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â character(s): simon "ghost" riley x reader
â word count: 7,239
â cw/tw: AFAB reader (AFAB anontomy, femme pet names, femme pronouns), consumption as an act of love, simon is a little unhinged but also incredibly soft, domestic bliss without a clear label, mentions of food/eating, soft dom simon, thigh riding, praise, some body worship, fingering and oral (fem receiving), a little bit of dacryphilia because i couldn't resist, blasphemous undertones because of the holy imagery, unprotected sex, creampie
â a/n: big big big shoutout to @toshidou for reminding me of the bad bitch that i am and reassuring me that my characterization of simon isn't catastrophic like i thought it was. also for bearing through reading this as i frantically typed away after only 4 1/2 hours of sleep. this one is for u bby <3
If thereâs one thing youâve learned about Simon âGhostâ Riley during your time together, itâs that he takes his job very seriously. So seriously, in fact, heâs often too tired to do much other than eat the dinner youâve prepared him, take a shower, and go straight to bed. Despite his demanding and hectic career path, you both find ways to spend time togetherâhim allowing you to sit in his lap as he does paperwork, you sneaking into the shower as he gets ready for the night, him coming home early and helping you with dinnerâall small things to piece together a picture of domesticity and love Simon has craved his entire life.
But sometimes, he thinks, things in the bedroom are a littleâŚlacking.
He only has himself to blame, really, considering he chose a job that demands every bit of strength he has. But there are times when heâs looking at you, your body wrapped in one of his t-shirts and your hair thrown up into a messy bun as youâre curled up on the couch reading, and he wonders if being a butcher is really that bad.
Itâs no matter, though, because as insane and hectic as his job might be, he knows, deep down, he wouldnât have it any other way. Youâre a breath of fresh air for the man who is constantly drowning in his desire to be useful, a lighthouse for the man who is constantly swimming in his failures, a safe place for him to strip himself of the wet clothing trying to cling on to this body (much like how his stormy thoughts try to cling on to him) and bask in your warmth. Heâs enamored by your compassion, utterly and completely in love with your honesty, and bewitched by your loyaltyâa soulmate for someone who has only ever known chaos.
â˘âââââââââ˘Â°â˘ââ˘Â°â˘ââââââââââ˘
âWe should have lemon garlic shrimp tonight,â you suggest to your partner, leaning against his office door frame in hopes maybe heâd look up.
Simonâs eyes donât even leave his computer as he asks, âWhatâs the special occasion, love?â
âYouâre home in time for dinner for the first time in a month.â
Itâs a small stab, he knows it, but it still hurts nonetheless, and you can see him flinch at the blunt edges of your words. He fists clench and unclench, as if debating if he can physically fight off the sense of guilt wrapping around his shoulders, before he saves his report progress and shuts his computer down. His movements are always so methodical, measured, but thereâs nothing measured about the way he nearly chokes on his own spit when his eyes land on your outfit. Dressed in nothing but one of his t-shirts, thigh high stockings, and a pair of panties, you look nothing short of absolutely divine, and Simon nearly has to check his pulse to make sure he hasnât died and gone to heaven.
You gaze at him through your eyelashes, eyelids half-closed in lust and the smallest of smirks on your lips. âSâmatter, Si? Cat got your tongue?â
It never fails to astound him how easily you rev him up, how you make him feel like some horny teenager on prom night trying to score with his dateâclumsy words spilling from his mouth as he tries his hardest to find the magic words to part your legs, palms sweaty as they try to hold your hand, body vibrating with anticipation to see what your tongue tastes like. Heâs so unbelievably attracted to you, it makes his head fuzzy with hormones and irrationality, even after all of this time together.
Heâs careful as he walks from his desk to you, strong arms wrapping around your waist and his lips brushing your hair. âAre you my starter?â he asks and pinches your thigh for good measure.
You giggle at the rare show of unabashed flirtation from your normally stoic partner and reply coyly, âI could be your dessert if you behave.â Feeling rather bold, you pull him into the kitchen by his belt, and he has to bite his lip to keep the groan clawing at his mouth at bay. Youâre too precious for something as barbaric as fevered kisses and frantic hands eager to rip your clothes off. Valuable crystals deserve only the tenderiest of hands, the most careful of eyes, handled with the utmost precision and patience, and heâs always considered himself a good gemologist.
