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LINKS
HOT LINKS     |
27/09/2025
Moonlight fractured across the ceiling, pale against the shadows that swallowed the room. The storm outside clawed at the windows, but the heat between them burned hotter, heavier, thick in the air.
He stood over her, broad and still, a silhouette sharpened by the flickering candle. The cut of his bearded jaw, the dark weight of his stare—everything about him was carved for dominance. Her pulse thudded at the sight of him watching her as if she already belonged to him.
Her fuchsia hair spilled across the sheets, wild against the pale linen. She shifted closer, her body aching for his, every movement a silent invitation.
“Are you sure you want this?” His voice was low, rough velvet, more command than question.
Her gaze locked to his, steady and certain. “I want this with you.”
The answer was enough. He closed the space in deliberate strides, hand curving around the back of her neck. His grip was firm, claiming, but not cruel. His thumb stroked her jaw, forcing her to tilt her chin up and hold his stare.
“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he warned, his breath hot against her lips.
“Don’t.” The single word came out like a dare.
His restraint snapped. He pressed her back into the mattress, his body caging hers, weight braced but undeniable. The scent of storm-damp air and the heat of his skin enveloped her. His mouth hovered over hers until she leaned up, desperate, and he took it—rough, consuming, his tongue pushing past her lips with a hunger that made her moan.
His hand slid down, catching the curve of her breast, thumb circling her nipple until it hardened beneath his touch. She arched into him, her thighs parting without thought, an instinctive surrender. His other hand gripped her hip, holding her in place as he pressed the hard line of his body against her core. She felt the length of him, already thick and unyielding, grinding into her through the thin barrier of cloth.
“Feel what you do to me?” he growled against her mouth. His hips rocked once, sharp and deliberate.
“Yes,” she gasped, clutching at his shoulders, nails dragging over muscle.
He pulled back just enough to rip her shirt over her head, baring her to the candlelight. The hunger in his eyes deepened, dark and dangerous, as his hand slid lower, fingertips grazing the inside of her thigh. He paused at the edge of her panties, testing, waiting.
“Tell me,” he demanded, voice like smoke.
Her answer was a breathless, “Yes—please.”
That was all he needed. He pushed the fabric aside and slid his fingers over her, slow at first, then rougher when he found her wet and ready. She gasped, hips jerking against his hand, but his grip on her waist pinned her down. His thumb circled her pierced clit, coaxing sharp little sounds from her throat as his fingers teased her entrance, never giving enough, just keeping her on the edge.
“Mine,” he muttered, watching her unravel beneath him. “Every sound, every shiver—mine.”
When she was shaking with need, he finally freed himself, the weight of him heavy against her thigh. He stroked himself once, twice, letting her see exactly what waited for her before pressing the thick head against her slick entrance.
He caught her gaze, holding it even as his body trembled with restraint. “Last chance. Say stop, and I will.”
Her answer was a choked, desperate, “Don’t stop.”
He thrust into her in one deep, claiming stroke, filling her until her breath broke into a moan. He paused there, letting her stretch around him, letting her clutch at him with both hands and both legs before he pulled back and drove in again, harder.
The rhythm built quick and brutal, his hips snapping against hers, the bed creaking in protest. Her moans tangled with the storm outside, raw and unrestrained. Every thrust carried the weight of hunger long held back, every kiss a brand, every grip a promise he would not let her fall.
“Say my name,” he demanded, his voice breaking ragged with need.
She gasped it, over and over, each repetition dragging him deeper, pulling her higher, until the room was nothing but sweat, storm, and the violent, desperate rhythm of two bodies taking what they craved.
When release tore through her, it came like the storm outside—wild, consuming, shaking her apart. He followed her down, teeth at her throat, growl breaking into a guttural sound as he spilled inside her, holding her pinned until the last shudder left his body.
The storm still battered the window, but in its wake the room felt quieter, softer. His weight stayed heavy on top of her for a moment, his chest heaving against hers, sweat slicking their skin where it pressed together. He didn’t move, not until her breathing steadied beneath him.
When he finally eased back, he was careful, withdrawing from her body with a slow groan. She whimpered at the loss, but his hand slid immediately to her thigh, grounding her, soothing the tremor in her muscles.
