Chapter Text
In a sense, you feel bare.
Of course, it’s not like you look radically out of place. Your dress may be more revealing compared to the others here — the neckline dips down to your top of the navel while two thigh-slits part the flowy chiffon fabric, and not to mention your exposed back and sides — but it feels right to wear this tonight. What better way to show off your upcoming collection than wear it to one of Warson’s publicized banquets, guaranteed to have some media exposure?
Plus, you’re proud of this sexy number. Even if 80 accidents are waiting to happen if you bend down a little too low.
Bare . . .
Sariel had given you a long stare when you had suggested wearing this to tonight’s event before eventually telling you to do whatever you please, and you had immediately gone to work to design the jewelry to accompany your outfit. While you’re pleased with the dainty rings on your fingers and the small, crystalline rings trailing up your ear, your favorite piece has to be the body jewelry hanging over your skin. The gold chain sits like a necklace before meeting and circling your waist, while two strands hang from the piercings on both your nipples. It took some effort to hook it onto the barbells safely, but the effect was worth it. Shiny tendrils resting sexily on your torso, leading the eyes along every inch of your design . . .
As soon as you step out of the restroom freshened up, your waist is caught by a firm grip, fingers pressing into your skin. You gasp a little as you look up, immediately relaxing as you find a comforting face gazing back at you. The pad of his thumb rubs the chain into your skin softly as he leans down to whisper in your ear, “Hello, little bunny.”
“Evan,” you greet. He looks divine. A black jacket on his broad frame, expanding his shoulders and tapering his waist, and slim-fitting pants contouring his muscled legs beautifully. Surgeon cuffs accented with thin gold buttons, matching the rim of his geometric lenses. A deep, red tie, the same color as his narrow eyes, laid on his silky dress shirt. Good God. His suit feels familiar — Evan sports one for work daily, including events — but this one radiates prestige and wealth in a new way that makes your stomach tighten infinitely.
And there’s the slight print near the crotch of his pants . . . cough. You shouldn’t be staring.
Evan takes one of your hands in his and twirls you easily before resting his palm on ur waist, drawing you close, “You look lovely. Is this one of your designs?” He drags his eyes down your figure, his neck bobbing when he passes the indent of your piercings against the thin cloth. You nod and explain your outfit as he guides you out on the floor, walking towards the middle of the room. As you break your conversation to greet fellow designers and sponsors, Evan smoothly takes a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and sips it wordlessly as he eyes your body. His eyes feel invasive, but instead of shying away, you adjust your position and idly rub at the nape of your neck, drawing his attention to the smooth curves of your back.
You can tell by the way his grip tenses that he likes your movements. You’re filled with pride.
Sariel’s on the side, discussing something solemnly with a few others dressed in high attire. He looks regal in his outfit, and you make sure he knows by smiling when his eyes slide over and meet yours. He frowns as he keeps his gaze trained on Evan’s hand on your hip, looking away after seconds. You glance back up at your partner, watching his red eyes swirl with dark intent, “Sariel’s here! I wonder if Osborn might be here, too. There are a few models around . . . “ You lift yourself on the balls of your feet slightly to glance around the crowd, but Evan nudges you back to your normal stance and sighs, “Osborn is not here. Shall we focus on getting to know the guests that are present?”
So you do. You fervently ignore the stray stares men give you during conversation, trying your best to keep their focus on your words instead of the skin between the cloth on your torso, the jewelry slithering over your cleavage and down below. Every so often, you catch Evan giving one of them a stern glare, but you know it’s not their fault. You are bare. This much skin is not something often showcased at these events, even with the focus on trendy, minimalistic fashion.
It’s the fourth round of greetings where things shift. A small hors d'oeuvre in your hand, another glass in Evan’s, and a circle of businessmen with stylish brooches and statement ties indulging in your conversation. Evan’s grip has only gotten progressively tighter, ruching the fabric on your hip, and you lean into his firm touch despite what your head says. You know this must look strange to others, such seemingly possessive behavior. And yet, you like it.
Maybe you need some fresh air.
One of the men gives you an obvious pat-down with his eyes, grinning when the conversation lulls, “Is this part of your newest collection?”
“Yes!” you smile, smoothing out the front flap of your dress, “I’m exploring a more sensual side to chiffon, so this set will have some tasteful exposure, elevated by accessories. I think it’ll do well, especially with the warmer months coming up.” Your rehearsed explanation flows confidently, and you nibble at the food in your hand as Evan makes a noise of agreement.
The man’s eyes light up and he bumps into one of his colleagues, laughing conspiratorially, “You pull it off well. Very sensual indeed.” You reply with a tight smile, a ‘thank you’ stuck in your throat, and you can feel that hand flex. How much harder will Evan hold you?
Another man makes a similar comment, and you laugh as your eyes glide across the room. Around the gilded decor, the vine-like structures dancing along with the space, Sariel catches your gaze and holds it, his eyes narrowed with an indescribable emotion. You give him another greeting, this time a quiet nod, and his eyebrows twitch as he takes a sip of the drink in his hand. Maybe you can get closer and talk to him, you haven’t said hi to him throughout this entire event. You begin to slip away, your hand resting on Evan’s hand to peel him off . . .
