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"So… you've never wondered what a real kiss feels like?"
You rolled your eyes, already annoyed from one little question. Vox had always found pleasure in making fun of you for not having a sex life for the past three years, which was about the same amount of time you’d known him. That is, if your memory served you correctly. But the point still stood: so what if you didn't know what a kiss felt like? It wasn’t his issue. His strange obsession with your private time would always be a mystery to you, even if you two were close. The two of you were friends, not lovers. He didn’t need to concern himself with something as stupid as sex. As far as you were concerned, kissing was one of the weirdest ways to show affection… among other things. You’d literally be sharing spit. What was there to be enjoyed? Some disease you’d have to carry for the rest of your afterlife? Yeah, no thanks.
It also didn't surprise you that he’d chosen a relaxed Saturday evening on the couch to strike again. Whenever he was bored, he’d resort to one of two things: bothering you, or going back to work. And the two of you were supposed to be watching a Christmas movie with the help of some much needed hot chocolate and sugar cookies, which meant bothering you would be his easiest option. Of course he didn't have the patience to get through the whole movie.
"You know I haven’t, Vox."
He answered immediately, like he was prepared for your reply. Which he was, at this point. It’d be a shame if he hadn’t memorized your answer by now.
"I've said it before– you're really missing out on something you might like."
You scoffed. No way were you falling for that. He’d been using the same argument for the last year, and his previous reasons had been even worse.
"I ‘really’ doubt that." You mocked him, tone sharp. He let out a loud, obnoxious laugh and leaned closer towards you. He smelled like a bucket of Dior.
"Well, you're never gonna know with an attitude like that! I mean, Hell, I'd show you myself–” Vox threw his hands out in front of him erratically– what the fuck did he just say? “Of course, if you’d wanted– uhm, not in a weird way… educational purposes… and stuff, y’know, related… doesn’t matter, actually." He cleared his throat awkwardly.
Wow, that was weak. Weak, but your cheeks couldn’t help but bloom a light blush. Your brows had been furrowed with suspicion from the start, but the crease between them grew deeper as you watched him stumble over his words. Was he serious? Normally, he'd just laugh in your face and continue with whatever he was doing. Or make fun of you some more. But, there’s no way he just… said that, right? He’s not that stupid. He'd never… done that before. Even still, you really weren't in the mood to deal with his bullshit tonight, not with Christmas being next Thursday. You were trying to keep up a good mood for the upcoming holidays, and you were on a streak. He was not about to ruin that for you. Vox never did anything special for the holidays, claiming he had “better things to do,” but he always did advertise fake deals and convince unfortunate sinners to purchase VoxTek for their homes. It was a horror show, in your opinion. You’d had to force him to decorate his living room in a somewhat festive manner.
But the point was, you needed to come up with a distraction. A way to switch the subject before this got out of hand.
…
Honestly, you hated how appealing his offer sounded.
Sure, though you found physical affection a little too intimate, you couldn’t deny that Vox was objectively attractive. His flat face was convincing enough. It was a horrible feeling, really, knowing how normal this situation was thirty seconds ago.
Maybe, giving him what he wanted would have a counter effect. Right? That’s usually how it happened in the movies you’d watched. The hero would juke out the villain by playing along with the game. But that would be absurd, telling Vox to literally kiss you– that was hilarious. The fact that that alone was a thought in your head was creepy enough. Crap, were you sick or something? A plan with that level of insanity clearly wouldn’t work out in your favor. Which… you weren’t too sure of what that favor was. It didn’t matter, though, because it was the only thing you could currently think of to reply fast enough. You doubted he’d want to kiss you, anyway.
Well, you hoped that was how he felt, for your own sanity.
"If I let you show me, will you finally shut up?"
Anything to get this over with, right?
Vox spluttered in surprise, little jolts of pretty blue electricity jumping over his body as he tensed up at your words. That was the last thing in the seven rings he’d expected you to say. Usually, you’d tell him to piss off or to go suck a dick– not whatever the fuck you actually did say. But shit, he couldn’t say he wasn’t silently praying for a twist exactly like this.
