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aeralux · 2 months ago

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"Wicked Game" - Aemond Targaryen

Sister's Boyfriend!Aemond x Reader (Modern!au)

Summary: Ever since your sister got a new boyfriend, you have been captivated by him. His long, silky silver hair and the mysterious eye patch. It's sad, truly. You know you could never have him, as they only have eyes for each other. If only he could see you in a different light than just his girlfriend's baby sister...

Warnings: SMUT 18+; rough sex; voyeurism; use of sex toys (dildos, nipple clamps, vibes etc.); infidelity; Aemond being lowkey a sadist; name calling during sex (slut); orgasm denial; oral (m! receiving); angst (in the end)

Words: 13.1k

Notes: Everything is consensual. If you do not agree with the warnings, DO NOT read. I am not responsible for the media YOU consume.

𐔌 . ⋮ aera .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

You’d been harbouring a crush on Aemond Targaryen for over a year, and honestly, it was infuriating. The universe had a cruel sense of humour, putting a man like him so close, yet so utterly out of reach. He wasn’t just your sister’s boyfriend—he was her serious boyfriend, the type you just knew she envisioned a future with. And the worst part? He was perfect for her.

Aemond wasn’t the type of guy you stumbled upon in your usual circle. Sharp-witted, devastatingly handsome, and impossibly composed, he carried himself with a confidence that drew attention the moment he entered a room. That long silver hair, always tied neatly back, and that piercing blue eye—one covered by an eyepatch that only added to his allure—made him look like he’d stepped out of some mythic tale. And you hated that you noticed it as much as you did.

The first time you met him, you were already doomed. You’d been awkward, stumbling over your words as he shook your hand at some family gathering. He was polite, of course, though his demeanour remained cool and unreadable. It only made you blush harder. Over time, your reactions to him only grew worse. Aemond, being Aemond, always seemed so unbothered—offering a kind smile here, a polite laugh there—but it didn’t seem like he ever really saw you. Not the way you wanted him to.

You tried not to let it get to you, but it did. Every time he walked through the door, greeting your sister with that subtle, affectionate smile of his, your stomach tightened. Every time his deep voice carried across the room, making some wry comment or insightful observation, you found yourself hanging onto his every word. And every time you caught a glimpse of him without your sister beside him, you let your imagination wander to places it absolutely shouldn’t.

It was humiliating. Worse than that—it was maddening.

You wanted to stop thinking about him, to shove the feelings down and pretend they didn’t exist. He was totally off-limits, the kind of forbidden crush that should’ve died as quickly as it started. But no matter how hard you tried, your stupid heart refused to let go.

And it didn’t help that your sister seemed so happy with him. She was your sister, after all, and you loved her. You’d never do anything to jeopardize what they had. That knowledge should’ve been enough to kill the fantasy altogether, but instead, it made it worse. You were stuck on the outside looking in, knowing that no matter how much you wanted him, he’d never be yours.

So, you did what you could. You tried to keep your distance, to swallow your feelings whenever they crept up, but it wasn’t easy. Whenever he was over for dinner, you saw him at family events, or your sister started gushing about how perfect he was—it grated on you. Not because you resented her happiness, but because you couldn’t stop thinking about how much you wanted him for yourself.

And you hated yourself for it.

By now, you’d started masking your crush as an annoyance—making sharp remarks here and there to cover up how flustered you got around him. You’d convince yourself that his distant politeness was a sign he thought of you as nothing more than his girlfriend’s little sister. That thought hurt more than it should, but at least it kept you grounded in reality.

You’d tried to bury the feelings. You really had.

The bass thrummed through the club like a heartbeat, the flashing lights painting the crowded dancefloor in vibrant reds and blues. You were out with your friends—Baela, Rhaena, Jacaerys, Addam, and Cregan—and for once, you weren’t holding back. This wasn’t your usual night of sipping drinks quietly at the bar. Tonight, you let yourself go, swaying to the music, laughing with your friends, and celebrating passing your exams.

Your tight black dress hugged your curves in all the right places, and your bold makeup gave you the confidence to let loose. Your hair was styled to perfection and every now and then, you caught people looking. You didn’t mind. In fact, you welcomed it. Tonight was about forgetting the stress eating at you for a month.

The energy among your friends was electric. Baela and Rhaena were dancing with you, their laughter infectious. At the same time, Jace, Addam, and Cregan stayed close, joking and moving in rhythm with the music. Cregan, always the playful one, had spun you into a twirl at one point, his hands lingering on your waist as he leaned in to say something over the pounding music. Whatever he said made you laugh, throwing your head back with a carefree grin.

What you didn’t know—what you couldn’t have known—was that Aemond was there too.

He’d come with a few colleagues for a drink after a long week, not expecting to see anyone familiar. But when he caught a glimpse of you across the room, his breath hitched in his throat.

At first, he wasn’t sure it was you. The way the dim, coloured lights illuminated your skin and the confidence in the way you moved—it was like you were a different person. But then you turned, laughing at something Jace had said, and he saw your face fully. It was you.

Aemond froze.

His drink hovered in his hand, forgotten as he watched you from across the room. He’d never seen you like this before. Always so sweet and composed at family dinners, with your shy smiles and nervous laughs. But here, under the pulsing lights, you were... different. Bold. Glowing.

The tight dress, the way it clung to your body, showed off every curve in a way that was impossible to ignore. Your makeup highlighted your features, giving you an edge he’d never associated with you before. He tried to look away—he really did—but his eye kept drifting back to you.

And then, there were the men.

Jace stood too close, his arm brushing yours as he leaned in to speak. Addam rested his hand on your back while you danced, his touch lingering just a little too long for Aemond’s liking. And Cregan—Cregan’s hands had been on your waist, and the way you’d laughed with him made Aemond’s jaw tighten.

It was irrational, he knew that. He had no claim to you. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you like this. You were his girlfriend’s younger sister, for God’s sake. He’d always thought of you as a beautiful girl, sure, but nothing more. He respected you. Admired you, even, for your wit and kindness. But now...

Now, he felt something stirring in his chest that he didn’t want to admit.

Jealousy.

He took a slow sip of his drink, forcing himself to look away, to focus on the conversation happening around him. But the loud chatter of his colleagues faded into the background as his gaze betrayed him yet again. There you were, laughing and swaying to the music, completely unaware of the effect you were having on him.

It was infuriating.

The way your hips moved, the way your friends surrounded you, protective but also playful—it all drove him to distraction. He clenched his jaw, tightening his grip on his glass. This wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to be feeling this way.

But as he watched Jace pull you closer, his hand brushing your arm, something inside Aemond snapped.

He tore his gaze away, breathing deeply to steady himself. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t do this. You were off-limits, untouchable. He had to get his head straight before anyone noticed the turmoil inside him.

But no matter how hard he tried to focus on anything else, his eye kept returning to you.

The house was quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the distant chirping of birds outside. Your parents had gone on one of their weekend camping trips, leaving the house to you, your sister, and Aemond. It wasn’t the first time he’d stayed over for a few days, but this time felt... different.

Aemond sat on the living room couch with a book in hand, though he hadn’t turned the page in what felt like hours. He wasn’t even reading—his mind was elsewhere. Or rather, his eye was.

You were in the kitchen, moving around with a casual grace that had him transfixed. You’d come downstairs earlier in shorts that hugged your legs and a fitted tank top that clung to your figure. It wasn’t an unusual outfit for a hot summer day, but to him, it might as well have been something far more provocative.

He tried to ignore it, to remind himself of who you were and why he had no right to be looking at you like this. But no matter how many times he told himself to focus on the book in his lap or the conversation your sister was trying to have with him, his eye kept straying back to you.

You leaned against the kitchen counter, scrolling on your phone, your legs crossed at the ankle. The way the sunlight streaming through the window highlighted your bare skin made his chest tighten. Was this what he’d been blind to all this time?

It wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed you before. He wasn’t a fool—he’d always known you were beautiful. But there had been a line he never allowed himself to cross. You were her sister, and that fact had always been enough to keep his thoughts in check.

Until now.

The image of you at the club last night was still burned into his mind. The way you’d looked, moved, laughed. It had unlocked something in him, something he didn’t want to acknowledge but couldn’t deny any longer. Seeing you like this—so casual, so natural—only made it worse. You didn’t have to try to captivate him; you just did.

His eye drifted down your legs again, lingering before he forced himself to look away. He shifted in his seat, adjusting the book in his lap to hide the tension building in his body. This was wrong. Completely and utterly wrong. He needed to snap out of it.

Your sister was sitting next to him, chatting about something mundane—dinner plans, or maybe a movie she wanted to watch later—but he wasn’t listening. He nodded occasionally, muttering an “Mm” or “Yeah” to feign interest, but his focus was elsewhere on you.

You moved from the counter to the fridge, opening it and bending slightly to grab something from the lower shelf. Aemond’s jaw tightened, his fingers gripping the edges of his book. He closed his eye, inhaling deeply.

This wasn’t serious, he told himself. It wasn’t anything more than a fleeting, physical reaction—an inconvenient trick of his own mind. That was all it was. He just needed to forget about it, to push these thoughts aside and focus on the woman sitting right next to him.

He glanced at your sister, forcing himself to look at her properly. She smiled at him, unaware of the storm raging inside his head. She deserved better than this. Better than a boyfriend whose thoughts were straying somewhere they had no business going.

But even as he tried to ground himself, his resolve crumbled the moment he heard your laugh from the kitchen. It was soft and melodic, and it pulled his attention like a magnet.

Aemond clenched his jaw, his frustration mounting—not at you, but at himself. He couldn’t let this continue. He wouldn’t. He had to stop looking at you, stop thinking about you like this, stop letting these dangerous thoughts worm their way into his head.

Because if he didn’t... he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself.

You hummed softly to yourself as you moved about the kitchen, entirely unaware of the way Aemond’s eye followed you from the couch. To you, it was just another lazy summer day. The sunlight was warm against your skin, and the cool tile beneath your bare feet felt grounding as you grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

Your thoughts were far from the man sitting in the living room. You were still replaying moments from last night—how much fun you’d had with your friends, the way the music pulsed through you, and how free you’d felt dancing without a care. A soft smile played on your lips as you leaned back against the counter, scrolling through your phone to check messages from Baela and Rhaena.

