Sugar, Secrets and Upheaval

Finally, he shifted, crawling over the expanse of the bed until he was positioned above me. Gently, surprisingly so, he helped me to turn, guiding me from the prone position onto my back, arranging my limbs with an almost tender care. Gods. Was this his way of being ironic? A subtle mockery of the perceived awkwardness of a first sexual encounter? Like the stereotypical 'first time' always defaulted to the missionary position?

"Are you attempting to impart some lesson on the pervasiveness of clichés?" I inquired, his ambiguous actions fueling my suspicion.

He chuckled softly, as he leaned closer. "My dear Raphael, why would I engage in such a didactic endeavor? I am merely adhering to your request for… 'gentleness'." he purred, his tone laced with an irony thick enough to spread on toast. I wasn't buying it for a second. His lips brushedagainst mine in a slow, tender kiss. His warm hands, meanwhile, had found their way to my outer thighs, beginning a languid caress. Well. It seemed we were going full sensual now. Not that I was particularly opposed to this unexpected shift in gears. In fact… a different kind of anticipation began to stir within me.

His lips lingered on mine, the kiss deepening ever so slightly. His thumbs continued their slow circles on my thighs, the warmth seeping through my skin. The gentleness was… disarming. It was so unexpected after the initial onslaught that it almost felt like a different person was kissing me. His lips parted slightly, and I found myself responding in kind, the tension ebbing away.

He broke the kiss, his lips trailing a warm path down my jawline to the sensitive skin of my neck. His breath hitched slightly as he nuzzled there. The gentleness was still present, but a subtle undercurrent of something more primal was beginning to surface. His hands shifted, sliding further up my thighs, his fingers now brushing against the juncture of my legs, sending a jolt of pure sensation through me.

"Pulla," he breathed softly against my ear. His hand settled firmly over my already hard cock, his fingers flexing. "So," he murmured, a playful edge returning to his voice, "what torment shall we explore 'first'?"

Ah. Delicious crossroads. External pleasure, or the deep, consuming sensation of him filling me again?

"Keep going with your hand, Levi," I managed, my voice a little shaky. He responded instantly, leaning his full weight against my back, the hard ridge of his own erection pressing insistently against my butt. His long fingers, wrapped firmly around my length, making my hips arch against the mattress.

I could feel the blood pounding in my ears with each stroke, my vision blurring slightly at the edges. His fingers tightened their grip. I bit back a cry, my head thrashing slightly against the pillow. Just when I thought I couldn't take any more, he increased the pace, his hand moving faster and faster, the pressure becoming almost painful in its sharpness. A shudder ripped through my body, a guttural cry escaping my lips as a torrent of pleasure erupted. My muscles clenched, my back arching further as wave after wave of sensation washed over me, each one more intense than the last. I could feel Levi's grip tighten even further, milking every last drop of pleasure from me until I was left limp and panting, my body slick with sweat.

He slowly withdrew his hand, my release glistening on his palm. He displayed it to me, his gaze locking with mine. "There you are," he murmured. "Now, don't look away." The command was soft, but the underlying steel was unmistakable. Never breaking the intense connection of our gazes, his tongue traced the trail of my seed.

"Weren't we just establishing the innocence of a 'first time,' Levi? Why are you suddenly channeling some ravenous incubus?" I grumbled. A shiver traced its way down my spine, but a primal instinct for self-preservation kicked in. I knew, with a chilling certainty, that if he continued down this path, the fragile pretense of gentleness would shatter. And while a part of me undeniably craved that, another part wanted the promised gentleness.

"But of course, my dear," Levi purred, his breath ghosting over my lips, "it fits the narrative perfectly, does it not? The gentle lamb, trembling on the precipice of lost innocence." He leaned closer, his eyes gleaming with a dark amusement. "And this devil," he continued, his voice a silken caress, "soothes you with honeyed words, only to corrupt his little angel with tenderness."

Okay.

So.

I surmised that his interpretation of a first time deviated significantly from the awkward fumblings of college students that had populated my imagination. This was something altogether more… nuanced. More deliberate. More… Levi.