âCâmere for a second, love,â he says as you turn your back to get started on dinner. Before you can fully turn towards him, he gently cups your jaw and tilts your face up towards his, lips ghosting each other before he finally slots his against yours. You can feel how eager he is, how much heâs holding himself back so as to not break you, so you wrap your arms around his neck and deepen the kiss that much more. Thatâs all of the motivation he needs, evidently, and heâs quick to wrap your legs around his waist and place you on top of the kitchen counter. Whatever small grip he had on self-control has snappedâa hungry beast finally let free and allowed to feast however he pleases. He wants to completely devour you and keep you safe in his chestâstrong bones to keep filthy, undeserving hands from touching you. One taste of you and heâs already drunk on love and all of its promises of companionship and domesticity.Â
His hands tangle themselves in your hair, fingers massaging your scalp as his tongue gently prods at your mouth. Thatâs when you pull away, much to your disappointment, and he groans at the lewd line of spit connecting your lips. Mind hazy with lust, he tries to tilt your face towards his again, anxious to eat until all thatâs left is a pile of bones and love, but you gently stop him by pressing your fingers to his mouth.
âWas I too rough, sweetheart?â he asks worriedly. âWe can slow down, if youâd like. I justâŚmiss you, is all, and youâre right about this being the first time weâve had some time together in a month. I know itâs my fault, and Iâd like to make it up to you if youâre okay with that.â
And he looks so sincereâeyes scanning your face for any sign of discomfort, hands resting on your thighs and not daring to move, tongue nervously darting out to lick his lips, chest rising and falling with anticipationâyou nearly allow him to devour you right there on the kitchen counter. But youâre determined to have a proper dinner with the man you love more than you could ever hope to comprehend. And whatâs a good dinner without a nice show?
Your hands fiddle with the collar of his shirt, teeth gnawing at the inside of your cheek in hopes itâll calm the hunger rolling around in your stomach. âYou werenât too rough, honey, I promise.â At that, you can see relief flood his features, and you gently tug on his collar so he brings his forehead down to meet yours. The pure adoration in his eyes nearly makes you choke, and you swallow down the lump of emotion that had begun to form in your throat. Simon has always been a gentle man despite his very impassive shell, never pushing you and always ready to communicate boundaries and comfort, so to see him so unraveled after a month of missing him is bringing out a masochistic side of you youâd never knew was buried underneath all of the domesticity. Still, you want to be able to enjoy him as much as possible before the moon hangs high and exhaustion begins to settle into heavy bones.
Simon mildly pulls your hand away from nervously toying with his shirt and kisses your fingersâan action that causes you to shudder with admiration. âDid I push you too much?â
âNo, sweetheart. I just really, really want to have a nice dinner with you.â
Chuckling, he kisses your temple and helps you off of the counter, his hands lingering on your hips a little longer than necessary before swatting at your bottom and allowing you to begin cooking. âThen a nice dinner together we shall have.â
Itâs intoxicating how much your thighs rub together as you cook dinner, how they jiggle and ripple, and Simon isnât sure what heâs more hungry for. Your hips sway to and fo to the musicânothing inherently sexual about the movement, but his heart speeds up nonetheless. His dark eyes drink in every inch of you like a parched man in the desert, lapping up every single drop so much, he fears his stomach may burst. But itâd be worth it. It would be absolutely worth any form of torture to be able to touch you, hold you, hear you laugh, watch your lips form the syllables of his name. His greatest high, his greatest weakness, the person heâd try to find in every life after this one, the song he hums to himself when he thinks no one is aroundâall wrapped up in the prettiest package he has ever had the privilege of laying his eyes on.
Simon âGhostâ Riley, special forces operator trained to deal with things most people only see portrayed in overly-budgeted action movies, is absolutely hypnotized by how absolutely gorgeous you are.
âDidnât know I was getting dinner and a show,â he nearly purrs at you as you pour him a glass of bourbon. Kentucky, of course.
âHmm?â You innocently cock your head. âIâm just making you dinner, silly, a very normal thing.â
âWhatever you say, love.â
Lust and hormones roll off of your body in tidal waves, nearly drowning the man under the chaotic waters, but he wouldnât mind, not really. He could spend hours, days, weeks floating around in all of your oceans, exploring every part of you until he has a clear map ingrained in his brain. Heâs in love with your heart, in lust with your body, and enamored by your mind.
