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Chapter Text

 ⛧༺𓆩𝕺𝖓𝖞𝖝𓆪༻⛧

Ｎｏ．１→ 𝕸𝖆𝖞 𝕴? 

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━─━────༺༻────━─━

You were wearing a short black dress that clung to your curves, revealing more skin than usual. Your long hair was pulled up into a tight bun, the sleek strands contrasting with the soft vulnerability in your eyes. Leaning against Thėo’s shoulder, you thought the night was perfect — until the last song faded.

Suddenly, Thėo turned toward a girl with short blonde hair standing nearby. Without hesitation, he kissed her cheek. Your heart stumbled, disbelief hitting you like a fist. You slapped his arm sharply.

“Thėo! Wha–” Your voice cracked with shock.

He raised his hands, almost pleading. “I’m sorry, MC — I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while.” His voice was shaky. “I… I’ve been cheating.”

Your eyes widened, searching his face for any trace of a joke. There was none. He continued, “Look, I’m sorry! It started out as just a dare, but… I got attached. I didn’t want to, because you don’t deserve this — you deserve better.”

You blinked, the words sinking in. “I obviously deserve fucking better. What the actual fuck, Thėo?!” The shock was there, but oddly, not the pain you expected.

He wiped sweat from his brow, desperate. “I’m sorry, MC. I really am. I hope you understand.”

“Understand? Like fuck I do! What the shit? What were you even dating me for?! How long has this been going on?”

“Uh… a few months.”

You glared, incredulous. “Why are you even asking me?! WHAT THE FUCK?! What the shit, Thėo?!”

He sighed deeply. “I was dating you because I loved you, MC. I really did. You made me feel the happiest I’ve ever been. But recently, it just… hasn’t been enough.”

You scoffed, disgusted. “And now? What? You just walk away?”

He nodded, defeated. “I’ll move out.”

You crossed your arms, voice sharp as ice. “Like I was ever going to let you stay another night in my fucking house.”

Thėo didn’t wait for an answer. Without another word, he pushed away from you and walked off through the crowd, disappearing into the dim-lit night. The noise of the bar seemed to fade, the chatter and laughter turning into a dull, distant hum. You stayed rooted to the spot, frozen and numb, the weight of what just happened pressing down on your chest.

Blinking, you barely registered the bartender approaching. Your voice came out flat, almost robotic.

“Whiskey. Neat. And a shot of tequila. And… a gin and tonic. And two more whiskeys.”

The bartender raised an eyebrow but nodded, sliding the first glass in front of you. You barely touched it, staring blankly at the amber liquid swirling inside. The next drink came, and then another. One after the other, a blur of cold glass and bitter liquid.

Your mind spun in circles. The shock wasn’t gone, but it wasn’t screaming either. It was like your heart had checked out, leaving your body behind to deal with the mess.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, surrounded by strangers but utterly alone — the loud bar fading into an echo as you drank, trying to fill the hollow that Thėo’s betrayal had carved deep inside you.

You were nursing a shot of vodka when the bartender suddenly set down a beautiful glass of red wine in front of you.

“For you.” His voice was quiet, almost shaky.

You blinked in surprise. “??”

“A gift. Please, accept it.” He nodded toward the other side of the bar.

Curious, you took the glass and swirled the deep crimson liquid, watching it catch the dim bar light. Your eyes scanned the room, searching for anyone who might have sent it.

Across from a tall leafy plant in the corner, you spotted a man. His platinum hair shimmered under the low lights, his skin flawless and smooth, and his eyes… a shocking crimson that held you captive. He was holding a glass of red wine too, perfectly mirroring yours.

When your gazes met, he smirked—just a hint—but it sent a jolt through your chest. Slowly, he raised his glass in a silent toast.

You realized then: he’d been watching you since you walked in.

He was crazy handsome.

Not just “cute guy at a bar” handsome—no, this man looked like he’d stepped out of a fantasy novel. Or a dream you weren’t supposed to have. That platinum hair, his sculpted cheekbones, and those impossible crimson eyes… he didn’t belong in a place like this. And yet here he was, casually sipping wine like sin itself wore silk and confidence.

When he wasn’t looking at you, he leaned in to speak to someone beside him—a boy with shoulder-length red hair and  black eyes.

You squinted, your fingers curling tighter around the wineglass.

That boy… wasn’t just a boy. He looked like he was maybe two years younger than you—eighteen, maybe nineteen. But something about him made your skin buzz.

