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outerbankies · 27 days

Note

“it’s late, come back to bed.”

PROMPT CELLY GO BRRRRRRRRR. thank u for requesting this one (forever ago) bestie!!!! 💓🤩👯‍♀️

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new light: space and time

rafe x reader, part of the 2k prompt celly for new light (masterlist if ur not up on NL). we’re back in the present!

A stubborn knot about the size of a fist had settled into place at the top of Rafe’s spine slowly over the last few weeks, right in between his often-taught shoulder blades.

He guesses it was during the late nights like these that it began to form, when he’s hunched over his sketching table in the garage lit only by the warm lightbulb in the work lamp over his head—drawing and erasing and scrapping to start over again and again. Or when he’s on his laptop tinkering with his website or any of the platforms he uses for invoicing and processing orders, easily his least favorite part of all of this, until his eyes are irritated and red.

Though it’s certainly not made better by the other half of his day, where he’s hunched over or crouching under his projects as he brings them to life, doubting himself the entire time, twisting himself into weird angles just to make sure everything holds and looks how he pictured it. But at least he likes that part.

A hand, holding a warmth that Rafe can feel through the cotton of his long-sleeve t-shirt, settles directly into place over that knot at the top of his spine, and he feels himself take a deep, steadying breath as he leans back into your touch.

“What’s this, baby, the built-ins?” you ask, your voice softer in these midnight hours.

“Yeah,” Rafe sighs, immediately rubbing his hands into his eyes, his knuckles turning his vision bleary momentarily. “For Beau’s friend.”

“Mmm,” you hum, slightly digging the heel of your palm into his back. Rafe lets out a groan. “There?”

“Right there,” he confirms, letting his head drop back gratefully, accepting a few sleepy kisses once he goes.

You place your other hand on his shoulder for some leverage, leaning over him to peer at his catastrophe of a workstation. “I thought you’d already gone over the sketches with them?”

“I did,” he says. “But they go in tomorrow.”

“Right,” you nod, scrutinizing them again, looking to see if they’d changed at all. “I remember.”

“So I’m just making sure—” Rafe stops momentarily, letting out a hiss. “Careful, baby.”

The pressure on his back eases immediately, and you take to rubbing your hand across the span of his shoulders instead. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I’m just making sure I have everything down,” he continues, leaning forward again. “I wanna know my stuff before I head in.”

“What if I quiz you? On measurements and colors and finishes and—”

“I appreciate the enthusiasm,” he interjects, his smile rivaling yours when you finally settle into his lap like he’d been angling for you to since he heard the garage door open and knew he’d be getting that reprieve from the mess inside his head. “But it doesn’t really work like that, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, snaking your arms around his neck anyway, the pads of your fingers rubbing circular motions into his trouble spot again. “Then how else can I get you to come back to bed?”

Guilt settles into Rafe’s stomach like a rock, the soreness in his back momentarily forgotten as he sees the plea in your eyes. “I swear I’ll be up soon.”

“Rafe, it’s late.”

“Coming from you,” he retorts, virtually no bite behind his words. Because as Rafe had left Beau’s company months ago and only since then become more entrenched in his new job, in starting his own business, you’d seamlessly settled in at your job at the publishing house, not overworking yourself nearly as much as the two of you used to argue about. Still more than Rafe would ever prefer, naturally, but he’s not sure he has room to talk anymore.

“We’re turning into perfect little Figure 8 capitalists right on schedule, aren’t we?” you say, wiggling around in his lap in a way he isn’t convinced isn’t a punishment for abandoning his side of the bed a few hours ago.

You lean forward, grabbing one of the pencils Rafe had discarded and tapping it on your chin while he checks his watch, feeling his eyes widen.

“God, I’m turning into my dad.”

“No you’re not,” you laugh, still leaning out of his reach as you seem to start writing something in one the margins. You pause, pointing the pencil at the long-cold cup of coffee next to his pencil cup. “Unless there’s secretly liquor in your decaf over there. You know decaf still has caffeine in it, right?”

At Rafe’s silence, you turn to him with your eyebrows raised, the pencil dropping out of your hand and clattering onto the table.

“Like… trace amounts, right?” he asks sheepishly.

“My sweet, sweet boy,” you sigh, running your fingers through the hair on top of Rafe’s head that’s really beginning to need a cut.