A warmth only alcohol can provide spreads across his body, and Simon Riley, known by even his closest friends as stern and forthright, dares to relax in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him and his eyes half-closed as they watch you sway to the music. At times like this, Simon is reminded of what itâs like to be naĂŻve again, excited, ready to face the world and all of its possibilities. Heâs content, basking in the security you provide him with and the knowledge that he has you to call home. Heâs safe, and thatâs something heâll never, ever take for granted.
âYou look happy,â you giggle, taking note of the pink flush to his face.
He hums, and in the blink of an eye heâs got his arms wrapped around your waist and his chin resting on your head. His lips brush against your hair, fingers fiddling with the t-shirt clinging to your body, and he swears he could stay like this forever if you allowed him to. He thinks this is what paradise must be likeâhis soulmate wrapped in his arms, the scent of delicious food hanging in the air, music softly playing over the sound of your giggles, his heart let free from its cage and soaring in the air.
âMust be because I am,â he utters into your hair. âI really, really am, sweetheart.â
And though heâs never been one for grandiose displays of affection, he finds himself spinning you around your shared kitchen, strong hands pressed into the small of your back and swaying your bodies to and fro, a makeshift ballroom squished in between the living room and his office.
Your hand fists his shirt, giggles bubbling out of your lipsâthe most beautiful sound heâll ever hear. âSimon Riley! What has gotten into you?â
The smile he bears is a gentle one full of love and admiration, and you swear you feel your heart squeeze in your chest. âIâm very lucky to have you. In factâŚâ And then, his lips are ghosting over yours and his hands are clutching at your hips, desperate to feel you close but scared to admit how much he needs you. âIâd wager Iâm the luckiest bastard on this planet.â
âI think youâd lose,â you whisper back, a joyous light dancing in your eyes. âBecause Iâd wager Iâm the luckiest person on this planet to have you.â
He kisses you before he can stop himself, before he can second guess whether or not heâs worthy of your lips, before either of you can begin to decipher what love is and why it heals as much as it hurts. He kisses you and tries his hardest to commit dedication to memory. He kisses you and forgets what the definition of pain is and all he can feel is your fingers carding through his hair. Heâs consumed by youâthe smell of your shampoo stubbornly clinging to your hair, the feeling of your heart hammering against his, your eyelashes brushing against his cheek, the little squeal you let out when he picks you up, everything, everything everything. All he wants is this moment right here tattooed into his brain, burned into his eyelids so every time he closes his eyes all he can see is bliss and sunlight filtering through.
And though heâs the one with the infamous appetite, he swears heâd crack his ribcage open and allow you to feast as much as you need to. What is love if not all-consumingâcannibalistic desires flooding empty veins until the need to eat is unbearable? Hungry teeth clash against a bare tongue, and he groans loudly into your greedy mouth.
âSimon,â you gasp, âthe foodââ
âCan wait,â he finishes for you, and you both find yourselves stumbling into a chair. Quickly, he sits down with you on his lap, careful as to not hurt his precious meal. He can feel your cunt throb against his thigh and, god, he needs to eat, eat, eat before he goes completely mad. His thumb draws circles against the growing wet spot on your panties, a groan reverberating in his chest and deep eyes rolling to the back of his head. He sees youâre wearing the pink lacy panties with a white bow that always drive him up the walls of your shared home, and he has to fight the animalistic urge to rip them clean off of your body. No, he wonât be rough no matter how hungry he is. Heâs not a beast void of all humanity. Heâs simply a man with an empty stomach and the prettiest meal sitting on his lap, and his teeth miss how your skin feels pinched between them.
He easily slides your panties off, an expert in disarming prey, and brings them up to his nose, his eyes never leaving yours.
âSimon,â you moan out at the sight. âSimon, pleaseââ
His hand strikes at your bottom before you can finish your sentence. âRide my thigh, baby.â And he pockets your panties, promising himself heâll give them back one day.
His big, calloused hands grip your hips as you drag your pussy across his thick thigh, your juices coating his pants but he doesnât even care. How can he when you look so precious moaning and pleading on his thigh, shaky fingers grasping at his tie to gain some sense of balance? His brown eyes gaze down at you with a predatory light, his bottom lip pinched between his teeth as your grinding becomes more and more erratic.
