Archive of Our Own

The rain outside traced lazy patterns across the window, soft and rhythmic, a gentle percussion that mingled with the low hum of the TV and the sound of Zayne’s heartbeat, steady beneath her cheek. He was warm under the blanket, wearing just a long-sleeved sleep shirt and loose pants, hair still a little damp from his post-shower routine, the fresh scent of cedar and antiseptic clinging to his skin.

Her legs were tangled with his on the couch, his arm draped lazily over her shoulder as they watched some documentary neither of them had really been paying attention to for the last half hour. She could feel the faint flutter of his fingers over her arm, absently stroking her skin in idle patterns.

It was the kind of evening that made everything feel soft and safe.

“You remember the chocolates?” she asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.

Zayne let out a soft laugh through his nose. “How could I forget?” He tilted his head, eyes narrowing a little in amused suspicion.

“You mean the ones you claimed were 'just a little sweet gift' from that new place in the city? The ones you accidentally didn’t mention were spiked with way more alcohol than they had any right to be?”

“I didn’t know your tolerance was so low!” she defended, grinning, not sorry at all. “Not my fault you turned into a flushed, cocky, clingy mess after so little alcohol.”

Zayne groaned dramatically, hiding his face against the top of her head. “Don’t remind me.”

“But it was cute,” she teased, shifting so she could look up at him. “You were so bold. Handsy. Couldn’t stop kissing me.”

His ears turned a little red at that, and she bit her lip, enjoying how rare it was to see him flustered.

“It was.. different,” she added, more quietly now. “Seeing you like that.”

He looked down at her, expression softening. “Was it too much?”

“No,” she answered immediately. “It was.. kind of hot, honestly. You always hold back so much, keep yourself so tightly in check. Seeing you a little off balance like that.. it was thrilling. You still made sure I was okay, even when you were clearly not in control.”

Zayne brushed his fingers through her hair. “That’s because your safety is never optional.”

“I know.”

She hesitated then, pressing her face briefly against his warm chest, listening to the even beat of his heart. Then, after a beat, she said it, quiet, but clear.

“I’ve been thinking about what it would be like if we reversed it.”

Zayne stilled for a second. “Reversed?”

“If I were the one who wasn’t fully in control,” she explained, lifting her gaze to meet his. “If I were tipsy, or.. drunk, and you, did things to me. Things I clearly wanted, but maybe couldn’t articulate fully in the moment.”

Zayne’s expression flickered, neutral at first, processing, then a subtle shift into something darker, more focused. He didn’t speak, letting her continue.

“I want you to pretend like you're taking advantage of me. Not actually hurting me, never that. Just..” she searched for the words, cheeks warming, “..you being in control. Me being messy. Needy. And you using that. Not waiting for me to be polite or put together. Just taking what you want, because you know I want it, even if I’m too far gone to say it right.”

Zayne’s fingers tightened slightly on her waist.

She took a breath. “It’s a fantasy. One where I’m vulnerable. A little out of it. Where I don’t have to be composed or give permission for every little thing because I’ve already told you in advance that I want this. That I trust you to know where the lines are. To take care of me and ruin me.”

Zayne exhaled slowly. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, calm, but there was tension coiled beneath it.

“You’re asking me to pretend that you’re intoxicated.. and act on it. That you want to be embarrassed. Maybe teased. Used.”

She nodded, heart racing.

His eyes searched hers. “How far are you imagining this going?”

“All the way,” she admitted. “I want to feel out of control. I want you to take me apart and make me beg for more, even if I’m slurring and squirming. I want to feel helpless but safe. Like I’m at your mercy.”

There was a long silence. Zayne’s thumb brushed over her cheekbone, gaze unreadable now.

“When?” he asked simply.

She blinked. “You’d do it?”

His smile was slow. Controlled. Dangerous in the most delicious way.