"You are so utterly dramatic, Levi," I chuckled, the sound a little breathless, a new lightness bubbling up in my chest. He pressed his lower body fully onto mine, the smooth, warm skin of our naked hips and thighs meeting with a soft friction.

"I am," he admitted, his warm breath ghosting over my ear.

He wasn't fully naked like I was; his shirt remained unbuttoned but stubbornly clinging to his chest. My fingers, still buzzing from his touch, tried to slide beneath the fabric, fumbling for a button, but he only pressed his chest further into mine. "No, dear," he murmured, "simply focus on the sensation." Content orıginally comes from novelꜰire.net

He moved with agonizing slowness, letting the friction build, waiting, always waiting, for me to loosen up, and invite him deeper into this drawn-out 'first time.'

"Pulla." His voice was deep current that flowed directly through me, silencing everything else. "Put your hand on it," he instructed, "guide it."

My fingers, almost as if it had a will of its own, wrapped around him. It throbbed beneath my touch, a palpable pulse of raw desire. I positioned the head of his cock precisely at my entrance, just as he'd suggested.

“It is simply poetic, is it not?”

The sheer, audacious theatre of this man. He was telling me, in his own darkly charming way, that this was the grand narrative: the naive angel, lured by curiosity, gently guiding the devil into sin. I would have chuckled, genuinely, if he wasn't so utterly smug about it.

"Gods, Levi, you really can't drop it, can you?" I said, an exasperated sigh escaping me, even as a fresh pulse of warmth radiated from where my hand still clasped him.

"Pulla," he said and he placed his warm hands on my outer thighs. "Wrap your legs around me."

My body, already pliant and aroused from his slow teasing, responded without conscious thought. I lifted my knees, my legs bending at the hip, and I wrapped them around Levi's waist, pulling him even closer.

A low, guttural sound rumbled in Levi's chest, a sound that was less a growl and more a deep purr of satisfaction. He leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear, and I could feel the heat radiating from his body. He moved, a slow, deliberate thrust, and the head of his cock began to stretch and part my insides. A gasp escaped me, a mix of pain and overwhelming anticipation. He paused, holding himself there allowing my body to adjust to the invading pressure.

“Levi… slow,” I breathed out, the earlier soreness still clinging to me.

“Yes, dear.” Without breaking the intimate connection, his thumbs began once again to draw those hypnotic circles on my outer thighs. Each languid rotation seemed to melt away a layer of tension, gently coaxing my body to fully receive him.

I placed my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, my fingers tangling in the silken strands of his dark hair. I began to kiss him, tentatively at first, then with more urgency, pouring every conflicting emotion I felt into the press of my lips. Levi responded in kind, his mouth warm and deep against mine, yet even as he returned the kiss, I felt a subtle pressure from his hips, a tiny fraction of an inch deeper into my entrance. A sharp gasp tore from my throat. Regretfully, he broke the kiss, his lips trailing across my cheek before he rested his head on my shoulder, his warm breath a gentle sigh against my skin. "It will pass, dear," he murmured, so hypnotizing it almost made me forget the raw sensation, urging me to "just take deep breaths for me."

“Keep doing what you are doing with your thumbs, Levi, it is helping a lot.”

Those same hands that had been so brutal moments ago, traced the line of my outer thighs, moving slowly upwards, finding purchase at my waist. They continued their slow circles there. "Do you like this better, dear?" he asked softly.

He knows it's better. The way he moves his hands, the way he asks... it's all so calculated.

“You really are leaning into your gentle narrative, Levi,” I said, a dry observation that was half exasperation, half genuine amusement.

"I am trying, dear," he replied, "but, regrettably, my little angel is already a little corrupted." As he spoke, his thumbs suddenly dug subtly into my flesh. It wasn't enough to truly hurt, but the pinpoint of pain sent unexpected shots of thrill through me. He leaned his hips forward once again, his body settling deeper, stretching me a little more as his girth began to fully displace the last vestiges of my resistance.

A sharp, burning friction intensified with each millimeter of his descent. My muscles clenched around him, trying to resist. A strangled whimper tore from my throat, as his girth slowly, gloriously, began to fill me. His breath hitched slightly, and with a final push, he was fully buried within me.