His voice is strained when he speaks, husky, a caged animal frustrated at not being able to roam free. âThat desperate for me, hm? So impatientâŚâ But he canât deny the erection swelling in his boxers, nor can he deny how hypnotizing it is watching how your brow furrows in concentration with every swivel of your hips. The squelching sound of your drooling cunt is downright filthy, but itâs so intoxicating to the man who gets drunk off of your submission. Adamâs apple bobbing, he tries his hardest to swallow down all of the primal urges flooding his body, to allow you to continue chasing your high, but he canât stop himself from planting a kiss on your exposed shoulder, nor can he stop himself from resting his forehead upon that very same shoulder. His arms wrap around your torso, bringing your body closer to his so your chests are flushed together, and he groans when he feels your leg brush against his aching cock.
âSiâŚ,â you gasp.
âShh, just let me do this, darling,â he whispers, his breath tickling your neck. âI want to be close to you.â
Tears poke at the corner of your eyes and your throat constricts, a small gasp leaving your lips before he kisses them gently. A vulnerable Simon is a rare one, but youâre so parched for the smallest taste of intimacy youâre nearly afraid of draining him completely. Still, you wrap your arms around his neck and quicken your paceâanything to keep him close, to keep his face buried in the crook of your neck and his hands stroking at your spine. Shaky fingers bury themselves in short blond hair, pulling at the strands and his heart strings. Trembling thighs squeeze around his own muscular one, and he feels just how hard your heart is slamming itself against your ribcage. What shouldâve been an act of climacteric horniness is truly an act of desperate love, depraved intimacy that has been simmering under the surfaceâtwo people trying to find themselves buried in each otherâs chests.
âSiâŚâ His name rolls off of your tongue so easily, a sound that floods his veins with a warmth his blood couldnât possibly supply. âSi, please!â Fingernails dig into his back, and he knows just how dire it is for you to feel all of him, but, fuck, he needs to hear you beg a bit more. He needs to be reminded that yes, he is worthy of love, and yes, even with a heart as scarred as his, he is capable of loving back. He needs his ears to be flooded with the sound of unhinged adoration and unwavering dedication. He needs to run his hands all across your skin until heâs able to commit romance to memory and he canât bear the thought of touching anything else.
Pulling his head back, his amber eyes search your face, fingers gently tracing your bottom lip, and the sheer intensity of his expression has your movements slowing. Youâre surprised to see him hesitant, unsure, because in a world of war and uncertainty, Simon Riley is a man made of osmium. He canât afford the luxury of insecurity in a market that feeds off of humanity. But here he is, one hand keeping your hips stilled as his other one languidly traces all of the bumps and curves of your body, his brow furrowed in concentration as if afraid of breaking you with the slightest of pressure, his eyes full of worry.
âSiââ
âYou know I love you, right?â he uncharacteristically cuts you off, his tone steady despite the tremble in his hand.
You answer without missing a beat. âOf course I do. I love you, too, honey.â
He nods, moreso to himself than you, and finally meets your eyes. Youâre surprised to see the fire burning in them, how his soft eyes look nearly deadly as he wraps his arms around your chest and brings your body flush against his once again. âThen weâre going to do this the right way.â And before you can ask what he means by that, he lifts your body up with ease, earning a surprised squeak from you. His lips attach themselves against your shoulder, and you wrap your legs around his waist to allow him to carry you easier. âI donât know what Iâd do without you,â he confesses softly between kisses. âYou keep me grounded, sweetheart. You keep me sane.â
Longing strangles you and you canât help but shutter at his raw declaration of love. Simon reminding you how much you mean to him isnât rare in the least bitâheâs rather forthcoming about his feelings after many months of you teaching him how to loosen his tongueâbut to hear it said so tenderly, as if your ears are made of paper and he spits razors with every word, is something worth crying over.
And you do.
Glistening crystals poke at the corner of your eyes as he tenderly lays your body on the bed, and itâs at this moment Simon Riley thinks youâre something worth dying over. His fingers swipe at your tears, rough palm resting against your cheek, and you nuzzle your face into the callouses, a soft smile on your lips and galaxies in your eyes. Heâs hopelessly, painfully, undeniably in love with you, and he absolutely hates himself for neglecting you so much.