“Probably need it,” he shrugs. “I’ll only be up a little while longer though. Promise.”

“You’re really worried about this one, aren’t you?” you ask him softly, some of the mirth fading in your eyes as you trace a finger around the shell of his ear.

“It’s Beau’s friend, baby, I… these guys could have anyone working on their houses. And Beau was really good to me about quitting. I just wanna nail this one and be done with it,” Rafe admits.

He doesn’t tack on the bit about how this feels like one of his first big tests; his first custom, built-in piece period, outside of the ones he’s made for his most forgiving audience, his sisters and you. Because it’s one thing to make a piece for a friend of a friend of a friend, or even to sell one in a store where someone can see it and touch it and decide that they hate it before they have to commit. But it’s another to have someone counting on him to deliver exactly what they envision, let alone someone who could be Rafe’s foot in the door to a wealth of opportunities. He wants to be done with it at this point, sure, but he doesn’t want it to be the end of this road.

“Exactly,” you say, shrugging. “They could have anyone. And I love you, Rafe, but I mean literally anyone else. But your designs are good. Really good. And your craftsmanship is impeccable. They want you.”

He feels his cheeks heating up, and knows it’s showing based on the twinkle in your eye. “You’re an expert in furniture and carpentry now, are you?”

“I am, because I’ve now lived in two Pinterest-level apartments without ever having to hire a contractor. And I’m a picky bitch,” you say, laughing around the last bit.

“You are not,” Rafe laughs. “And half of that is your decorating. Maybe 70, 75%.”

“Your modestly will never not exhaust me,” you declare, smacking one last kiss onto his lips before standing up. “You’re gonna be fine tomorrow, alright? But you’ve got to get some sleep.”

“Ten minutes?” he pleads.

“I will generously give you ten seconds instead. It’s your lucky day,” you say, shuffling toward the doorway back into the house, where two curious dogs await your return.

“Thanks,” he answers sarcastically, before standing to check everything over one last time. These guys could have anyone, he tells himself. They chose him.

He’s gathering his pencils to deposit back into the cup, just about to reach over his head and turn off his work lamp for the night when he sees it, what you’d been scribbling into the margin on one of his designs: you got this RC. hurry home!

At just the same moment that he’s he’s tracing over your loopy “y” and the heart you’d finished your note off with, you call out his name from the doorway, his family waiting for him.

You give him a saccharine-sweet smile, your arms crossed over your chest. “I wasn’t asking.”

#answered #cognacdelights #frankie so very sorry ur being tagged in rafe x reader fic but u asked for it by being my long distance tumblr mutual #new light hcs #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fanfiction #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfiction

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spiderispunk · 1 year

Text

Dangerous

Pairing: Billy Russo x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: Smut (18+ only please). Knife Play. D/s Dynamics. Restraints. Oral Sex (f!receiving). Fingering. Unprotected Sex. Teeny Tiny Breeding Kink. Aftercare.

A/N: I have no defense for this. Billy with knives just makes me brain go brrrrrrrrr. This is a continuation of my 2021 Kinktober fic. All typos and mistakes are my own.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Billy asks for what has to have been the 20th time in the last five minutes. He looms over you, checking the silk ties that secure your hands above your head. “Because we can stop. Just say the word.”

You look up at him, bottom lip trapped between your teeth as you eye the slender silver knife– one of a twin set– he holds in his hand. “Yes.” The word leaves you in an embarrassingly breathless squeak.

You were more than sure.

You’ve wanted this ever since you saw him train with the same knives a few months ago. There was something equal parts dangerous and alluring about him at that moment. The way Billy sliced and jabbed with such precision. The sharp blades slashing through the fabric of the burlap dummies, spilling tufts of cotton onto the floor. The beautiful, yet menacing, arc of the steel knife as it whistled through the air and embedded itself in the wooden post across the room. You could barely suppress the fire you felt as you watched Billy lunge and strike, fluid and graceful like a lethal dancer.

Then came the dreams. Short and lustful things. The delicious slide of cool steel along your skin. The skate of the knife on your skin; not sharp enough to draw blood, but just enough pressure for you to feel it. The intoxicating lull of risk, the thrill of being under Billy’s control. The filthy snapshots had provided enough fodder for your sessions of self-gratification to last weeks.

Yes, you’d wanted this for a while. It just took a couple drinks and a risky game of Truth or Dare to get you to work up the courage and say it out loud. And Billy, well, he had just grinned slyly like the cat that got the cream.

