force.

You swallow thickly, and he can feel it beneath his palm as you continue to stare. His face is inches from yours. He's boxing you in with one knee on the bed.

“Why do you have to be such a little brat?” His voice is low and rough. His piercing blue eyes are darker with his pupil blown wide. “You're a spoiled little rich girl, and your father should have disciplined you years ago.”

You should be offended, but his closeness and his hand around your throat, it's making it hard to focus on anything but the pulsing between your legs. You squeeze your thighs together. He feels the movement shift the covers on the bed and scoffs.

“Of course you'd enjoy this. It's all you ever think about, isn't it?” He shakes his head, his lip lifting in a scowl. “You fucked all the guards before me. You kept trying to fuck everyone you saw at the party. You've been trying to fuck me since I took the job. You're just a little slut.”

“No, I'm not,” you protest weakly. “Not a slut. ‘M not spoiled. I'm not a brat.”

His fingers tighten so slightly around your throat, and a thin gasp pulls from your throat. The smallest whine escapes, and he scoffs once more.

“You were saying.”

He tried so hard not to fall short, not to fuck up and fuck you. But he's reached his limit, and the only way you seem to listen is this.

“You know what? Fine,” he says. “If this is the only way to get you to listen to me, then we'll play your game.”

He doesn't let go of you as he stands once more, forcing you to rise with him. He sits at the edge of the bed and pulls you onto his lap. You're caught entirely off guard, steadying yourself as you speak quickly.

“What are you doing?”

“What your father should have done a long time ago.” He lifts the hem of your dress up until your ass is exposed to him, your thong wedged between it and reappearing to wrap around your waist. You shiver as he strokes your back and all the way down the length of it.

When his hand dips low and smooths along your ass cheeks, groping and kneading them roughly, you bite down on your lip and squeeze your thighs together.

The first smack comes as a surprise, a light gasp tearing from your throat.

He tuts, shakes his head with a hum. His face and voice are completely neutral, as though his mind were focused on an analytical objective, rather than a punishing palm to your ass.

His other hand wraps around your throat, lifting you up enough to make you look at him. “Be still,” he orders with a calmness that makes you shiver. “The more you move, the longer I'll go. If you behave, then I'll give you what you deserve.”

You swallow thickly, staring back at him silently. Usually, you always have something to say. But now…

“Answer me.”

You sigh shakily. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

He doesn't waste anymore time in punishing you. His hand smacks down on your ass once, twice, three times more. He spanks you over and over, each impact loud and rough enough to make you whine.

Your bottom burns, a stinging pain that mixes into the kind of pleasure that makes your thighs slick. You purse your lips in an attempt to keep your sounds in, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. He isn't gentle—you don't deserve it. He spanks you until you squirm, until your skin is hot and flushed with color.

“What did I say?” he pauses, glaring at you when you rub your thighs together, wiggling slightly in his lap.

“‘M sorry, sir,” you whine with an obedience he wasn't sure you had.

You hear his belt clinking as he undoes the buckle, untucking his shirt to pull it off. You glance over to get a peek of him, his chest strong and mouth-wateringly enticing. You want to taste him, to stick your tongue out and lick at his skin until you've had your fill.

“Be still,” he repeats. There isn't a shred of kindness in his voice. You try not to squirm again.

“Yes, sir.”

When he strikes you again, it's with his belt. You bite down on your knuckle to try and silence yourself to no avail. The sting is more intense, harder this time without complete malice. You whine and whimper, taking his punishment without another issue to ensure that malice doesn't come. You clench your jaw and squeeze your eyes shut. You press your thighs together and stifle your sounds as tears prick at your eyes.

By the time Raymond is finished with his punishment, your ass and thighs are burning with the sting of his spanks. You're sore and aching, trembling in his lap as you whine.

“Look at you,” he scoffs. “And you want to say you're not a slut.”

“I-I… I'm not.” Another harsh slap, so strong that you actually cry out. “I'm sorry.”