âSweetheart,â he begins, voice strained with love and weakness. How can he look into your eyes and apologize for being a horrible partner? Youâwith your patience and kindness and strength and dedication and selflessnessâyou deserve better, better than being left alone to wonder if heâs safe and alive. Better than brisk pecks to your forehead after a thoughtfully prepared breakfast. Better than rushed showers and swift promises of love before a day of unguaranteed nights. Better than him. Better than anything someone like him could ever hope to offer you.
And of courseâbecause youâre you, you, youâyou place a kiss on his palm. Itâs an innocent enough gesture. A quick press of your lips to the palm of his hand. Itâs something that he normally wouldnât think twice about, something he would smile about and then kiss your cheek for. Definitely not something worth gasping over. Not something worth losing his breath over. Not something worth the shudder that wracks his body. Not something worth splitting his soul in two over. But, as he hovers over you, he can feel his shell crumbling away until all thatâs left is the part of his heart heâs been saving for someone like you. He canât breathe, canât think, not when youâre kissing the same hand that has killed, that has failed, that has been scarred and covered in blood. And then youâre kissing the pulse in his wrist and then his forearm and then his bicep and before he can even warn you to save your kisses for the worthy, youâre kissing his shoulder in the same tender manner he was kissing yours moments ago.
He feels your breath dance across his neck and refuses to move until you give him permission.
âSimon,â you whisper, and his ears ring at how much affection you place in the syllables of his name. âI love you more than I could ever hope to fathom. I donât think you realize how much you keep me sane.â
âSweetââ
You silence him with a kiss to his neck, humming at the steady beat in his jugular. âYouâre my comfort. Youâre my safe space to be myself with no worries about whatâs going to happen tomorrow because youâre prepared for anything. You allow me to be neurotic and moody and a ball of stress without judging me or trying to baby me. You understand that sometimes I need to be neurotic and moody and a ball of stress. Youâre caring and thoughtful and straightforward and I donât think you give yourself enough credit.â
You canât be real. Even the holiest of heavens couldnât craft something as angelic as you, and yet here you are, touching your forehead to his and filling his lungs with your stardust, divine hand caressing his cheek, sephric eyes holding so much unfiltered love he canât stop himself from kissing you. His lips are tender at first, trying their best to memorize immortality and savoring how ethereal you taste, but when you place your hand on his neck, he feels himself giving into his mortal instincts. Using his body weight to his advantage, he lowers you back down to the mattress, never daring to break the kiss. His hands begin to tug at the shirt clinging to your torso, and youâve never been quicker to dispose of clothes.
âSo beautiful,â he mumbles against your lips, hands grazing across your thighs and squeezing them appreciatively. âYouâre so beautiful, darling, do you know that?â
A sudden bashfulness warms your body, and you fight the urge to hide behind your hands. âYou make me feel it,â you reply shyly and try to pull his face back down to yours, but he stops you by kissing the tips of your fingers. Pouting, you try to grab his face again, but again, he simply catches your hand and kisses your palm, his eyes resting on yours and full of unadulterated dedication. âCâmere, I wanna kiss.â
âYouâll get plenty of those, love, donât worry.â
Forever and ever, he silently promises himself, Iâm going to kiss you forever. And, keeping his promise like the dutiful man he is, he kisses his way up your arm, every touch of his lips measured and careful, until they gently brush against your cheek. You giggle at his breath tickling your neck, and he swears he feels his heart collapse in on itself like some pathetic parody of a supernova. This right hereâyou stripped down to your underwear and allowing him to love every inch of your supple skin, him stripped down to the bone and being forced to let go of controlâis something he used to fantasize about, something he never ever thought himself worthy of, but when you look up at him with your eyes full of trust and dedication, he canât stop himself from drinking in every second of it. His lips brush against your neck, right above the jugular so he can feel how your heart rate spikes, and then your collarbone, and then his tongue gently swipes across your nipple, earning a soft gasp from you.
âSimon,â you whine, âno teasing, please.â
His fingers brush against your cheek, lips still attached to your breast, while his other hand snakes down to your cunt. ââm not teasing, darling, I promise. Just want to show every part of you some love.â
Heâs an expert at unraveling you, at lightly grazing his fingers just above where you need him most, at dragging his tongue across your peddled nipple, at nipping and sucking at your breasts until youâre bucking against his hand. Even after all of these past weeks of quickies and fevered shower sex, Simon Riley is nothing short of a master at making you moan out his name. His penchant for precision is often deemed a tedious mindset, something to hold him back from admiring the big picture, but itâs a gift from the heavens above when it has you a writhing mess underneath him. Your juices are coating his hand and his ears are full of your vows of love and lust, but it still isnât enough for him. He needs all of you, all of your tears, all of your gasps and whines, all of your shaking thighs wrapped around him, needs to feel skin brushing skin and the promise of loving and being loved forever.