"You– what…? Really? Y– are you for real?" He was so desperately trying to keep his cool, but his screen easily gave him away as it glitched. Once. Then twice. Being cursed with a TV for a face meant his every emotion was evident– some more than others. For example, the bright blue blush currently lighting up his cheeks.
Vox had always had a thing for you. You were hot, you were smart, you were tempting… You were everything he couldn't have. Not to mention virgin. At least, that’s what he suspected, because you’d never spoken about anything of the sort. He’d added up the clues himself. Either you were sort of repulsed by the thought of intimacy, or you were nervous.
God, he'd always wanted to absolutely fucking ruin you. It got him hard just thinking about it. Not only that, you’d been there for him mentally since you’d met him. You had been his anchor, something he could rely on as you worked with him through his ever growing successes. Even though you’d only been close to him for a short amount of time, you meant more to him than Vox could admit. He thought your personality was charming, radiant, addicting– everything he longed for. He needed you, and that was the simplest explanation. He could only hope you felt a fraction the same.
So, when you simply suggested that he just show you what a kiss felt– a real kiss at that– like it was nothing, he couldn't help but pitch a tent. It was embarrassing, to say the least. He hadn’t imagined you’d ever let him touch you.
Fuck, you turned him into a nervous wreck.
You gave him a judgmental onceover, curling your lip, although you didn’t mean it. Internally, you were panicking. The Hell was his issue right now? He’d wanted this, hadn’t he? He suggested this– why was he panicking? Had you overstepped?
“Yes, you moron. What’s the problem? Just make it short,” you scowled, crossing your arms, “anything to get you to fuck off.”
When in doubt, pretend.
Vox was still trying to get a grip on reality and his filthy, racing mind as he processed your answer. You'd actually said yes. You'd really said yes. He let out an uneven breath, his screen flickering faintly yet again as he shifted a bit in his seat.
"You're– you're sure about this, right? Like– for real, seriously sure?" He was almost pleading at this point. The fact he was already hard and on the verge of soaking through his first layer made it clear– at least to him– how badly he desperately, carnally craved for you. He felt pathetic, and your frustrated gaze wasn’t helping.
“Vox,” you growled, “before I change my mind.”
His breath hitched audibly as he struggled to regulate his overheating frame. Static danced at the edges of his screen, betraying how wrecked he already was. He swallowed hard, claws twitching where they gripped the couch cushion beneath him. How the fuck was he going to get through this?
He could always just not kiss you. That was a simple and obvious option. But he didn’t want to do that. This was the single, best opportunity he was ever going to get, and he’d be pegged backwards if he didn’t take the risk.
"Uh– okay, okay…" His voice was already rough, half gasping even as he leaned in closer to reach you. It was difficult on the couch, but he managed to slide his knee between your thighs, almost overtop of your sitting frame. His gaze darted uncertainly between your lips and your eyes, unable to decide where to focus. You were so pretty. So delicate. His smug facade was gone, replaced by something desperate and hungry. For you.
"Just– tell me if you want to stop," he murmured, barely a whisper. Was he really doing this? Was this real?
—
Vox’s lips were surprisingly warm. Electric, even, buzzing against yours with the faint hum of his power. He kissed you slowly at first, testing, hesitant, not sure where to even start– before his restraint snapped once he remembered he was supposed to be showing you a real kiss. If he couldnt do that, he’d be a failure of a man. Your man. One hot hand slid slowly behind your neck, pulling you deeper into him as his tongue brushed against your lower lip, not asking but demanding entry. He kissed like he’d been starving for you, like he was trying to memorize the sweet taste of you. And he was.
And God, he was good.
His other hand found your hip, gripping you tight enough to bruise as a low, staticky groan emitted from his mouth. He was so close to ruining you– just like he'd always wanted.