“Yes, you are.” With one last spank, he makes you sit up as he rises to his feet. Raymond puts you back on the bed, your chest pushing against the mattress as he positions your legs over the edge. He tosses his belt on the bed next to you.

You feel vulnerable—as you are—with your ass out, your panties gone and your tiny dress doing nothing to hide you. You've never felt vulnerable when you're bare in front of someone, but there's something about this that is different.

His hands are on you, undressing you unkindly until you're as naked as you've been trying to get for him for the past months. He takes in the sight of you, your pussy slick with arousal, your ass flushed from his hand and belt, your thighs trembling, your smooth skin exposed for him and only him.

His hands squeeze your sides, and you can't help but moan at the feeling of his hands on you. You've been aching for his touch since he was first introduced to you. He was, by far, the most tempting meal you've been presented with, and you're weak at the thought of finally tasting him.

He takes you by surprise when he shoves his middle finger into your cunt, thrusting it deep and curling to feel the way you squeeze. You moan, eager breaths puffing out of you as he explores your cunt curiously, though he watches you with a look that feels more analytical than anything else.

“So fucking wet,” he tuts. “I bet you're gonna take it all, huh? You're gonna let me ruin this little fucking cunt of yours?”

You clench around his finger at the idea, and he grunts as he shoves a second finger inside. You grip the sheets, trying to hold it together as the feeling of his pumping, curling fingers fill you, mixing with the lingering sting of your ass cheeks.

“Please, Ray. I need it,” you whimper, unable to hold out much longer as your need for him rises above any game you've been playing.

“What? What do you need, spoiled girl?” He thrusts his fingers deeper, gauging your reaction by the way your cunt flutters when he curls them against a spongy spot inside of you that makes you gasp lightly. “If you're going to ask for something, you've got to follow through. What do you need?”

Your breath shudders. “You. You, Ray. I need you to fuck me so bad,” you gasp. “Please, Ray. I'll be good. I'll be so good for you, just please put your cock in me.”

He hums to himself, clearly pleased though he doesn't show it. “I don't know. You haven't been very well-behaved. Especially tonight. I don't think you deserve any rewards when you've been so disobedient.” He curls his fingers so roughly that it almost hurts. “You don't listen, you've been sassing me, you whine like a spoiled cunt.”

You whine shakily with each cruel movement of his fingers. Your need only grows, regardless of his meanness—especially with his meanness. You're a wealthy man's daughter who's used to getting what she wants, who's used to being praised and pampered and treated like a little princess.

But Raymond doesn't care about any of that. His job is to protect you, yes, but nowhere in his job description does it say that he has to pamper you. And he won't. He doesn't see the need. In fact, he finds a deep-seated need to punish you and put you back in a place you've been out of for a long time now.

It melts you until you're malleable, ready to take any bend, any imprint he may have to offer.

“Tell me why you deserve it.” He smacks you again.

“I don't!”

He raises a brow, inclines his head. “Oh?”

“I don't,” you gasp. “I don't deserve it. I haven't been good. I-I've been a brat, and I haven't listened to you.” He eases his pace enough for you to breathe right, smiling to himself.

“Good.” He raises a hand to your back, rubbing along your spine and easing the tension that has built there. He pulls his fingers out of you, smooths his hand over your behind to ease the stinging skin. “I'm very proud of you. You've done very well.”

You breathe slowly, feeling your brain settling from its mind-numbing high. You're always feeling the loss somewhere deep in your bones, missing his warmth and his touch and his words.

“Ray?” you whisper, sitting up enough to look over your shoulder. His jacket and shirt are gone, his pants undone.

“What do you want, little girl?” He's not harsh when he says it, though it's not incredibly gentle either.

You swallow thickly, trying to be as polite as possible as you look up at him with soft eyes gleaming with tears (more from a desperate need and his intensity than anything else).

“Can you kiss me please?”

You see the slightest softening in his eyes, easily missed. He stares at you, deciding, as he tilts his head just barely. You watch and wait as patiently as you can manage.