Your shaking hands bury themselves in his hair, pulling and tugging at the strands and causing him to groan against your skin. âSimon, f-fuck, youâre so good.â
A moan stutters in his chest at the unexpected praise. He needs to feast on everything that is you until heâs full. Without so much as a warning, he kisses your forehead once more before throwing your legs over his shoulders in one swift movement. You open your mouth to protest that he deserves a little love too, but his lips are already attached to your throbbing clit and all you can do is cry out his name. You can feel another groan reverberate in his chest, his hands kneading at your plush thighs and pulling you closer, closer, closer, until his nose is buried in your pubic hair, and he looks nothing short of a man utterly in love with the person beneath him.
âSimon! Oh my fucking god, Simon!â
He slides a finger inside of your fluttering hole, and then another, curling them and scissoring just the way that has your thighs twitching around his head. Brown eyes roll to the back of his head, and he somehow manages to bury his face even further into your pussy. âLike that, baby? You like it just like that?â
âYes, Simon, yes, please!â
âFucking hell, darling, I could stay here forever.â Forever doesnât seem like a long time as long as youâre by his sideâŚ
Simon isnât sure what heâs more drunk onâthe alcohol he indulged in earlier, or the juices dripping from your cunt. Heâs intoxicated on submission and domination, lust and love, every saccharine memory with you in the past and every hopeful wish with you in the future, every broken piece of you and every picture heâs painted on your skin. Heâs drunk on you. All of your moans and pants and pleas for more, more, moreâeat until youâre full, Simon! Completely devour until all thatâs left is an illustration of what love is!
He was never an indulgent man until you came into his life and discovered just how large his stomach truly is.
His tongue draws languid circles on your clit as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt, his half-lidded ambers watching the rise and fall of your chest. Once he finds a good rhythm, he brings his free hand up to pinch and roll your nipple between his nimble fingers, and youâre sure this is what heaven must feel like.
Simon Riley is almost certain youâre an angel in disguise, but youâre starting to suspect heâs a god whoâs too humble to admit his omnipotence. How else would he know exactly how to curl his fingers just right to get your thighs to shake? How else would he know how much you love when he flattens his tongue and slowly drags it along your clit? How else would he know to kiss your inner thigh as he takes a minute to catch his breath and rest his jaw? He looks up at you with ambers filled to the brim with worship and adoration, but you swear you can see a flicker of greed lingering somewhere in thereâobsession disguised as fascination, possession parading as love, anything to keep you by his side.
âLook at you, so wet for me,â he coos up at you, using his fingers to spread your pussy lips and admire the mess between your legs. âDo I make you feel that good, sweetheart? Canât help but fucking drip for me, hm? So wet for me, baby, so good for me.â
âS-S-Simon!â
âKeep moaning my name, sweetheart,â he groans as he brings his mouth to your cunt again, and itâs becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the tightness of his pants. âFuckâscream it, I donât care. Just wanna keep hearing you.â
âSimon fucking Riley, please, you feel s-so good!â
Taunt skin is pulled across knuckles as you grip the bed sheets underneath you. Eyes rolling to the back of your skull, thighs uncontrollably shaking around his head, chest heaving as if you just ran a marathon, sweat clinging to your skin, cunt throbbing rhythmically along with the pumping of your partnerâs fingers, you can feel your orgasm swiftly approaching. Simon must be able to tell also, given the way his licks to your clit are becoming more and more frantic and heâs starting to goad you on.
Desperation is laced with fascination as he begs, âGo on, baby, itâs okay. Cum on my fingers. Cum for me, please, let me make you feel good. I know you can, love. Just cum for me.â
As if under his spell, you feel the control you had been trying to grip on to snap and unadulterated pleasure crash over your body, leaving you heaving and twitching underneath his touch. He easily helps you through your high, gentle as he kisses your thighs and slowly eases his fingers out of your throbbing cunt. Crystals poke at the corner of your eyes, causing them to look like stained glass on a sunny day, and Simon is sure to say his prayers as he kisses them away.