On the contrary, it was evident you'd never done this before. You were stumbling blindly in the dark, not knowing where to put what, trying to keep up with Vox’s sudden switch-up. It was a natural response when your eyes flickered open at the feel of his hands roaming over your body. Goosebumps popped up on your skin, and your face burned scarlet. You weren’t exactly sure how a kiss was supposed to feel, but you had an idea. From what you could tell… Vox delivered.
Vox himself pulled back just enough to notice your uncertainty, his screen shifting through a mix of panic, amusement, and something softer– something dangerously close to affection that he let you see but would never confess. His thumb brushed against your lower lip, still damp from his mouth, as he let out a breathless chuckle.
"Hey– hey, eyes on me, sweetheart," he murmured, his confidence returning, voice low and teasing with a lingering tone of warmth. His grip on your hip loosened slightly, trying to get you to relax as he tried to coax you more than demand. "You're thinkin' too hard. Just– let me show you."
He tilted your chin up with the curve of his pointer finger, holding your gaze as he leaned in again with more deliberation. His lips were lighter, more patient, giving you room to feel the way his lips moved against yours and the way his tongue traced yours enough to make you gasp in surprising pleasure. He wasn’t just ‘showing’ you, he was teaching you, guiding you, letting you learn the rhythm until your hesitation melted into something sweeter and ever eager.
And when you finally kissed him back– properly– he let out a noise that was a mix of triumph and a whimper as his fingers tightened in your hair. He was so proud of you.
"There you go," Vox hummed softly against your mouth, grinning like he'd just won the fucking lottery. "Knew you'd be a quick learner."
You didn’t hesitate, immediately trying to cover up the heavy blush on your face. That was… hotter than you wanted to admit. Or show. It was clear Vox had gained the upper hand again. You felt like a fucking toddler with how inexperienced you were. It was degrading. Not to mention, you hadn't planned on learning how to kiss, but you didn’t really get the choice.
Vox watched you fumble with your own flustered reaction, his smirk growing impossibly wider with satisfaction. The way you tried and failed to hide how affected you were sent a certain thrill through him: sharp and electric.
"Oh, wow," he drawled, tilting his screen with exaggerated interest. "Someone liked that. Like, really liked that." He leaned in impossibly closer, lips now grazing the shell of your ear, lowering his voice to a complacent whisper. "Guess I was right. You were missing out."
And then he pulled back, watching you as he rested satisfied against the couch again as his fingers tapped idly against your thigh, thrilled with barely contained energy. The way your breath still came out shakily, the way your lips were slightly swollen– god, he wanted to ruin you worse.
"So," he purred, "Still think kissing’s overrated? Or should we keep going– just to really make sure?" He was joking. Sort of.
And, fuck.
You were wet.
You couldn't believe this.
You had to save yourself somehow– save your reputation and your ego. You’d gone literal years without Vox gaining too much of an upper hand, and you were not about to start letting him gain it now. But something told you your chances of keeping that dynamic were slim, considering how easily he’d just won.
"Psh– absolutely not. That was fucking terrible! Look, I might not have had much kissing experience, but I doubt anyone would seriously find enjoyment in whatever that was." You were a horrible liar, yet you put up your facade with a smile.
Vox's screen flickered violently– first in disbelief, and then in pure, unadulterated offense. His mouth actually dropped open for a second before he snapped it shut, his alluring eyes narrowing.
"Oh-ho-ho, no," he hissed dangerously, jumping forward in displeasure, so close you could feel the electricity crackling at the edges of his frame on your cheeks. "You did not just call me– the Overlord of Media, the Sexiest Motherfucker in Hell– a bad kisser."
The audacity you had– he could barely fathom it. You didn’t fool him, he saw the blood red blush on your face, he had felt how you squirmed against him. You dirty liar. And in less than a second, his claws shot out, reaching for your waist. You were going to learn. Vox hauled you completely into his lap with a suddenness that made you let out a squeaky yelp. He didn’t need to use a lot of strength. His voice dropped to something low and lethal– the tone he used when he was talking down to his unlucky assistants.