“If we do this,” Billy mumbles, running his fingertips over the hollow of your throat to trace the dips of your collarbone. “You’re gonna have to stay completely still. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m not into that.”

You twist your wrists, testing the strength of Billy’s knots. They hold fast. No way you’re going anywhere until he sets you free. You draw your lips into a pout.

“Don’t give me that look,” Billy says with a sharp shake of his head. “I want you to enjoy this. I want to enjoy this. So stay still, you understand?”

“Okay.” You nod.

Billy goes rigid. He rolls his shoulders back and tilts his head to the side. “‘Okay?’” There’s an authoritative edge on his tongue, and his eyebrow ticks upwards sharply.

You swallow thickly, heat already building in your stomach at the switch in demeanor. “Yes, sir.” Your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip.

“Good girl.” Billy squeezes your chin. “Safeword?”

“Starfish.” You respond.

“Color?”

“Green,” you huff impatiently, trying to rub your thighs together, but the weight of his body on top of yours stops you.

Billy presses his lips to yours softly, and sucks on your bottom lip in lieu of a reward. “We’ll take it slow, okay?”

Even though taking it slow is the last thing you want him to do right now, you nod.

He holds the knife in front of your face, letting it catch the light, so you can see what he’s doing. Then, slowly, he turns the blade over so the blunt side is facing you and lowers it ever so slightly.

You let out the most desperate noise when the knife touches your throat, and it takes every bit of strength inside of you to remain motionless as Billy drags the blade down the slope of your neck. He holds it against your pulse for a moment, relishing in the hitch in your chest as the smooth bit shallowly presses into your skin. His dark eyes follow your every move, fascination etching itself into his furrowed brow and clenched jaw.

Billy’s free hand reaches behind him to slide up your thigh and comes to rest between your legs. He pushes your panties to the side and delves a finger between your dripping folds. The knife stays frozen in place, his hand holding steady, even as he plays with the slick between your thighs.

He’s completely in control. Exactly how he likes to be. Exactly how you want him.

“You like this, don’t you?” Billy breathes, circling a finger around your throbbing clit. “Me pressing a knife to your throat while I play with your pussy?”

“I do.” Your voice is broken.

“Fuck, beautiful. You’re not even fighting it.” He puts more pressure on your clit and you whine. “You’re just gonna let me do whatever I want to you as long as I have this, hm?” The knife glides a little lower, caressing the curve of your shoulder.

You tilt your head back, baring your throat to him. “I trust you.”

You do. You really do. You’ve never doubted him for a moment. Not his love for you, not his promise to take care of you. He is so confident in his movements, so sure. The knife he holds is almost an extension of his body. Caressing your skin exactly like his fingertips would. You feel completely safe.

Billy lets out a noncommittal hum, but you can tell the words mean a lot to him by the light flush that dances over his jaw. He slips the knife under the strap of the thin lacy bra you’re wearing and flicks his wrist. The band breaks as easily as if it were made of butter.

You don’t even have it in you to scold him for ruining the lingerie, you just sit there limply and whimper. He repeats the motion with the other band and traces the blade over the top of your breasts.

Billy chuckles darkly. “You’re soaking.” He easily presses his fingers into your cunt and curls them slightly.

Understatement of the century. You think this is the wettest you’ve ever been. You can feel the warmth of it dripping down your inner thighs and pooling on the sheets.

“Breathe, baby,” he chides, digging the blade against your sternum and slicing up between the cups of your bra. The lacy material falls away in two parts and Billy lifts the knife away from your skin, giving you a chance to move.

You exhale and shift under Billy’s weight. “Shit.”

You’re on cloud 9 right now. Dizzy and weightless with pleasure. Your heart flits in your chest, and adrenaline courses through your body. You feel as if you’ve just run a marathon, and Billy’s barely even touched you yet.

“Open.” Billy teases his fingers against your lips.

You suck them into your mouth, eager for the taste of you on his skin. You swirl your tongue around the pad of his fingers, and Billy pushes them deeper into your mouth. You gag slightly, eyelids fluttering shut.

“Good girl,” he mumbles, smearing your own spit onto your cheeks and chin. “Still green?” He searches your gaze for any sign of hesitation.

“Yes,” you all but whimper. “Can we keep going? Please?” You ask. Anticipation builds in your chest, and your stomach turns and flips with butterflies.