“If that is something you want to explore?” he leaned down, lips brushing her ear. “Then yes. I’ll give you exactly what you’re asking for. I’ll get you drunk and make you my mess.”

Her breath hitched, thighs clenching.

~♡~

The glass in her hand was empty now. She wasn’t sure when that had happened. Her lips still tingled faintly with the taste, some expensive liqueur Zayne had measured out for her with meticulous care. The rest of the room was starting to blur slightly at the edges, the way it did when everything slowed down just a little too much. Her body was warm. Flushed. Loose in a way that made sitting up feel like an effort and standing, well..

She pushed up from the couch. Bad idea. Her knees wobbled almost immediately, sending her staggering one step to the side, foot slipping slightly on the carpet.

Zayne was there before she could fall.

Long fingers wrapped around her upper arm, not roughly, but firmly. His other hand came to rest at the small of her back, steadying her as her weight leaned helplessly into his chest.

“Well,” he said coolly, voice sliding right past her ear, “aren’t we just a graceful little thing tonight?”

She blinked up at him, giggling softly before trying to brush it off with a sheepish grin.

“M’fine. Just stood up too fast-”

“Oh, of course,” he cut her off with a smirk, head tilting. “I’m sure that had nothing to do with the fact that you’re drunk off your ass and can’t even walk in a straight line.”

The heat in her chest bloomed at his unusual crude demeanor.

“I can walk,” she insisted, standing straighter on instinct, only to sway again, slightly, but enough.

Zayne’s fingers tightened just a touch at her waist. His gaze dragged over her slowly, deliberately, hazel eyes settling on her legs like he was watching for the next misstep.

“Is that so?” he murmured. “Maybe I should test that. Make you walk from one end of the room to the other. Let’s see how long it takes before you trip and fall flat on your face.”

Her thighs clenched at the sheer cruelty in his tone and how casually it rolled off his tongue.

She swallowed. “That’s- mean..”

“Is it?” He leaned down, lips ghosting the shell of her ear. “I thought you could walk? Besides, you asked for this, sweetheart. So don’t go acting shocked when I make you feel exactly how you begged to feel.”

The flush rose all the way to her ears. Her head felt too light. She tried to say something, anything, but the words tangled on her tongue.

“I just.. I mean, maybe I could if you- if you just, um..”

She trailed off, lost in the swirl of alcohol, heat, and Zayne’s presence.

He stared at her flatly.

“I’m sorry, was that a sentence?” he asked, deadpan.

She flushed harder, trying again. “No, I meant- if I could maybe just-”

He cut her off with a disbelieving scoff, straightening up and letting go of her waist with deliberate slowness.

“Love,” he said, tone laced with mock, “you can’t even form a thought, can you? Slurring like that.. I bet you don’t even remember what you were about to say.”

She felt her knees weaken again, this time for an entirely different reason. Her core ached. The humiliation curled deliciously around her, dragging her deeper into that intoxicating haze where shame and arousal were indistinguishable.

Zayne gave her one last glance before turning his back on her, walking a few steps away as if he were done with her altogether. Her breath hitched, only for him to stop halfway and speak over his shoulder.

“Come here.”

She blinked. “Wha-?”

“Come. Here.”

His voice was calm, but each word landed like a command. Slower now. Measured. “Let’s see if your drunk little legs still work. Crawl, if you have to. I don’t care. Just don’t trip over yourself again.”

A pause, and then the edge slipped in,quiet, cutting.

“Or maybe I’ll have to punish you for that, too.”

She swallowed, the words slicing straight down her spine like cold lightning.

Her body moved before her brain caught up, reacting on instinct. She shifted forward, the room tilting and suddenly the plush rug was beneath her palms, far too soft and warm against skin that felt hypersensitive. Every nerve buzzed, like her whole body was half a second behind itself.

Her limbs were uncoordinated, syrup-slow. Each movement was a loose, uncertain shuffle, knees slipping across the carpet, hands trembling under her weight. She blinked through the haze, vision swimming, breath catching in her throat.