"Fine. Since you clearly need a second demonstration–" Vox’s thumbs dug into your hips as his face flashed a cruel, knowing grin.
And then his mouth was on yours again. Hungrier. Meaner. On a mission to reveal every last one of your dumb, petty little lies. You were going to speak truth to him. Vox’s tongue slid against yours with ruthless precision, taunting you, until your facade shattered into a shaky moan.
He pulled back just long enough to murmur against your lips, his voice dripping with victory:
"...Terrible, huh?"
You gasped hurriedly for air, all the while avoiding Vox’s assiduous gaze. Oh, great. You hadn't expected him to do that– not how he'd pulled you so roughly into his lap, not how his tongue seemed to stuff your mouth full, and you definitely hadn't expected yourself to actually moan into his mouth.
"I–I didn't mean to do t–that– so–" You cut yourself off. Partly because you couldn’t speak coherently to save your soul, but mostly because you had no clue what you were supposed to say. ‘So it doesn’t count?’ There was no use in trying to salvage what little of your demeanor was left.
Vox let out a dark chuckle as he watched you fumble stuttered words while your body still trembled on his thighs. His grip on your hips tightened possessively to pull you flush against his chest so you could feel exactly how much he was enjoying this.
"Oh, you definitely meant to do that," he purred, bringing a hand up to your cheek to trace your jawline. His shit-eating grin glinted with wicked intent as he leaned in hot against your ear– voice dropping to a mumble.
"Now I know you like it."
He couldn’t resist kissing you again. Like he wanted to own you and the sounds you made, like he’d die again if he didn’t get to taste every last pathetic whimper you tried to hide. And when your grip finally fisted in his suit jacket to pull him closer?
Oh, he smiled hard against your pretty lips.
"Mmh– that’s what I thought," he murmured against your mouth, triumphant.
Well, this was embarrassing. How is it that the plan you’d come up with to get Vox to leave you alone had turned into a makeout session? With you perched on his lap like a trophy? But, of course it would turn out this way. That’s exactly how you planned it, isn’t it? You’d been the one to say yes. To give in. You were the weaker one here. You weren’t sure you minded. Vox didn't hold back, either. You could feel him– painfully hard– through your pajama bottoms.
You couldn't help but let out a little whimper.
You… you needed him. Vox caught that pitiful whimper with pure satisfaction– like it was the most precious sound in all of Sin City. His TV head flared bright, static buzzing audibly as his hands slid up your sides, gripping you with longing.
"There it is," he growled, voice thick with arousal, his usual confidence growing into something more feral. His claws shot down to now dig into your thighs, pulling you even closer against him until you could feel every desperate shift of his hips. "Knew you'd break eventually. Knew you'd want this."
His mouth crashed back onto yours, this time with teeth– nipping at your lip before he soothed it with his hot tongue, swallowing and silencing every pathetic little noise you made like it was his fucking right. One hand reunited with your hair, fingertips angling your skull perfectly against his flat face as his other slipped under your shirt, his harsh digits branding your skin with voltaic heat.
"Tell me," he huffed against your tired lips, barely pausing long enough for you to gasp. "Tell me how bad you need it. Or I swear to fuck I'll stop right now–"
A lie. An empty threat. Neither of you believed it for a second.
Because he was just as wrecked as you were. Hard and shaking against you, screen blipping wildly at the edges as he waited, craving for you to finally admit how badly you craved him too.
You writhed when you felt his fingers now roaming underneath your shirt, tracing your stomach. No one had ever touched you there before. No one had ever gotten close enough to you to try. It sent shivers down your spine along with everywhere else. And at his command, you had to brace yourself with a choked moan before you could answer him:
"Vox, I need it– n-need you so bad, please–" Your words were rushed. Uneven.
He let out a strangled hiss. That answer hit him like a train. Your voice, the words that came out of your perfect mouth, the begging, god, the begging– it was like a heavenly melody to him.