He chuckles, low and quiet. “Look at you begging for it.” He presses the knife flat against the side of your breast. “Should have ran from the room screaming. Any other sane person would’ve, but not you. Not my dirty girl,” Billy murmurs, pride lacing his voice.

You preen at the praise, give him a heavy-lidded look that makes him curse under his breath. Your eyes slide down his body, to the obvious erection he’s sporting in his boxers.

Billy follows your gaze and snorts. “See what you do to me?” He asks, rolling his hips against your stomach with a groan. “Drive me fucking crazy. You’re the prettiest girl in the whole goddamn world. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”

“I want you to touch me.”

“Where?” His eyes dart down your body.

“Anywhere. Just–fuck–please.”

Billy hums. His fingers move again, charting a path down your body.

You strain your neck to watch him trace your body with the knife’s blade. Silver against your supple skin. He takes his time, following every dip and curve. You let out a whimper when the cool edge rolls over the peaked bud of your nipples, fight the urge to jump when it trails over your stomach. Everywhere the knife goes, it leaves goosebumps in its wake.

He shimmies down the bed to kneel between your parted legs and pushes your thighs further apart. Two fingers fill your aching pussy, thrusting slowly, as if he means to savor every moment.

“Fucking beautiful,” Billy murmurs, and kisses the inside of your knee.

His fingers fill you deliciously. Perfectly fucking you with slow drags. In. Out. His practiced touch sets your body aflame. Between the knife on your skin and his fingers inside of you, you’re already embarrassingly close to coming.

Billy runs the knife over the waistband of your panties and you buck your hips forward. You can’t help it. The promise of more sets your blood aflame.

“Hey,” he warns, voice clipped.

“Sorry,” you whisper sheepishly.

“You’re such a mess, baby,” Billy says with a cocky grin. He hooks the blade into the elastic. “What do you want?”

You don’t speak--you can’t. You’re too choked up with lust, the most you can muster is a quiet whisper of his name.

Billy’s fingers still within you. “That’s not an answer. I asked what you wanted.” He clicks his tongue. “Use your words.”

“I--I want--” You stutter. “I want you.”

“Want me to what?” He rewards you with a slow thrust of his fingers. “Hm? What should I do to you?” His lips brush up along the inside of your quivering thighs. Billy buries his nose into the damp fabric and moans. “Talk to me, pretty girl. Tell me what you want,” he whispers.

You shudder as his warm breath fans over your panties, seeps through the soaking fabric and over your cunt.

“Fuck me.” You finally gather up the strength to say. “I want you to fuck me. Press that knife against my throat while you make me come.”

Billy makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat at your words. His eyes meet yours, dark in their intensity which matches the fevered pitch of your voice. A slow smirk spreads over his face, and when he speaks, his tone is tight and measured.

“I will, baby. I promise. I just want to get my mouth on you, yeah?” he mumbles. “That alright with you? Can I taste your sweet pussy? Make you come on my tongue first?”

You throw your head back against the pillow, bite your bottom lip so hard you might draw blood. “Fuck, Billy, please.”

His large hand lands on your clit. The impact stings and you cry out.

“Who?” He snaps.

“Sir.” You correct yourself. “I’m sorry.”

“Shh. It’s okay, beautiful.” Billy soothes the sting away with his thumb. “Let’s try again, yeah? I asked if you were gonna let me taste your pretty pussy, and you say?” His eyebrows raise expectantly.

You swallow thickly. “Yes, sir.”

“There she is,” He whispers against the crux of your thigh. “That’s a good girl. Now, relax, baby. Let me take care of you.”

The knife saws through the soaked lace of your underwear. He tugs the scraps down and off your legs, and settles between your thighs once more. His thumb swirls around your clit again, the pressure just enough to keep you on edge, but not take you over.

Billy starts at your knee, kissing the side of it. Then his lips trail down your thighs, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your heated skin. His tongue dips out for a taste, swirling and swirling and driving you into a frenzy. A frenzy intensified when he bites down, leaving perfect crescent marks behind. He stays like this, teasing you slowly, until you’re a whimpering mess beneath him.

It’s all too much. The warm, wet slick of his tongue. The rough scrape of his beard. The subtle circling of his thumb on your clit. And there, hanging over all of it, the cool press of the knife against your body. A silent assertion of control.