It wasn’t until she’d crawled halfway across the room that the awareness hit her, what she must look like. On all fours. Hair tangled. Skirt riding up. Eyes glazed and mouth parted as she dragged herself forward like a needy, drunk little thing trying to earn her boyfriend’s attention.

And Zayne?

He said nothing.

He just watched her.

He stood at the far end of the room, still half in shadow, tall and composed in the soft amber light. One hand in his pocket. The other resting loose at his side. His dark button up hugged the sculpted lines of his frame, sleeves rolled just enough to show the tension in his forearms. The contrast between the cold control of his stance and the heat in his gaze was suffocating.

His expression was impossible to read, with the way her vision kept swimming, dark eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating. Lips tilted in a faint smile that wasn’t soft or amused, just.. interested. Analytical. Like she was the subject of some beautifully depraved experiment, and he was watching to see how far she'd go before breaking.

Arriving at his feet, still crouched on all fours, she glanced up at him. His silhouette blurred, framed by the golden glow of the bedside lamp, hair slightly tousled, shadow under his jaw. The glint in his eyes was cold steel.

“Well,” Zayne said at last, voice dipping just enough to slide under her skin. “Aren’t you obedient.”

The weight of his stare was crushing, impossible to ignore. It made her skin prickle with self-conscious heat, her cheeks flushed already from the alcohol, now burning with embarrassment.

When she finally reached him, she sat back on her heels, blinking up at him with glassy eyes and parted lips. Her hair was mussed, breath a little ragged, chest rising and falling under her loose top.

Zayne crouched in front of her slowly, tilting his head to the side, like he was studying her.

“Baby,” he murmured, voice soft and syrupy, “look at you.”

His fingers came to rest on her cheek, featherlight, brushing her flushed skin with a tenderness that made her shiver.

“Such a good girl,” he praised, but the next words came with a smirk. “Even if you had to crawl like a drunk little mess to get here.”

Her breath caught.

“But you made it, didn’t you?” he added, gently stroking her jaw with the back of his fingers. “Such a good little thing.. even when your legs barely work.”

She swallowed, leaning instinctively into his touch, only for him to slide his hand under her chin and lift her face higher.

“God, you're so out of it,” he muttered, more to himself now. “Eyes glazed, mouth open like you’re already begging, and we haven’t even started yet.”

Her thighs squeezed together.

Zayne’s gaze flicked downward, and he reached to pull her up to her feet, slowly, carefully, hands supporting her just enough to give her balance. She stumbled slightly and pressed into him out of instinct.

He caught her easily.

“Careful, darling,” he whispered against her hair, his voice warm again, lips brushing her temple. “Wouldn’t want you falling again and bruising those pretty knees.”

She whimpered, the sound embarrassingly needy.

Zayne guided her back, walking her in slow steps across the room to the bed. Her body swayed with every motion, barely keeping pace, but he was steady. His presence unshakeable. A constant.

When he pushed her gently onto the mattress, she fell back with a breathless gasp, limbs sprawling in loose, open angles, one leg bent awkwardly, skirt twisted.

He stood at the edge of the bed and looked down at her.

“You really can’t hold yourself together at all, can you?” he said, mock pity coating every syllable. “All loose and sloppy already.. I bet your thighs are sticky and soaked, aren’t they?”

She didn’t answer, couldn’t, not with how dizzy she felt from the rush of it all.

Zayne leaned forward, gripping her knees and spreading them apart with almost clinical precision, like opening a patient file. He watched as she squirmed, fully exposed now beneath her clothes, flushed and wet.

“Oh, baby,” he sighed, voice deep and dripping with amusement. “You really are a mess.”

She whined, biting her lip.

“You’re dripping all over yourself. You're so loose down here.. I bet you won't even be able to hold me in properly. You’ll just-"

He pressed a thumb lightly over her clothed center, dragging it through the soaked fabric, grinning when her hips jerked.

