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You stare unashamed at the contours and divots of Sylus's body. The curves of his pecks and abs, separated by valleys and defined lines. The way they shift with every breath. And the shape of his torso - broad shoulders that narrow into his pretty little waist, his hips a prominent separation point where they dip in, leading to his muscular thighs and long legs.
He watches you with a confident smirk, smug satisfaction written all over him. He knows you like his body - he's glad you like his body. The way your eyes drag across his skin has him preening under the attention. He craves it. Adores it. Basks in your appraisal like a lizard under the sun.
"You're going to start drooling soon, sweetie," he teases.
You smile. "I already am," you tease back. "It's Pavlovian at this point." From your spot straddling his lap, your hands spread across his stomach, up his ribs, supporting your weight as you bend down to press your lips to his chest, right over his heart. "You're so beautiful, Sy. It's like you were hand-carved by the gods just for me."
He chuckles softly. His hands glide over your thighs, up your waist, then down to hold your hips. You fit so perfectly in his hands. "Yeah? Which gods created you then, kitten?"
You huff a soft laugh against his skin. Your hands feel along his body with purpose. Fingers dance along the ridges of his ribcage, thumbs outline the shape of his pecks, palms slide across his waist down to his hips and back. Everywhere you touch is instantly warmed, pleasant tingles left in your wake.
Your hands slip down his muscular arms. You knead into his bicep, press into the length of his forearm. He lets you manipulate him without fuss when you take hold of his wrists and sit up slightly to pin them beside his head. Face to face with him, you grin, all too pleased with yourself and the idea that's just sprouted in your head. "Keep your hands here."
He tilts his head slightly. His gaze flickers to your lips more than once, hooded and longing. "What are you going to do to me?" he questions, voice low and gravely and thick with interest. "The handcuffs are in the drawer." He nods his head toward the nightstand.
You shake your head with a wicked smirk. Your nose brushes his, breath hitting his lips. He's addicted. You can see it in the dilation of his pupils, feel it in the barely noticeable hitch in his breath. "Don't need 'em." You ghost your lips against his. He tries chasing them, seeking out more, always eager to taste you. But you draw back before he can. His eyes are sharp and dark when they meet yours. "I think you can be a good boy and keep them here for me."
He scoffs with a devilish smirk. "And what if I'm not?" he asks. "What if I just can't resist temptation?"
"Then," you kiss the corner of his mouth so sweetly, it contrasts heavily with the shadow of your voice, "I'll stop. Trust me, Sylus , you don't want me to stop tonight."
Sylus is a man that prides himself on his restraint. He isn't so easily swayed by platitudes and flattery - or threats. But you know him too well. Know how much he craves you - your touch, your attention, your tongue laving over his hot skin. With you as the bargaining chip, he has no choice but to do as he's told. If there was any doubt that you knew, he felt your smile against his jaw as his body settled into the position you've put him in.
"Good boy," you purr beside his ear. Teeth nibble his earlobe. Lips suck on the skin just behind. His eyes slip shut, brow lightly furrowed, as the praise sinks into something deep inside his gut. "Just like that."
Your hands roam over his chest. Palms gliding over his pectorals, up and down his abs, thumbs brushing so lightly over his nipples, his breath hitches. Your lips travel, too.
From his ear, you work your way down. You nip and bite at his skin, light and hard, shallow and deep, leaving marks in your wake. The wet click of your mouth sucking and releasing the bites. Your hums of approval as he allows you to keep going.
When you reach his collarbones - red and purple splotches patterning his throat by the time you do - you shift your weight in his lap. He gasps, head tilting back, as you grind down directly over his hardening bulge. "Fuck," he breathes. "Kitten, you're going to be the death of me."
"If you can survive a bullet to the heart, you can survive this," you tease. His chuckle turns into a cut-off, strained sound as you grind down again. His hands ball into fists beside his head.
You kiss down between his pecks. He opens his eyes to watch, studying the way you mouth lightly over the scar there. The tip of your nose brushing his skin as your lips leave pretty, open-mouthed kisses across his chest. The devilish way you look up at him, too, as your tongue pokes out to flat against his nipple at the same time you grind down on him. He groans low in his throat as his eyes squeeze shut once more.