And then—

What the hell?

You blinked once. Twice.

There were two of them.

Two identical red-haired boys.

They looked exactly the same. From their lean builds to the curve of their lips when they frowned at each other.

The two were clearly in the middle of a disagreement, voices low but faces animated, that kind of snappy, impatient energy that only siblings had. You could almost hear them through the glass and music.

You sipped your wine slowly, mouth parted in confusion.

And why was the man with the crimson eyes watching you while his… twins argued? 

As you finished the last sip of the wine he’d sent, you set the empty glass down with a soft clink . Almost immediately, the bartender stepped in—his movements stiff, like something was weighing on him.

He tilted the bottle toward you, eyes flicking to the corner where he sat, then back to you.

His hands were shaking.

“H-here…” the bartender murmured as he poured, careful not to spill a drop.

You frowned. “I don’t want any more.”

His eyes darted again—toward the man with the platinum hair.

“J-just take it. Please… I… Just please.” His voice was barely audible over the ambient music, but it was laced with something that made your stomach twist.

Fear?

You slowly accepted the glass and raised it to your lips, sipping hesitantly, all your senses suddenly alert. The wine was smooth again, dark and rich. But now, there was an edge to everything. Like the air had gone too still.

From the corner, the man’s crimson eyes never left you.

He tilted his head ever so slightly, watching you drink as if waiting for something. Like you were the wine in his glass—and he was just savoring the moment before the first taste.

And somehow… that should’ve scared you.

But it didn’t.

Not yet.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

The glass had been refilled seven times now.

You hadn’t noticed at first—just little top-ups between glances and sips—but now, your head was buzzing and your limbs felt a little too light. You blinked slowly, trying to focus as the bartender reached for the wine bottle again .

You caught his wrist with a sudden motion, pushing the glass aside.

“No.”

“M-Ma’am–”

“I said no more.” Your voice came out sharper than you intended, slurred just at the edges. “Is he trying to get me drunk?”

You slid off the barstool, misjudging the distance to the floor and stumbling slightly. Your heels clicked across the polished floor as you made your way to the man in the corner— him , the one who had been watching, who hadn’t so much as blinked.

He sat casually, one leg crossed over the other, holding his wineglass with the air of someone who owned the world and had grown bored of it. That smirk—lazy, knowing—spread across his lips as you approached.

You stopped in front of him, arms crossed, wine warming your cheeks.

“What do you want?” you asked, voice lower, uncertain.

He looked up at you slowly, those crimson eyes glowing faintly beneath the low lights.

“I don’t want anything.” His voice was low , husky —deep like velvet, and laced with danger.

UGH, THAT VOICE.

“But…” He tilted his head slightly, and you could feel his gaze peeling away your defenses.

“I know you want a distraction.”

Your breath caught.

That voice. It was too smooth, too confident, too calm in a way that made your skin tingle. And yet, your legs moved on instinct. You slid into the velvet booth beside him—not across, but beside , your bare thigh brushing lightly against the expensive fabric of his pants.

“Did you now?” you murmured, unsure if you were flirting or just trying to stay upright.

He turned slightly toward you, his arm resting on the back of the booth, fingers grazing your exposed shoulder. Light. Barely there. But it made your skin erupt in goosebumps.

“I saw everything,” he said smoothly, his voice a quiet purr in your ear. “The moment he kissed the blonde’s cheek. The way you smacked his arm. The way your mouth trembled, but your eyes didn’t.”

Your lips parted in surprise.

“I saw the way you didn’t cry,” he continued, leaning closer. His fingers skimmed from your shoulder down to the crook of your elbow, slowly… confidently. “You were furious. But not broken.”

Your heartbeat was speeding up. His hand was warm against your skin, his presence wrapping around you like a fog you couldn’t think your way out of.

“You don't know me,” you whispered, more to yourself than him.

He hummed. “No, but I understand you. People like us... we don’t get the luxury of soft heartbreak. We burn.”

He took a slow sip of his wine, then set it down without looking.

You could feel his thigh press lightly against yours now, deliberate, and his hand rested casually on the seat behind you—just behind your waist. Close enough to feel the heat.

"And tonight..." he looked at you with that infernal smirk again, “You’re craving something— anything —to drown the taste of betrayal."

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing slightly, the buzz from the wine warming your veins but not clouding your instincts.