“-squish around me. Sloppy and wet. Just like the rest of you.”

She moaned, mortified at how much she liked hearing it.

“You like that?” he taunted gently. “Being my pathetic little drunk thing?”

Her nod was shaky, eyes dazed.

Zayne’s voice dipped again, a little softer now, more intimate.

“You’re so good for me, love. Letting me see you like this. Letting me have you like this. I’ll take care of everything.. All you have to do is lie back and fall apart for me.”

Then he leaned down and kissed her, slow, hot, commanding. She sluggishly tried to kiss back, her mouth not cooperating. His hand slipped between her thighs again, and this time, there was no teasing.

The mattress dipped as Zayne climbed onto it, his knees bracketing her hips, palms braced on either side of her head. For a moment he just hovered there, watching her with a clinical kind of focus, his eyes dark and sharp but his hands still steady as always.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Already shaking, and I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

He reached down with one hand, hooking two fingers beneath the thin strip of her panties. With one practiced tug, he dragged the damp fabric aside, baring her slick heat to the cool air.

Her breath hitched, her hips twitching up reflexively into the sudden exposure.

Zayne chuckled low in his throat. “So wet, love. Sloppy little thing, dripping like this for me. You’re begging and you don’t even know how to form the words.”

He pressed the pads of his fingers against her, dragging them slowly through her wetness until they slipped inside with obscene ease. Her walls fluttered weakly around him, hot and slick, her hips jerking at the sudden intrusion.

“Ah- Zay- Zay-” she tried, voice breaking, the sound more whimper than word.

“What’s that?” he taunted softly, curling his fingers just enough to make her choke on a moan. “Trying to say my name? Can’t even get it out, can you, darling?”

Her eyes fluttered closed, mouth opening in a trembling, incoherent plea. She tried again, but it came out as a garbled sound, a half-slurred “Z- ah- ” that dissolved into a sob when his thumb brushed her clit.

Zayne’s grin was sharp and knowing.

“Pathetic little drunk girl,” he murmured, fingers working a little faster now, deliberate, filling her, stretching her. “Can’t even say what you want, but your body’s telling me everything. You’re clenching around me like you’ve been waiting all night for this.”

He used his free hand to tug at her top, pushing the fabric up in slow, measured movements until it bunched under her arms. Her breasts spilled free, nipples already stiff, the cool air making her arch involuntarily.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, voice dipping into that softer register that always made her heart stutter even in the middle of his cruelty. “Such perfect tits. Look at you, all exposed, trembling, drooling for me. You’re beautiful like this. 

His thumb rolled over her clit again, harder this time, and her back bowed, a ragged cry ripping out of her throat. She reached up blindly, fingers clutching at his arm for balance, nails digging in as her hips tried to match his rhythm but failed, too drunk, too loose.

Her babbling got worse, incoherent little whimpers and slurred fragments of his name, begging noises without shape.

“Zayne- please- ah-”

“What, love?” he pressed, voice mock-patient as his fingers pushed deeper, curling just right. “Use your words. Oh wait-” he smirked, “you can’t.”

The humiliation sent another sharp jolt through her, her body trembling under him, her thighs trembling open wider as if to offer him more.

Zayne bent down, lips brushing the corner of her mouth as he whispered, “That’s okay, baby. You don’t have to think. You don’t have to talk. Just let me do it. Let me make you come apart.”

His fingers twisted inside her, thumb circling her clit in a slow, devastating pattern, and she let out a high, broken sound that was nothing like a word at all.

Zayne smiled against her cheek. “Good girl,” he murmured. “That’s it. Just my messy little darling, falling apart on my fingers.”

She was right on the edge. Her body drawn so tight she couldn’t breathe, every nerve straining, a single flick away from snapping.

Zayne’s fingers were curling inside her, his thumb rubbing hard and fast, and her whole body trembled with the desperate, instinctual need to tip over.