In the living room, Aemond was trying his best to act normal, but his focus kept slipping. His gaze kept drifting toward you as you opened the bottle of water, tilted your head back, and took a sip, the motion somehow more graceful than it had any right to be. His grip on the book tightened when a single bead of water escaped from the corner of your mouth, trailing down your neck before you wiped it away with the back of your hand.

And you had no idea.

You were completely oblivious to the effect you were having on him, continuing your day as though nothing had changed. You even smiled once or twice when a funny text came through from Cregan. He could hear your soft chuckles from where he sat, and it only made his chest feel tighter.

Your sister, on the other hand, wasn’t oblivious.

She’d been talking to him for a while now—something about a new show she wanted him to watch with her. But Aemond’s noncommittal responses and wandering eye hadn’t escaped her notice.

With an audible sigh, she crossed her arms over her chest, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“Aemond,” she said sharply, drawing his attention back to her.

He blinked, startled out of his daze. “Hm?”

“Are you even listening to me?” she asked, her tone tinged with irritation.

“Of course,” he replied smoothly, though the faintest flicker of guilt flashed across his face.

She raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “I’ve been talking for five minutes, and you haven’t said anything other than ‘yeah’ or ‘hmm.’ What’s going on with you today?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, his tone calm but firm. “I’m just... distracted, that’s all.”

From the corner of your eye, you noticed the tension brewing between them, though you didn’t pay it much mind. Your sister could be dramatic sometimes, and you figured Aemond was probably just tired or preoccupied with work.

You turned your attention back to your phone, scrolling aimlessly, as they continued their conversation. Aemond gave your sister a reassuring smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eye.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice low and measured. “I’ll pay better attention.”

You glanced up briefly, watching as your sister sighed again, this time more softly. She gave him a small, forgiving smile and leaned against his shoulder, though her frustration was still evident in the way her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her shirt.

Aemond placed a hand on her knee, offering her a gesture of reassurance, but even then, his gaze flickered back to the kitchen for a fleeting second.

You didn’t catch it.

If you had, you might’ve noticed the way his eye lingered on you longer than it should have. You might’ve seen the subtle tension in his jaw or the way his grip on the book tightened whenever you moved. But you didn’t.

A few hours had passed. The house was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against your ears and made every creak of the floorboards seem louder than it should have been. Your sister had stormed out hours ago, muttering something about going to her friend’s house because Aemond was “being impossible.” She hadn’t said goodbye, slamming the door behind her as she left, leaving him alone in the house.

You weren’t there, either. You’d gone out not long after your sister, leaving Aemond to his own devices. At first, he’d relished the solitude, thinking it would give him a chance to clear his head, to wrestle his unruly thoughts back into submission. But as the hours ticked by, the stillness of the house only amplified his unease.

He tried to distract himself—reading, pacing, scrolling through his phone—but nothing worked. His thoughts kept drifting, circling back to you. The way you’d looked this morning, so effortlessly beautiful in your shorts and tank top, the sun catching on your hair as you leaned against the kitchen counter. The sound of your laugh. The way you hadn’t even seemed to notice him watching you.

Eventually, his restless wandering brought him to the hallway outside your bedroom. He hadn’t meant to stop there and hadn’t even realized where his feet had carried him until he was standing in front of your closed door.

For a moment, he just stared at it.

It would be wrong. He knew that. This was your space, your private sanctuary, and he had no business intruding. But curiosity gnawed at him, whispering in the back of his mind. What would your room be like? Would it reflect the parts of you he already knew—bright, sweet, and warm? Or would it reveal something more, something deeper that he hadn’t yet seen?

Before he could stop himself, his hand was on the doorknob.

He hesitated, his fingers brushing the cool metal as a flicker of guilt sparked in his chest. But the pull was too strong, and before he could second-guess himself, he turned the knob and stepped inside.

The scent of you hit him first—soft and delicate, with hints of vanilla and something floral. It was subtle but unmistakable, wrapping around him like a tether. He closed the door behind him, his movements slow and deliberate as he took in the space.

Your room was... you. A mix of carefully chosen decor and personal touches that spoke volumes about who you were. The bed was neatly made, a throw blanket draped over the edge. A few framed photos sat on the nightstand—one of you with Baela and Rhaena, another of you and your family on some beach vacation.

His eye caught on your desk, cluttered with notebooks, pens, and a half-empty coffee cup. There were sticky notes scattered across the surface, some with neat handwriting and others with quick, messy scrawls. He moved closer, his gaze skimming over the notes—random reminders, lists, a doodle of a little flower in the corner of one page.

Aemond’s fingers hovered over one of the notebooks, itching to pick it up, but he held back. Even in this moment of weakness, he knew he couldn’t cross that line.

Instead, his gaze drifted to your bed again. He didn’t mean to linger, but his mind betrayed him, conjuring an image of you lying there, your hair splayed across the pillow, your soft breathing filling the quiet. He clenched his fists at his sides, shaking his head as if to physically rid himself of the thought.

This was dangerous.

He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t even be thinking about you like this. You were his girlfriend’s sister, and that fact should have been enough to keep him out of this room, out of this situation altogether. But it wasn’t. Not anymore.

Next thing he knows, he's opening your drawers. Gods, is he really this depraved? His girlfriend's younger sister. Yet here he is, looking through her stuff, closet and cupboards like a sick pervert.

But what he found in your bedside table's bottom drawer made his heart stop. Aemond's breath catches in his throat as he stares down at the contents of the drawer, his eye widening in shock and a sudden surge of desire. He can't believe what he's seeing—nearly a dozen sex toys are neatly arranged inside, from sleek vibrators to thick, veiny dildos in various shapes and sizes. Some are made of smooth silicone in soft, inviting colours, while others are harder plastic or glass, glinting under the light spilling from the hallway. Little pots of lube are tucked between the toys, the labels promising special effects and intense sensations.

Aemond swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry as the desert. He can't look away, transfixed by the erotic display before him. It's like opening Pandora's box and finding a trove of forbidden delights, each promising pleasures. The heat that had been simmering low in his belly since he first laid an eye on you in the kitchen now roars to life, his cock stiffening rapidly and straining against the confines of his jeans.

He reaches out with a slightly shaking hand, tracing the smooth curve of the largest dildo with his fingertips. It's bigger than any cock he's ever seen, the thick shaft tapering to a bulbous, textured head. The thought of you using this beast, stretching yourself around it, sends a bolt of lust straight to his groin. He'd never felt such a primal, animalistic urge before.

What he wouldn't give to bury himself inside your tight heat, to feel your walls gripping him like a vice as he fucked you into oblivion. He wants to hear you scream, to beg, to chant his name until you're hoarse. The image of you, naked and spread open for him, pleading for his cock, is seared into his mind.

But it's the vibrators that really make his mouth go dry and his cock throb insistently against his zipper. Sleek and streamlined, they're made for one purpose only—to stimulate and Tease your most sensitive spots until you're writhing and screaming in ecstasy. He pictures you using them, touching yourself in your most intimate places, and it makes him want to drop to his knees and bury his face between your thighs, to lap at your dripping cunt til you're on the verge of passing out.

Aemond's breath grows heavier as he reaches for a small, discreet vibrator, picking it up and turning it over in his hands. It's matte black and barely the size of his thumb, with a narrow tip that tapers down to a point. The thought of this little device buzzing against your sensitive clit, reducing you to a desperate, writhing mess, makes Aemond groan under his breath. He can picture it so clearly—you splayed out on your bed, legs spread wide as you tease yourself closer and closer to the edge, your body slick with sweat and arousal.

Unable to resist, Aemond presses the button and holds it against his thumb, gasping as the intense vibrations shoot up his arm. Fuck, he can only imagine how incredible that would feel against your intimate flesh, how it would make you moan and plead for more. He turns the toy off and tosses it back into the drawer, his balls aching and his cock throbbing almost painfully.

He needed you. As soon as possible. He couldn't wait any longer, and he knew that.

You pushed open the front door, the loud click echoing through the silent house. You quickly kicked off your sneakers, not bothering to aim for the shoe rack, and hurried upstairs to wash the grime off your hands. As you scrubbed your skin clean, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was off, a prickling sensation running down your spine.

Stepping out of the bathroom, you made your way down the hallway to your room. You pushed open the door, expecting to find the usual mess of sheets not done on the bed and books piled haphazardly on the desk. Instead, you froze in your tracks, your breath catching in your throat.

There, sitting on the edge of your bed with a wicked grin spreading across his handsome face, was Aemond. His eye, usually so cold and distant, was now burning into mine with an intensity that made your heart race. You swallowed hard, your shaky breath echoing in the sudden silence of the room.

"W-what are you doing here, Aemond?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You could feel the blood rushing to your cheeks, a deep blush spreading across your skin as you took in his imposing figure. He looked devastatingly handsome, his tall frame dwarfing your modest bed.

You crossed your arms over your chest instead as you waited for his response. You could feel the weight of his gaze on your body, trailing over your curves, and you suddenly wished you had worn something more than just a simple t-shirt and shorts. The way he was looking at you made you feel exposed.

Nearly trembling, you waited for his answer, your heart pounding frantically. You knew you should be wary of his intentions, but you couldn't help the flutter of anticipation that filled your belly. Being alone with Aemond like this was terrifying and exhilarating, and you found yourself wondering, not for the first time, what it would be like to feel his strong hands on your body, to have him pull you close and capture your lips with his own.

Aemond's gaze drags over your body, lingering on the curve of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the flare of your hips. He drinks in every inch of you, his eye glinting with a hunger that makes your skin prickle and your pussy drip. When his eye meets yours, it's darkened with desire, a fierce intensity that steals your breath.

"Tell me, little doe. What fun things do you have in your drawer?" He asked, his voice a low rumble. He stands slowly, his tall frame unfolding until he's towering over you, his broad shoulders blocking out the

Aemond takes a step closer to you, invading your personal space. His tall, muscular frame looms over you, making you feel small and delicate in comparison. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race wildly in your chest.

"I couldn't help but notice what you have tucked away in there," he continues, his voice a low, lust-roughened murmur. "Such... interesting toys. And I found myself curious about what a sweet little thing like you could possibly do with them."

He reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You shiver at his touch, your body responding to him in a way that thrills and terrifies you.

Aemond leans closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Tell me, little doe, have you used them? Have you touched this sexy little body, teasing yourself in all the naughty ways you imagine I would?"

His hand slides lower, skimming over the curve of your waist and resting on the flare of your hip. He grips you possessively, pulling you a step closer to him. You can feel the hard, thick length of him pressing against your belly, and it makes your core flood with heat and desire.