“You okay?” His voice was rough, still dark, but gentled now, low and deliberate like it had been in the beginning.
She nodded, too breathless for words at first. Then, softer, “More than okay.”
He kissed her forehead, then her temple, each touch slower, unhurried, reverent. His beard scraped her skin in a way that was no longer consuming, just reassuring. He reached for the blanket tangled near their feet and pulled it up over her bare shoulders, wrapping her in warmth before folding himself around her.
The shift in him was striking: from predator to protector. His arms locked around her waist, holding her against his chest as if she were something he refused to let go. She melted into it, still trembling, still humming with aftershocks, but safe in the cage of his body.
“You were perfect,” he murmured into her hair. “Every sound you made… every time you looked at me like that…” His voice broke, softer now. “You undo me.”
She smiled against his skin, eyes closing. “And you put me back together.”
The storm eased, the thunder rolling farther away. The candle burned low, shadows stretching and softening across the walls. In the quiet that followed, they lay tangled together, heartbeat against heartbeat, their breaths gradually syncing. His hand drew lazy circles along her back, grounding her, while her fingers traced idle lines over the muscles of his chest.
The rawness of before didn’t vanish—it lingered, humming beneath the silence—but it no longer demanded. It lived now as proof, as intimacy sealed by trust.
She thought he was drifting toward sleep until she felt his beard scrape along her neck and his voice rumble low against her ear.
“You make sounds you don’t even know you’re making,” he whispered, lips brushing her skin. “Little broken ones that drive me insane.”
She laughed softly, rolling to face him. “Oh, do I?”
His eyes caught hers in the dim glow, blue fire softened by shadows. “Mmm. Like when I touched you here—” His hand slid under the blanket, fingers teasing slow circles at her hip. “You gasped. Sharp. Almost a cry. You couldn’t help it.”
Her breath hitched despite herself, her body already betraying her. “You’re making that up.”
His grin was wicked, boyish in a way that disarmed her. “I don’t have to.” His fingers trailed lower, brushing lightly over the heat between her thighs, not pressing, just ghosting. “Your body tells me everything.”
She swatted at his chest with a playful shove, but he caught her wrist easily, pinning it above her head with hardly any effort. “Careful,” he warned, his tone dark but amused. “You’ll start something.”
“Maybe I want to.” Her voice came out bolder than she expected, a challenge.
His answering groan was low, deep, vibrating against her ribs where their bodies touched. “You’ll ruin me.” He kissed her then, slow but hungry, not devouring like before but savoring, tasting. His free hand slid down her thigh, coaxing it over his hip, drawing her closer until she felt him again, half-hard and growing against her belly.
This time he didn’t rush. His touches were softer, almost teasing in their patience. His lips traced the line of her jaw, her throat, down to her collarbone, each kiss leaving her squirming beneath him.
“See?” he murmured, mouth hot against her skin. “Your body begs even before you do.”
“Then stop teasing.”
“Not a chance.” His chuckle was low and wicked, vibrating against her chest as he moved lower. He took his time, tasting, savoring, drawing from her softer sounds—the sighs, the whimpers—before finally sliding back inside her with a care that made her gasp.
The second time was different. Slower, deeper. Each thrust measured, rolling, his forehead pressed to hers so she felt the heat of his breath. The storm outside had quieted, and their rhythm matched the rain: steady, unhurried, a softer drowning.
He held her hand this time, fingers laced tight, grounding her as he moved within her. His lips brushed her ear, his words ragged but tender: “I could spend the whole night like this—inside you, watching your eyes, hearing you whisper my name.”
Her answer came as a breathless plea, his name slipping from her lips over and over as he rocked them together, building not to the violent edge of before but to a slow, melting release. When it came, it wasn’t a storm but a tide, washing through them both until they collapsed in each other’s arms, tangled, trembling, undone.
Afterward, he kissed her softly, lips lingering at her temple. “Now you know,” he whispered. “The first was hunger. This… this is worship.”
She smiled, half-asleep already, and let herself believe him.
The night slipped into silence, the storm long gone, leaving only the steady rhythm of rain against the glass. Wrapped in his arms, she drifted in and out of sleep, her body still humming with the memory of his touch, his voice, the way he had worshipped her until she came undone.