But then he stopped.

Everything halted at once. Fingers sliding out of her wet heat with a lewd, squelching sound. Thumb leaving her swollen clit untouched.

She gasped like she'd been punched in the stomach, body convulsing with the sudden absence of friction.

“No- no, Zay-” she babbled, hips twitching upward, chasing what was already gone. “Please- need- need to-"

He silenced her with a laugh, low and cruel.

“Oh, baby,” he said mockingly, wiping his fingers casually on the inside of her trembling thigh. “You thought I was gonna let you cum like that? Just fall apart all over my hand like a pathetic little drunk whore?”

She whimpered, flushed from chest to cheekbones, her thighs still quivering open and dripping.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart,” he murmured, reaching down and hooking his fingers into the waistband of her panties. “You’re gonna wait. You don’t get to cum until I say so.”

With one fluid motion, he peeled the soaked fabric down her legs and off, tossing them aside. The air hit her again, her slick folds exposed beneath the rucked-up skirt.

He didn’t even bother removing it, left it bunched around her hips, just like her top still gathered under her arms, baring her tits while the rest of her looked like a drunk, fucked-out mess.

Zayne moved away briefly, just far enough for her blurred vision to lose him. The room spun when she turned her head, too heavy to focus. Her body burned with heat and denial, her core clenching uselessly around nothing.

Then she heard it.

Click.

The sharp, metallic sound of his belt unfastening.

Her breath hitched.

Zzzzzzip.

She couldn’t see him, but she could hear everything, the quiet shift of fabric, the unmistakable sound of him lowering his pants.

The slow, wet sound of him stroking himself.

She moaned at the sound alone, body reacting like it had been touched. Her hips bucked weakly into the air, trying to find something that wasn’t there.

“Oh, you like that?” Zayne drawled. His voice was thicker now. Lower. “Lying there all spread out and drunk, listening to me get hard because of you?”

She tried to respond, but it came out as a slurred, needy whimper of his name.

“You can’t see, can you?” he murmured, amused. “Eyes all glassy. You probably don’t even know what’s happening anymore.”

Then he was there again, the heat of him pressing between her thighs, one strong hand guiding her hips into place. The blunt head of his cock nudged against her folds, slick with her arousal.

“Don’t worry, love,” he whispered darkly, positioning himself. “I’ll remind you exactly what’s going on.”

He pushed in. Slow. Deep.

Her head fell back with a cry, the stretch was overwhelming, the sudden fullness too much all at once. Her body, still pliant and drunk from the liqueur and from the high of being edged, fluttered around him, far too wet to offer resistance.

Zayne groaned low at the feeling. “Oh.. you really are looser like this. Can’t hold me at all, baby.”

He sank in fully, hips flush against hers, and she whimpered at how full she felt, how sloppy it was, slick noises filling the room with every shift of his hips.

“I can feel it,” he muttered, breath heavy, one hand gripping her thigh hard. “Every time I pull back, your cunt tries to suck me in again. Like you don’t know what to do without me inside you.”

Her hands fisted the sheets, her mouth open in a silent cry, eyes glazed and unfocused. The pleasure was too much. Too sharp. It turned the haze in her head to something heavier, thicker.

She felt even more drunk now, not just from the alcohol, but from him. From the overwhelming fullness. The rhythm he set. The filthy words in her ear, so unlike how he usually speaks.

“Zay- ngh.. Please..”

“Shhh,” he breathed, thrusting into her again, slow and deep. “You don’t need to say anything, baby. Just lie there and let me use you.”

He rolled his hips again, and she sobbed, from the heat, from the stretch, from how completely she’d been taken apart.

Time didn’t feel real anymore.

Her thoughts floated in slow, syrupy loops, drifting from the sound of her own breathing to the slick wet noise of him inside her, to the heat of her body flushed and open, back to the sound of Zayne’s voice, his groans, deep, low, and vibrating straight through her bones.