Your whispered, desperate pleas, don’t have your intended effect of hurrying him along. If anything, he slows down further. Watching the internal battle you wage to stay still, even as you’re being slowly wound up, with a dark grin on his face. Savoring the sight of you so shameless, so wanton.

Just when his lips finally reach your aching pussy– just when you start to think that maybe he’ll have mercy on you and give you some kind of relief– Billy switches to your other thigh, and the taunting ritual starts all over again.

You huff impatiently, grinding your hips up against his thumb for more friction. The fog of lust that washes over your mind leaves no room for rational thought of warnings or consequences.

Billy sighs. “Oh, sweetheart. Wish you hadn’t done that. Wish you woulda just stayed still for me.” His thumb stops, and he sits back on his knees.

“No, no, no,” you whine, tears springing to your eyes. “It was an accident.”

“Oh,” Billy coos. “Is that right? Looked like you were getting greedy, honey.”

You blink up at him, eyes wide and apologetic. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Please, I just need you so badly.”

“That’s twice tonight, honey. I think you’re forgetting who’s calling the shots here.” Billy twirls the knife deftly between his fingers, reminding you of the power he has over you. “Do I need to remind you?”

You shake your head, tongue darting out to wet your lips. You watch the blade glint in the light of the room. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

Billy leans over you. His lips brush your own when he speaks, just a harsh whisper pushed out between gritted teeth. “Who’s in charge?” The cold steel of the knife slides across your jaw. “Answer me.”

“You are,” you choke out.

“I’m what?” His breath fans over your face, making your head spin.

“You’re in charge,” you whisper hoarsely. And then to sweeten the deal, you add. “I’m sorry, sir. I won’t do it again. I’ll be a good girl.”

Billy cocks his head to the side, and studies you for a moment. To forgive or not forgive? That is the question. You’re just on the verge of antysness, when he slowly smiles.

“You’re lucky you’re so pretty, and I’m just as wound up as you are.” His lips move to your ear. “But forget the rules again, and I won’t be so nice.”

All traces of patient, teasing Billy are gone when he rests between your legs again. His mouth latches onto your clit immediately, lips sucking and slurping against the sensitive bud until you’re shaking. It’s a lot, it’s too much. Too fast. Almost like he’s making up for lost time. As if there’s a lesson buried in the quick flicks of his tongue that send fire racing up your spine.

Be careful what you wish for.

Your breath catches in your throat, finally working its way out in a scream of unintelligible syllables. His name amongst other things. Pleas to keep going. Praises. Curses.

“Fuck, it’s so good. Your mouth feels so good,” you whimper.

Billy pulls away for just a moment to say, “Attagirl. Tell me how much you like it when I put my mouth on you.” Then his lips are back on you, all over you, in you. The thrust of his tongue inside your cunt nearly sends you over the edge.

You’re burning alive. Skin heated, body humming like a live wire. And Billy’s at the center of it all. The epicenter of the earthquake rumbling through you, threatening to knock you off kilter. To tear you apart and reduce you to rubble.

You lean into the chaos. The sensation of his lips sliding over your slick pussy. The greedy smacks of his mouth, the sated moans he tucks into you. It wouldn’t take you long to come all over his face, not if he kept this up.

“Please,” you whine, legs shaking under the weight of your impending orgasm. “Can I come, please?”

“Look who’s found some manners,” he mumbles, a teasing lilt coloring his words. “Go on, baby. Since you asked so nicely. Show me how pretty you look when you come.” He slides two fingers into your dripping cunt and slurps your clit back into his mouth.

The curl of his fingers inside of you is the breaking point. Permission granted, you squeeze your eyes shut and give yourself over to the warmth welling up inside you. Heat bursts in your stomach, coursing through your veins. Up your spine, and out to your fingers, your toes.

Your back arches, hips nearly lifting off of the mattress as your orgasm washes over you. Billy drops the knife and roughly grabs your waist. He holds you down, wrenching wave after wave of pleasure from your body with his fingers and tongue. Taking and taking all that he can from you until he’s satisfied and sure you’re thoroughly fucked out.

You see stars, body twitching against the sensations that are both so good but too much. The silk ties dig into your wrists from the way you tug at them. Your clipped nails dig red crescents into your palms. Your bottom lip, bruised and ragged from your teeth, prickles with the sharp taste of blood. You must’ve finally split the skin.