“Turn over.”

You do as you're told, laying on your back and hissing slightly at the sting. He steps forward, leaning over you with one arm braced beside your head. Your breath is thin as you stare up at him—so close, you can feel his gentle breaths against your skin.

He scoops one arm beneath you, wrapping around your back and surprising you as he lifts you off the bed. You hold onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. He sits on the edge of the bed with you in his lap without a word.

You keep watching him, mimicking his silence as you wait for his command. He gestures for you with the slightest tilt of his head, beckoning you forward as his piercing eyes finally ease their stare.

You lean in, trying not to be too eager as you cradle the back of his head and finally meet him in a kiss. He tastes faintly of spearmint gum, this cool, refreshing feeling that makes your skin buzz. You tilt your head for a deeper kiss, unable to stop yourself as your desperation for him rises above control.

You tangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, bodies pressed so closely together that there's no space left between you. His arm wraps around your body and holds you tight, the other cradling your head as he kisses you back with as much hunger as you. All of the built up tension is rising to an apex ready to burst.

As his lips travel along your jaw to the underside of your chin, you feel yourself shudder. He licks and nips at your skin until you feel like you can't breathe. His hands move to grip your waist, unintentionally guiding you down onto his lap until he's grunting against your skin.

“Please, Ray,” you gasp. “Please, can you fuck me? I need you so bad.”

“Why should I, hm?” He sucks a bruise into your collarbone, and you're a goner. How he has the control to play with you still is beyond you.

“I'll be good. I promise, I'll behave.” You yelp when the erection hidden only by his underwear presses up into you and against your clit. The cold of his open clasp on his pants sears the skin of your thigh, and your head is fuzzy with all the sensations. “I'll be good for you, sir.”

He hums deep in his throat, considering this as the haze of lust clouds his mind. “Prove it then,” he husks against the skin of your throat, laying claim to you with lips and teeth and tongue. “Be good for me and ride me.”

You don't waste any time, pulling his cock from his pants and sparing only a moment to admire him—he's hard and girthy, and when you position him at the wet of your cunt, he's groaning as you slowly sink down on him.

When you're seated in his lap, his cock pressing into you and stretching you in the most delicious way, you let out a long, heavy moan, mixing with his as you relish in the sensation.

“Fuck,” you whimper. “Fuck, that's good.” You lean against him and bury your face in the crook of his neck. You don't move, clenching around him as you get used to the feeling of him. “God, Ray, you're so fucking good.”

He squeezes your hips tight, clenching his jaw and trying to steady his breaths. You're just so warm, so wet. He's trying not to move you himself as he busies himself with littering your shoulder in more hickeys—ones you'll have to cover when this is all over.

“C'mon, baby,” he rasps.

You nod into his neck, slowly moving your hips forward and gasping at the sensation. From there, you're moving so eagerly, that you wonder why you were still to begin with.

The pleasure is electric. You feel it in your belly, your thighs, your toes. As you moan and whimper at each catch of him inside you, he grunts. His hands grab your hips and lift you just enough to slam you back down on his lap. You let out a half-cry, holding him tight as you start to mimic the movement.

It feels so good. You're stuck on the pleasure like a fly on honey, fucking yourself on his lap as you gasp and moan. He watches your breasts, one hand braced at your side as his thumb traces over the delicate skin.

“Good,” he says, his voice rough with pleasure. “You're doing so well for me, sweetheart. Keep going.”

Part of you wants to push him back against the bed to find more leverage to ride him with, but the other part of you wants to cry at the idea of not having your body pressed against his. You're breathless, mumbles of how good he feels falling from your lips as you cling to him.

You swivel your hips, widening your legs to get him as deep as you can in an eager effort to fill that ache deep in your gut. You mewl in his ear, the sound intoxicatingly close to a tiny sob.