She didn’t know how long he’d been fucking her.

Minutes? Hours? It didn’t matter. All that existed anymore was the throb of him inside her, the way his cock pushed in so deeply and completely, again and again, slow and controlled, like he had all the time in the world to ruin her.

He wasn’t speeding up.

But with her mind swimming, breath catching, her head spinning in drunken spirals, she wasn’t even sure. Was he dragging it out on purpose? Or was her perception so wrecked she only thought he hadn’t changed pace?

The room was too bright, or maybe too dark. She couldn’t tell. Blurry shapes floated in her vision, ceiling lights, the vague outline of his shoulders above her, her own fingers twitching on the sheets like they didn’t belong to her.

Up and down didn’t make sense anymore.

The only thing she could feel with absolute certainty was the hard, pulsing weight of him moving inside her.

“Z-Zay- Zayne..”

Her voice broke again, slurring around his name like it was the only word she remembered.

He didn’t respond with words, just a slow, deep groan that punched straight into her core.

Fuck. That sound. That voice, heavy and raw and thick with effort.

It was hotter than anything.

Hotter than the stretch of his cock. Hotter than the slick heat between her thighs. Hotter than the way he started rolling his hips just a little deeper, dragging out every withdrawal, letting her feel the exact second the ridge of his head passed over her bundle of nerves.

“Feel that, baby?” he murmured, his voice rough, worn thin by restraint. “Feel how fucking deep I am in this sloppy little cunt?”

She whimpered, fingers clutching at nothing, the words too much, too filthy, too perfect.

Then his hands were on her again.

They slid up from her waist, over the curve of her ribcage, to her breasts, still exposed, the top of her shirt bunched beneath her arms, holding them up awkwardly, just enough for him to see and touch her mounds.

He cupped one breast, kneading the soft flesh slowly, fingers squeezing hard enough to make her twitch.

Then he pinched.

Sharp and sudden.

Her hips jerked, her walls fluttering around him, the dual sensations of penetration and nipple stimulation scrambling her brain.

She couldn’t keep up. Couldn’t process it.

His cock pulsing inside her.
His fingers twisting at her nipple.
His voice, god, his voice, groaning curses just under his breath.

“You’re so tight when you do that,” he muttered, giving another rough thrust that made her cry out. “Baby, you’re squeezing me so hard- you’re gonna milk me before I even let you cum.”

She didn’t even care. She’d let him cum inside her a hundred times if he wanted. She just needed something.

Needed more.

But she couldn’t ask for it. Couldn’t think straight enough to form the words.

All she could do was moan and twitch under him, drowning in the rhythm of his hips, in the sound of his belt clinking faintly as it brushed against his pants with every deep stroke.

And Zayne just kept going. Unhurried. Consistent. Focused.

She didn’t even realize he was close until he groaned her name, low and rough, like it was torn from the deepest part of him, and his hips stuttered.

Then came the heat.

Thick, deep pulses inside her.

She gasped when she felt it, her walls fluttering instinctively around him, drawn tight by the slick pressure of his release.

“Hngh, yes-” she whimpered, legs twitching uselessly around his waist. “Zayne.. fuck-”

Her head fell back, eyes rolling up as the sensation consumed her.

There was nothing like it, nothing like the feeling of his cum filling her, deep and hot, spilling inside her messy, soaked walls while she was too drunk to hold onto the moment.

She wanted to hold him there forever.

And Zayne.. obliged.

He didn’t pull out.

He just leaned in, weight pressing into her deliciously, and began grinding into her, slow, lazy circles of his hips, letting his softening cock stir the mess inside her.

It was obscene.

She felt so full. So sticky. The slow drag of his sensitive length pressing her open again and again had her head spinning.

“Mmmh,” he hummed against her throat, his voice soft and mocking. “So messy, love. I just filled you up, and here you are, still twitching, still whining. You like being used like this, don’t you?”