"Yeah?" he panted, his voice taking on a rough, bribing edge. "How badly? How long've you been needing me, huh?" His mouth moved to your neck, sharp teeth scraping against your skin as he waited for your answer, although he already knew what it would be.
"F–For so long– I've been pretending- mmmfuck.." You admitted, though you weren’t able to finish your revelation. Shit, you couldn’t believe you’d just said that. Your body couldn't decide whether to arch or to hunch over into him– Vox was just too much for you to handle.
The TV groaned wildly against your skin, his entire screen flaring violently at your confession. It bumped against your jaw as he dragged his teeth down the column of your throat– savoring the way you shuddered under him.
"Fuckin' knew it," he hissed, tone dripping with vicious approval. "All that bullshit attitude, all that dismissal– and here you are, whimpering for me like some–" Another bite, harder this time. "–desperate little thing."
His free hand slid up underneath your bra, palming your chest roughly, currents zapping against your skin as his thumb swiped over your nipple– slow and taunting.
"Should've just told me," he growled, lips brushing your ear again, right as ever. "Could've been ruining you months ago."
You felt like you couldn’t breathe. Holy shit.
"I– was too scared–" You gagged out. Just the thought of Vox ruining you, his cock buried in you, almost made you jerk your hips against him. Almost. Vox let out a dark, delighted laugh at your reactions. He lived for this. Well, sort of.
"Too scared?" he repeated, mockingly sympathetic even as his fingers pinched your nipple just hard enough to make you wriggle and flail in pleasure. "Aw, poor baby. Didn’t think you could handle me?"
His other palm began its descent down your stomach, slow and deliberate. He knew what he wanted. What you wanted. It was obvious from the start. It was the only reason he’d worked up the balls to offer to show you– and he’d half shit himself doing it. He’d caught you staring. He’d caught you thinking too hard. He’d caught you moaning his name one night.
His fingertips reached their goal, skimming the blue waistband of your pajama pants– his color– baiting, testing.
"Guess what?" he whispered breathlessly, lips now brushing your jaw. "You can’t."
And then his fingers dipped lower, slipping beneath the fabric, and–
"Fuck– look at you," he groaned, his voice cracking with interference as he felt just how soaked you were. "All this time pretending you didn’t want me– I barely touched you, and now here you are, dripping for me…" His thumb circled your clit roughly, light electricity buzzing against your skin there, and he grinned maliciously at the way your whole body jerked in response.
“How badly do you need me, doll? How badly?” He demanded, his breath hot against your sweat slick face.
“I– I need you to fuck me, Vox! Oh, please, ‘till I cum–” You moaned shamefully. Christ, you sounded like a bitch. You felt worthless. It was the first time in your afterlife you’d resorted to whining. But you couldn’t be bothered to dwell on that as your own fingers dug holes into his shoulders, trying to ground yourself at the overwhelming sensations he was causing. He was right. You wouldn’t be able to keep up with him.
Quickly, in a burst of static, Vox’s whole body somewhat shuddered. It was pure desire as your words tore through him like live wire. His breathing came in ragged, rough bursts, his grip so deadly he might actually break you if he didn't have you right the fuck now.
"Shit– oh, Satan–" he coughed out, voice shattered beyond recognition as he shoved your pajama pants down your thighs in one hasty motion. His fingers curled inside you without warning, deep and ruthless, his thumb pressing down on your clit with just enough of a zap to make your vision white out. His thrusts were relentless, his palm grinding against you with every movement. Too much, too fast, just like he knew you needed.
Anyone that said he didn’t know how to please a woman was a fucking liar.
"Say it again," he hissed, his left hand flying up to fist in your hair again, forcing you to look at him– at the way his eyes filled with filthy desperation. "Say you want me to fuck you. Say you want me to make you cum."
"Or I'll stop," he lied again, grinning down at you even as his own hips stuttered helplessly against yours. "I'll stop, you know I will."