He doesn’t budge. You freeze, glancing back up at Evan, and your eyebrows tense at his expression. Unhappy . . . displeased? Irritated? His crimson eyes flare as they drink you in greedily. You can see the bone at the cut of his jaw, tight and popped, and his neck is taut with tension. After a beat, Evan murmurs a very quiet “excuse me” before hauling you away, almost carrying you at his hip. Your heels click quickly to keep up with his pace, “Evan, slow down!” He grunts in response but pulls you away quicker, and Sariel is the last person you make eye contact with before the darkness of a side hallway takes you.
Evan only slows when you arrive at a room far from the crowd, walls high with bookshelves and a large glass window casting the room in an eerie silver. A small desk at the back, decorated with a lamp and a box of napkins. A coffee table surrounded by couches towards the center. You know the hotel hosting this gala is booked more often for business meetings; perhaps this room is meant to fit that need. It looks like an office by all means — just darker and smaller. And cold.
As you step forward, the door clicks behind you, and you whirl around to see Evan leaning against the wood. His shoulders look larger, his chest looks broader, and his hands look so much thicker as he slips them out of his pockets. He steps quietly towards the desk, rests on the edge, and takes off his jacket before beckoning you over with a finger. You walk to him and stand between his legs, gasping quietly when his palms bracket your hips and pull you close, “Evan . . . “
“I love the work you’ve put into this collection,” he murmurs, his fingers sliding up to the straps of your dress. You bite your lip minutely as he hooks his lithe fingers under the thin straps and moves them off your shoulders, revealing your torso from the middle. The cloth brushes against your piercings slowly, and while you’d usually ignore the sensation, something about the way Evan devours you with his eyes and edges you with his touch makes each of your hairs stand on end. Goosebumps litter your arms as he pulls the fabric aside, your body jewelry revealed. The chain is still neatly hooked on both of your nipples, meeting in that gorgeous line that travels to the tip of your navel.
You whisper a timid “thank you” and Evan hums with approval, “But your attention keeps straying tonight. Who are you so focused on when you’re mine?” His fingers loop around the chain and tug forward slightly, and the stimulation on your chest makes you shiver. He is avaricious and predatory tonight, and being the object of his desire turns you on immensely.
Evan slides the dress off your figure, letting it pool onto the floor. You move to allow Evan to bend over and pick it up, and he neatly drapes it over the edge of the couch, careful to not wrinkle the fabric. As he returns to his spot at the desk, you begin to step out of your heels only to stiffen at his command, “Stop.”
You wait. His hands enclose your waist, slipping under the thin bands of your panties. He slides them off delicately, focused on the reveal of your body.
“Keep your heels on. Completely naked besides,” — he hisses as his fingers trace the contours of your body —, “these heels . . . and this alluring jewelry.” He glances at the other gold pieces traveling up your ears and along your knuckles, his eyebrows furrowing, “Pretty enough to eat.”
You clench and Evan notices the movement. His stern expression morphs into greedy appreciation, a smile playing on his lips, and he pulls you closer until your chest is nearly flush with his own. He leans close, his lips grazing your ear as he whispers, “You’re eager for this, hm? My little, excited slut.” You gnaw at your lip as his breath hits the edge of your ear, as his teeth teeter the curve and nip the soft skin. He licks at your earlobe before sucking the skin, humming at the taste of skin and metal, “So perfect, every inch of you. Perfect for me.”
“Ev . . . an . . . ,” you get out, your quiet voice breaking. His hands travel up, one of them holding your neck firmly and coaxing your head to tilt while the other ghosts over your hip. His mouth moves to your jaw, your chin, your throat: marking them with bites and hickies, taking his time as the bruises redden and persist. You groan as his other thumb swipes over your curves. He’s rough, just enough to make each spot he leaves behind ache with need, and yet, he treats you with curiosity, exploring your newfound sensitivities slowly and steadily.
And when your neck is splotched with marks of red and purple, when your hips are carved with indentations of his nails, he slips his hand into your hair and tugs you back just enough to push your breasts to him, perked and appetizing. His tongue parts his lips before he glances at you once, twice, and kisses your nipple. His tongue darts out to play with your piercing as he sucks, pulling and pushing at the barbell as you moan his name softly.
God, he knows how to use his tongue.
He hums as you arch towards him, groaning against your nipple when your fingers crawl into his hair and curl into his nape. Your voice echoes softly in the room, “That . . . oooh, mmm.” His teeth graze the puffy skin, and his hand slips from your locks to your other breast — massaging, kneading, groping you into a mess. Each press of his thumb and each flick of your barbell makes your voice shakier and breathier. And oh, you are so much wetter.
He switches his mouth and hand, pinching with his fingers as he nips with his teeth, whispering against your curves, “Such sweet sounds, bunny. No distractions for you here.”