Sharp girls didn’t fall easily. And you? You were razor-edged under silk skin.

Still… you leaned in closer, mirroring his posture, letting your lips hover near his ear as you whispered, “You seem awfully confident for someone who knows nothing about me.”

His smirk twitched wider, amused.

Your fingers grazed the rim of your glass as you continued, your voice a mix of sweetness and steel. “Tell me, does stalking girls from across dimly lit bars usually get you what you want?”

He turned his head, just enough to look at you fully. His face was so close now you could see the fine shimmer of silver in his lashes, the faintest trace of a scar at the corner of his jaw.

“I don’t stalk,” he murmured. “I wait.”

“Oh?” You raised a brow. “That’s cute. Sounds like something a patient creep would say.”

He laughed—low, velvety, dangerous. The sound wrapped around your spine like smoke.

“You’re quick,” he said, his voice dripping with approval. “And much too clever to be wasting yourself on someone like Thėo .”

You didn’t respond right away, instead swirling the last of your wine in your glass before sipping it slowly.

“And yet,” you said, licking a drop off your lip, “here I am. Sitting next to a man who’s been plying me with wine like I’m some kind of offering.”

That made something flicker in his eyes—interest, or amusement, or maybe something much darker.

He leaned closer until your noses almost touched.

“If you were an offering…” he said, voice barely audible, “you wouldn’t be here to drink.”

You smiled at him, slow and sharp. “So what am I, then?”

His crimson eyes gleamed.

“A choice.”

His hand, still draped behind you on the booth, shifted just slightly.

You felt the change immediately—the faint brush of his knuckles just grazing the back of your waist now, so light it could’ve been accidental… but wasn’t.

You turned your head, meeting his crimson gaze again. That gleam hadn’t faded—it had deepened. There was a hunger in it now, restrained and simmering.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask.

But the air changed.

The question was there—in the space between you, in the way his fingers hovered just near your skin, not daring to press. His eyes didn’t wander. They stayed locked on yours, letting you see it plainly:

“Can I?”

You were tipsy. Warm. Tempted. But not stupid.

Your sharp eyes flicked down to where his hand lingered, then slowly returned to his face. You smirked—not sweet, but knowing.

“You want to touch me?” you asked softly, not pulling away.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it. Just held your gaze, that stillness in him somehow louder than words.

You leaned in, close enough for your breath to brush his cheek. “Ask.”

That made the corner of his mouth twitch again. Not a smirk this time—something more reverent. Respectful. Like you’d just passed a test he hadn’t meant for you to notice.

Still quiet, still deadly composed, he moved his hand just slightly more forward—still not touching.

Then, with his lips barely parting, he whispered:

“…May I?”

Chapter Text

⛧༺𓆩𝕺𝖓𝖞𝖝𓆪༻⛧

Ｎｏ．2→ 🔞ℑ𝔣 𝔬𝔫𝔩𝔶 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔨𝔫𝔢𝔴..

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━─━────༺༻────━─━

You smiled.

Not shyly. Not sweetly.
But with the precision of a blade being drawn.

He asked. Just like you told him to.

And that gave you the power.

You leaned back just enough to make him chase the space between you. Your eyes flicked to his hand, then back to his face. “You may,” you murmured, “but only if you follow my rules.”

His brows lifted faintly, intrigued. That faint smirk returned—but it was softer now, like he was interested , not just amused.

“I’m listening,” he said, voice still husky, reverent, careful.

You reached up, lightly tapping his chin with one manicured finger. “One—don’t act like you own me just because you’ve got a nice voice and money to waste on wine.”

He chuckled lowly, the sound brushing your skin like silk.

“Two,” you continued, “if I say stop, you stop. And three—if you want anything more than my attention tonight, you’re going to have to work for it.”

His smile widened, slower this time, and his crimson eyes gleamed. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Then—and only then—did his hand finally settle on your waist. Warm, firm, and respectful. Not possessive. Not rushed. As if he were grounding himself to you.

“And what if I told you,” he said, his fingers trailing slightly along your waistline, “that I don’t want to own you…”

He leaned in, lips brushing just behind your ear.

“…Just ruin every memory of him.”

Your breath hitched—but your eyes didn’t waver.

“Good,” you whispered, dragging your nails lightly along the edge of his sleeve. “Start with his name.”

He leaned back, gaze burning into yours.
And said softly, “Thėo who?”