"D–Dont stop! Make me cum, please!" You cried out, now moving your hips in a sort of rhythm where the thrusts of Vox’s digits would meet you halfway. The somehow still sane part of yourself told you this was a horrible situation to be in. Well, every part of you knew that, but half of you chose not to listen.
This was your first time doing anything related to sex. You’d been a virgin your entire life and afterlife… until now. Well, technically not yet. It was insane to imagine him to be the one inside you. To finally break that barrier. The fact that it was Vox with his fingers currently up your cunt– the one demon you went to for all your problems, who you celebrated all your victories with, who you went to to settle all your disputes– well, it sort of made sense. What you couldn’t make sense of was how into this Vox was. Like he’d been craving this.
But you ruled that you could figure that part out later, because you felt like you were going to cum any second. The pace, the electricity, the power– it was so overwhelming.
"I– Vox!"
A snarl came from him, almost animalistic as your hips met his hand for the thirtieth time and your voice broke around his name. His screen was snagging wildly as he humped you with his fingers faster, harder, the tip of his thumb circling your clit in tight, punishing little circles.
"That's it– Christ– that's it," he rasped through the haze of his own frenzy. "Come on, doll, let me feel it!" His teeth sank into your shoulder, a sharp, claiming bite as his fingers curled perfectly inside you, hitting that spot, electric jolts crackling beautifully against your sloppy skin.
And then–
You shattered.
Your back arched violently, an ugly cry tearing from your throat as you came hard around him– clenching so tight around his digits that he actually groaned at the feeling. You panted, glistening tears welling up in your eyes as you clutched onto his chest. He didn’t let up for a second, though, fucking you through your orgasm until you were twitching and gasping– oversensitive and ruined. Just like he’d always wanted. Only then did he finally pull his drenched fingers out of you, panting, his expression glimmering with something funnily close to awe as he watched you fall apart on top of him.
"...Yeah," he breathed. "You're– Heavens above, you're perfect."
And then, because he couldn’t help himself, he smirked and dragged his cum covered fingers across your lower lip.
He watched you lick them clean.
– – – – – –
It took you a good minute to come down from that ethereal high. Vox was calm underneath you, rubbing soothing circles on your sweat ridden lower back. You’d never thought sex could feel that good– and that wasn’t even sex. That was…
Really, what the Hell was that? How did you manage to just completely give up? In front of Vox? You would never be able to live this down. Ever. He’d bring it up in every future argument, just to remind you. Why– why did you just let him do that? Even still, you couldn't help but run your tongue over your bottom lip a second time. His fingers tasted good. Or, rather, you tasted good.
"That– was not a kiss. Just a kiss." You mumbled against his chest.
"Oh, really?" he purred. “Here, I’ll let you get me back. How does that sound?” Vox spoke to you as if you were a child, but his actions had a stark contrast as his hand slid greedily down your spine, pulling you tight against him again. Hard enough that you could feel how hard he still was.
"You get to decide if you wanna keep pretending…"
A slow, deliberate grind of his hips.
"...or if you wanna fuck me back."
The problem wasn’t that you didn’t want him to fuck you, oh, you knew you wanted him to. The problem was how embarrassing it was to acknowledge you didn't know exactly how to handle yourself. He was letting you take control, and you had no idea where to start. Fast? Rough? An unsure, complicated expression washed over your shimmery features.
"I, uhm…"
Vox caught that hesitance instantly, his own smirk softening just a fraction. His eyes flickered from yours to your lips as he searched your face, his gaze narrowing with a strange blend of curiosity and concern.
"You… what?" he prompted, his fingers finding your chin again, gently tilting your head up. He did care about you. How you felt. He’d find ways to show that. "Nervous or something?"
But you didn’t catch the memo. Instead, you swallowed, finding yourself suddenly annoyed. Sure, he'd just finger fucked you senseless, but not senseless enough to be humiliated. Though his physical actions were calming, his words were condescending. And you didn’t need his sarcasm right now.