"Do you think about me when you touch yourself? Do you imagine it's my hands on your body, my fingers buried deep inside your tight little cunt?" Aemond's voice is a dark, sinful purr. "Is that why you have all those toys? To imagine it's me fucking you?"

You stare at Aemond in disbelief, your eyes flashing with anger and outrage. "How dare you!" You hiss, jabbing a finger into his chest. "You can't just go snooping through my private things like that, you... you pervert!"

"You're my sister's boyfriend, for God's sake!" You continue to yell, ignoring the traitorous part of you that exhilarates at his proximity and the evidence of his desire. "You had no right to go through my stuff like that. That's a total violation of my privacy and trust!"

Despite the anger coursing through you, you can't ignore the electricity crackling between you, the way his proximity makes your heart race. You know you should step back and put distance between you, but you find yourself rooted to the spot, your body swaying closer to his as if drawn by a magnet.

"Answer me, Aemond," you demand, your voice shaking slightly as you glare up at him. "What gave you the right to invade my space like that? Are you really that big of a fucking creep?"

Aemond's smirk only grows wider at your outburst, clearly amused by your anger rather than cowed by it. He doesn't move away from you, instead leaning in even closer until you can feel his breath hot on your face.

"You're right, little doe, I shouldn't have gone through your things without permission," he admits with a shrug, not sounding particularly apologetic. "But I must say, the temptation was just too great. When I saw what you had hidden away, all those toys designed to bring pleasure to a pretty little thing like you... I couldn't resist imagining all the ways I could put them to better use."

He reaches up, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering to brush along your jawline. His touch is maddeningly gentle, a sharp contrast to the aggressive way he invaded your space.

"I've seen the way you look at me," Aemond murmurs, his voice a low, sinful purr. "The hunger in your eyes, the longing. You think I don't notice, but I do. I see how you watch me, how your gaze lingers on me... and I know you want me."

His hand slides down from your jaw to your throat, his thumb brushing your racing pulse. Your heart feels like it might beat out of your chest, your skin flushing hotter at his touch and the dark promise in his words.

"So yes, I'm a creep for snooping. But you're not exactly innocent, are you, little one?" Aemond's grin turns wicked, his eye glinting with cruel amusement. "Do you think about me when you use those toys? Have you imagined it was my big, hard cock stretching out your tight little cunt, filling you up in a way no vibrator ever could?"

He leans in even closer, his lips a hairsbreadth away from yours. You can feel the heat of him, smell the intoxicating scent of his cologne and the faint musk of arousal beneath. Your mouth goes dry as you stare at him, your body trembling with anger and desire.

You opened your mouth to deny his accusation, to rage at him for invading not just your room, but your most private thoughts... but the words stuck in your throat.

Because he was right. God help you, but every single time you brought yourself to the edge with your vibrator buzzing between my thighs, every moment you lost yourself in the throes of your own touch... You thought of him. He and the way he would take you, dominate you, make you scream and beg for more until you were hoarse.

You wanted to rage at him, to slap that smug smirk off his handsome face. You wanted to tell him he was nothing but a creep, a pervert to snoop through your things like that. But you couldn't. Because the truth was, you had wanted him from the moment he first walked into your life.

Aemond only had eyes for her, and it had driven you mad with jealousy and desire.

Now here he was, looming over you, his tall powerful frame making you feel small. You couldn't deny it, not when your body was betraying you, trembling and aching for his touch.

"No... I haven't," you muttered, hating how weak and breathless you sounded. Is this really all the restraint you had? All the strength you could muster? A single breathless denial uttered in a voice barely above a whisper?

Aemond's grin widens, his eye glinting with triumph as he sees the truth in yours. He knows he's getting to you, breaking through your defences with his assertive words and the sheer force of his presence.

"Liar," he chuckles darkly, his thumb brushing your lower lip. "I've seen the way you look at me, the hunger in your eyes. I know you want me, little doe. Just as much as I want you."

His hand slides down to the hem of your shirt, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric to brush against the soft skin of your waist. You gasp, your stomach muscles fluttering at his touch, and he grins wickedly.

"I'm going to use all these toys on you, little doe. I'm going to make you scream and beg and cry for my cock until you can no longer form a single thought."

His other hand comes up to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his intense, burning gaze. "Get on the bed, now."

Aemond's fingers tighten on your chin, his nails digging into your soft skin. "Or... you can leave, and we'll forget any of this ever happened. Which will it be?"

He steps back, his arms crossed over his broad chest, waiting for you to choose.

You feel your cheeks burning with humiliation as you reluctantly make your way to the bed, each step heavy with the weight of your shameful desire. You perch on the edge of the mattress, your hands trembling as you lay back against the plush pillows.

You gaze up at Aemond, eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears. It's mortifying, allowing your sister's boyfriend to have this kind of power over you, to reduce you to a quivering mess with just a few words and a heated glance.

Your legs quiver as you slowly spread them, a subconscious invitation that you are powerless to resist. You can feel the cool air of the room against your heated skin, and you thank the gods that he can't see the damp patch darkening the crotch of your panties through your jeans, betraying the shameful arousal he's evoking in you.

Aemond's eye darkens as he watches you reluctantly lay back on the bed, your body trembling with fear and anticipation. He can see the humiliation etched on your beautiful face, the way your cheeks are flushed a deep, rosy red. It only makes him want you more, knowing that he's the one who's reduced you to this desperate, needy state.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice a low, approving rumble. He reaches out and trails his fingers up your inner thigh, the light touch making you jump and gasp.

The sight makes his cock throb almost painfully in his jeans, a damp patch of pre-cum beginning to soak through the fabric. He wants nothing more than to bury himself between your thighs, to feel your wet heat gripping him like a vice as he fucks you hard and fast, claiming you as his own.

But he restrains himself, wanting to take his time with you, to make you beg for his cock before he gives it to you. A wicked grin spreads across his handsome face as he leans over you, his elbows resting on either side of your head. He's so close that you can feel his breath hot on your face, smell the intoxicating scent of his cologne and the faint musk of his arousal.

Aemond smirks as he backs off and reaches into the drawer, pulling out a large, thick dildo and a bottle of lube. He turns back to you, his eyes roaming hungrily over your body as he stalks closer to the bed.

"Let's start with this one, shall we?" he murmurs, holding up the hefty toy. It's long, girthy, tapered at the end, made of a firm but flexible silicone. He sets it down on the bed beside you before grabbing the lube bottle.

"I want you to take off your clothes," Aemond orders, his voice a low, commanding growl that sends shivers down your spine. "Slowly. Let me enjoy the show."

Your heart races as you slowly peel off your top, revealing inch after inch of soft skin. You take your time, letting the fabric drag teasingly over your sensitive flesh until your tank top falls to the floor. Next, you shimmy out of your shorts with your legs raised in the air. You can feel Aemond's intense gaze burning into you the entire time, drinking in every bit of skin you expose.

You know you should feel ashamed for being so exposed in front of your sister's boyfriend, but you can't. Not when the hunger in his eye makes you feel desired, craving his touch and his approval.

Biting your lip, you reluctantly slide your panties down your legs, leaving you bare before him. You can feel the cool air of the room against your heated flesh, making you shiver and your nipples tighten into stiff, aching peaks.

Your face flushes hotly, as you lay back on the bed, trying to cover yourself instinctively with your hands. But you force yourself to relax, to let him look his fill as he stands over you, his tall form dwarfing yours.

"Fuck, look at you," he growls, his voice rough with desire. "You're even more beautiful than I imagined."

He reaches out, dragging a single finger down the centre of your body, from the hollow of your throat, down between your breasts, over your stomach, and stopping just above your bare mound. Your skin prickles and flushes under his touch, your body reacting viscerally to his presence.

Aemond's hand drifts between your thighs, his fingers brushing against your slick folds. A low groan escapes him at the feel of you, so wet and ready. He can feel the heat radiating off your core, the evidence of your shameful arousal.

"That's it, little one," he murmurs, his fingers teasing your slit, not yet delving inside. "This is what I do to you. This is how much you want me."

He pushes a single finger inside your tight channel, pumping it slowly as he leans down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth. He suckles hard, his tongue swirling and flicking over the sensitive bud until it's stiff and aching. All the while, his finger continues to thrust into you, curling and stroking your inner walls until you're squirming beneath him.

He withdraws his finger, and you whimper at the loss, your hips rolling up in a desperate attempt to follow the warmth of his touch. But Aemond just smirks, bringing his slick finger to his lips and licking your arousal from the digit.

He nips at your earlobe before straightening up and grabbing the bottle of lube. He uncaps it and squeezes out a generous amount onto his fingers, the clear gel dripping down onto your stomach.

"Spread your legs wider for me, little doe," Aemond orders, his eye gleaming with dark promise. "I want to see all of you. I want to see that pretty cunt that's going to be stretched wide around that thick dildo of yours."

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at the huge, girthy pink dildo in Aemond's strong hands, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.

"Aemond," you whimper, your voice small and breathless. You can feel your cheeks burning with humiliation, he must think you're some kind of depraved nymphomaniac with the sheer volume of sex toys and adult items you own. But you can't deny the shameful thrill that shoots through you at the thought of him using one of them on you, claiming you in the most intimate of ways.

You bite your lip hard, trying to stifle the needy moan that threatens to spill from your throat as you watch him slick up the thick shaft, the clear lube glistening obscenely in the light. You know Aemond is a dominant, intense lover who leaves your sister thoroughly satisfied every single time, as were her words. But now it was finally your turn. It was you who he was lusting over now.

"Shh, I will make you feel good," Aemond murmurs, a wicked glint in his eye as he watches you squirm on the bed. "I'm going to please your body until you beg me to stop..."

He takes the slick dildo and traces the flared head teasingly along your slit, coating it in your dripping arousal. The sensation makes you gasp and shudder, your hips rolling up to chase the contact. Aemond just chuckles darkly, amused by your desperate reactions.

"Look at this greedy cunt, so hungry for something to fill it," he taunts, pushing the bulbous tip just inside your entrance. He holds it there, letting you feel the stretch, the pressure as he slowly sinks the thick toy deeper and deeper into your core.

Your walls flutter and clench, adjusting to the size. You can feel every ridge, every vein and contour of the toy as it sinks deeper, until finally, with a lewd squelch, the thick base settles against your mound.