You’re still shaking with the aftershocks of your blissful orgasm, when Billy finally pulls back. He sits up on his knees to take in the sight of you. His wild eyes flit over your glistening body. Dark strands of his hair stick to his forehead with sweat. His swollen lips shine with a filthy mix of his spit and your cum.

“Th-thank you.” Your words slur, nearly running together.

He cups your chin and swipes his thumb over your split lip. “Did so good for me, honey. ‘M proud of you.”

A bashful smile spreads over your face. The weight of his words burrowing deep into your chest and filling you with warmth.

“Pretty girl,” he coos, hand sliding down the front of your body once more. “Color?”

“Still green.”

“Good. I think you’re ready to take my cock, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” You nod eagerly.

Billy shoves his boxers down his legs and grabs the fallen knife once more. You ogle him shamelessly. Eyes following the sharply carved muscles of his lower stomach, down to the light, neatly trimmed, patch of hair. Then the curve of his cock, hard and aching. Your mouth waters at the sight.

He shifts up your body, eyes glued to your splayed form. Gently, he places the knife back on your throat, and then fists his hand around his waiting cock. Billy groans, both at the sight of you and at the slow strokes he gives himself. Not enough to make himself come, but just the right amount of pressure to hold him off so he wouldn’t explode as soon as he thrust into you.

With Billy, it was all about control. Balance.

You watch him, lips parted and mouth dry. Watch the precum that drips onto your stomach. Watch lightning crackle in his nearly black eyes. The deep flush that washes over his face, down his neck, his scarred chest. The slack of his jaw as he starts to lose himself. The subtle thrust of his hips into his hands.

A private show, just for you. You take it all in.

And then Billy’s decided he’s had enough of his hand, and only wants the real thing. He sits between your spread legs and slides a pillow under your hips.

“Gonna fuck you now.” He whispers, carefully positioning your body the way he wants you. “And I can’t be gentle.”

Good. You don’t want him to be. You want him hard, and fast, and rough, and just on the verge of pain. You want the bed frame to squeal, and the headboard to knock against the wall. You want bruises and bite marks that you’ll have to cover in the morning before work. You want the thrill of having to look your neighbors in the eyes, knowing they heard every single moan and scream that Billy pulled out of you.

Most of all, you want that knife pressed against your throat, danger hanging low above your head, but just out of reach.

Billy chuckles, reading the thoughts hidden in your needy gaze. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll give it to you.”

He slides into you slowly, relishing the tight warmth. Twin exhales of reverence fill the room. You whine as his cock slowly fills your cunt. The stretch of your walls as he bottoms out is intoxicating. The fullness makes your eyes roll into the back of your head.

He thrusts slowly, pulling all the way out before slowly filling you again. Taking his time to just feel your greedy cunt swallow him again. Edging himself and teasing you. Billy loves the hungry huff you let out each time he pulls away. Loves to hear it morph into a sated whine when he seats himself deeply inside of you again.

But you’re impatient and tired of going slow. You want him to fuck your brains out and make you scream, and you want it now.

“Harder,” you whine. “Faster. Please.”

That’s what he was waiting for.

“Love hearing you beg for what you want,” Billy mumbles. “Drives me fucking crazy.”

He wraps one of your legs around his waist. The other finds a home on his shoulder. He bites your calf sharply as his thrusts pick up speed. The angle allows him to reach that treasured spot deep inside of you, blissfully unattainable without him. In no time, you’re babbling nonsense; your brain turned to mush by the brutal precision of Billy’s hips.

“Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,” you almost scream. “Keep going.”

“I know, baby,” he says, and there’s pride in his voice. “Feels good, huh? Don’t I make you feel good? Don’t I take care of you?”

“Always,” you sob.

“Yeah. Always. I always take care of my girl.” He says through gritted teeth, and you know he must be close. He has to be after teasing you and making you come. You saw the way he nearly came all over his hand only minutes earlier.

You want him to come. You want to watch him unravel so badly you ache with the desire. You want to be the cause of it.

“Feel so good inside me. So fucking deep,” you whisper. “I love it when you fuck me like this. When you take me and you make me yours.”

Billy thrusts into you sharply, his perfect rhythm shattered. “Christ,” he groans.

“‘M all yours. I love being yours.” You pair your words with a clench of your walls and Billy nearly falls forward. But the knife never slips. “Love your cock so much, I dream about it. Sometimes I think I can still feel you in me for days after.”