“Feels better, doesn't it? Being so nice and full of me?” His hands still guide your hips, rocking you intently as you whine some more. When you give no response, his palm lands three consecutive blows to your sore cheeks, smirking when you shriek and tighten around him. “Answer me, bratty girl.”

You shudder. “Oh, yes.”

“‘Oh, yes’, what?” His tone is so mocking, you can feel it rattling your bones.

“Yes, sir.”

“What are you saying ‘yes’ for, silly girl?” His brow furrows, though his jaw is still tight in concentration.

“It feels better,” you whimper. He can feel your thighs tense, trembling around him.

“Oh, yeah? Now put it all together, baby.” His teeth graze your earlobe as his thumb comes to rub circles into your clit. You whine, grinding deeper. You start to speak, but the words are unfocused, unsteady. He shakes his head. “No, no. You have to speak clearly.”

You try again, but just as you're getting the words out, he suddenly thrusts into you, interrupting your sentence with a moan. He tuts. “I said clearly. If you can't follow one simple instruction, how are you going to learn?”

“I'm sorry,” you mumble as best as you can.

He doesn't let you slow as you continue to ride him. His hands move to your ass, squeezing roughly and him when you whine and squeeze your eyes shut at the dull ache. “Let's try again, shall we?”

You nod, your breath catching. “You feel so much better, sir.” Your arms wrap tightly over his shoulders. “Feel nice and…an’ full.”

“Good,” he smiles. “Much better.”

You get ahead of yourself, planting your hands on his chest and pushing him back without much force. You steady yourself, rocking back and forth on top of him as you continue to seek out your pleasure.

Raymond watches you intently, his mind filled with the sight of you as he thinks about all the time he's found himself imagining this—your blissed out face as you lose yourself to the feeling of him, your almost whiny moans every time the blunt head of his cock find that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll.

He rolls you onto your back, tucking his thighs beneath your own as he pulls you onto his lap. He holds you by your hips, sinking back inside of you with a long groan. You tighten around him, whimpering and moving your hips to meet him.

Raymond steadies himself, giving a few experimental thrusts before finding his rhythm. He feels amazing as he ruts into you, taking all of his pent up stress and frustration out on you. You take it all, dizzy and in need of breath.

“Fuck, Ray. Ray—Oh, God.” Your hand reaches down eagerly to find your clit, rubbing only a couple circles before he's smacking your hand away.

“Did I say you could touch yourself?” he demands, out of breath. A few strands of hair fall over his forehead, in front of his eyes. It's hot as hell.

“N-no, ‘m sorry.”

He replaces your hand with his own. The calloused pad of his thumb strokes your clit with quick, tight circles. Sparks of pleasure are crackling in your veins. You feel like you'll burst.

Your eyes lock with his, brimming with intensity. You can see the glimmers of control around his irises slipping away. He leans over you, one hand fisting the sheets beside your head as the other continues its ministrations between your thighs.

He's breathing roughly, a slight grunting in his tone that brings his unraveling to attention. Your hands wrap desperately around him, nails sinking into his back for something to hold on to. His sounds are intoxicating, a deep rumbling of a growl.

“God, please don't stop. Feels too good, sir,” you whimper, your body grinding beneath him.

He doesn't say anything, but the thrusts of his cock become noticeably more unsteady. He spears into you with more roughness than quickness now, slamming into you like he's angry still. You let him, delighted to take it all now that you finally have him after trying for so many months.

“Fuck, baby. Moan for me, just like that,” he huffs. “Keep squeezing me like that.”

You do as he says because you're happy to do it. You would shout his name for your father to hear if he asked you to.

You lock your legs around him, feeling yourself beginning to unravel as his pace on your clit tightens. “Fuck, Ray, fuck—Ah!” You feel the knot tightening in your gut, twisting smaller and smaller. “Ray, I'm gonna–!”

You're cut off by a sudden gasp as you come undone, arching into him as you toss your head back on the mattress. You cry out, your whole body shuddering as shocked moans fill the air a few breaths at a time. “Oh! Fuck—Ray.” Your words are vaguely coherent as they tremble on, too colored by the fervor of your passion to allow for eloquence.