Aemond stares down at where you're now stuffed full, the dildo stretching your belly slightly and your lips puffy and slick with lube and your own arousal. His eyes blaze with a hunger that makes your core spasm around the toy.

"That's my good girl," he praises, his voice a low, sinful purr.

Your eyes flutter shut, a breathy moan escaping your lips as the thick dildo starts to move inside you. "Ohhh!" I gasp, your back arching off the bed as it stretches your walls deliciously. You can feel every ridge and vein dragging against your sensitive flesh, the sensation overwhelming in the best way possible.

He starts pumping it faster, and your mouth falls open in a silent scream, drool leaking from the corner of your lips. Your tongue lolls out as you lose yourself in the intense pleasure, and your mind starts to go blissfully blank.

"Ahhh, fuck..." you whimper, squeezing your eyes tightly shut as the toy plunges deeper, visible through your stomach. You haven't used this particular one in ages, but it feels incredible, the stretch bordering on too much but somehow just right.

Your nails dig into the sheets beneath you, gripping them for dear life as Aemond fucks you hard and fast with the thick dildo. You can feel your pussy gripping greedily around the toy, trying to hold onto it, to keep it deep inside your aching core.

"Mmm, listen to these slutty little noises spilling from your mouth," Aemond taunts, his voice a low, amused rumble. "You're loving this, aren't you? Loving the feel of that big, hard toy stretching out this greedy cunt."

He keeps fucking you hard with the toy, the obscene sound of it pounding into your soaked cunt filling the room. His other hand comes down to your breast, kneading the soft flesh roughly as he pinches and tugs at your nipple.

"So fucking sexy," he murmurs, licking his lips as he stares down at you writhing on the bed. He reaches over to the drawer, grabbing a small vibrator. He pulls the dildo out of your dripping pussy with a wet plop, leaving you empty and aching.

Aemond turns the vibrator on, the buzz filling the room as he brings it down to your sensitive, swollen clit. He circles the sensitive nub with the toy, the intense stimulation making your back arch clean off the bed.

You cry out as the vibrator assaults your over-sensitive clit. Pleasure shoots through you like lightning, teasing you to the brink of ecstasy. "You're... ahhhh! You're torturing me!" you gasp. Tears of overwhelmed sensation prick at the corners of your eyes as they squeeze shut.

Aemond smirks wickedly, amused by your desperate cries and the way your body writhes beneath his ministrations. He increases the intensity of the vibrations against your clit, watching with sadistic glee as your pussy clenches and flutters around nothing, aching for something to grip onto.

"Torture is such a strong word," he purrs, his voice a low, sinful rumble. "I prefer to think of it as... worship."

Aemond grins wickedly, enjoying the power he holds over you. "Don't you dare come until I allow it," he commands, his voice a dark, dominant growl. He leans close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Not until I say so. Understand?"

"Please, I can't-!" you sob, your back arching almost painfully as you try in vain to buck the vibrator away. But Aemond is too strong, pinning your hips down as he holds the toy mercilessly against your throbbing clit. The pleasure is exquisite agony, pushing you to the brink of what you can withstand.

Aemond smirks cruelly, enjoying the way you thrash and sob beneath him, your cries like music to his ears. He can see the desperation in your eyes, the way your body trembles and shakes as you teeter on the edge of climax. But he doesn't relent, determined to push you further, to make you beg for the release he's denying you.

"Not yet," he growls, his voice rough with dominance. He grabs your chin roughly, forcing you to meet his intense, burning gaze. "You don't get to come until I say so, little one. You're going to hold it together for me, no matter how much it hurts."

To punctuate his words, he increases the vibration of the toy, the buzzing noise growing louder as he grinds it harder against your sensitive clit. Your vision blurs, tears streaming down your face, but Aemond doesn't stop. He keeps the vibrator pressed against you, watching as your body writhes and bucks beneath him.

Aemond leans down, his lips brushing against your ear. The heat of his breath mingles with the cold sting of your tears, making you shiver. "Beg," he whispers, his voice low and dark.

"P-Pl-," you manage to choke out between gasps and sobs, your nails digging into Aemond's muscular forearms as you cling to him for dear life. "Please, I can't... I'm going to..." You can feel your clit pulsing almost violently, your juices leaking out of you to stain the sheets beneath your quivering body.

You're teetering on the edge, but you know you can't come without his permission. "Aemond," you whimper, staring at him with pleading, hazy eyes. "Please, I need... I need..." you can't even finish your sentence, too consumed by the overwhelming sensations to form coherent words. You can only pray that he'll grant you the release you so desperately crave.

Aemond's eye glints with cruel amusement as he watches you struggle to hold back your impending climax, your body trembling and shaking with the effort. He can see the desperation etched on your beautiful face, hear it in your choked pleas, and it fills him with a dark sense of satisfaction.

He grinds the vibrator harder against your throbbing, swollen clit, the intense stimulation bordering on pain. Your pussy clenches and flutters wildly around nothing, aching to be filled, to be fucked hard and deep until you scream.

"No." He says with a wicked smirk.

He pulls the vibrator away from your aching cunt, leaving you empty and wanting. Your wail of protest turns into a high-pitched keen as the cool air hits your soaked, swollen folds. Aemond chuckles wickedly, enjoying the sight of you suffering.

He sets the vibrator aside and reaches into the drawer, rummaging through the various toys and implements. His eye gleams with cruel delight as he selects a few choice items, eager to put them to use on your helpless, over-stimulated body.

Turning back to you, Aemond holds up a textured G-spot stimulator and a set of black nipple clamps connected by a metal chain. A vicious smile plays at the corners of his mouth as he stares down at your trembling form.

"Looks like we have quite the collection here," he muses, tapping the toys against his palm. "I'm going to greatly enjoy... using every one of these." His voice drips with dark promise, sending shivers of mingled fear and anticipation down your spine.

You blink up at Aemond with wide, startled eyes, your heart pounding wildly in your heaving chest, looking like a wounded puppy, trembling and mewling for the mercy of your tormentor.

A fresh wave of panic and trepidation washes over you. You've only dared to use those wicked clamps on yourself once before, a secret sin you've kept hidden away, ashamed of your own desires. Now, here you are, laid bare before your sister's boyfriend, helpless and aching for his touch and dominance.

You know you should protest, should demand that he stop this depraved torment... but you can't. You can only feel perverted excitement.

Aemond smirks cruelly, enjoying the look of fearful anticipation on your face. Leaning down, Aemond takes one of your nipples between his teeth, biting down hard enough to make you yelp. He soothes the sting with his tongue, circling the abused bud before pulling back with a wicked grin.

He opens one of the clamps and fastens it around your nipple. He does the same to the other until your nipples are both trapped in the cruel vice, the cold chain between them dangling invitingly on your stomach.

Aemond tugs sharply on the chain, watching as you push out your breasts and cry out at the sudden burst of pleasure-pain.

He leans in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "I'm going to give you the pleasure you crave, little one. But you're going to have to earn it." His voice is low and dark, dripping with cruel promise.

Aemond reaches for the pink dildo from earlier. He rubs the head teasingly along your slit, coating it in your dripping arousal. "I want you to fuck yourself with this toy, nice and slow. Nice and deep," he orders, his voice a low growl. "And if you do a good job, maybe I'll let you come."

You take the thick pink dildo from Aemond's strong hands, your fingers trembling as they wrap around the girthy shaft. You can't help but let out a shaky sigh as you tease the bulbous head along your dripping slit, your eyes fluttering shut at the first touch of something solid against your aching, empty core.

Slowly, you start to sink the toy into your greedy cunt, biting your lip to stifle a moan as it stretches you open. You roll your hips, pushing it deeper, inch by inch disappearing inside you. Your head falls back as you lose yourself in the sensation.

"Fuuuuck," you breathe out, your voice a needy whimper. You start to move the dildo in and out, taking it slow and deep, just like Aemond ordered. Each thrust makes you gasp, your walls clenching greedily around the invading toy.

You look up at Aemond through your lashes, your eyes glossy.

"I do this every time you visit," you confess, your cheeks flushing pink. "I go to my room and fuck myself stupid with my toys, thinking it's you who's splitting me open, making me scream. I cream all over my sheets, wishing it was your��cock buried deep inside me."

You keep fucking yourself with the dildo, angling it just right to hit that perfect spot inside you. Your tits bounce with each thrust, the clamps on your nipples moving with them enticingly. "Please, Aemond," you whine needily, "I want your cock so badly. I want you to fuck me until I can't walk straight until all I can do is drool and moan your name. Please, let me be your fucktoy..."

Aemond's eye darkens with lust at your confession, his cock throbbing almost painfully against the confines of his jeans. He can't believe the dirty, depraved things spilling from your lips, the way you openly admit to fucking yourself stupid, wishing it was him splitting you open, claiming your needy cunt.

He leans in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he growls, "Fuck, you're such a dirty little girl, aren't you? I bet you'd let me do anything I wanted to this greedy body. Wouldn't you, hm?"

Aemond reaches down, grabbing the dildo as it plunges into your sopping wet cunt, spearing you open and making you cry out. He takes over, fucking you hard and fast with the thick toy, the obscene sound of it pounding into your dripping pussy filling the room.

"Louder," Aemond demands, slamming the toy even deeper. "I want to hear you scream for my cock, you shameless little whore. Let the whole neighbourhood know what a desperate slut you are for me."

He leans down, taking the metal chain between his teeth. He bites down, making you scream as he tugs sharply on it.

Broken moans and gasps are all you can manage as Aemond relentlessly pounds the pink plastic into your dripping, aching pussy. Your mind has gone completely blank, focused solely on the desperate, all-consuming need to feel his hard, throbbing cock filling you.

You can't form a coherent thought beyond my animalistic craving. The world has narrowed down to the exquisite agony of the clamps biting into your tender nipples, the obscene slap of plastic against your soaked folds, and the dark, dominant presence of the man wielding them.

Aemond's eye gleams with sadistic lust as he watches your pleasure climb, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of climax. He can see the desperation in your glassy, unfocused gaze, hear it in your broken, slutty moans. He knows he has you exactly where he wants you, teetering on the knife's edge of ecstasy, begging to be fucked stupid by his cock.

He leans in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Beg me for it, slut. Beg me to fuck this needy cunt like the desperate little girl you are." Aemond punctuates his words with a sharp thrust of the dildo, grinding it against your throbbing G-spot.