The world held its breath for a single, suspended moment, a profound stillness that resonated through every nerve ending. My body stretched and yielded, a perfect sheath around his heavy length. A soft shudder ran through me, not of pain, but of profound, aching satisfaction. His breath remained ragged for a beat longer before evening out into a soft, steady rhythm.

"My little angel is finally... truly corrupted."

“My halo is still intact, Levi, try harder.”

Levi chuckled softly, and pulled his chest away from mine just enough to meet my gaze. "Of course," he said, his eyes glinting with amusement, acknowledging my defiance. He took my right palm, placed it directly onto my lower abdomen, just above where our bodies were joined. "Feel it, dear," he murmured, his voice a low command.

With a lazy roll of his hips, he shifted, deepening the penetration, making me directly feel his cock beneath my palm.

My halo? He just shoved it straight into the sin itself, and now he's making me hold it there.

“Making me complicit in my own damnation. You truly are the Devil,” I chuckled.

Levi's lips curled into an unrepentant smile. "Please, as we both know, the Devil himself would grovel at my feet to be my intern," he purred, his eyes gleaming with an arrogant, unwavering certainty that made my breath catch. With a fluid grace he rolled his hips upwards again, a subtle, irresistible movement that drove him deeper.

“Gods, your ego is going to smother us all,” I gasped, the words forced past lips that were already parting for deeper breaths.

“Pulla,” he countered, "Less talking."

And he began to move.

It wasn't a thrust. It was a slow roll of his hips, a circular motion. I could feel every millimetre of his cock under my palm. Each upward rotation pressed his head against my sweet spot, screaming with a pleasure so acute it bordered on pain.

There is no first time if the Devil knows every inch of your body. He was mapping it, learning its secrets, exploiting its most sensitive points with a precision that belied any notion of inexperience.

The pleasure became an spiraling vortex that threatened to consume me whole. My hips began to rock, a desperate attempt to push back into the very source of this overwhelming sensation.

Levi's low purr of satisfaction vibrated against my ear, a deep sound of triumph

My halo, if it ever existed, was melting into a molten crown of sensation, binding me irrevocably to this master of my damnation.

“Now, if we want to experience a true first,” Levi’s voice dropped, becoming a resonant hum against my ear that stole my breath, "do exactly as I say."

I wasn't sure what his devilish mind was scheming.

“Squeeze your abs,” he instructed. "Put pressure with your palm, and lastly, place your hand onto yourself."

I wrapped my own fingers around my cock. I kept pressing with my palm on my stomach, clenching my abdominal muscles, my whole core tightening around him. He was no longer rolling his hips; instead, he began to directly probe, to impale my sweet spot with the very tip of his dick.

The pressure, the pleasure, was immense, singular, and so sharp that it made my eyes water, blurring my vision with tears. Each thrust was like a targeted strike. It was a different sensation entirely, building tremor originating from my stomach, spreading outwards like a slow, hot poison, promising an explosion unlike any I'd ever known.

“It… feels… weird.”

Something entirely new, something immense and coiled, was bubbling and tightening deep inside my stomach.

Levi, utterly unperturbed, did not change his pace or the pressure. He continued his devastating impaling of my sweet spot with his tip, each probe eliciting a fresh whimper, a choked cry, a guttural moan from me.

"Endure, Pulla," he murmured. "Try not to finish... not yet. Just a little more."

This was… so different. I could feel it radiating from my stomach, an inverted pressure building from within, coiling tighter and tighter. I tried to hold myself, clenching every muscle, my jaw clamped shut so tight my teeth ached, trying to contain the burgeoning sensation. But it was useless. Nothing was working.

With a cry that tore at my throat, I screamed. What came out of me, gushing with an explosive force, was not cum. It was a hot, profuse gush of fluid, soaking the sheets beneath us, a torrent of release that left me breathless and trembling. I had fucking squirted.

It was a first, alright. An absolute, undeniable first. And in the breathless, shuddering aftermath, as my body spasmed and slowly eased, I knew that I had to give the devil his credit. He had not only orchestrated my 'first time,' but he had reinvented it, proving himself a true master of perverse initiation.