Your lips curled. “Good answer.”

The hand on your waist tightened slightly—just enough to make your breath catch again—but he stayed composed, like a predator who knew the value of patience. His other hand reached for your half-full glass, gently taking it from you and setting it on the table without breaking eye contact.

His gaze dropped for a second—to your lips, then to the exposed line of your collarbone—and slowly, he leaned forward. Not to kiss you, no.

His lips stopped a breath above the skin just beneath your jaw.

You felt his breath first—hot and slow.

“I could make you forget him,” he murmured, voice like a promise and a threat. “Right here. Without ever touching what he thought he owned.”

You swallowed. Hard.

Your thighs pressed together under the table, and you shifted your leg slightly, your knee grazing his.

“You talk big,” you whispered back, not flinching. “But are you always this dramatic, or just when you’re trying to get a girl out of her dress?”

That earned you a grin—genuine, crooked, and somehow even more dangerous than the smirk.

“I don’t need to get you out of it,” he murmured. “I only need to make you wish you weren’t wearing it.”

Then his hand moved—slowly, deliberately—up your spine. Light, warm pressure, dragging goosebumps up your back as his fingers trailed along the curve of your neck, brushing hair from your shoulder.

Not a soul around seemed to notice—just two people in the corner of a dim bar, leaning in close, whispering.

To anyone else, it was nothing.

But to you , it felt like your whole body was leaning into flame.

Your hand landed gently on his chest—right over his heart. You could feel how still he was, how tightly he held himself back.

“Careful,” you whispered, eyes narrowing, “I’m not some shattered little girl you can sweet-talk into falling.”

He nodded, gaze darkening.

“Good,” he said. “Because I’m not here to catch anyone.” 

He chuckled low, the sound rumbling in his chest as his fingers lingered on your back, tracing lazy patterns that somehow made your skin tingle even through the noise of the bar.

“Kitten,” he murmured, voice dark and smooth like velvet sliding over steel. “You’re sharp. Too sharp for most. But that only makes you more… interesting.”

You felt the way his gaze pinned you, heavy and unblinking, like he was savoring every word you’d spoken, every small defiance you’d offered.

“You’re wrapped tighter around my finger than you think,” he said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was gentle — like he was testing the water, waiting for permission.

“Sweetie, I’m not here to break you. Just to make sure you never forget who’s really in control when you choose to be.”

You swallowed hard, heart hammering with a mix of caution and something darker — anticipation.

His hand slid lower, settling lightly on your hip. Not demanding. Not claiming. Just… holding space.

“You tell me when it’s too much. When you want out. But until then?” His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “You’re mine to tease.”

You smirked despite yourself, biting your lip. “Mine, huh? Don’t get too cocky, mister.”

He leaned in, breath warm against your skin. “Oh, Kitten… I’m never cocky. Just confident.”

Your breath caught again as he leaned in, his hand firm on your hip now, thumb brushing soft, idle circles that made your skin buzz beneath the fabric of your dress.

He was watching you— really watching you. Like every blink, every rise and fall of your chest, every twitch of your lips was something sacred.

“Tell me no,” he murmured, voice like warm thunder. “And I’ll stop. Right now.”

You didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Because his presence had crawled under your skin and tangled into you—into the part of you that wanted to be seen, wanted to be ruined the right way.

“I’m not saying no,” you whispered, lifting your chin slightly, eyes locked on his. “I just don’t like being underestimated.”

He smiled—slow, dark, fond .

“Sweetie,” he said, his tone dropping, “I’d never underestimate a girl who looks at me like she wants to bite.”

And then he kissed you.

Not gently.

It was deliberate, dominant, and slow—like he was savoring you, like he knew he had you now, and was going to make sure you never forgot it.

His hand slid up your back, fingers threading into your hair, keeping your head tilted just where he wanted it. He didn’t rush. He didn’t need to.

Your lips moved together, soft gasps escaping between kisses, until you found yourself pressing closer, fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

The taste of red wine was still on his lips. He tasted like danger. Like silk. Like surrender disguised as control.

And you… you let yourself melt into it.

Just for now.

Just enough to remember what it felt like to be wanted like this .

When you finally broke apart, your breathing uneven, his forehead rested lightly against yours.

“Still want to walk away, Kitten?” he murmured, voice rough with restraint.

Your lips curled. “You’re cocky and smug.”

He smirked.

“You’re still kissing me.”

