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The cause was always the same; something that refused to awaken. A flaw without a name, a detail so small it seemed to hide itself just to watch him grow frustrated.
Victor had been moving for hours among crackling cables, jotting down his observations. He hadn’t looked at you in hours.
You were in his world, but in moments like this, only as a spectator.
Finally, he slammed his fist against the table. The metallic sound made you jump in your seat.
“It's useless!” he shouted, pulling away from the equipment in frustration. “Everything is useless!”
He ran his hands through his curly hair, a frantic gesture that betrayed his exhaustion. He looked at you, and his eyes, normally sharp and analytical, were now clouded by a feverish desperation. He walked toward you with heavy steps and took your cheek in his hand.
His fingers sank into your skin with a pressure that was dangerously close to pain.
“I can’t take it anymore,” he said; his voice, usually so confident and arrogant, sounded fragile. “My mind… it’s a prison, and the only time I don’t feel its bars is when I’m with you.”
He pulled you into him, his face buried in your neck; his breath was hot and ragged. You could feel his heart pounding hard against your chest.
“Then stop,” you whispered, taking his hand. “Come…”
He obeyed; he followed you to the bedroom without complaint, meek, almost like a loyal dog, his usual arrogance completely gone. You pushed him gently so he’d sit at the edge of the bed. He stayed there, head lowered, a shattered figure.
You knelt before him and lifted his chin. His eyes were bright, on the verge of tears.
“Don’t cry,” you said softly but firmly. “Big boys don’t cry.”
With slow, deliberate movements, you unbuttoned his vest and shirt, revealing his well-built torso. You pushed him back until he lay against the pillows.
You undressed, letting your nightgown and bra fall to the floor. His lips parted slightly, his breath growing heavier; his eyes followed every one of your movements with a hunger that contradicted his exhaustion.
You lay beside him, pressing your body gently against his. The moment your warmth touched his skin, his breath faltered, just a small, broken catch in his throat. You slid an arm around him, pulling him into you with a slow, deliberate tenderness. That was when you noticed his hand trembling as it reached for your breast, stopping halfway as though afraid to touch you without permission.
“May I…?” he whispered.
“Yes, Victor. You can touch me,” you answered.
His fingers closed around your breast, caressing your skin with almost religious devotion. He leaned in and, without hesitation, took your nipple into his mouth.
The heat of his mouth enveloped you. His sucking was wet and noisy, desperate. It wasn’t tender, it was a need. He closed his eyes with complete focus, as if nothing else in the world existed.
He sucked hard, searching for something, a taste, a sensation, that only you gave him.
“Mmm… Victor…” you sighed, feeling his tongue trace circles on your nipples.
“They taste so good…” he murmured against your skin, alternating between both of your breasts. “I could do this all day.”
His hands kneaded you gently while his mouth worked, and you could feel his erection pressing against your thigh. The cold metal of his ring contrasted deliciously with the heat of your skin.
“Do you like this, Victor?” you asked, arching your back toward him.
“Yes… yes, I love it,” he panted, not pulling away. “You’re like a dream, so soft, so perfect.”
The sounds he made were pure submission, a man surrendering to his only vice.
“You’re so good to me,” he murmured, lifting his head for a second, his dark, pleading eyes fixed on you.
You felt wetness growing between your legs, a direct response to his overwhelming desire. He tugged your hair gently, forcing you to tilt your head so he could nip at your neck.
While his mouth worked at your throat, your hands dealt with his pants. You unbuttoned them and pushed them down, freeing him. He was hard and throbbing, a testament to his desperate need.
You wrapped your hand around him and a low groan escaped his throat. You drew back slightly and, with a feverish movement, slid down until you were face-to-face with his cock.
“I… you don’t have to…” he said, but his words melted into a moan when your fingers brushed his tip.
“Shh… let me take care of you,” you said before licking the flushed head of his cock, already pulsing and dripping pre-cum.
You held his gaze as you took him into your mouth. He was big, heavy, with a prominent vein running to the base, and his taste was bittersweet. You took him all the way, your throat tightening around him; his hands tangled in your hair. He began to thrust, using your mouth for his own pleasure, driving into your throat with a slow, deep rhythm. It was an act of possession, of marking you from the inside with his scent and his taste.