"I’m a virgin. I thought you knew that, since you always piss me off about it–" You started, but you were cut off before you could finish your outburst.
Vox let out an amused scoff, his thumb brushing over your lips absentmindedly, as if to shush you. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth, but the intensity in his eyes had softened. He seemed almost… thoughtful, now. Interested.
"Yeah, I guess I knew that…" he mused, his eyes never leaving yours. "But you never told me officially, y'know?” He tilted his screen, still studying you carefully. There was a sort of suspenseful silence between you two.
"So… you’ve never… been with anyone before?"
“That’s what virgin means, doesn’t it?” You shot him down, your attitude making a quick return. Really, you were just trying to hide the burning red blush on your face and work your ego back up. Vox watched you intently, his gaze sharp and observant as he took in your reaction, thinking about every little detail and change in your expression. He wanted to read you. He could practically taste the mixture of embarrassment and uncertainty radiating off of you in waves, and god, did it make him feel a bit sadistic. His smirk shifted into something a little more teasing, a little more calculated. Your vulnerability had him all kinds of intrigued.
"So… never?"
Was he going to let this go? You looked hurriedly around the room, trying to find an easy way to switch the subject. Vox’s grip on your chin moved to cup the side of your face, a finger behind your ear as he leaned in, his voice dropping into a low, almost confidential pitch.
"Dollface," he murmured, his tone laced with satisfaction, "are you really telling me I’m about to become your first… everything?" His screen flashed again, betraying a trace of pride before he grinned. He’d wanted to ruin you for so long. He’d been craving you for years. And when he finally got to fulfill his wildest fantasies, he’d found out you were a virgin. Motherfucker.
To know he was the first person to make you cum– to touch you like he had and will– Jesus, it made him buck against you. He’d never look at anyone else. You’d never look at anyone else.
"Because if so, fuck–" His empty hand slid down your side like he owned you after that revelation. He pulled you flush against him again, letting you feel exactly how wet and hard you made him with a press of his arousal through his stained pants. “–you’re so fucking hot. Guess that means I have to teach you everything, yeah?”
Your breath hitched for the twentieth time this evening as you tried to think of something rational to say to his words along with his cock against your thigh. You could clearly see how you being a virgin affected him. It wasn’t an absurd thought– this being your first experience turned you on just as much.
“I mean– y–yes… but not everything… you already…" An explanation wasn’t needed. Vox understood exactly what you were trying to say. You were checking him. Telling him he was doing a good job so far. Asking him to continue. He could play into this. Oh, he’d make sure you learned everything there was to know. He dragged his tongue lightly down your neck again, while nipping just hard enough to make you shiver before pulling back to smirk at you, his gaze heavy with dark amusement.
"Mmm… shame.” His palm slithered down to your thigh, squeezing harshly before dipping back between your legs, though he didn’t push, only mocking you as his fingertips brushed over your still sensitive bud. "Guess that means we have a lot left to cover," he chuckled, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. You let a whimper slip. Jesus, what was happening? Maybe it was the lust and pure pleasure clouding your judgement, but you felt like you were going to drown without him. Every touch was like fresh air.
“I want you.” You weren’t sure where the sudden urge to tell him that came from, but it certainly got a reaction.
Vox’s entire screen lit up with raw, unbridled triumph, his breath ragged as he stared down at you, eyes burning with something wild. Something real and possessive. Hypnotic.
"Shit," he gritted out, voice ruined. "Say it again." His palm landed on your forehead, tilting your head back so you’d stare at the ceiling as his other hand made quick work of his pants– shoving them down just enough to free himself, thick and already leaking against his stomach. He didn’t even bother hiding how desperate he was. How much the sight of you begging and wrecked and his was destroying him.
"Tell me exactly what you want," he demanded, grinding the length of himself against your soaked core, his pointy teeth gritted at the feel of the friction. "Or I swear to everything holy–” His hips jerked forward, the head of his cock catching against your entrance. So close, but not giving you what you wanted. Not yet.