When light finally began to bleed through the curtains, it was pale and gentle, warming the edges of the room. She stirred first, blinking against the soft glow. He was still wrapped around her, chest pressed to her back, his breath slow and even against her shoulder.
She shifted slightly, and his arm tightened instinctively, pulling her closer.
“Don’t move,” he murmured, voice gravelled with sleep.
She smiled, eyes closing again. “You’re clingy in the morning.”
“I earned it.” His lips brushed lazily along her neck, the scrape of his beard making her shiver. “Besides… you’re warm. I’m not letting go.”
She rolled onto her back to face him, and his eyes—still heavy with sleep, but startlingly blue in the dawn light—met hers. He looked softer now, less the storm, more the steady calm after it. But when his hand traced down her side, fingers brushing the dip of her waist, she saw the familiar hunger flicker back.
“You’re insatiable,” she teased, her voice hushed in the quiet morning.
“You ruined me last night,” he said simply, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth. “Now I’m ruined for sleep.”
She laughed, but her breath caught when his hand slipped under the blanket again, exploring with a slower patience than before. His touch wasn’t demanding—it was lazy, indulgent, meant to savor. He bent down, kissing her lips softly, then lingering at the corner of her mouth until she turned her head and deepened it.
Their bodies shifted together naturally, her leg sliding over his hip, drawing him closer. The storm of before was gone; what remained was a gentle hunger, the kind that didn’t burn but smoldered, steady and inevitable.
When he slid into her again, it wasn’t with the desperate force of the night—it was careful, reverent, their breaths mingling in the pale light as he moved inside her. His hand cupped her face, thumb stroking her cheekbone as if memorizing every part of her expression.
They moved slowly, rocking together, savoring every inch, every sigh, every whispered name. No storm, no fire—just the quiet hum of two bodies choosing closeness again and again.
When release came, it was almost silent: her soft cry against his mouth, his low groan swallowed in her kiss. They held each other through it, trembling less violently than the night before, but no less deeply.
Afterward, he stayed inside her, holding her close, his forehead pressed to hers. “I could get used to this,” he whispered, voice thick with both exhaustion and wonder.
She smiled sleepily, brushing her fingers along his jaw. “Then don’t stop.”
He stood over her, broad and still, a silhouette sharpened by the flickering candle. The cut of his bearded jaw, the dark weight of his stare—everything about him was carved for dominance. Her pulse thudded at the sight of him watching her as if she already belonged to him.
Her fuchsia hair spilled across the sheets, wild against the pale linen. She shifted closer, her body aching for his, every movement a silent invitation.
“Are you sure you want this?” His voice was low, rough velvet, more command than question.
Her gaze locked to his, steady and certain. “I want this with you.”
The answer was enough. He closed the space in deliberate strides, hand curving around the back of her neck. His grip was firm, claiming, but not cruel. His thumb stroked her jaw, forcing her to tilt her chin up and hold his stare.
“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he warned, his breath hot against her lips.
“Don’t.” The single word came out like a dare.
His restraint snapped. He pressed her back into the mattress, his body caging hers, weight braced but undeniable. The scent of storm-damp air and the heat of his skin enveloped her. His mouth hovered over hers until she leaned up, desperate, and he took it—rough, consuming, his tongue pushing past her lips with a hunger that made her moan.
His hand slid down, catching the curve of her breast, thumb circling her nipple until it hardened beneath his touch. She arched into him, her thighs parting without thought, an instinctive surrender. His other hand gripped her hip, holding her in place as he pressed the hard line of his body against her core. She felt the length of him, already thick and unyielding, grinding into her through the thin barrier of cloth.
“Feel what you do to me?” he growled against her mouth. His hips rocked once, sharp and deliberate.
“Yes,” she gasped, clutching at his shoulders, nails dragging over muscle.
He pulled back just enough to rip her shirt over her head, baring her to the candlelight. The hunger in his eyes deepened, dark and dangerous, as his hand slid lower, fingertips grazing the inside of her thigh. He paused at the edge of her panties, testing, waiting.
“Tell me,” he demanded, voice like smoke.
Her answer was a breathless, “Yes—please.”