"You're so beautiful," you whisper before you kiss around the perky bud. Every brush of your lips against it reminds him of the thrumming pleasure building slow in his abdomen. You can feel his trapped cock twitching and hardening under you, pressing further against you with every passing second.
You run your hands over his ribs, down his sides, tracing the prominent lines of his hips. They've always mesmerized you most. Abs are all well and good, and Sylus would be suited to using your hands as a bra - but those hips. The number of times he's stood before you without a shirt, dressing himself or getting ready for bed. The number of times you've wanted to be sitting eye-level to his stomach, have him stand between your legs as you lick and suck and bite all over his v-line. Now you finally can.
You bite just under his peck as you slip further down. Your nails draw a groan from his throat as you scratch lightly above the line of his hips to his navel and the line of hair that disappears below his waistband. In a moment of weakness, too eager for you to push your hands into his pants, he bucks his hips up into you. You quickly lift yourself from his lap.
"What did I say about being a good boy?" you scold him.
He huffs hot air through his nose, biting his cheek to contain the lust fogging over his mind. "You said I couldn't move my hands," he bites, lifting his head with a smirk that shows his pointed canines. Like this, he looks wild and untamed. He opens his hands to make a point. "They're still right where you left them."
You glare at him, leaning down to bite him. Hard. Hard enough to pull a long moan from him and taste hints of copper. When you pull away to see your handiwork, the first of his ab muscles has deep, red teeth imprints. Made even more prominent with the shifting of his breaths.
"Stay still," you tell him sternly. "I'm going to take care of you..." You trace a finger lightly along the edge of the indents. He hisses, drawing air sharply through his teeth. "You just need to be patient."
"Patience has never been my strong suit..." He hisses again, tilting his head further back against the rumpled mess of pillows.
You lift your thumb from where it pressed into the bite. Little specks of red stain your skin. "You can handle it," you tease. He glares through half-lidded eyes, but his interest is quickly taken when you raise your hand to his face and rub your thumb across his lip. He makes sure to keep your eyes locked on his as he licks his tongue out. Angles his head, and sucks your thumb into his mouth. His blood on your skin may just be his new favorite taste.
Saliva sticks to your thumb in a gossamer string as it leaves his mouth. When it snaps, it shimmers on his lips.
"Calmed down now?" you ask sweetly. You brush the spit over his lower lip as it hangs parted from the top, soft puffs of air hitting your hand. "Can you behave again?"
His eyes sharpen into another glare, but you see past it. You see the flush darkening his ears and cheeks. The thrill of being put in his place, even when he could so easily switch the roles. The desire to see just what you'll do next.
He presses a kiss to the pad of your thumb. "I'll behave," he purrs quietly.
"I know you will." You drag your thumb over his chin, down his throat over his prominent Adam's apple, all the way back down to the bite. You gently pull the skin around it, watching the bite shift and pull with it. You can feel him tense, bracing for the pain you'll inflict, only to be met with light kisses over the worst of it. Gentle pecks. Barely there.
When you move on, you lick along the crevices of his abs. Glide down and between each one, slicking it with a pretty sheen of spit that chills as the air hits it, cooling his overheated skin. His breath catches as your fingers hook under his waistband where it lay low on his hips already. Precum leaves a wet spot on his pants, his straining cock twitching with anticipation that maybe soon you'll actually give him any of the friction, the relief he needs.
But his mind knows better than his body. He knows, as he watches you slip his pants and the band of his briefs down, revealing more of the neatly groomed white hair at the base, that you never intended to give him what his body craves in the first place. When you stop, not even allowing him the freedom from the confines of his remaining clothes, he knows very well your intent. And yet he doesn't move. His hands remain firmly in place beside his head. His body weighs down the mattress. He stays as still as he can, for you. An act of torture or an act of worship; it's all the same to him, as he welcomes the slow unraveling of his will at your hands, mouth, and fingers.
You finally arrive at his stomach. You kiss along the sides, hold his waist as if trying to draw him ever closer to your mouth. Hum soft sounds along the skin at the line of his pants. "You really are beautiful, Sy..." you murmur. When he looks down at you, he sees the reverence that closes your eyes and softens your features. The pull of your lips as you mindlessly drag them along, mapping out his body carefully, thoroughly, determined not to miss a single detail.