He shudders as you clench around his cock, your walls fluttering around him as he continues to fuck into you. As your nails scrape down his back, his jaw tightens. You feel his thrusts stutter, his breath hitch in his chest as his orgasm hits him. His breathy groans fill the room alongside your blissed ones. He’s saying something that you can’t quite hear, distracted by the warmth surrounding you, filling you as he spills inside of you.

A few more short thrusts fuck his cum deeper inside of you, and you shudder and whimper as he does. The pleasure swirls in your head and in your veins. He nudges you with the tip of his nose, turning your head enough to capture your lips. You’re both breathing the other in, losing yourselves in the taste and in the feel of the other. His hands stroke your sides, this soothing but possessive touch that makes you dizzy.

As he pulls away, you both catch your breaths in the relative silence. You wait for your high to die down into something coherent, keeping him as close to you as you can in order to feed off his warmth. When he pulls out of you, you whine at the empty feeling he leaves you with.

“So needy,” he murmurs, kissing your throat gently before standing to disappear into your bathroom. He cleans you up, and you let him because it feels good to be tended to.

When he’s finished, you stay spread out on your bed to steady your thoughts. .”We could have done that a lot sooner, you know,” you say.

He actually chuckles, and it brings a smile to your face. Whenever you manage to get a smile out of this man, your stomach flutters. A chuckle? You’ll probably die.

“Shut up and go to sleep.” He says from the edge of the bed, gathering all the clothes left behind to clean up after the two of you. You sit up, moving to the edge of the bed on your knees. You place a hand on his to pause his movements, turning his face to look at you.

He looks so unkempt now. It’s not something you’re used to. Raymond makes a point out of being put together, professional. Seeing him like this—cheeks pink from the exertion, hair falling over his face, lips plump and kiss-swollen…it’s doing things to you that you’re not sure you can recover from.

You lift a hand to his face, using your finger to encourage his hair from his forehead. You stroke that finger down his temple, his cheekbones, his jawline, until it’s placed beneath his chin. You bring him forward and place a gentle kiss to his lips, something too soft and too soothing.

You pull away with a smile, still so close to him as you stare into his eyes. He’s got these really pretty lashes. “I won’t go to sleep unless you join me.”

His hand lands on your waist, sliding down to your hip and bringing you forward. “You’ve gotten enough of what you want tonight, bratty girl.”

You giggle, grazing your fingertips along his jaw, cradling his face in your warm hands. “You would think you’d learn that lesson by now.” You won’t stop until you get what you want. He might as well give up.

He rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide the tiny grin playing on his lips. “And if your father catches us?”

“My father won’t catch us.” Your tone is easy, like there’s no argument left to be had. “And if he does, he’s not firing you.” If he tries, you’ll bat your lashes and convince him otherwise. If that doesn’t work, you’ll remind him that Raymond’s lasted the longest, and he’s the only one who’s actually been able to keep you relatively in line. You’re not done with him just yet.

He thinks about this, breathes in a deep breath and concedes with a sigh. “Spoiled little thing,” he murmurs under his breath. He pats your side, and you nearly squeal as you kiss him quickly before finding your spot beneath your blankets. He joins you a moment longer, arms wrapped around you, scent enveloping you. You smile as you nuzzle against him.

Cillian Murphy taglist: @lyarr24 @runnning-outof-time @goblinjnr @kmc1989 @shelbyisms @weepingwitchofthewest @cl-0-vr @thoticious @sinarainbows @the-nerdy-goddess @urmomsgirlfriend1 @bernelflo @dragonslayersupremacy @alurafairy @pietroxreader @darkcastle167 @neonpurplestars89 @motopoppp @mrkdvidal1989 @thegen3sisark @niktwazny303 @feyresqueen @lovelylilbadone @electraphyng @carolina-angel @xsweetcatastrophe @strangeions Tag yourself here...

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