He leaned back, looking you over again like he was making up his mind—but his eyes had already settled on one conclusion. His hand slid from your waist to your thigh, just briefly, before he stood to his full, impressive height.

“Alright, Sweetie,” he said, voice low and satisfied. “You’ve had enough wine. Time to go.”

You blinked up at him, amused. “And who says I’m going anywhere with you?”

He smirked, tilted his head… and then, in one smooth, confident motion—

he scooped you up and threw you over his shoulder.

“Wha—HEY!” you yelped, breath catching as the world tipped and your vision was suddenly upside-down, his arm locked securely around the backs of your thighs.

Your hands braced against his back instinctively. He was solid . And hot. And smelled way too good for your dignity to survive this.

“Put me down!” you laughed, kicking slightly.

“Nope,” he said with a satisfied little hum. “You said you didn’t want more wine. And I don’t leave good girls behind in sketchy bars.”

“Good girls?” you scoffed, breathless, still over his shoulder. “You don’t know anything about me!”

“Oh, Kitten,” he chuckled, his voice sending shivers down your spine, “I know enough. ”

The twins looked up from the other side of the bar—one of them looked mildly entertained, the other definitely annoyed.

As he carried you effortlessly past the doors, into the warm, sticky night air, your hair spilling out of your bun and your dress riding just a little too high , you couldn’t stop laughing.

“You’re crazy!”

“Mmhm,” he agreed. “Crazy about you already.”

━─━────༺༻────━─━

Somehow, between blurred city lights and teasing banter, between your breathless laughter and his steady hand guiding you across the pavement…

You were now in a hotel room.

Not some cheap corner dive—but sleek, modern, with city views behind tall windows and a bed that looked far too comfortable to be innocent.

The door clicked shut behind you.

And now?

You were pressed against him.

The back of your knees touched the edge of the mattress, and his hands—large, warm—were gripping your hips like they belonged there. His shirt had disappeared somewhere between the elevator and your lips crashing into his, leaving you to trace the lines of his chest with curious fingers, drinking in the heat of his skin.

You moaned softly against his mouth as he deepened the kiss, one hand sliding up your back to cradle your head, the other firmly anchoring you against him.

He kissed like he knew what he was doing. Like he could read your every thought before it formed.

Your fingers slid up into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.

“Mmn—easy, Kitten,” he murmured against your mouth. “You keep doing that, and I’m gonna forget how patient I promised I’d be.”

You nipped at his lip in response. “I didn’t ask you to be patient.”

He chuckled darkly, pulling back just enough to look down at you, his crimson eyes stormy with restraint and heat. “No. You asked me to follow the rules.”

His hand trailed down the curve of your thigh, slipping beneath the hem of your dress just enough to make your breath hitch.

“And I always do what I’m told,” he whispered, lips brushing along your jaw, down to your neck.

“But only if the girl earns it.”

You gasped softly as he sucked a mark into your skin, not too rough—but just enough to make your knees buckle.

And then he pulled back, gently pushing you down onto the bed, his body hovering over yours, his gaze scanning your face.

“Still good, Sweetie?”

You met his eyes, chest rising and falling beneath him.

You smirked, breathless. “I’m more than good.”

“Good.” His voice dropped, like a velvet promise. “Because I’m just getting started.”

His hands slid down your back, fingers expertly finding the zipper of your dress. Slowly, deliberately, he tugged it down, the fabric sliding off your shoulders and pooling around your waist.

Your breath hitched when he paused, eyes darkening as he took in what lay beneath.

Lace. Black, delicate, and clearly meant to impress someone.

His lips pressed into a thin line, a frown flickering across his perfect features.

“You wore this for him, ” he said quietly, voice low and a little rough.

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze with a sly smile.

“Maybe,” you said softly, “or maybe… fate knew you’d be the one finding me tonight.”

You traced your fingers along his jaw. “So maybe I wore it for you all along.”

His eyes flickered, a flash of something unreadable crossing his face before his hand moved, gentle but firm, to cup your bare tummy.

His fingers traced slow circles, and then, almost like a spell, he traced letters on your skin:

“S… y… l… u… s.”

His breath was hot against your skin as he whispered, “Say it.”

You blinked, confused.

“What?”

“Say my name, MC. ”

Your voice was barely a whisper, hesitant.

“Sylus.”

He smiled then—slow, dangerous, like he’d just unlocked something only you could hear.