"Please, please fuck me!" You sob, your hips bucking wildly against the toy, chasing your rapidly approaching climax. "I need your cock so badly, Aemond. I'm so fucking close. Please, please let me come on your cock. I want you to ruin me, fucking destroy me until I'm a drooling, cock-drunk mess. Please, I'm begging you! I can't fucking take this anymore."

You can feel your pussy clenching and fluttering wildly around the thick shaft, splitting you open. But you know you can't come without Aemond's permission.

Aemond smirks cruelly, amused by your desperate, sobbing pleas. He can feel your greedy cunt clenching and fluttering around the dildo, your body trembling on the precipice of climax. But he's not ready to let you come just yet. Not until he's fully satisfied his own dark desires.

He pulls the toy out of your dripping pussy with a wet squelch, leaving you empty and aching. You wail and cry in protest, your cunt feeling abused and unsatisfied. Aemond chuckles wickedly, enjoying the sight of you suffering.

"You want to come, little slut?" Aemond purrs, his voice a dark, dominant rumble. "Then beg me properly. On your knees, hands behind your back, and put that filthy mouth to good use." He gestures to his straining erection, the thick outline of his cock clearly visible through his jeans.

You scramble off the bed, your heart pounding in anticipation as you kneel submissively before Aemond. You sit back on your heels, hands clasped behind your back just as he ordered, the picture of obedient eagerness.

Aemond lounges on the bed, the smug smile playing at the corners of his mouth, making your core clench with desire. You watch, hardly daring to breathe, as his hand unzips his jeans. Your eyes widen as his thick, hard cock springs free, the sight of it making your mouth water and your pussy throb.

"Please, Aemond," you breathe, your voice trembling with desperation. "Please let me worship your cock. I need to taste you. I promise I'll be a good girl, a perfect little cocksleeve for you to use however you want. Please let me show you how badly I want to please you." Even you were surprised by the filthy words spilling from your mouth, guys your own age could never get you to act like this, though they desperately tried to.

He reaches out, fisting his hand in your hair and forcing you to look up at him. "That's it, my dirty little slut," he purrs, his voice dripping with cruel amusement. "Now put that filthy tongue to work and show me what a good little cocksucker you can be."

Aemond's fingers tighten in your hair as he slowly, teasingly drags his cock over your parted lips, leaving a trail of precum that makes your mouth water with desire. He can see the way your chest heaves with each ragged breath, your nipples straining against the cruel clamps, your pussy dripping with need.

You gaze up at Aemond with wide, pleading eyes, your heart fluttering wildly in your chest. Opening your mouth wide, you extend your tongue, offering yourself for his use. You desperately need to prove to him that you can be an even better girl than your sister, that you can please and satisfy him in ways she never could.

"Fuck, look at you. Practically gagging for it, aren't you?" Aemond growls, fisting your hair tighter as he slowly, teasingly drags the swollen head of his cock over your extended tongue. He smears the leaking precum over your taste buds, letting you savour the salty, musky flavour of his arousal.

Aemond tugs your head forward, forcing your mouth open wider as he pushes the thick length of his dick past your lips. He holds you there, letting you adjust to the sudden intrusion as your jaw stretches wide around his girth.

"That's it, slut. Take it all," Aemond snarls, slowly thrusting deeper until your nose presses against his pelvis and your lips stretch obscenely around his thick shaft. He holds you there, forcing you to breathe through your nose as he grinds his hips against your face, painting your throat with his musky scent.

"That's my good little girl," he praises, his voice a dark, dominant rumble. "Now start sucking, and don't you dare use your teeth. I want to feel that filthy tongue working for every inch of my dick."

You hollow your cheeks, sucking him with desperate enthusiasm as you swirl your tongue along the underside of his shaft. Each time your head bobs down, you make sure to brush your tongue teasingly across his heavy, cum-filled sack. The filthy slurping noises and occasional gags fill the room.

Your eyes water as you struggle to take his immense size, but you don't let up. Drool trickles down your chin messily as you cherish every thick, throbbing inch of Aemond's dick with single-minded focus.

"That's my perfect little cocksleeve," he praises. "Such a good girl, choking on my dick."

He can feel every swirl and flick of your tongue, the desperate way you worship his shaft like your life depends on it. He starts to thrust into your mouth, fucking your face with deep, powerful strokes. His heavy balls slap obscenely against your chin with each pump of his hips, leaving your skin flushed and sticky with your own drool.

"That's it, take my cock like the greedy slut you are," Aemond snarls, his fingers tightening in your hair as he sets a brutal pace. "Fuck, your sister could never take it this deep. You're a natural-born cocksucker, aren't you?"

Aemond yanks your head back by the hair, pulling you off his spit-soaked dick with a wet pop. Strings of drool connect your swollen, well-used lips to his throbbing shaft. He smirks down at you, taking in the debauched sight of your glazed eyes, flushed cheeks, and the way your tits heave with each panting breath.

"Good girl," he praises darkly, rubbing the leaking head of his cock over your messy face, smearing his precum across your cheekbones like some sick war paint.

You choke and sputter as Aemond wrenches you off his throbbing shaft, gasping desperately for air. Tears and mascara streak your flushed cheeks while your chin and chest glisten with drool. You look up at him through hazy, half-lidded eyes, your voice hoarse from the thorough face-fucking he just gave you.

"T-thank you," you rasp out, your lower lip trembling slightly as you try to catch your breath. "Thank you for using my mouth as it was meant to be used... and for seeing the difference between me and my sister. I promise I'll always be a better girl for you, Aemond. Your perfect little cocksucker."

Aemond smirks down at you, taking in the debauched sight of your tear-stained, spit-smeared face. He can see the desperation and hunger in your glazed eyes, the way you gaze up at him like he's your entire world. And he knows he has you exactly where he wants you - addicted to his cock, craving his approval, and willing to do anything to be his perfect little fucktoy.

"Such a good girl," he purrs, petting your hair almost affectionately. "You've got quite the talented little mouth on you. I think I'll have to put it to good use more often."

Aemond reaches down, grabbing your chin roughly and forcing you to meet his intense, burning gaze. "And don't worry about your sister. She could never compare to you, baby. You're one of a kind, a natural-born slut for cock."

You gaze up at Aemond with adoring eyes, your heart fluttering wildly in your chest as he praises you. His perverted words make you feel cherished, and desired, in a twisted way. You can't help but blush prettily at the compliment.

"Does that mean you're going to fuck me now?" You breathe out, the desperate words slipping past your swollen lips before you can stop them. "Please... I need it. Please."

Aemond smirks wickedly as he hears your desperate plea, amused by your shameless begging. He can see the way your tits heave with each panting breath, your nipples straining against the cruel clamps. The evidence of your arousal is clear - your pussy is dripping and aching, your hips squirming with need.

"You want to get fucked?" Aemond murmurs, his voice a dark rumble. "Get on the bed. Upper body off the bed," he commands, leaving no room for argument.

Aemond watches with sadistic amusement as you scramble to obey, your trembling body quickly taking its place on the bed, upper body dangling helplessly. Your hair falls in a tousled mess across the floor. The position leaves your cunt open and exposed on a lewd display. Your heart pounds wildly against your ribs as anticipation coils tightly in your stomach.

He can see your little slit glistening, just begging to be fucked hard and deep. The anticipation is killing him, but he wants to draw this out, to make you suffer with desire before he finally gives you what you want.

Leaning down, Aemond drags his cockhead up your slit, collecting your dripping arousal. He teases your entrance, pushing just the tip inside before pulling back out. Over and over, he repeats this maddening process, letting you feel the shape and size of his cock, but denying you the deep, hard thrusts you crave.

You sob out in desperation, your body shaking uncontrollably, as he teases you mercilessly. "N-no, please, Aemond! Stop, I can't take it anymore!" Tears sting your eyes and stream down your cheeks.

Every brush of his thick cock against your aching, swollen slit sends lightning bolts of pleasure shooting through you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You've never been this sensitive, this wound up, before. The constant denial has left your nerve endings raw and exposed, craving release.

You can feel your orgasm building at an alarming rate just from his maddening teasing, your pussy clenching and fluttering wildly around nothing. If he doesn't stop, you swear you'll cum just from this alone, the shame of it only adding to your desperate arousal.

Aemond smirks cruelly, amused by your tearful pleas and the way your body writhes beneath his teasing touch. He can feel your cunt clenching around nothing, desperate for his cock, and it fills him with a sadistic sense of power.

"Stop? Oh no, baby," he purrs, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "We're just getting started."

He reaches over to the bedside table, grabbing the thick g-spot vibrator he showed you earlier. A wicked grin spreads across his face as he runs the textured tip along your dripping slit, coating it in your essence.

"This feels good, doesn't it? The way it rubs against your desperate little clit, making you shake and moan?" Aemond murmurs, circling the sensitive bud with the toy. "I'm going to use this on you next time, forcing you to cum over and over again while I watch. But for now..."

Aemond trails the vibrator up your body, brushing it over your sensitive nipples, making you gasp and writhe. He smirks as he smears it across your face, painting your cheeks and chin with your juices.

"I think it's time I fucked this needy cunt properly."

You gasped as he pushed you even further off the edge of the bed now, your heart pounding wildly in my chest as you felt like you might tumble to the floor at any moment. You hold your breath, trembling like crazy as Aemond looms over you, kneeling between my splayed thighs, gripping them tight against his body.

He's taking his sweet time, enjoying the sight of you, all vulnerable and aching for his touch.

You whimper softly, squeezing your eyes shut as you try to be brave. You want to be a good girl for him. How much you need him to ruin your fuckhole, to claim you so thoroughly that you'll be forever changed.

Aemond takes his time, drinking in the debauched sight of you trembling and aching for his touch. He grips your thighs tighter, fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he pushes them further apart, exposing you completely to his hungry gaze.

He can see your little hole clenching around nothing, drooling with desperation, and it makes his cock jump with the need to be buried inside you.

Leaning down, Aemond drags the head of his cock along your slit, teasing your entrance with the promise of finally filling you. He smirks as he feels you shudder against him, knowing you're seconds away from coming undone.

Without warning, he slams forward, burying his thick cock to the hilt in one brutal thrust. Your scream of pleasure and pain mixes with the obscene squelch of your pussy being split open, your hungry pussy clenching down on his invading shaft.

He doesn't give you time to adjust and starts pounding into you with deep, powerful strokes that rock your entire body.