That was all he needed. He pushed the fabric aside and slid his fingers over her, slow at first, then rougher when he found her wet and ready. She gasped, hips jerking against his hand, but his grip on her waist pinned her down. His thumb circled her pierced clit, coaxing sharp little sounds from her throat as his fingers teased her entrance, never giving enough, just keeping her on the edge.
“Mine,” he muttered, watching her unravel beneath him. “Every sound, every shiver—mine.”
When she was shaking with need, he finally freed himself, the weight of him heavy against her thigh. He stroked himself once, twice, letting her see exactly what waited for her before pressing the thick head against her slick entrance.
He caught her gaze, holding it even as his body trembled with restraint. “Last chance. Say stop, and I will.”
Her answer was a choked, desperate, “Don’t stop.”
He thrust into her in one deep, claiming stroke, filling her until her breath broke into a moan. He paused there, letting her stretch around him, letting her clutch at him with both hands and both legs before he pulled back and drove in again, harder.
The rhythm built quick and brutal, his hips snapping against hers, the bed creaking in protest. Her moans tangled with the storm outside, raw and unrestrained. Every thrust carried the weight of hunger long held back, every kiss a brand, every grip a promise he would not let her fall.
“Say my name,” he demanded, his voice breaking ragged with need.
She gasped it, over and over, each repetition dragging him deeper, pulling her higher, until the room was nothing but sweat, storm, and the violent, desperate rhythm of two bodies taking what they craved.
When release tore through her, it came like the storm outside—wild, consuming, shaking her apart. He followed her down, teeth at her throat, growl breaking into a guttural sound as he spilled inside her, holding her pinned until the last shudder left his body.
The storm still battered the window, but in its wake the room felt quieter, softer. His weight stayed heavy on top of her for a moment, his chest heaving against hers, sweat slicking their skin where it pressed together. He didn’t move, not until her breathing steadied beneath him.
When he finally eased back, he was careful, withdrawing from her body with a slow groan. She whimpered at the loss, but his hand slid immediately to her thigh, grounding her, soothing the tremor in her muscles.
“You okay?” His voice was rough, still dark, but gentled now, low and deliberate like it had been in the beginning.
She nodded, too breathless for words at first. Then, softer, “More than okay.”
He kissed her forehead, then her temple, each touch slower, unhurried, reverent. His beard scraped her skin in a way that was no longer consuming, just reassuring. He reached for the blanket tangled near their feet and pulled it up over her bare shoulders, wrapping her in warmth before folding himself around her.
The shift in him was striking: from predator to protector. His arms locked around her waist, holding her against his chest as if she were something he refused to let go. She melted into it, still trembling, still humming with aftershocks, but safe in the cage of his body.
“You were perfect,” he murmured into her hair. “Every sound you made… every time you looked at me like that…” His voice broke, softer now. “You undo me.”
She smiled against his skin, eyes closing. “And you put me back together.”
The storm eased, the thunder rolling farther away. The candle burned low, shadows stretching and softening across the walls. In the quiet that followed, they lay tangled together, heartbeat against heartbeat, their breaths gradually syncing. His hand drew lazy circles along her back, grounding her, while her fingers traced idle lines over the muscles of his chest.
The rawness of before didn’t vanish—it lingered, humming beneath the silence—but it no longer demanded. It lived now as proof, as intimacy sealed by trust.
She thought he was drifting toward sleep until she felt his beard scrape along her neck and his voice rumble low against her ear.
“You make sounds you don’t even know you’re making,” he whispered, lips brushing her skin. “Little broken ones that drive me insane.”
She laughed softly, rolling to face him. “Oh, do I?”
His eyes caught hers in the dim glow, blue fire softened by shadows. “Mmm. Like when I touched you here—” His hand slid under the blanket, fingers teasing slow circles at her hip. “You gasped. Sharp. Almost a cry. You couldn’t help it.”
Her breath hitched despite herself, her body already betraying her. “You’re making that up.”
His grin was wicked, boyish in a way that disarmed her. “I don’t have to.” His fingers trailed lower, brushing lightly over the heat between her thighs, not pressing, just ghosting. “Your body tells me everything.”
She swatted at his chest with a playful shove, but he caught her wrist easily, pinning it above her head with hardly any effort. “Careful,” he warned, his tone dark but amused. “You’ll start something.”