âSo, so gorgeous,â he whispers between the brushes of his lips. âSo pretty when youâre cumming for me. Fuck, love, youâre so beautiful.â
Relishing the praise heâs pouring on your skin, your shaking fingers begin to unbutton the dress shirt that clings to his chest. He tries to stop your ministrations and tell you that predators typically donât get help from their prey, but you shush him and tell him that not every prey is helpless just like not every predator is invincible. He watches your hands fumble with bemusement, and after a moment of struggling you decide to flip your bodies over so youâre now straddling him.
Heâs surprised to say the least, eyes widening and body struggling to regain control, but after a kiss to his forehead and a nip at his ear, he begins to think that having control isnât what itâs all cracked up to be. Besides, why would he deny himself the perfect view of your bodyâof your breasts heaving in front of him, your pulse thumping in the hollow of your throat, of your neck exposed and ready to be bitten? Why would he deny himself of the feast before him, coated in sweat and glowing with love?
âOff,â you mumble against his neck and tug at his pants. âOff, please, Simon, take them off.â
Desperation drips from every syllable that falls from your intoxicating mouth, and heâs quick to dispose of the pants that restrict him. Strong fingers cup your jaw and bring your face in front of his, hungry ambers drinking in the sight of adoration and lust. His lips slot against yours, hands grasping at your hips and dragging your cunt across his hard cock, and he swears this is the sweetest form of torture.
âLook at me, sweetheart,â he whispers. âI want you to look at me while you put me inside of you. Câmon, baby, donât be shy now.â
Your trembling hands find his dick, and you have to stop to admire the masterpiece laying underneath youâa pretty red head beaded with precum, a prominent vein running along the side of his shaft and wrapping until it meets with a tuft of blond pubic hair, stomach muscles contracting with every breath, pink-flushed cheeks on a stern face, a naked chest rising and falling with anticipation. Heâs beautiful. Heâs everything every artist has tried to capture on blank canvases and fell just short of. Heâs ethereally gorgeous but also alarmingly human. Heâs an angelic face with blood-stained hands. Heâs Simon âGhostâ Riley, and youâve never been more proud to be able to call him yours.
Bashful eyes meet greedy ones and youâre lowering yourself on his cock before you can begin to ask yourself whoâs more vulnerable in this momentâthe prey on the pedestal or the predator whose appetite can only be satiated by one person. The swollen tip of his cock rests easily inside of you, and right when youâre about to start rocking your hips, he sits up so your chests are flushed together, much like how you were in the kitchen.
His lips brush against your shoulder, and youâre reminded of how gentle he can be despite the calluses on his palms. âI want you close, baby, please. Need to feel all of you. Every inch, inside and out. Will you let me do that, sweetheart?â
A thick blanket of submission wraps itself around your shoulders, and your head is nodding before you even give it permission to. âWant all of you, Si! Need all of you! Jusâ wanâ you.â
He begins to rock his hip, bones digging into plush flesh, and swears he can see flashes of golden gates with each thrust. âThatâs it, baby. Such a good girlâmy good girl.â
âS-Simon!â
Watching your breasts bounce as he bucks into you is hypnotizing, and he has to dig his fingers into your thighs to keep himself from bucking into you wildly. No, he refuses to be the beast he keeps buried down. Itâs taken years of self-discipline and self-discovery to keep it locked away. He canât unleash it now during a moment of vulnerability. But thereâs something so tantalizing about you, so tempting and delicious that causes his teeth to sharpen and his mouth to flood with droolâŚ
âRoll your hips, darling,â Simon whispers into your neck. âBe my good girl and roll your hips.â
And like the obedient girl you are, you listen, clit brushing against his pelvis and sending delicious waves of pleasure over your body. He thinks heâs dragging you down to hell with him, but youâre certain this is what heaven feels like. The love of your life beneath you, a light blanket of sweat over his body, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tries not to overindulge, his heart slamming against his ribcage in a frenzied attempt to reach you, his hands touching every inch of you they can reach, his lips kissing away the tears that stream down your face⌠No, this is better than heaven. With his hunger and your curiosity, youâve both managed to find a place better than the promiseland, better than anything any god or mortal could even begin to hope to comprehend, a place where heâs free to feast on you as much as he wants and you can bury yourself in his ribcage.
Strong fingers slip under your chin and force you to look in a pair of shining ambers, and you swear Simon has never looked more beautiful than in this moment. âKiss me, sweetheart,â he pleads, his hips stuttering.