Your screams fill the air as Aemond ruts into you like a wild beast possessed, each powerful thrust shaking your body to its core. You feel like a helpless ragdoll being tossed about by his relentless pace. Waves of intense pleasure radiate through your nerves, pushing you shockingly close to that edge you've been teetering on.

"Oh god, Aemond!" you cry out, your voice raw and breathless from the brutal fucking. "I'm... I'm going to cum!" Tears prick the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming sensation of his thick cock finally pounding mercilessly into your tight, dripping cunt. You can feel yourself starting to gush around his pistoning shaft, your pussy clenching down on him as your orgasm builds.

Aemond lets out a dark chuckle, amused by your desperate, tearful confession. "Cumming already, baby? I haven't even really started yet," he taunts, punctuating his words with a sharp, brutal thrust. The head of his cock slams into your cervix, making you scream, your pussy clenching down hard in response.

He smirks wickedly at the feeling of your velvet walls gripping him like a silken vice. "Such a needy little cocksleeve, so hungry for my dick. I bet you'll cum a dozen times before I'm done with you."

You're sobbing now, tears streaming back into your hair as you lay upside down, utterly impaled on Aemond's massive, pulsing cock. "I-I'm so s-sorry," you choke out between haggard breaths, voice raw and wrecked. "Your cock...it f-feels...oh god...s-so good inside me!"

You can feel your climax building, your pussy clenching and fluttering wildly around his pistoning shaft. "I-I've wanted...haahh...your cock...for s-so long, Aemond," you confess shamelessly, too lost in ecstasy to care how desperate you sound. "Please...please let me cum...I need it...I need you...so badly!" You're voice rises in pitch, the words dissolving into a wail of pure, unadulterated bliss as you teeter on the brink of a mind-blowing orgasm.

Aemond grins wickedly as he feels your pussy spasming uncontrollably around his plunging cock, your tearful pleas music to his ears. He loves the way you beg and sob, completely unravelled and at the mercy of his merciless fucking.

"Do it then, you dirty girl," he growls, slamming into you with brutal force. "Cum all over my dick like the desperate slut you are. Show me what a cock-drunk whore you really are."

You screamed in ecstasy as your orgasm crashed over you, your pussy clamping down on Aemond's pistoning cock like a vice. Cream gushed out of you, flooding his shaft and dripping down onto the sheets as you trembled and convulsed.

"Ahh!" you wailed, tears of pure pleasure streaming down your face as he fucked you ruthlessly through your high. Your body shook and quaked as you surrendered completely to the mind-blowing sensations consuming you.

"Aemond!" You cried out, your voice raw and wrecked. "Oh god, yes! Don't stop, please don't stop!" Now you knew that only Aemond could make you feel this way, could fuck you with such brutal intensity that you forgot your own name.

Aemond grins wickedly, as he feels your pussy spasm and clench around him, your juices gushing out and coating his pistoning shaft. He doesn't let up, fucking you ruthlessly through your intense orgasm, determined to draw out your pleasure and make you shake apart on his cock.

His hand comes down to roughly grope and squeeze your tits, fingers sinking into the soft flesh. He tugs and pulls at the cruel clamps, twisting them slightly and making you whimper and cry out at the bolts of pain and pleasure that shoot through you.

"That's it, baby. Scream for me," Aemond growls, his hips never faltering in their brutal pace. "Let everyone know who this cunt belongs to now. Who fucks you better than anyone else."

Your body trembles uncontrollably as the intense pleasure turns into overstimulation. You whimper and squirm beneath Aemond, instinctively trying to push his muscular thighs away with your hands, but it's futile. Your fingers scrabble against the floor, seeking purchase, but there's nowhere to go. You're trapped, a prisoner to his relentless thrusts.

"Ahhh, Aemond, please! It's...it's too much! I can't...ahhh!"

You can feel every ridge and vein of his throbbing shaft as he pistons in and out of your fluttering, over-sensitive pussy. The wet, obscene sounds of your coupling fill your ears, making you blush hotly, even as you tremble on the edge of another climax.

"Please, Aemond, I...I can't take anymore. You're going to...ahhh...make me cum again!" The words spill from your lips in breathless, broken gasps as your body betrays your impending orgasm.

He reaches over to the bedside table, grabbing the small, powerful vibrator. Your eyes widen in shock as he presses the buzzing toy against your sensitive, swollen clit. The intense vibrations send electricity coursing through your overstimulated body, pushing you right to the razor's edge of another mind-blowing orgasm.

"Oh god, Aemond!" you wail, thrashing your head from side to side as the pleasure becomes almost too much to bear. Tears stream down your face, your skin flushed and glistening with a sheen of sweat as you tremble and quake beneath him.

Aemond grits his teeth, a low groan escaping his lips as he feels his balls tighten, his own release fast approaching. He grinds the vibrator hard against your clit, the intense stimulation pushing you both to the brink.

Aemond's hips start to stutter, his powerful thrusts becoming erratic as he chases his own pleasure. The sight of you coming undone beneath him, tears streaming down your face, and your pussy clenching desperately around his cock, is almost enough to push him over the edge.

"Fuck, I'm going to...cum..." Aemond grits out through clenched teeth, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. He wants to prolong this moment.

You let out a guttural scream, your back arching off the bed as another orgasm rips through you. "Ffffuck!" You cry out, your hips bucking wildly against Aemond's. Your clit throbs almost unbearably, the vibrator's relentless buzz pushing you past the point of no return.

"Cum on me!" You moan without thinking. "I wanna be covered in your seed!"

Aemond tosses the vibrator aside, both of you panting and shaking with pleasure. He grips your hips tightly, slamming into you one last time before pulling out abruptly. You feel empty, aching for his touch, as he stands up and towers over your trembling form.

With a low, guttural groan, Aemond starts stroking his throbbing shaft. His eyes rove hungrily over your cum-splattered body as he brings himself to a shuddering climax. Thick, hot ropes of his seed erupt from the swollen head of his cock, painting your stomach, tits and pussy in a lewd display of his pleasure.

"Fuck," Aemond growls, squeezing the last drops of cum from his shaft and smearing them across your lower lips. "Look at you, covered in my spunk, so fucking gorgeous. You were made for this, made to be my personal fucktoy."

You shudder, and your body convulses as Aemond lifts you onto the bed and carefully takes off the clamps, his strong arms enveloping you. He cradles you close, one hand gently caressing your hair, still damp with sweat and tears of ecstasy. You nuzzle into his touch, savouring the intimacy of the moment.

Your heart races as you gaze up at Aemond's handsome face, taking in the satisfied smirk on his lips. You can feel his seed, hot and sticky, painting your skin in a lewd display of your passion. The sensation makes you shiver with lingering pleasure.

"Aemond," you whisper breathlessly, your voice hoarse from screaming his name. Your eyes, still glistening with tears, meet his intense gaze. "Thank you," you mutter absentmindedly.

You press yourself closer to his muscular chest, relishing the feel of his strong arms around you. Fearing that soon this would be all over and he would eventually return to your sister.

Aemond's smirk softens into a gentle smile as he gazes down at your blissed-out, fucked stupid expression. He brushes a few damp strands of hair from your face, tucking them tenderly behind your ear. His calloused fingers linger, tracing the delicate line of your jaw.

He holds you close, his touch surprisingly tender, given the brutal passion of moments before. He gazes down at your face, taking in the way his seed clings to your flushed skin, marking you as his.

Aemond's eyes darken as he thinks about returning to his girlfriend, to a life that feels hollow compared to the intensity of this moment.

"You did so well, baby," he murmurs, his fingers playing idly with your hair. "Such a good girl, taking my cock like you were made for it." He leans down, capturing your lips in a deep, possessive kiss.

Breaking the kiss, Aemond rests his forehead against yours, his intense blue eye boring into yours. "Don't think this changes anything," he warns, his voice a low rumble. "You're still just the younger sister. A dirty little secret I can't resist fucking."

Your stomach drops as Aemond's harsh words sink in, his cruel reminder of your place in his life. You feel like you've been dunked in ice water, the euphoria of moments ago evaporating instantly. You bite your lip harshly to stop it from trembling, blinking rapidly against the sudden sting of tears.

Stupid, stupid girl, you scold yourself silently. Did you really think a few mind-blowing orgasms would change anything? That he would choose you, want you, over her?

You can feel the tears threatening to spill over, so you quickly look away, not wanting him to see the heartbreak across your face. You curl in on yourself slightly, wrapping your arms around your middle as if trying to hold the shattered pieces of your hopes together.

"Y-yes, I know exactly what I am," you whisper, your voice cracking slightly. There's a bitter edge to your words, a mix of pain and resentment. "I'm just the sister. A convenient hole for you to use when you need a quick fuck."

You feel dirty, used, and utterly miserable. But most of all, you feel foolish for letting yourself believe, even for a moment, that you could ever be anything more to him than a dirty little secret.

Aemond's gaze turns cold as he takes in your shattered expression, a flicker of guilt flashing across his handsome features before being quickly suppressed. He sees the tears you're holding back, the way your shoulders curl inwards as if trying to protect yourself from further hurt.

He knows his words were harsh, cruel even, but he can't bring himself to take them back. He won't give you false hope, won't lead you on only to abandon you when he grows tired of this twisted game.

Aemond reaches out, tilting your chin to force you to meet his gaze. His thumb brushes across your lower lip, catching the tear that slips free.

"You're a smart girl," he murmurs, his voice low and serious. "You know this can't be anything more than what it is. I have a life, responsibilities, and a future that doesn't include you."

Your heart clenches painfully in your chest as Aemond's cruel words sink in, each one feeling like a dagger twisting in your heart. You're stunned into silence for a moment, staring up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes that shimmer with unshed tears.

How could he be so callous, so heartless? You think bitterly.

You take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to stem the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. As you exhale slowly, you feel something shift inside you - a flicker of anger sparking to life amidst the pain and heartache.

"Get out," you say coldly, your voice steady and clear despite the turmoil inside you.

He hesitates for a moment, studying your face intently, trying to discern if this is just another manipulation tactic. When he sees the unyielding determination in your eyes, the set of your jaw, he realizes you're serious.

A flicker of anger sparks in Aemond's eyes, annoyed that you would dare to tell him what to do. He's not used to being ordered around, especially not by his girlfriend's sister. Part of him wants to grab you, to shake you, to remind you of your place.

But another part of him, a part he rarely acknowledges, feels a pang of...regret? No, surely not guilt. He won't allow himself to feel guilty. He hasn't done anything wrong.