“The hell…” I choked out, the sensation was too much to bear. My body, torso, the sheets, the pillows – all were slick and warm, covered in the evidence of what had just happened.

“Ah, my dear, I thought we were aiming for ‘firsts,’ did we not?” Levi purred, pulling his hips back slightly. Gods, my throat was raw and aching. And… I still couldn’t quite believe it.

Levi, the absolute bastard, just sits there, smug as a cat who swallowed the canary, purring about 'firsts.'

I still can't believe what just happened. I, Raphael, actually squirted. He did this. He engineered this. I don't know whether to punch him or... or just lie here, utterly overwhelmed.

“Gods… The hell even is this? How can so much… comeout?” My voice thick with confusion and bewildered awe, staring at the saturated sheets, unable to reconcile the intense climax with the sheer volume of fluid.

Levi tilted his head slightly. "It is approximately seventy percent urine."

WHAT? It’s pee? I peed? My eyes snapped to his, wide with disbelief and horror. The thought was utterly revolting, yet the evidence was undeniably there.

“You... you just told me I peed myself. And you're proud of it?” I asked, my voice raw.

Levi kept tilting his head. "Pulla," he purred, “If it is any consolation, the urine is approximately ninety-one percent to ninety-six percent water. Given your recent beverage consumption, I would assess it to be at least ninety-four percent."

“Oh my god! Shut up! What consolation? I peed myself… I peed myself, Levi!” I shrieked with a disgust that made my skin crawl.

Levi remained maddeningly unfazed. "Not necessarily, no," he corrected me flatly. "It is not called peeing. You expelled fluid from your urethra, yes, but the composition and physiological trigger are distinct from micturition." He paused, as if expecting me to grasp the nuanced difference. "Also, I explicitly stated mere hours ago, aside from defecation, there is very little in my repertoire I find off-limits."

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He softened his tone, but only slightly, a calculated attempt at reassurance. "Calm down, Pulla. There is very little fundamental difference between semen and your current endeavor. They are both simply testaments to pleasure, are they not?"

My halo is officially in the gutter, probably soaked in ninety-four percent water.

He actually thinks he's comforting me. He actually thinks that breaking down the chemical composition of my involuntary bodily fluid expulsion is going to make me feel better.

“Levi… Why are you… No, this isn't going to work… Look… Calling it ‘normal’, or a testament to pleasure won't make my shame go away… But, I understand your logic, you are trying to make me feel better.”

“Pulla,” he said, his voice as calm and steady as ever, still not moving an inch inside me. “I do not understand,” he continued, his tone genuinely perplexed. “Why would you feel shame, at all? It is nothing but water; it is not disgusting to me, nor something to be embarrassed about. We were both simply passionate, that’s it.”

“Ugh… You… Levi, let’s just get out of this bed, away from my… pee… or water… I mean, at least you shouldn’t have told me that right after I was done…” I stammered, gesturing vaguely at the damp sheets.

“I apologize, dear, I did not think you would be disgusted,” he replied, his tone still calm. He slid himself out, the full feeling abruptly replaced by a dizzying emptiness that left me feeling exposed and strangely cold. "Okay, let us go to the shower, dear."

It's not a real apology, is it? Not in the way another person says it. There's no remorse, no understanding in his voice, just a simple acknowledgment that his action led to my 'disgust.'

Levi stood from the bed, his movements fluid and unhurried despite the lingering mess. He then extended a hand, gently helping me to my feet. The bed felt like a battleground of humiliation. Once in the bathroom, he shed his shirt, letting it fall to the floor, and stepped into the shower, pulling me in with him.

The warm water enveloped me, washing away the stickiness. Levi took the showerhead, his hand steady as he directed the spray over my body, rinsing me clean. It was an act of service, utterly practical, devoid of overt tenderness, yet in his own way, it was his tenderness. How could I even begin to explain the tangle of shame, shock, and bewildered arousal churning inside me? He wouldn’t understand. He wouldn't grasp the illogical, visceral horror of the "pee." He only understood actions, solutions.

“Levi…” I started, a desperate, hopeless plea for understanding.