“Ah! Fuuuck…” he panted, clearly struggling to hold back. “Please… I need… I need to be inside you.”
You pulled his cock from your mouth with strings of spit connecting with your lips. You pulled away and guided his hand to your entrance.
“Touch me first,” you ordered.
Victor obeyed eagerly. With delicate movements, he pushed your underwear aside, exposing your heat.
“You’re already so wet for me,” he said with satisfaction, sliding a finger along your folds. “All of this… for me?”
“Yes… Victor…” you moaned. “Please, put them in.”
He slid two fingers inside you, moving them gently, exploring every fold while his thumb pressed your clit, drawing firm circles that made you moan. The cold metal of his ring occasionally grazed your skin, sending shivers through your whole body.
“Is this good?” he asked, desperate to please you. “Do you like it?”
“Yes! Like that… just like that…” you moaned, rocking your hips to the rhythm of his fingers.
When you felt ready, you pushed his hand away and climbed onto his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs. You guided him to your entrance, wet and ready. You sank onto him slowly; you both moaned in unison. You stayed still for a moment, full of him, feeling him throb inside you.
You began to move with a slow, deep rhythm. His hands clutched your hips, his eyes closed, head thrown back.
“Faster,” he begged. “Please, faster.”
You quickened your pace, rolling your hips in circles, then moving up and down. He was completely at your mercy.
“Look at me,” you ordered again. “Open your eyes and look at me while I fuck you.”
He did. The look he gave you was a blend of ecstasy and devotion. He saw you as his savior and his owner.
“Oh holy fuck!” Victor groaned. “You’re so… so tight… so perfect…”
The power of seeing him like that, so submissive, so undone, pushed you closer to the edge. His eyes stayed locked on yours as you rose and fell, but he couldn’t stop glancing down at your breasts bouncing with each movement.
He was completely hypnotized. Each bounce left him more lost, more needy. His lips parted involuntarily, his tongue barely peeked out as he followed the mesmerizing sway of your chest.
“Do you like what you see?” you purred, arching your back to give him a better show.
“Y-yes… fuck, yes…” he panted, almost drooling. “Please…”
“Please what, darling?” you teased, slowing down your movements.
“Please, mommy…” The word left his lips like a desperate whimper. “Let me fill you…”
You smiled, satisfied with his plea. You leaned forward, your breasts brushing his chest and you kissed him, a raw, hungry crash of mouths, your teeth dragging along his lips as his tongue chased yours with feral desperation.
“Then do it,” you gasped. “Cum inside me, Victor. Fill me.”
His rhythm turned wild, his hips thrusting upward to meet every movement you made.
“That’s it, good boy,” you whispered, stroking his hair as you picked up your pace again. “Take what you need from mommy.”
You felt him tense beneath you, his body trembling uncontrollably. He was on the brink, completely overwhelmed.
“Cum for me,” you ordered, clenching around him.
“Ah! fuck! Yes! Yes!” he chanted, again and again, lost in pure bliss.
He moved inside you with a force that stole your breath, each thrust deeper than the last. With a strangled cry, he arched beneath you and spilled himself, his heat flooding you, a fierce offering meant for you alone.
Your orgasm hit instantly, a wave of heat that made you tremble and cry out his name.
“F-fuck, Victor!” you moaned, breath shuddering as the words dissolved into broken gasps. Your walls tightened around him, milking every last drop of his pleasure.
Finally, you collapsed onto him, both of you panting. He buried his face against your breast, kissing your skin softly, murmuring incoherently.
You stroked his sweat-damp curls, smiling with satisfaction at the mess you had made of him: swollen lips, sweat-stained cheeks, eyes glassy with absolute satisfaction.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he admitted at last; his voice was a low, sincere murmur in the dark. “I’d get lost.”
“You won’t get lost,” you replied, kissing his chest over his heart. “I’m right here with you."
He held you tighter, as if afraid you might vanish. And in that moment, you knew that the genius of Geneva, the man who challenged God, was nothing more than a needy man in your arms and he was irrevocably yours.