Aemond rises from the bed, his muscular body unfolding with a fluid grace. He doesn't bother to dress, standing before you bare and unashamed, like Adam before Eve.

"Fine," he says coolly, his voice tight with barely restrained anger and something else he can't quite identify. "If that's what you want."

tags 🏷️

@bey0nd-1he-stars @summerposie

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theonottsbxtch · 26 days ago

Text

SWAN LAKE PT 2 | OP81

part one

an: hello this is a part of a collab i did with my beloved @iimplicitt i hope you enjoy!

wc: 4.1k

THE SHEETS WERE SOFT AGAINST HER SKIN, tangled around her legs as she stretched lazily beneath them. Morning light filtered through the open balcony doors, casting golden streaks across the floor, over the bed, over him.

Oscar stood near the window, half-dressed, buttoning his shirt with slow, methodical movements. His hair was still a little tousled, his skin still marked from the night before. He hadn’t noticed she was awake yet. He was watching her.

She kept her eyes closed for a moment longer, letting him look.

Then, deliberately, she shifted, stretching her arms above her head, arching her back just slightly. When she opened her eyes, his gaze had dropped to her bare shoulder, the exposed curve of her spine where the sheets had slipped low.

She smirked. “See something you like?”

His lips quirked at the edges, but he didn’t bite. Instead, he finished buttoning his shirt and exhaled, amused. “You might be a little sore today.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, rolling onto her side. “You can’t get the role of Odile without a few sacrifices.”

Oscar blinked, brow furrowing slightly. “That supposed to mean something?”

She turned her head into the pillow, smiling against the linen. “Or so they say.”

His confusion didn’t fade. She could feel it thickening in the air between them, could see it in the way he tilted his head slightly, watching her like a puzzle he hadn’t quite figured out yet.

Then—hesitation. A beat of silence. And finally: “What do they say?”

She sighed, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling. “That I slept with my stage director to get the role.”

Something in his expression sharpened.

She turned her head to look at him, searching his face, waiting for the usual flicker of doubt, of suspicion.

But it didn’t come.

He just stood there, watching her. Silent.

She inhaled slowly, gaze flickering past him to the city beyond the balcony. “Now I’ve slept with a Formula One driver,” she murmured, voice quiet, wry. “Won’t be long until they hear.”

Oscar’s jaw flexed, just slightly.

She smiled, but there was no humour in it. “That’s Paris for you.”

The words hung between them.

And for the first time since she met him last night, Oscar didn’t have a clever reply.

She pushed the sheets off her body, the cool air kissing her bare skin as she moved. The stretch of muscle, the lingering ache in her limbs—it was a familiar soreness, one she was used to, though for entirely different reasons.

Slipping on a pair of black lace underwear, she straightened and ran a hand through her hair before glancing at him. “Last night was good.”

Oscar didn’t respond immediately. He was watching her, hands hanging loosely at his sides. His gaze dragged over her, slow and measured, like he was committing something to memory.

She held it for a moment, let him look, then turned away, reaching for the clothes scattered across the floor. His jumper was there too, discarded carelessly from when she’d pulled it off him, but she ignored it. Instead, she grabbed a pair of sheer tights and the loose jumper she’d worn to the bar last night.

“I need to get back to Garnier,” she said as she tugged the jumper over her head.

Oscar exhaled through his nose, like he already knew she was going to say that. “I’ll drive you.”

She almost declined. Almost told him she could take the Métro, that she didn’t need him chauffeuring her around like some kind of thing that belonged to him.

But then she thought of the eyes that would be on her the moment she stepped outside.

She pulled her hair into a loose bun and looked at him. “Fine.”

He gave a small, satisfied nod and leaned against the wall, watching as she moved into the tiny kitchenette.

She made the coffee in silence, the way she always did—black, strong, nothing sweet to soften the bitterness.

Oscar had moved to stand behind her by the time she took the first sip. Close, but not too close. Close enough for her to feel the weight of his presence, but not close enough to touch.

She set one of the cups on the counter beside him and reached for the cigarette pack lying next to it. She slid one between her lips, then flicked the lighter, the flame briefly illuminating her face before she inhaled.

Smoke curled between them, dissolving into the morning light.

Oscar watched her as she exhaled, then shook his head slightly, smirking. “Didn’t have you down as a morning smoker.”

She raised a brow. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

His smirk didn’t fade.

She took another drag, then, on impulse, turned and held it out to him.

Oscar wasn’t much of a smoker. She could tell by the way he hesitated, by the brief flicker of uncertainty.

But then he took it anyway. Brought it to his lips. Inhaled, slow.

She watched as his throat bobbed when he swallowed the smoke, watched the way his mouth parted slightly when he exhaled.

Something dark and amused curled in her stomach. “You look good like that.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, handing the cigarette back. “Careful,” he murmured, low and lazy. “Might start thinking you actually like me.”

She blew the smoke out between her teeth and smiled. “Wouldn’t go that far.”

Oscar chuckled, shaking his head, and then drained the rest of his coffee. “Come on,” he said, pushing off the counter. “Let’s get you back before Paris starts talking.”

She smirked. “Hate to break it to you, but Paris never stopped.”

His gaze flickered to hers. And for the first time that morning, he didn’t have a joke.

He just grabbed his keys and held the door open.

And without another word, she walked through it.

The streets of Paris were still slow with morning, the air crisp and cool against her skin as they stepped outside. She tugged her jumper further down her arms, rolling her shoulders as she walked beside him.

Oscar didn’t say much. Neither did she. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable—just easy, like the aftermath of something inevitable.

They turned a corner, and she recognised the street immediately. Luxury hotels lined the boulevard, polished and pristine, their facades untouched by time.

And then she saw it.

A sleek, low-slung McLaren parked just outside the entrance to one of the grandest hotels. The kind of car that didn’t belong on these streets, that looked too modern against the history of the city.

She huffed a quiet laugh. “Who the hell brings a car like that to Paris?”

Oscar didn’t respond. Just pulled his keys from his pocket and pressed a button.

The McLaren chirped. Its headlights flashed.

She stopped walking.

He glanced at her, amused. “Problem?”

She looked from the car to him, narrowing her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grinned. “You’re just jealous.”

She scoffed, shaking her head as she crossed her arms. “Paris wasn’t built for cars like that.”

Oscar leaned in slightly, dropping his voice. “And yet, here I am.”

She didn’t dignify that with a response.

Instead, she stepped forward, running her fingers lightly over the smooth, dark paint. The car was beautiful, sleek and untouchable—just like its owner.

Oscar watched her with something unreadable in his expression.

Then he stepped around to the passenger side and opened the door.

“Get in,” he said, smirking.

She exhaled through her nose. Shook her head.

And then—because the city was already talking, because the damage was already done, because, for some reason, she didn’t hate the way he looked at her—

She slid inside.

The McLaren purred to a stop outside the Palais Garnier, sleek and predatory against the backdrop of old Paris. Even through the tinted windows, she could see people turning their heads—passersby, stagehands loitering near the side entrance, a few dancers filtering in for morning rehearsals.

She sighed. “Subtle as ever.”

Oscar smirked, drumming his fingers against the wheel. “You love it.”

She huffed but didn’t argue. Instead, she reached for the door handle, pausing only when she felt his gaze on her.

“You alright?” His voice was easy, but there was something behind it. Something quieter.

She forced a grin. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Oscar held her stare for a second longer. Then, with a shake of his head, he looked away. “Go on then,” he muttered. “Go make Paris talk some more.”

She hummed, pushed open the door, and stepped out.

The air outside was sharp with a chill of early morning, but the weight of eyes on her was sharper.

She didn’t look at them. Didn’t react to the whispered conversations or the not-so-subtle glances. She simply smoothed down her jumper, rolled her shoulders back, and walked towards the stage door.

By the time she stepped inside, the murmurs had already started.

She ignored them.

The corridors of the Palais Garnier smelled like old wood, resin, and sweat, the scent woven into the very foundation of the theatre. She moved through them on instinct, nodding briefly at a few dancers she passed, stepping over a pair of discarded pointe shoes near the costume department.

It wasn’t until she reached her dressing room that she stopped.

The air inside was still. The scent of perfume and powder and theatre dust lingered.

And then she saw it.

The mirror.

And the word smeared across the glass in bold, red lipstick.

Slut.

For a moment, she just stood there.

A day ago, it would have knocked the breath from her chest, sent something cold and ugly curling in her stomach. But now—

Now it was almost funny.

She tilted her head slightly, exhaling through her nose. The irony wasn’t lost on her.

They had called her worse. They had whispered about her, speculated about her, assumed they knew her, as if their own lives weren’t fuelled by quiet scandals and well-dressed betrayals.

The only difference now was that the words weren’t hushed in dressing room corners or slipped between conversation.

Now, they were written in red.

She stepped forward, fingers brushing over the lipstick, smudging the last letter slightly.

Then, without another thought, she grabbed a cloth from the vanity, wiped the word away, and turned away.

She stood in the centre of the stage, breathless. The vast emptiness of the Palais Garnier stretched around her, but she didn’t see the ornate balconies or the golden angels watching from above. She saw only the mirror in her dressing room. The word smeared across it in a cruel shade of red.

Her ribs expanded, contracted—too fast. She forced the breath to slow, forced her muscles to obey as she lifted her arms into position. Her body was a machine, drilled to perfection. It did not care about whispered rumours or the ghosts of last night still lingering on her skin.

The music started, and she moved.

She didn’t hesitate, didn’t falter. Every step, every pirouette, was a violent declaration: I am still here. Her pointe shoes struck the stage like a battle cry. The ache in her limbs was a welcome distraction, the burn of exertion preferable to the one left by Oscar’s hands on her waist.

She hated that she could still feel him.

He was meant to be a moment—a fleeting thing, like the flicker of city lights against a speeding car window. But now he was here, tangled in her thoughts, pressing against her like the weight of expectation. Like the judgement lurking in every corner of this theatre.

Her vision blurred. Sweat dripped down her spine. The music crescendoed, and she leapt, pushing herself higher, harder, until she landed with a sharp, jarring force.

A mistake.

She never made mistakes.

She exhaled, steadying herself. She would dance until there was nothing left but movement. Until her body was raw and her mind was silent. Until there was no room for guilt, no room for regret, no room for the boy with fast hands and a reckless mouth.

The music started again.

And so did she.

