Then he pulls back just enough to whisper, “You ever been fucked while dripping in chocolate, butterfly?”
I shake my head, lips parted.
He smiles. “You’re about to be.”
He grabs my thighs, slams back into me with a groan that sounds like it's ripped from his soul. His pierced cock stretches me open, the metal bead dragging against my walls with each brutal thrust. The ridge of his head hits that spot deep inside that makes my vision blur.
There's no rhythm—just chaos.
My pussy clenches around him, greedy and pulsing. I feel every thick inch, every vein, the way he throbs inside me when I dig my nails into his skin. The table creaks beneath us, sticky with syrup and sweat, chocolate melting between our bodies as he pounds into me relentlessly.
I'm gasping, crying out, my walls fluttering around him as he’s biting my neck, muttering broken, dark things against my skin.
“So fucking perfect…”
“So sweet…”
“Fuck—I should’ve stayed away—but I can’t—I can’t?—”
And when I shatter again—screaming, shaking, soaked?—
He follows me over the edge, body convulsing, mouth on my neck, growling my name like it’s a prayer and then we just lie there stuck to each other with syrup and sin.
Breathless.
Broken open.
Completely fucking ruined.
We're still tangled—still panting—still a mess. Chocolate drying tacky between my thighs, syrup making his chest hair stick to my breasts with every breath. And his cock? Still buried so deep I can feel his pulse there, throbbing against that spot that makes my vision blur. My body moves before my mind catches up—tiny, desperate circles of my hips, grinding down on him, chasing that aftershock that's building again. The friction makes my breath catch, makes my back arch. He notices—his fingers dig into my waist, guiding the roll of my hips as he groans against my throat, the vibration shooting straight down my spine.
“You trying to kill me, butterfly?”
“You started it,” I whisper, nails tracing the syrup trail down his stomach. “I was just here for pancakes.”
“You are the fucking pancakes.”
He pushes up on his forearms, eyes dragging over me like he’s seeing me for the first time—seeing all the chocolate, the chaos, the wreckage.
“You’ve got no idea how dangerous you are, do you?” he mutters. “You crawl into a man’s ribs and set up fucking camp.”
I smile, wicked. “Then feed me, soldier.”
His mouth crashes to mine before the words even finish. He flips us without warning, pinning me to the table, plates crashing to the floor, syrup splashing, his grip bruising my thighs as he yanks them around his waist and slams into me again.
Each thrust drives into me with bruising force, his cock stretching me so wide I can barely breathe. Heat radiatesbetween us, our skin feverish where we connect. His rhythm is relentless—deliberate, punishing—like he's trying to brand himself inside me. The table protests beneath us, wood groaning against tile with each savage snap of his hips. Syrup glues us together in places, making a wet, obscene sound when our bodies separate then slam back together. His fingers slide up my neck, wrapping around my throat with possessive pressure—not enough to choke, just enough to make my pulse hammer against his palm. His forehead crashes against mine, our ragged breaths mingling as he stares into my eyes, refusing to let me hide from what he's doing to me.
“I should be getting dressed,” he pants. “I should be putting space between us.”
“Then go.”
“Tell me to,” he growls.
I stare up at him—eyes full of heat and defiance and so much fucking need I think I might actually break. “I don’t want space,” I whisper.
His hand tightens. “Then I’m gonna fuck you until we forget the whole world exists.”
His hips slam into mine, cock stretching me open with each brutal thrust. The table scrapes against tile as he pounds deeper, harder, his sticky fingers digging into my thighs. Sunlight catches the sweat on his shoulders, the flex of muscle as he drives into me. I taste chocolate when he crashes his mouth to mine, feel syrup pulling at my hair when he yanks my head back to expose my throat. His teeth find my pulse. His hand finds my clit. "Fucking take it," he growls, and I shatter around him, clenching, crying out as he fills me, his body jerking against mine, both of us gasping, trembling, ruined.