“That’s right, Kitten,” he murmured, lips brushing the hollow of your throat. “Say it again.”

And you did.

“Sylus.”

You repeated his name again, a little breathier this time.

“Sylus…”

He hummed in approval, the sound low in his chest as he kissed the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the pulse just beneath your ear.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his hand sliding up your side, fingertips grazing the curve of your breast through the lace. “Say it like you mean it.”

Your back arched instinctively into his touch, your breath hitching as your fingers curled into the sheets.

“Sylus,” you whispered again, heat rising to your cheeks.

He kissed you then — deeply, hungrily, like he’d been waiting all night for this. His hand cupped you fully now, thumb brushing over the delicate fabric, his touch both reverent and possessive.

You melted under him, heart racing as his mouth moved with yours, his name now tangled with every gasp and sigh that left your lips.

“Kitten,” he breathed between kisses, “you taste like trouble.”

“And you look like you like trouble,” you murmured back, your fingers running through his hair.

He chuckled lowly, pressing you back into the mattress, lips never leaving yours.

“Sweetie… you have no idea.”

Sylus hovered over you, his chest bare and warm against your skin, the lean muscle beneath smooth and strong. His boxer briefs hung low on his hips, and you couldn't help but let your eyes wander — he was all sharp lines and quiet dominance, every part of him confident and sure.

"You keep looking at me like that, kitten," he murmured, brushing your hair from your face as his thumb ran gently down your jawline, "and I’m going to forget how sweet you were being a second ago."

You bit your lip, and he smirked, like he already knew exactly what you were thinking.

The lace of your lingerie was delicate against your skin, your dress now forgotten somewhere on the floor. Sylus’s hand slid from your waist up your ribs, slow and deliberate, before cupping your breast again, thumb brushing over the lace.

His breath was warm against your neck. “This—” he murmured, tugging lightly at the strap, “—wasn’t for him. It’s for me now.”

You shivered at his words.

“Fate,” you whispered, hand resting on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. “Fate put me in that bar. In front of you.”

Sylus looked at you for a long moment, his thumb still tracing slow circles over your skin. Then he leaned down and kissed you again, deeper this time — like the world outside the hotel room didn’t exist.

“Then let’s not waste what fate gave us, sweetie.”

And you didn’t.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

“Fuck… kitten,” Sylus growled, his voice thick with desire, roughened by the sheer intensity of his arousal as he thrust into you relentlessly, head tipped back against the mattress.

A slick sheen of sweat clung to his chest and neck, catching the dim light. Your fingers clutched around his neck, not tight enough to choke—but just enough to feel his strength, to keep yourself grounded as your body rocked with every motion.

You were both lost in it—so far gone, so desperate, so wrecked with need that nothing else mattered. Not the three missed calls on your phone. Not the seventeen on his. Just skin, heat, and the rhythm of two people who couldn't get enough.

Maybe that’s why your sweet, aching cunt gripped him like a vice, refusing to let go. His cock was slick to the base, glistening in the low light with a creamy mix of his precum and your arousal. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, anchoring you down as you rode him.

Your nails scraped along his bicep, leaving thin red trails in their wake, and your moan spilled out loud and raw, your eyes fluttering back.

“Sweetheart… I’m not gonna last,” he gasped, voice hoarse and wrecked as he spread your cheeks, driving himself deeper like he couldn’t get close enough.

His brow knitted tight, a shudder racking through him when you rolled your hips again—hard, deliberate, almost taunting. Like you were challenging him, daring him, proving some forgotten point with every grind.

He groaned, and his blunt nails dug into your skin in retaliation, pressing down hard enough to leave faint crescent marks. His breath stuttered, caught between restraint and the edge he was teetering on.

Something ignited inside you when he said that—like a switch flipped, a button pressed deep in your brain. Your hand slid up slowly, fingers curling around his neck in a gentle hold, not strong enough to dominate, but enough to claim.

“Say that again,” you breathed, voice trembling with pleasure, eyes locking onto his crimson ones.

He groaned, low and gravelly, the kind of sound that stirred something primal in your belly. That hungry, desperate look in his gaze only spurred you on, and you rolled your hips harder, faster—catching him off guard.

“Kitten, you’re not playing fair,” he gasped, though it came out more like a needy whine than a complaint. His silver hair, once perfectly in place, now clung in messy strands across his forehead—your doing, of course, after raking your pretty fingers through it.