She danced until the edges of her vision darkened, until her breath came in ragged gasps and her muscles trembled beneath the strain. She pushed harder, let the pain become her anchor. If she danced enough, if she bled herself dry on this stage, perhaps it would be enough to silence the storm in her head.

But it wasn’t.

The mirror in her dressing room still existed. The word still sat there, seared into her memory, as if it had been scrawled across her own skin instead.

Her foot slipped. Just slightly—just enough for her to feel the flaw.

She hissed through her teeth and forced herself back into the rhythm, but the mistake clung to her. Another crack in her precision. Another fracture she couldn’t ignore.

A door creaked open in the distance, footsteps echoing through the empty theatre. She didn’t stop. Didn’t acknowledge whoever had come to watch her self-destruction. If it was her stage director, he would only remind her that rehearsals hadn’t started yet. If it was another dancer, they would only watch in silence, waiting to see if the rumours were true.

But when the footsteps stopped, they were closer than she expected. Too close.

She spun, body poised to snap at whoever dared to interrupt—

And there he was.

Oscar.

Standing in the shadows of the theatre, hands in the pockets of his jacket, head tilted just slightly as he watched her.

Something inside her twisted. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t see her like this, raw and shaking, a woman undone by the weight of a single word.

She lifted her chin, a silent warning. “What are you doing here?”

His lips twitched at the edges, but it wasn’t quite a smirk. “You left your scarf in my car.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t let herself react. She hadn’t even realised it was missing.

Oscar took a step forward, then another. The stage lights cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles, the dark intent in his gaze. “I thought you might want it back.”

She should tell him to leave. Should turn her back and start dancing again, let him know exactly where he belonged in her life—nowhere.

But she didn’t.

Because beneath the exhaustion, beneath the anger curling in her ribs, there was something else.

A spark. A pull. A memory of last night, of heat and recklessness, of hands gripping the balcony rail as he ruined her in the open air.

She hated that he was here.

She hated that she wanted him to stay.

And Oscar, perceptive as ever, saw it.

He stepped onto the stage.

She didn’t stop him.

And that was her second mistake of the morning.

Oscar moved with the kind of confidence that made her breath catch in her throat. He belonged in fast cars, on city streets, in places where speed blurred consequence. He did not belong here, beneath the gilded chandeliers of the Palais Garnier, on the stage where she had bled for perfection.

And yet, he walked towards her like he was meant to.

She should stop him. Should tell him to turn around, to take her scarf and whatever was left of last night and disappear.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she stayed perfectly still, forcing her muscles into cold, quiet control as he stepped closer.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the scarf—soft, pale fabric, the colour of fresh cream, delicate against his rougher hands. He held it between them, a silent offering.

“You didn’t have to bring it,” she said, voice carefully even.

He tilted his head slightly. “I know.”

The way he looked at her made something shift beneath her ribs, something she refused to name. He was watching her too closely, gaze sweeping over the sweat-dampened skin of her throat, the unsteady rise and fall of her chest. He saw too much.

She snatched the scarf from his hand and turned away, retreating to the edge of the stage, to the safety of distance. “You should go.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, the sound of his footsteps moving towards her.

She spun to face him. “I’m serious.”

He didn’t stop. “So am I.”

Frustration flared, sharp and unwelcome. “This isn’t your world, Oscar.”

His mouth curved slightly. “No? You seemed happy to bring me into it last night and letting me drive you here a minute ago.”

Heat flashed up her spine, tangled in something darker. “That was different.”

He reached for her. Not to grab, not to restrain—just to touch. Just the barest brush of his fingers against her wrist, but it was enough to set her off balance.

She yanked her arm back, breathing too hard, standing too close to the edge of something she didn’t want to name.

Oscar watched her for a moment, then exhaled, shaking his head. “I saw your mirror.”

Her stomach dropped.

He shoved his hands back into his pockets, gaze steady. “Someone really doesn’t like you.”

She forced herself to hold his stare. Forced herself to keep her voice detached, as if it didn’t matter. “It’s nothing.”

His jaw tightened. “It’s not nothing.”

She wanted to laugh. Wanted to ask him what he thought he could do about it. He was a man who lived in a world of speed and adrenaline, of roaring engines and champagne-soaked podiums. He didn’t know what it was like to exist under the weight of constant scrutiny, to have every moment of her life measured against an impossible standard.

But she didn’t say any of that. She just shook her head and turned away.

Oscar let out a low breath, something unreadable flickering in his expression. For a second, she thought he might leave.

But then he spoke.

“What if I stayed?”

The question was quiet. Uncertain. A dangerous thing.

She went still. “Why would you do that?”

A beat of silence. Then—

“Because I don’t like the idea of you being alone.”

Her throat tightened.

She shouldn’t let him in. Shouldn’t let him see the cracks in the walls she had spent years building.

But she was tired. And the word on her mirror was still there, still bleeding into her thoughts no matter how hard she tried to scrub it away.

So she didn’t tell him to leave.

She didn’t say anything at all.

And Oscar, reckless as ever, took that as permission.

Oscar didn’t say another word. Instead, he turned, disappearing into the wings. For a brief second, she thought he had actually left—had come to his senses, had realised that whatever this was between them had no place here.

But then she heard it.

The scrape of wood against the stage.

He emerged from the shadows, dragging a chair from backstage. He set it down just off-centre, angled slightly towards her, and then, with the same ease he had behind the wheel of a car, he sank into it.

And watched.

She exhaled sharply through her nose, turning her back on him. If he wanted to sit there, fine. Let him watch. Let him see exactly how little he mattered.

The music started again, and she threw herself into the routine.

But her body betrayed her.

Her turns weren’t as sharp as they should have been, her leaps lacked the effortless grace she had spent years perfecting. And then—

A misstep.

Not a large one, nothing anyone else might notice, but she felt it. The failure.

Her breath caught.

She reset, started again.

Another mistake.

Another crack in her precision.

Again.

And again.

And with each failure, she felt it. Him. Sitting there, watching in silence. The weight of his gaze pressing against her skin, seeing every flaw, every falter.

She hated it.

She hated him.

She hated that, last night, she had been perfect beneath him, and now, here, on the stage where it actually mattered, she was falling apart.

A slow clap echoed through the theatre.

Not Oscar.

Her entire body stiffened. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

Charles.

“Magnificent,” he drawled, the sarcasm dripping from his monegasque accent like honey laced with poison. “Truly, a masterclass in mediocrity.”

Her jaw clenched as she turned. He stood in the centre aisle, impeccably dressed as always, his sharp features pulled into a smirk.

Oscar shifted in his seat, but she ignored him.

“Are you here to gloat, Charles?” she said coolly.

Charles pressed a hand to his chest, mock-wounded. “Me? Gloat? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

She said nothing. She just stared at him, waiting.

And, as always, he filled the silence.

“You know,” he mused, stepping closer, “it’s fascinating, really. The way people talk about you.”

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.

“They think you’re untouchable,” he continued, eyes gleaming. “They think you’ve earned your place here.” He tilted his head, watching her too closely. “And yet, it seems they’re not so sure anymore.”

Her pulse pounded in her ears.

She knew what he was doing. He wanted to shake her, wanted to remind her that no matter how hard she worked, how ruthlessly she pushed herself, there would always be whispers. That there would always be people who thought she hadn’t bled enough for this.

Because of him.

Because he had spent too long watching her like she was something he could claim. Because he had hovered too close, spoken too softly, let his admiration curdle into obsession.

She had never touched him.

But no one believed that.

And Charles, the sick bastard, enjoyed it.

Her nails dug into her palms. “Say what you came to say, Charles.”

His smirk widened. “Careful,” he murmured, stepping close enough for his breath to ghost over her cheek. “You’re starting to sound like me.”

Her stomach turned. She clenched her jaw, refusing to step back, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch.

A slow, deliberate cough cut through the tension.

Charles’s attention flicked past her, to where Oscar still sat. Not tense, not glaring—just watching.

Something cold flickered in Charles’s expression. “Ah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “So that’s what this is about?”

Oscar leaned back in his chair, legs sprawled, arms draped lazily over the sides. A study in nonchalance. “Don’t stop on my account,” he said, voice smooth. “I’m enjoying the show.”

Charles’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Something inside her twisted—something sharp, something vindictive. She didn’t want Oscar here. But if Charles hated it, then maybe she didn’t mind so much.

She smiled, slow and deliberate. “You should go, Charles.”

His jaw ticked.

And then, with an exhale, he stepped back. Smoothed down his suit. Offered her one last, amused glance.

“I do hope you get your footing back,” he murmured, voice silk-smooth. “I’d hate to think you were slipping.”

With that, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing through the theatre until he disappeared.

Silence settled between her and Oscar.

She turned back to the stage, fixing her posture, steadying her breath.

Behind her, the chair creaked as Oscar leaned forward. “Charles, huh?”

Her movements stilled for half a second. Then she glanced at him over her shoulder. “You know him?”

Oscar let out a quiet huff, more amused than anything. “Well, he definitely knows me.”

She turned fully now, brow furrowing.

Oscar stretched out his legs, his arms draped lazily over the back of the chair, like this whole thing was funny to him. “You really don’t know who he is?”

She shrugged, unimpressed. “He’s my stage director. He’s annoying. That’s all I need to know.”

Oscar raised a brow. “Yeah, and he also owns my rival Formula One team.”

That caught her off guard.

She stared at him, processing. “What?”

Oscar tilted his head slightly, watching her reaction. “Charles Leclerc. Former F1 driver. Retired six years ago—one of the youngest to do it. Took over his family’s team, turned them into one of the biggest powerhouses in the sport.” He leaned forward, smirking. “You really had no idea?”

She frowned, arms crossing over her chest. “No. Why would I?”

Oscar shook his head, laughing under his breath. “That’s a first.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone in any country who doesn’t know who Charles Leclerc is.” His smirk widened. “Kind of refreshing, actually.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Well, forgive me for not following your stupid little sport.”

Oscar smirked but didn’t take the bait. Instead, he glanced towards the spot where Charles had stood moments ago, his expression turning more contemplative. “Makes sense, though.”

She frowned. “What does?”

“The way he looked at me.” Oscar exhaled, shaking his head. “Like he’d already lost.”

Something about the way he said it made her chest tighten.

She swallowed, forcing herself to look away. To turn back to the stage, to the music, to anything other than the thought of Charles losing something that was never his to begin with.

Oscar didn’t say anything else.

He just sat back.

And this time, when she danced, she didn’t miss a single step.

the end.

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