She tried to answer, but it came out a helpless, broken moan.

“Aw, baby,” he cooed. “You’re dripping, you know that? I can feel it leaking around me. All warm and squishy down there. And you’re still trying to squeeze me like you want more.”

Her brain felt like it was made of fog. Everything swam. Her limbs were heavy, her mouth too dry. Her vision was completely blurred now, just vague shapes and shadows, with Zayne’s weight above her the only thing grounding her.

And then something cold touched her lips.

“Open,” he said simply.

She obeyed instinctively, mouth falling open with a soft gasp, just in time for the sting of burning liquid to hit her tongue.

It was sharp. Sticky. Bitter and sweet. Some of it went down her throat in a gulp. The rest spilled from the corners of her lips, dribbling down her chin and across her neck.

She coughed once, the heat blooming in her chest like fire.

Zayne chuckled darkly. “You can’t even swallow properly now, can you, baby?”

His fingers gathered some of the spilled liquor from her skin, smearing it across her cheek. “You’re a mess. Alcohol all over your face, cum dripping out of you, and you’re still not satisfied.”

She whined, babbling again. Her voice came out in high, needy fragments.

“Please- Zay- faster.. I need- please.. wanna cum.. please-”

He didn’t change his pace.

He just kept grinding into her, soft cock growing slowly harder inside her once more, twitching with every tiny pulse as he stirred his release deeper into her.

“You don’t get to ask for anything,” he said flatly, fingers curling around her throat, not choking, just resting there, reminding her who was in control. “You don’t get to cum until I say. You’re mine, and I’ll ruin you on my terms.”

She sobbed, hips twitching helplessly under him.

And still, that slow, relentless pace continued.

Wet, warm, dragging pleasure that never gave her enough.

And Zayne, now growing stiff inside her again, grinding with cruel intent, made sure she stayed right at the edge.

She felt it before she realized what was happening.

His cock, now fully hard again, twitched inside her once, then slid out.

The sudden emptiness was a shock, sharp and immediate.

She cried out at the loss, her whole body jerking toward him as if on instinct. Her hips chased the friction that had been taken from her, walls fluttering pathetically around nothing.

“No- Zay-” she whimpered, voice high and slurred, broken by sobs. “Please, don’t-”

Her hands fumbled at the sheets, trying to brace herself upright, trying to grab for him, but her limbs weren’t cooperating. The room spun wildly the second she sat up. Her balance tipped, and she collapsed forward with a soft, drunken gasp.

Everything spun: the lights, the ceiling, the heat on her skin, the empty ache between her legs.

And Zayne laughed.

It wasn’t cruel, not really. It was amused. Wicked.

“You poor little thing,” he chuckled darkly. “You don’t even know which way is up anymore, do you?”

She barely had time to react before he grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her toward the edge of the bed.

The sheets slid under her bare back. Her skirt rode up even higher. She let out a helpless squeal, hands scrabbling at the mattress, legs weak and uncooperative.

Her body half-stumbled, sliding downward, but just before she fully slipped off the edge, his hands caught her waist, strong and sure, hauling her up like she weighed nothing. In one clean motion, he flipped her, pressing her chest flat to the mattress and dragging her hips until she was face-down, her legs hanging limply off the edge.

The shift made her moan, overwhelmed by the sudden repositioning, her mind too fogged to track what was happening in real time. She turned her head to the side, cheek mashed against the sheets, hair tangled in her mouth, and whispered his name again, slurred, soft, desperate.

“Z-Zayne..”

He hummed in response, pressing a hand to the small of her back to hold her in place.

“God, look at this ass,” he murmured, running his other hand over the curve of her rear, fingers squeezing possessively. “All bent over for me like a good little drunk slut.”

He had never called her that before today, would never have if she hadn't asked for it. She whimpered, pressing her thighs together, but it did nothing to ease the ache.