“Dear, look.” He turned my face towards him. “I genuinely did not calculate that you would experience such... disgust.” He paused. "And the earlier intensity I displayed? That was also an error on my part. I observed your loosening and misinterpreted it as complete readiness for deeper penetration. On both occasions, I did not accurately foresee the consequences of my actions. My apologies for that oversight.”

“So you are apologizing for… miscalculation… Not that you made me pee myself?” I asked, clinging to the last shred of my dignity.

He let out a tired sigh. “I know where exactly this conversation is going, Raphael,” he said. “Yes. I do not feel ‘guilt.’ My apologies are devoid of feelings, since I cannot feel them. I can only logically grasp that I need to apologize." His eyes held mine, challenging, almost bored. "Continue with your judgmental tone, please. It is not as if this is the first time you’ve talked to me like this.”

“My god, you saying that is not helping with my emotional state, Levi.”

He paused, his hands coming to rest gently on my shoulders.

"I know. That is why I am washing you right now. After this, I will go and change the bedsheets."

“I know acts of service are your way of expressing yourself, but it’s not what I want right now,” I said, my voice softer, less accusatory than before, but laced with a profound weariness that went bone-deep.

Levi placed the showerhead back into its holder with a soft click. “What do you want, dear? A kiss? A hug? Gentle words? I can do those, obviously,” he listed, his tone devoid of mockery, simply a series of available functions. "But why can't you understand that there is simply nothing wrong with being lost at the moment, it was nothing to be ashamed of?"

“The issue is, you applying logic to my emotions, Levi,” I said, my voice thick with frustration and a profound sense of futility.

Levi let out another one of his tired sighs. “Gods… What a discussion, Raphael. Obviously, that is what I do. Because there is simply nothing else I can do.”

“You are being defensive, Levi. Stop being prickly every time we discuss anything emotional. You cannot weasel your way out; we are in a relationship. Also, you Devil, obviously, I felt disgusted—it was pee,” I retorted, my voice regaining some of its fire.

His gaze flickered with something akin to… exasperation, perhaps. Not anger, but a deep-seated weariness. “I know. That is why I apologized, and then I helped you to get clean. All while contending with a raging erection that now aches as if it’s bristling with tiny needles. My apologies may not be 'heartfelt' in the way you seem to require, Raphael, but the intent behind them is the same: to alleviate the other person’s distress. Do not dismiss that.”

“I hear your intent. I'm just struggling with the translation, you know?” I said, my voice still weary.

“Alright,” he simply stated, his voice losing any trace of its prior patience. Without warning, he gripped my arms, turning me swiftly until my chest was pressed against the tiles. "Apologizing did not work. Being logical did not work. Acts of service did not work. Then, let me be forceful, once again."

I gasped as I felt the blunt, heavy tip of his cock press against my entrance, already stretching me, demanding access. He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. "Your state in that position, Raphael, was not disgusting. It was undeniably sublime. It was akin to witnessing a celestial cascade, meteors painting the canvas of the cosmos, each imbued with its own singular brilliance." As he spoke, he exerted pressure, relentlessly burying the head of his cock inside me. "I felt you, clenching around me, squeezing impossibly tight, and I savored every singular moment of it."

“Damn your poetic mouth, Levi.”

It had been a long time since I’d voiced that particular frustration.

"I do not care what happens to the eight billion hairless apes residing on this pale blue dot, no," he replied. "I never do. But I do care about you, Raphael, in my own way." His word were followed by a demanding pressure, as his hips pressed further. "So, Pulla, do not dismiss me like that."

“I’m not dismissing you, Levi. I’m just trying not to drown in your… your own peculiar brilliance,” I managed to say.

He groaned then, a sound that rumbled from deep in his chest, undeniably one of frustration. “I truly do not understand, why would you…” his voice trailed off, genuinely perplexed.

“Speak, Levi,” I said, cutting him off, demanding clarity even as my own senses swam.

He buried his face into the side of my neck. “I am simply frustrated that you would dismiss my care,” he articulated, his voice gaining an almost pained edge. “I am endeavoring to articulate it, in my own, albeit flawed, fashion. I made a mistake. Why are we… having this protracted argument? I truly do not understand, at all.”