Starving lips come crashing together, and it takes every ounce of self-control to not feed until his stomach ruptures.
And the worst part of it all is he knows you would allow him to.
You would absolutely allow him to eat, eat, eat, Simon, sharpen your teeth and bite as hard as you want! Youâll never go hungry as long as youâre with me! Just eat, goddammit, eat, eat, eat! Eat all of me until we arenât sure where you end and I begin! Eat until Iâm swimming in your veins! Just fucking eat!
Simon buries his face into the crook of your neck in hopes that maybe he can get through the night without any bloodshed, struggling to keep himself under control. But you have other plans. Lacing your fingers through his blond hair, you guide his face to one of your breasts in a silent plea for him to suck on it as you ride him. He obeys, of course. How could he not when you look so delicious covered in sweat and bouncing on his cock?
With teeth as sharp as diamonds, he tugs onto your nipple, and you cry out his name until itâs all you can dare to think about. âFuck, baby,â he swears, one of his hands massaging your other breast, âyouâre so beautiful. You know that right, darling? Have I ever told you how beautiful you are as you ride me?â
Your thighs begin to shake, and itâs then you both know youâre at the brink of unadulterated pleasure. Mustering as much strength as you can, you slam your hips down on his in frantic motions, feel the head of his cock prodding at your cervix, and tears poke at the corners of your eyes in anticipation of the feast about to come.
âSo close, baby,â your partner moans, âso fucking close. Just a little more, love. Can you do that for me? Can my good girl ride me just a little bit more and make us both cum?â
âY-Yes! Anything for you, Simon! Jusâ wanna be your good girlâŚâ
Your whines and moans become more and more warbled the closer you get to your orgasm, and Simon is drinking every ounce of your submission. Unable to maintain self-control in the face of greed, sharp teeth pinch your nipple, the swell of your breasts, your shoulder, your neck, your jawâanywhere he can feed and hear you squeal out in delight, just so long as he eats, eats, eats. Every time enamel pinches plush flesh, he can feel a piece of you slither down his throat and land in his ever-growing stomachâsomewhere youâve learned to consider home. Whispers of praise and love dance across your skin, his hands running up and down your spine as if coaxing you to give him just a little more of yourself, just a bit more so he can sedate the beast and continue to be the practical man you know and love.
âSo fucking good for me,â he moans into the crook in your sweaty neck, his cock beginning to throb with the need to release. âThatâs my girl, just a little more. Iâm so close, love.â
Shaky hands bury themself into thick hair, and you pull until you can hear a hiss leave his lips. âPlease, Simon, cum with me, please!â
âMy baby wants me to cum with her, hmm?â he teases, albeit weakly. Heâs losing control, you both know it. His abs flex with strain, his brow is shining with sweat, and his lips wobble with weakness, and yet heâs fighting to have you cum first just so he can taste how sweet you are on his tongue before heâs no longer human.
âYes, please! Iâm begging you, Simon, cum with me!â
âO-O-Oh, fuck...â Though heâs never been much for blind optimism, a part of him hoped maybe he finally could have control over his desires around you. A foolish thing to think, really, when you call to the beast buried in his ribcage so easily⌠âIâm gonna cum, darling, cum with me!â
And you do, almost embarrassingly quick. With your arms wrapped around each other, your face buried in his chest and his buried in your hair, your hips clumsily crashing together, you both cum together loudly, lewdly, your names burned into each otherâs throats and echoing off of your bedroom walls.Â
âYou did so well for me, baby,â he mumbles against your shoulder, his lips fumbling to kiss everywhere his teeth sunk into. âI love you so much.â
You sigh and lean into his kisses as much as you can, arms still hanging loosely around his neck and your lungs trying to pull in oxygen. âI love you too, sweetheart, so, so much.â
âCâmon, Iâll go prepare a bath for us.â Gently, he untangles your limbs and lifts you in his strong arms. With one last kiss to your forehead, he begins to make his way to the bathroom, you curled up against his chest and listening to how hard his heart is hammering.
And somewhere between the sound of running water and satisfied giggles, Simon swears he hears a growl coming from his chestâlow and threatening, a warning he only has so much time before he loses control and he can no longer contain how he feels about you.
And, for the first time since he discovered that wretched beast, he thinks he might be okay with that.
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