His eyes hold your gaze, and you shiver at the dark intensity you find there. “You’d better stop, or this’ll be over a hell of a lot sooner.”

“But I want your cum. Want it deep inside me. Wanna make you feel good.”

He curses under his breath. The fingers holding your hip dig bruises into the skin. “Fuck, honey. You do make me feel good.”

“Then come inside me, please,” you beg. “I need you.”

Billy’s hand drops down to where your bodies join, and he rubs your clit in quick, merciless circles. “Not without you,” he says, though the effort to abstain looks like it hurts.

Good. What’s pleasure without a little pain?

“Get there, baby. I know you’re close,” Billy coaxes. “Let me see.” He spreads your legs a little wider, and spits on your clit, rubbing faster.

The room fills with the sounds of debauchery. The slap of Billy’s hips meeting yours. The protest of the bed frame squealing beneath the weight of your bodies mixes with Billy’s rough groans. Your own stilted moans and cries bubble from your throat as every harsh thrust pushes you closer and closer to bliss.

Your legs begin to shake, toes curling. “Billy,” you cry, and he doesn’t even correct you.

“I know, honey. I know,” he mumbles. “That’s my girl. Come for me. Wanna feel you come all over my cock. Give it to me.”

The effect of his words is almost instantaneous. Your orgasm bursts from within you, shocking you into silence. Your jaw falls slack in a silent scream as the world dissolves around you. Billy fucks you through it. Each roll of his hips sends you deeper into your blissful spiral.

Watching you fall apart sets Billy off. He tosses the knife away and falls forward, covering your body with his own. He pins you to the bed, elbows digging into the mattress on either side of your head. You wrap your legs around his hips, rocking up into him, aching for more friction.

“You feel fucking amazing when you come,” he mumbles against your lips. “Sound so pretty.” He grunts, jaw clenching. “Gonna make me come. You want it?”

“Yes, sir.” You long to run your fingers through his hair and hold him closer against you. “Fill me up. Wanna drip with it.”

“Fuck,” Billy bites your shoulder. “Gonna give it to you. Gonna make you mine.”

He gives a few more sloppy, deep thrusts before he’s coming with a rough cry of your name. You whine, toes curling as Billy fills you with warmth. Claiming you. His hips roll languidly, pumping his cum deep inside of you. And then with one last deep thrust he collapses on top of you.

Billy stays on top of you for a moment, catching his breath, and letting you come back down to earth. His body is hot and sweaty against yours. Billy’s hair is a mess, despite your bound hands. The strands tickle your neck and shoulders. You want to run your fingers through the dark locks, tug on them and make him groan.

When his heartbeat has settled, Billy goes to work undoing the knots holding your arms up. You wince as the blood finally begins to flow freely. Billy massages your wrists and shoulders, pressing light kisses to the shallow marks the satin has made. He continues his inspection of your body, fingertips brushing over each bruise and tender spot. Filling out the mental tally sheet for later, when he’ll kiss and rub away the soreness.

“You did so good for me, baby,” he whispers and rolls onto his back, taking you with him. His fingers continue to rub patterns into your hips and stomach.

You sigh, and bury your face into his neck, fingers finally playing with his hair. You inhale deeply. The smell of sweat and sandalwood calms you instantly.

“So…how was it?” Billy prods. Is that…worry you hear in his voice?

You lift your head to meet his eyes. “I loved it.”

“Yeah?” He lifts an eyebrow. “I wasn’t too much?”

“No.” You shake your head. “It was perfect. You were perfect. Thank you.”

A grin tugs at the corner of his lips. “Anything we need to change for next time?” He cups your chin, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“I’d like my arms free. I like touching you.”

Billy hums and plays with a bit of your hair. “We can talk about it. Didn’t want you to accidentally hurt yourself. But you were pretty good at keeping still.”

Satisfied you rest your head back on his chest.

“You still owe me three, though.” Billy mumbles and squeezes your ass. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten. We’ll talk about your punishment later too.”

You swallow thickly. You kind of were hoping he’d forgotten about that. But that’s all part of the game. You misbehave, he puts you in your place.

That’s the enticing thrill of the danger.

#billy russo x reader #billy russo x you #billy russo smut #billy russo #ben barnes #the punisher #rion writes

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