For Levi, that's practically an emotional outpouring.

“You are… trying, just like I am, so I hear your effort, Levi… And… I hear your frustration, too… It… just feels distant, Levi.” I admitted softly against his neck.

Here we were, intimately connected, skin to skin, breath to breath, and I still felt this profound chasm between us.

“This is the second time today you have used the word ‘distant’ to describe our connection, Raphael,” he replied. "From my own perspective, it is you who is emotionally divorced from me. A state which I articulated to you… I believe, approximately three months ago now."

“Are you… still meaning that thing… from the airsoft tournament?” I asked, the stinging phrase, ‘emotionally divorced,’ echoing in my mind, recalling the unexpected flicker of hurt that had crossed his face that day.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice calm, yet with an underlying layer of resignation. “I had thought you stopped believing that I was somewhat an unfeeling machine, Raphael, but… I guess we were both wrong.”

He's not an unfeeling machine. He's just... different.

“You saw my struggle to understand you as me dismissing your very being. That’s… a lot… Levi, gods… How did this conversation even start from me peeing?” I exclaimed, the sheer absurdity of the situation momentarily overriding my distress. “Also, Levi, you are being defensive again. I am not seeing you as a machine. I saw you as someone invincible, which I admitted just yesterday, that I was wrong about. And I told you that I see your efforts to make me feel better. So, stop with your distrust and skepticism.”

“Raphael, do you genuinely require me to articulate something as profound as a collapsing star to affirm my existence? Naturally, I am a sentient being. I am not being defensive. I am, in fact, disconcerted that my husband would so readily dismiss my effort and care, merely because it lacks the emotional signatures of ‘empathy’ or ‘remorse.’ What if I do not possess those particular faculties? I still consistently execute what is necessary for your well-being.”

“Gods, you dramatic devil, why on earth are you explaining yourself with a ‘collapsing star’?” I exclaimed, a burst of frustrated energy escaping me. "I am not dismissing you, Levi, just get that. And obviously, just as you are asking for acceptance from my part, you have to accept mine, too. So, did we reach a conclusion?”

“Good enough.” Without further preamble, his hands settled firmly on my waist, a clear shift in his focus. “Can I move, dear? Frankly, it is a rather interesting thing to feel. Every time you talk, it squeezes me a little tighter.”

“You…” I started, remembering the niceness rule and biting back the surge of familiar insults that clamored to escape. I couldn't hurl another invective at his infuriating, incorrigible, utterly shameless self. “How dare you use ‘good enough’ on me, Levi? You use that for the ministers! Also… don’t say things like that,” I finished, feeling a tiny blush bloom hotly on my ears.

Levi pressed his chin against my shoulder. “Dear Pulla, you have no conception of the profound sensations I experience when I am deeply interred within you,” he said, beginning a slow rhythm that resonated through my core. “A complete and profound phenomenon. It is a singular shame, that no matter how ardently I wish to articulate it aloud, again and again, the full measure of it eludes the confines of language. And how truly endearing it is, to witness that delicate blush gracing your fair skin.”

“Damn your poetic mouth, Levi, you know I get embarrassed when you say things like that,” I managed, my voice a breathy murmur against his ear.

He chuckled softly. “It is simply a profound privilege to be graced by your singular existence. One contemplates the vast emptiness, the aching void, that must afflict all those other myriad souls who are bereft of your presence in their temporal lives.”

He makes me feel... essential. Not just to him, but to an entire conceptual landscape he’s created around me.

“L-Levi… Please… just stop with your words…” I stammered, my voice barely audible above the drumming of the water. The most unbelievable part? He wasn't quoting anything. He had just conjured those thoughts from the top of his head, here in the shower, while still moving deep inside me.

“Never,” he rumbled. “Not until you finally comprehend your indisputable place in my orbit. We are not ‘distant’.” He drove even deeper. “To be entwined with you, to share this unique confluence of our essences, is to achieve a state of perfect equilibrium. It is precisely where I am meant to be, a state of absolute congruence.”