“Evan,” you heave, pulling at his shirt desperately, “Please, Evan, I . . . “ Your voice trails as he releases your breasts, your nipples shiny with spit. He’s looking at you hungrily, his pupils dilated and dark. You’ve never thought about how big Evan is, but seeing him in front of you, his body towering over yours, it’s obvious how much power he has. How quickly he can overtake you. Dominate you. And he wants to, at least from what you can gather from his short breaths, hot skin, and the bulge in his slacks.
The painfully present bulge in his slacks.
You grapple the buttons apart on his top, too aroused to care about the tender silk, and he wrestles off his tie as you run your nails down his body. He’s firm and fit, his thick chest running into plots of muscle you wish you could plant your kisses onto. Every valley along his stomach tenses when you pass over it, the veins tightening and skin flushing with color. Your hands drag lightly down to the top of his pelvis, and your mind buzzes from the ridges that disappear under his pants. Faint goosebumps. Tanned skin. Smooth to the touch.
Evan’s hands are busy, too. As you stroke his obliques, he slides his hands along the contour of your body, his palm expansive over your stomach. He rests at your upper thighs; his thumbs press down on the soft flesh there, his grip tight on your hips, so close to your ache. And lord, it hurts. You’ve never been this lust-ridden, this needy for someone like this. Only for Evan. Only Evan.
“On my lap,” he whispers, backing up slightly so he’s seated fully on the desk. His legs still touch the ground, his thighs steady and angled enough for you to lift onto and straddle him. You grip his warm body as he adjusts your position, sighing when his hands graze your inner thighs, and Evan takes that as a sign to cradle your ass and roll you over his hips. Back and forth, over and over — a steady rotation — you glide and groan with each press of fabric near your clit. Your arousal leaves a damp stain over his zipper, thin and sex-scented, as your hands dig crescents into his skin.
At your breathy pleas, Evan allows you to wrangle off his pants, lifting his hips and pushing into you to allow them to come off. You groan at the contact, a sharp “Evan!” filling the air. And to your call, he catches the joint of your necklace between his teeth and pulls back, focusing on your nipples stretching forward enticingly. Through his teeth, he whispers, “You naughty bunny.”
No response floats to your mind — you’re already past the point of coherency. Your only drive is to please and fulfill Evan, to let him train you into his obedient pet. You tug out his cock, gasping at the girthy weight in your hands. Firm and strong, just like every other area of Evan’s body, with a strained vein running below his flushed wrinkles. He feels smooth in your hands, so heavy. So big.
You’re allowed a few seconds of admiration before he brings you over his cock, dragging his thick head along your slit until he meets your opening. He brings you down, slowly, deliciously, and you fling your head back in awe as he stretches you out to your limits. Your body feels so full and stuffed, so thick with him. A moan warbles out of your throat as he passes through your walls, sheathing himself entirely within you. He’s all you can feel, all you can sense, all you can perceive. “Evan, you’re . . . ah, god . . . “
“Worship me, then,” he whispers, lifting you slightly.
And when he lets you fall, his hips move to meet your own, and you cry in ultimate pleasure.
“Evan, Ev- ah, right there!” you chant, bouncing on his cock desperately. You love the feeling of his skin slapping against yours, the sound of him on you as your toes curl and hands spasm with bliss. His thrusts are steady and controlled, paced just right to keep you rolling towards an approaching warmth. His hands keep you in place, his mouth traveling from your throat to your nipples, licking up your sweat.
“You’re mine,” he breathes, “my woman, my lover.”
You feel him on every inch of your skin, panting, heaving. Evan looks at you, his eyes crazed and dark, and as his hips flex upwards, you can feel the lust behind his words, “You like this, my love? Want me to- mmh, fill you up?” Your eyes roll back at the question, your pussy clenching him hard as he pistons into you quickly. Your hands slide and rake up his back, fire up his skin, “Inside! Fuck, inside me, yes!” You sound hoarse and needy — a complete, utter mess — and Evan loves it.
“With me, baby,” he calls, but you’re already there. With a single thrust, Evan sends you spiraling into the clouds, your body afloat on a wave of ecstasy. Your vision blurs, your mouth opens wordlessly, your back arches as you stretch back, back, back, beautifully displaying your body to your lover. You can feel it in the backdrop of your heaven, him stuttering as spurts of warmth coat your walls. You whimper as he holds you close in his strong arms, cradling you delicately as you slip back into reality.
As you return, Evan slips out of you and seats you on the desk as he reaches for a box of tissues nearby. Your mouth hangs open in a breathless laugh as he wipes you down, catching his excess on your thighs and lower lips. His lips hover over your shoulder as he takes his time, “I didn’t mean to be so rough. Must’ve been the dress. Or . . . “ He tugs ever so slightly on your jewelry again and you sigh from the soreness.
“It’s fine, wouldn’t have had it any other way,” you murmur. He smiles at you, dark eyes still cloudy with want, and lifts you onto the couch before draping his jacket over you. The dark blazer feels warm and luxurious over your skin, and you greedily enjoy the heady scent of Evan as he leans down and gives you a sweet kiss. “I’ll be back soon, stay here and rest,” he orders.
And you nod. You’re his obedient bunny, after all.