How much more embarrassment did you need to endure before he finally, properly fucked you? First the interrogating, then your own wanton moaning– Christ. It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter. You just– you needed him more than you wanted to ever disclose.
"Please, Vox, I need you–” you hiccuped, “–in me, oh god.."
Vox snarled. Genuinely snarled. It was a raw, carnivorous sound that ripped from his chest as your words destroyed whatever last shred of restraint he had left. His grip on your hips was brutal as he yanked you forward, burying himself inside you in one rough, perfect thrust.
"FUCK–" His screen convulsed violently, his entire body shuddering as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours. "Jesus– ngh– you’re so tight–" He didn’t give you a single second to adjust as he started pounding ruthlessly into you: hard, deep, relentless– every snap of his hips hitting that perfect spot inside you that had you seeing Heaven itself. His breath came in rough, incomplete bursts, his voice cracking with static interference as he screwed you through your own trembling whimpers.
"That’s it– take it." he growled, mouth crashing onto yours, swallowing every broken, pained groan you made as his cock stretched you open. "Fuck, fuck, you feel so good–" His hands slid up to grip your throat. Not tightly, just possessively, forcing you to look at him as he drove into you over and over, your name a ragged chant on his lips.
"M-Mine," he gasped, his thrusts turning erratic, needy. "Say it– say you’re mine."
You'd never felt so full.
Hurt began to mix with pleasure as he continuously smashed against your sweet spot, stretching you and feeling every part of you. You wept, babbling anything but incoherent whimpers and moans as drool began to run down the side of your chin. It was so filthy to feel yourself bouncing on top of him.
"Y–mmfffuck.. y–ours…" You slurred. Vox’s screen exploded into a crazy hit of static– a glitching, shuddering mess as your soiled, sniffled confession tore through him like a motherfucking bullet. His grip on your throat tightened just enough to make your breathing pause as his right hand slammed your hips down onto him as he smashed up into you with a ragged, broken groan.
"Christ–" His voice was pure distortion, raw and warped beyond recognition. "Say it again, say it louder–" If his thrusts weren’t brutal enough, they turned predatory, chasing his own release at this point, chasing the way your walls fluttered around him, milking him like you couldn’t get enough. His teeth sank into your shoulder hard enough to leave a mark while he growled against your skin.
"Gonna– fill you up–" His pelvis stuttered, dick pulsing inside you as he came with a quaky, staticky snarl, spilling into you in hot, endless ropes, his hold on you bruising as he rode out his orgasm. You completely sunk down onto him at the feel of his cum inside you, painting you white. Oh, god, he was so right. You'd been seriously missing out. And when your own climax hit, your body clenched around him with a sob– too weak to speak. It was your second orgasm now, and you simply failed to function. You spasmed, jittered, and realized you hadn’t been breathing as you took a colossal gasp of air, eyes rolling far back into your skull. Vox groaned noisily as he felt you clench around him, your cunt squeezing every last drop out of him. His large hands scrambled up to hold steady as you went limp, your body trembling through the aftershocks, your breath coming in ragged little gasps.
He crashed his mouth back onto yours– this time softer, slower, sweet– a stark contrast to the rough way he’d just destroyed you. His blue tongue dragged lazily against yours, teasing, tasting, absolutely loving the way you sounded when you came. He owned every last whimper you tried to stifle, and when he finally pulled back, his grin was downright sinful.
"Mmh, look at you," he murmured, voice hoarse as he brushed sweaty strands of hair from your forehead. "Totally ruined. And all because of me," he teased, nipping at your swollen bottom lip. His grin widened because you still couldn’t form words, too fucked out to do anything but slump against him.
He pressed a slower, softer, almost sweet kiss to your lips before gathering you against his chest, his arms wrapping around you in a lazy, satisfied hold.
"Merry fucking Christmas, Y/N."