“Okay, okay, I understand, now please… stop… I am going to turn into a puddle.”

"Beyond mere physical form, your very presence imbues my internal landscape with a compelling vitality that was, until your advent, entirely unknown," he replied.

To be honest, knowing his isolation, the loneliness that must have defined his existence, what he said made perfect sense. Which only made it even more profound, more devastatingly intimate.

Gods, someone make him stop. I slid myself out of him, and turned my body to face him fully, firmly placing my palm over his mouth.

“Please…” I said, my voice barely a whisper. Levi, the absolute devil, let go of my waist. My brief relief turned to a sharp intake of breath as his large hand moved, settling on my thigh, pulling my leg up and around his hip, re-entering me in a single, fluid motion.

“Gods! I can’t even…” I gasped, the words fracturing as he moved. Levi, once again the fucking Devil, only replied by driving deeper, faster, more insistent. He pushed me firmly back against the cold tiles, anchoring me, ensuring I couldn't slide away again.

The cold of the tiles bit into my back. My head lolled back against the ceramic, the water drumming against my face, blurring my vision. I could only whimper.

His hands rotated me slightly against the tiles, maximizing the friction, maximizing the depth. My breath hitched in my throat, a ragged, broken thing. I could feel the distinct brush of his skin against mine, the shudder of his muscles, the sharp precision of his movements, all amplified by the relentless water.

My nails, unnoticed, dug into his shoulders as a violent tremor began deep in my core, building with each thrust. It wasn't just my body responding; it was my mind, utterly overwhelmed, finally letting go.

“Levi…” I moaned out, knowing I was seconds away from finishing.

“Go on,” he urged, his hips driving harder, faster, pinning me utterly to the wall. I stopped trying to hold myself back, ceased the futile battle against the inevitable, and let it all out. My body bowed, clenching tight around him, a torrent of pleasure erupting through every screaming nerve.

His hips slammed against mine, a fierce, primal rhythm that left no room for thought, only sensation. The muscles in his back coiled and tensed, rigid as steel beneath my clutching fingers.

With a final drive, Levi’s entire frame went rigid, a tremor running through him. He buried his face deeper into my neck, his hot breath ghosting over my skin as he held himself there.

He slowly released my hips, allowing me to stand on my own, though without his presence, my legs felt like jelly. A full collapse was only averted by sheer will. We only took a brief shower after that. Once out, Levi helped me dry my hair with a soft towel then disappeared to change the bedsheets as he'd promised earlier.

...

After that very intense everything, I was tired. I stumbled into the living room, like a puppet with cut strings, and simply collapsed onto the plush couch.

It was overwhelming, profoundly strange, and yet… undeniably him. But I must say, if we continued at this pace, I might actually die from sheer exhaustion.

“Levi!” I called out, my voice raspy. He was, of course, preparing his hot chocolate, and brewing my coffee. Just as I finished yelling, he appeared, balancing a tray with his drink, my mug, and a plate piled high with an assortment of sweets and pastries. He placed the tray on the coffee table before settling beside me on the couch.

“Yes, dear,” he said, his voice as composed as if we hadn't just engaged in an epic, exhausting session.

“I am gonna die… My limbs are jelly,” I groaned, stretching a languid arm.

“Yes. It is the manifestation of the adrenaline rush dissipating,” he replied, devoid of judgment. “Your body was subjected to a significant sympathetic nervous system activation, and now, as that intense rush subsides, your systems are attempting to recalibrate. Therefore, dear, ingesting something sweet will assist in counteracting this energy depletion.” As he spoke, he pushed the plate of pastries closer to me.

“Oh, so you're saying I'm not dying, but I need sugar. Great, hand me a danish,” I mumbled, reaching for the plate with a hand that still felt vaguely disconnected from my arm. “Aside from the adrenaline crash… We… need to… be a little less vital, Levi…”

“Hm…” he hummed, a low sound in his chest as he took a sip of his hot chocolate. “It has been nine days since I returned from the border, and we have indeed been engaging in sexual activity every single day since then. Alright, dear, we can take some time off,” he conceded calmly.

I chuckled softly. “Time off? Are you scheduling a meeting?” I said, taking another bite of the danish.

