˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ Sticky Sweet˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪
Sero wasn’t supposed to be here. Not this late. Not leaning against the doorway of the workshop like some creep, eyes locked on the soft, thick curve of her ass while she leaned over a cluttered workbench.
She didn’t even notice him.
He swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay put instead of marching in, pulling her hips back against his mouth, and worshiping her like he’d done in his head a thousand times.
She wasn’t a hero course student. Support course. Smart, quiet, big as hell and he swore—swore—there wasn’t a prettier girl in the whole damn school. She kept to herself. Wore soft, stretchy shirts that hugged her belly and tits, pants that clung to hips he dreamed of gripping while buried between her thighs.
No one else seemed to notice her.
She adjusted the welding goggles on her head, muttering something to herself as her plump fingers twisted at a screw. Sero didn’t hear the words. His brain was too fogged over with heat and need and years of bottled-up craving. Since first year. Since he’d seen her waddling across campus with a toolbox in hand and thighs rubbing with every step. She had a way of walking that made his cock twitch. A softness that made him think of full-body cuddles, titty smothers, messy, hot rides that ended with her face buried in his neck and his mouth wet from her taste.
God. Those thick, plush thighs.
Sero used to be ashamed of the way he jerked off to her. The way he'd picture her riding his face like a throne. Her belly hovering over his forehead, tits slapping softly against her chest while she cried out and creamed on his tongue. He’d come fast every time, hips jerking, hand clumsy. Once, he’d been so overwhelmed he’d whispered her name out loud.
He stepped into the room.
She jumped, startled, goggles still half-pulled over her eyes. “Shit—you scared me—what are you doing here?”
Her voice. Always a little raspy, a little sweet. Like she didn’t know the power she had. Like she didn’t realize how her softness ruined him.
Sero didn’t answer right away.
He shut the door behind him and leaned against it. Eyes heavy, hungry. She noticed. He saw her shift on her feet, one hand pulling at her shirt.
“You shouldn’t be here. I’ve got—work.”
“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “I know.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Then why are you—”
“You know I’ve wanted you since first year?” Sero said, cutting her off. “Didn’t even know your name. Didn’t care. Just knew you had the prettiest thighs I’d ever seen. Knew I’d eat your pussy for hours if you let me. Knew I’d come in my hand just from the thought.”
Her lips parted. “H-Hanta—”
“I used to lie,” he rasped, walking toward her. “When the guys asked if I’d fuck you. Said no. Said you weren’t my type. Then I’d go back to my room and fuck my fist, moaning into the pillow like a bitch while I imagined you sitting on my face. Using me. Rocking those hips while I begged for another taste.”
She backed against the table.
“I dream about your body,” he whispered. “All of it. That belly. Those thighs. Your tits spilling over my mouth while I’m under you, choking on how sweet you are. You don’t know what you do to me, do you?”
She swallowed, face flushed. “You’re crazy.”
“For you? Yeah. Absolutely.”
His hands landed on her hips. Soft. Careful. Waiting for a no.
Instead, her lip trembled.
“I’m not some skinny fantasy,” she whispered. “I’m big. I’m heavy. I’ll crush you—”
“Do it.” His grip tightened.
“Crush me. Ride me. I want that. I need that.”
When she whimpered—just a little, breathy and unsure—he dropped to his knees.
Sero’s mouth hovered over the waistband of her leggings. He looked up, eyes pleading. “Please.”
The second she did, he tugged the pants down slow, reverent, like unwrapping a gift he wasn’t sure he deserved. His lips brushed over stretch marks and thick thighs. The second he saw her—wet, bare, warm with heat and scent—Sero groaned.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “Knew it. Knew you had the prettiest pussy.”
She gasped as he dragged his tongue through her folds. Long. Wet. Needy. He moaned into it like a man starved. One hand on her thigh, the other pulling her closer.
“Sit,” he begged, voice muffled. “Sit on my face.”
She tried to pull away. “I’ll—”
“I’ll die happy,” he said, tongue flicking her clit. “Let me, baby. Let me worship you. Let me drown.”
She eased forward, thighs trembling. It took everything in him not to come untouched when she climbed up on the workbench and spread those plush thighs.
And when she lowered herself?
Her weight, her scent, her cries as he lapped and sucked like a man possessed. Tongue buried deep. Lips wrapped around her clit. She grabbed his hair, rode his face, shuddered and whined as her hips ground down with wild rhythm.
His cock throbbed in his pants, aching. He didn’t care. He’d wait all night.
She came once—loud, needy, broken.
“More,” he groaned into her, fingers digging into her hips. “Give me more. I’ll never stop wanting you.”
Her fingers tangled in his hair. “Sero—Hanta—I can’t—”
“Yes you can,” he begged. “You’re mine. Let me make you feel it.”
She came again. Harder. Shaking.
And when she lifted off, soaked and breathless, thighs glistening with spit and slick, Sero sat there, mouth shiny, chest heaving.
He finally unzipped his pants. Stroked himself once.
“Tell me it’s mine,” he whispered.
“My pussy. My girl. Tell me.”
She nodded, dazed. “It's yours.”
Sero came with a strangled moan, spilling across his stomach, messy and satisfied, eyes still locked on her ruined pussy.
It wouldn’t be the last time.