You could stay here forever: feel the rise and fall of his body as he breathes, or the vibrations that rumble through him when he speaks or hums with pleasure, and the taste of his skin on your tongue, slightly salty with sweat. You could keep him here. He would stay. For a lifetime, he would do anything for you, even if it's torture for him. He would, no hesitation, just to make you happy.
If he notices the tremor in your lip, overwhelmed with your love for this man, he doesn't say anything. He just stays still, for you.
You sigh against his belly, trailing your way to his v-line at last. "I love you so much," you whisper. "Every inch of you."
You nip at his left hip. It's like you can't get it all out of you; there's just too much love bleeding from your heart, too much to get across with kisses alone. But those light nips don't work enough, either.
So you bite, down into the skin and muscle, sucking around the indents until there's a rounded, ruddy mark left behind. It almost gets to the center of your desire. You make a path of pretty bruises down one side of the V, then down the other, until they form a runway down to the aching, leaking cock in his pants. Any other night, maybe you would have freed him, kissed and kitten-licked the pretty bead of precum from the tip, taken him as deep into your throat as possible until he's a heaving mess.
Tonight, you crawl back up him, face to face once more. You claim his lips in a clash of teeth and tongue. It's rough, it's sloppy, and he whispers your name into your mouth like a prayer.
You cup his face in your hands, tangle your fingers in the length of his hair, hunch over him as though you could pour everything you have, everything you are, into him. You settle yourself back over his crotch, over the bulge. He groans deliciously, breathlessly, as you grind down in a steady rhythm. It's almost enough. Almost. Almost almost almost.
You whine in frustration as you pull away. He tries to look at you, really he does. But his eyes squeeze shut with that pretty little furrow between his brows, and his head presses back into the pillows, and he's panting so heavily, fighting the urge to move and claim more. And he's so beautiful. The most beautiful, gorgeous, perfect man you'll ever know.
And he's yours.
Sylus, the leader of Onychinus, the most wanted man in Linkon, the crime boss that could have everything at his fingertips with a snap.
All yours.
You bury your face in his neck. Your mouth trails mindlessly over his throat, seeking, searching. You hear the hitch in his breath. Feel his cock twitch against you.
"Mine." You sink your teeth into the junction of his neck and shoulder. Hard.
"Fuck!" Loud, guttural moans rip from his throat as you unravel the final thread. Spurts of cum ruin his underwear, soak into the front of his pants, so hot and depraved and sensitive as you continue grinding against him. Milking him of all he can give until there's nothing left and his voice catches in his throat. His hands are tight fists by his head. Soft hisses of air drawn between his teeth to fight the oversensitivity, until he's muttering your name so desperately by your ear. "Please, fuck, please. Too much. 'S too much."
The pretty sigh he lets out when you lift off him is worth it. You sit on his abs instead, holding his shoulders to support yourself into sitting up properly. He's covered in bruises and bites all the way down. Deep purple, maroon, pink, red - the paints of your canvas. And among them all, a fresh bite that's rapidly starting to darken. The deep imprint of your teeth left in his neck.
He opens his eyes lazily when you peck his lips. His post-orgasmic bliss mirrors your own satisfaction; the relief your body feels knowing you were finally able to pour all of yourself into him. His lips quirk into a tired smirk. "Can I move now?" he teases.
You nod with a chuckle. "Yeah, you can move now."
He hums his delight as he reaches up to hold your face. To bring you back down to him to kiss you, slow and deep. His fingers brush back your hair, massage your neck, stroke your cheek, like he has to make up for not being able to touch you before. He barely pulls away after a while, lips still brushing yours as he speaks.
"What was it you said?" he asks lowly. The playful edge of his voice gives away that he already knows exactly what you said. "At the end, before you bit me."
"Mine." You give him a chaste kiss. "You're mine. All mine."
He releases a quiet breath. Barely nods. He kisses you between words. "Yours. All yours." He nibbles gently at your lower lip. "I'm yours, beloved."