“Oh no, this is simply me foretelling you will come begging for my presence before I seek yours during this 'time off'," he replied, incredibly smug as he took another sip of his drink. "I am duly curious how this period of abstinence will play out for us both.”

Wait… Did I just get played again? He wasn't conceding anything. He was issuing a challenge.

“You infuriating…” I bit my lower lip, clamping down on the fresh insults that sprang to mind. “Fine. Challenge accepted. What are the rules?” I asked, narrowing my eyes, already plotting my counter-strategy.

“Masturbation is not allowed,” he said calmly, but his eyes held that swirl of his – the scheming, plotting vortex that meant I was already halfway caught in his trap. “You tell me, dear, how much physical contact is permitted between us? Hand holding, hugging, kissing, cuddling?” he asked, a subtle arch to one brow, clearly enjoying my predicament.

I needed to think carefully. We didn't really hold hands in the house, so that felt like a safe, inconsequential concession. Hugs and kisses were undeniably part of our daily rhythm, and to forbid them entirely would be absurd. Kisses, though, were a slippery slope. But hugs, especially with Levi, were even more perilous, drawing me too close, making me acutely aware of his heat.

But the most dangerous one… cuddling. That was the ultimate trap. I knew him. He wouldn't just hold me; he would spoon me, spoon me relentlessly, his large body a suffocating furnace against my back. He would purr like a puma in heat, vibrating through my entire frame, demanding my submission. Gods, this was a losing bet, a trap I was already halfway caught in.

“Alright. Hand-holding... is fine. Hugs are fine, for a brief duration. Kisses, only platonic. And absolutely no cuddling, Levi. Not one inch,” I declared, trying to project an air of stern authority.

“Such a shame, I genuinely enjoy cuddling. But, well, what can one do when the rules are settled,” he replied, taking a theatrical sip of his hot chocolate. He didn't even try to hide his smugness. What is he scheming? Gods…

He placed the mug on the table. “Short kisses, brief hugs, and no cuddles?” he asked. But… it was a different kind of asking, not seeking confirmation, but almost like he was sealing a deal he'd already won.

“Y-Yes…”

“I am glad we are set on the rules.”

“What are you scheming, Levi? I can sense it. Say it,” I demanded.

“No. Then you would attempt to alter the established parameters,” he replied. Gods. I was right. He was plotting something all along.

“I… I am not going to change it, no. Just… say it,” I insisted, pushing myself up on elbows, demanding an answer. Levi, the smug bastard, responded by slowly and quietly crawling over my languid form. His weight settled over my hips, pinning me gently to the couch, but not quite on me, not quite a cuddle. Then he dipped his head, placing a light, brief kiss on my cheek, then my lower jaw, then the sensitive skin of my neck, before returning to my cheek for another swift peck. Shit… We only talked about the ‘duration’ of the kisses… Not the amount… Gods…

“You!” I gasped, my eyes widening with the dawning horror of the mistake I’d just made.

He replied by simply chuckling. “My sweet Pulla, when you engage in a wager with me, know that I always play to win. You might ask the late King.”

The smug, infuriating bastard! But… I was the one to blame. I always, fucking always, lost to him, yet I still did it, every single time!

“You are an utter and complete—” I started, but he cut me off mid-insult, a chastising kiss pressed firmly to my lips. His mouth lingered for only a second before he pulled back, his face inches from mine, radiating smugness like the fucking sun.

“Do not break the niceness rule, Pulla,” he murmured. “Or you will clean the entire house.”

“You don’t have to be so smug about it, okay? You look like a cat beaming in sunlight,” I retorted.

“Pulla, I was pushing laws to their very limits to gather irrefutable evidence of nobility’s extensive tax evasion when I was a bored teenager. Why would you willingly enter a wager with me?” he said, a note of pure amusement threading through his voice. “But, fret not, my dear Pulla, you will feel my presence, glued to you like a second skin, a constant, pervasive reminder of precisely what you are missing with every passing second.”

“I am gonna cling to you too, Levi, like those weird barnacle thingies on ships,” I declared, pushing myself slightly more upright on the couch.