You smirked, lips swollen from kisses, and leaned in until your chest pressed flush against his, letting him feel every inch of your soft curves against the firm lines of his body. “I don’t know what you mean,” you whispered, teasingly innocent, dropping a kiss on his furrowed brow before bouncing on him again with uncontained joy.

His reaction was immediate—a throaty moan, muffled against the crook of your neck, as his hands grabbed your ass in a punishing grip. You whimpered when he bottomed out again, hitting that perfect spot inside your slick walls, and your toes curled from the sensation.

As his length moved deep within you, striking that same sensitive spot over and over, your fingers clenched tighter around his neck. A moan slipped from your lips when your clit grazed his pelvis, sending a shiver through you. His tongue traced a slow, wet path along the curve of your neck, and your hands tangled in his snowy hair, giving a gentle tug. He let out a low groan, the sound thrumming against your skin like ripples spreading across still water. 

"Kitten… fuck, if you don’t stop now, I—” His voice broke, breath ragged, chest rising and falling in shallow bursts.

The warning was there, unspoken but understood. Still, the mere idea of him staying buried inside sent a wicked thrill racing through your veins. Rather than slowing, you gave a soft shake of your head, eyes flashing with a rare spark of dominance.

“I’ll come, I promise,” you murmured, lips brushing his as your words melted into a needy, breathless kiss. You didn’t wait—your mouth claimed his in something messy, desperate, all tongue and heat. Saliva mixed thickly between you, sweetened by the faint taste of pomegranate candy lingering on your lips, and he kissed you back like a man starving.

He could’ve stopped you. Should’ve, maybe. His grip on your hips was strong enough to lift you off with ease—but he didn’t move. His broad hands stayed locked on your ass, holding you in place, letting you grind down onto him as he lost himself in your kiss.

The obscene squelch of wet skin meeting skin filled the hotel room, echoing faintly off the walls, mixing with breathy moans and the creak of the mattress beneath you. Sylus’s crimson eyes were heavy-lidded, clouded with lust as he stared up at you—utterly wrecked.

You looked divine. Glowing with sweat, flushed with exertion, riding him like you were made for it. The way you moved had his cock twitching inside you, pulsing with how desperately he needed to come.

“Fuck… kitten, I can’t— you’re gonna ruin me,” he groaned, voice strained as his head dropped back against the pillow. His hips stuttered up into yours in sharp, needy thrusts, his hands finding your waist and dragging you down harder, locking you against him as he cursed under his breath.

“I can’t hold it,” he gasped, the panic of bliss edging into his tone, “I need to—”

You gasped as his cock twitched deep inside you, warmth flooding your core as he came hard, thick spurts filling you to the brim. His breath came in ragged, broken bursts, but he didn’t stop. His hips kept shifting—tiny, instinctual thrusts—like he was trying to push it deeper, to leave something behind.

His silver hair clung to his sweat-damp forehead, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon, and gods, he was beautiful. That image alone made your heart clench with something too real, too consuming.

“God, look at you,” he murmured, voice soft and unsteady. His hands roamed lazily across your skin—over the curve of your hips, your trembling thighs, your waist—as though trying to memorize every inch. “You’re perfect. Everything, kitten. Everything I didn’t know I was allowed to want.”

The words slipped out of him like a confession, unfiltered and raw. Not quite "I love you," but close—close enough that it knocked the air from your lungs.

Your chest bloomed with heat, dizzy and warm with affection. You leaned in, brushing your lips against his and whispering, “I love you too.”

He blinked, just once, as if startled. But his hands didn’t stop.

A slow, mischievous smile curled your lips as you pulled back just a little. “However…” you murmured, teasing, “I never said I was finished with you.”

Sylus’s lips twitched into a lazy grin, his crimson eyes sharpening. “Oh? Is that a challenge?”

His hands slid down to your thighs, lifting you just enough that he could look between you both. A low, hungry groan rumbled from his throat at the sight of his cum spilling from you, glistening in the low hotel lighting.

“So pretty even like this,” he muttered, grin dazed, half-worshipful. You whimpered at the movement—already sensitive, overstimulated—but you still weren’t done. Not yet.

“Mhm,” you purred, shifting your hips with renewed purpose, “I think I deserve another round of riding a wanted criminal.”

He froze, just for a second. Then his smirk returned—wider, darker.

If only you knew.