“Maybe I want to.” Her voice came out bolder than she expected, a challenge.
His answering groan was low, deep, vibrating against her ribs where their bodies touched. “You’ll ruin me.” He kissed her then, slow but hungry, not devouring like before but savoring, tasting. His free hand slid down her thigh, coaxing it over his hip, drawing her closer until she felt him again, half-hard and growing against her belly.
This time he didn’t rush. His touches were softer, almost teasing in their patience. His lips traced the line of her jaw, her throat, down to her collarbone, each kiss leaving her squirming beneath him.
“See?” he murmured, mouth hot against her skin. “Your body begs even before you do.”
“Then stop teasing.”
“Not a chance.” His chuckle was low and wicked, vibrating against her chest as he moved lower. He took his time, tasting, savoring, drawing from her softer sounds—the sighs, the whimpers—before finally sliding back inside her with a care that made her gasp.
The second time was different. Slower, deeper. Each thrust measured, rolling, his forehead pressed to hers so she felt the heat of his breath. The storm outside had quieted, and their rhythm matched the rain: steady, unhurried, a softer drowning.
He held her hand this time, fingers laced tight, grounding her as he moved within her. His lips brushed her ear, his words ragged but tender: “I could spend the whole night like this—inside you, watching your eyes, hearing you whisper my name.”
Her answer came as a breathless plea, his name slipping from her lips over and over as he rocked them together, building not to the violent edge of before but to a slow, melting release. When it came, it wasn’t a storm but a tide, washing through them both until they collapsed in each other’s arms, tangled, trembling, undone.
Afterward, he kissed her softly, lips lingering at her temple. “Now you know,” he whispered. “The first was hunger. This… this is worship.”
She smiled, half-asleep already, and let herself believe him.
The night slipped into silence, the storm long gone, leaving only the steady rhythm of rain against the glass. Wrapped in his arms, she drifted in and out of sleep, her body still humming with the memory of his touch, his voice, the way he had worshipped her until she came undone.
When light finally began to bleed through the curtains, it was pale and gentle, warming the edges of the room. She stirred first, blinking against the soft glow. He was still wrapped around her, chest pressed to her back, his breath slow and even against her shoulder.
She shifted slightly, and his arm tightened instinctively, pulling her closer.
“Don’t move,” he murmured, voice gravelled with sleep.
She smiled, eyes closing again. “You’re clingy in the morning.”
“I earned it.” His lips brushed lazily along her neck, the scrape of his beard making her shiver. “Besides… you’re warm. I’m not letting go.”
She rolled onto her back to face him, and his eyes—still heavy with sleep, but startlingly blue in the dawn light—met hers. He looked softer now, less the storm, more the steady calm after it. But when his hand traced down her side, fingers brushing the dip of her waist, she saw the familiar hunger flicker back.
“You’re insatiable,” she teased, her voice hushed in the quiet morning.
“You ruined me last night,” he said simply, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth. “Now I’m ruined for sleep.”
She laughed, but her breath caught when his hand slipped under the blanket again, exploring with a slower patience than before. His touch wasn’t demanding—it was lazy, indulgent, meant to savor. He bent down, kissing her lips softly, then lingering at the corner of her mouth until she turned her head and deepened it.
Their bodies shifted together naturally, her leg sliding over his hip, drawing him closer. The storm of before was gone; what remained was a gentle hunger, the kind that didn’t burn but smoldered, steady and inevitable.
When he slid into her again, it wasn’t with the desperate force of the night—it was careful, reverent, their breaths mingling in the pale light as he moved inside her. His hand cupped her face, thumb stroking her cheekbone as if memorizing every part of her expression.
They moved slowly, rocking together, savoring every inch, every sigh, every whispered name. No storm, no fire—just the quiet hum of two bodies choosing closeness again and again.
When release came, it was almost silent: her soft cry against his mouth, his low groan swallowed in her kiss. They held each other through it, trembling less violently than the night before, but no less deeply.
Afterward, he stayed inside her, holding her close, his forehead pressed to hers. “I could get used to this,” he whispered, voice thick with both exhaustion and wonder.
She smiled sleepily, brushing her fingers along his jaw. “Then don’t stop.”
Poster:
Hecate