Then, she felt him.

The blunt, hot pressure of him lining up again. The slow drag of his cockhead pushing through the mess of his earlier release, slipping between her folds, catching at her entrance.

Zayne sank in with one long, steady thrust.

She cried out.

Not from pain, from the sudden shock of being filled again from behind, deeper now, heavier, her legs dangling uselessly while he held her in place and split her open.

The position hit differently. The angle. The pressure. The weight of his body leaning into hers while she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe through the sheer fullness.

He groaned above her, a deep, unrestrained sound that made her clench around him involuntarily.

“God,” he moaned, grinding his hips flush against her ass. “You’re even tighter like this. Like your body doesn’t know what to do with me.”

She babbled in response, nothing coherent, just raw sounds and shattered syllables.

Zayne grabbed her waist with both hands now, holding her steady. His cock pulled back slightly, then drove forward again with a wet slap that echoed in the room.

“Drunk little hole,” he muttered, thrusting again. “So wet. So needy. You wanted it harder, didn’t you? From behind like this? Bent over and used until you can’t even see straight?”

She nodded frantically, unable to speak, tears prickling in the corners of her eyes. Her vision was already blurred, but now everything bled together, the burn of overstimulation, the intense stretch, the dizzying spin of her head and the fire in her belly.

And behind it all, the only constant was him.

His voice. His cock. His rhythm.

Slow, deep thrusts that made her feel like she was breaking apart all over again.

Exactly what she’d begged for.

Her body was limp beneath him, held up only by his grip and the way he kept her pinned against the edge of the mattress. Her thighs trembled with each thrust, legs splayed uselessly down toward the floor, toes dragging across the cool surface as she tried, and failed, to ground herself.

But Zayne didn’t give her a moment’s reprieve.

With a grunt, he tightened his grip on her hips, fingers digging into the soft curve of her flesh hard enough to most likely leave bruises. His palms flattened along the tops of her thighs, and he hauled her hips upward, angling her higher, closer to him, until the line of her body bent sharply, ass arched high while her face stayed buried in the sheets.

Then he started to move.
Not slow. Not gentle.
Hard. Relentless. Precise.

He slammed into her with a brutal rhythm, and her entire body jolted with each thrust. The wet, obscene sound of skin on skin echoed in the room, sharp and loud, punctuated only by her guttural moans and the desperate, ragged slap of his hips meeting hers.

Her hands clawed at the sheets, trying to hold onto something, anything, but she was already gone.

She couldn’t see, couldn’t think, couldn’t even breathe through the overwhelming way he used her body, each thrust hitting so deep she swore she could feel him in her chest. His cock pummeled into her, fast and hard, the thick length driving home again and again, dragging along soaked, hypersensitive walls that fluttered helplessly around him.

It was too much.

Every nerve inside her screamed. Her mouth hung open, drooling onto the sheets as sobs and high-pitched cries spilled out of her without meaning. There were no words left. Just noises. Just broken, breathless sounds.

And Zayne, grunting behind her, didn’t let up.

“You like this?” he growled, his voice low and cracked with effort. “Being used like a toy? Like a mindless little fuckdoll?”

She couldn’t answer, but she didn’t need to.

Her body answered for her.

Because then, without warning, her climax hit.

Not a build. Not a slow rise.

It slammed into her like a crash of thunder, stealing her breath and seizing every muscle. Her walls clenched down around him, tight and rhythmic, fluttering with wild contractions as her whole body arched and trembled, hips twitching uncontrollably.

A wail tore out of her, muffled against the mattress. Not graceful. Not controlled. It was animal, a ragged, broken sob of sensation as her pleasure tore through her faster than her drunk, sluggish mind could even register what was happening.

She didn’t understand what her body was doing.

Only that she couldn’t stop it.

“Yes, just like that,” he hissed through his teeth, voice rough and strangled. “ you’re milking me-”

Before she could even begin to recover, he moved again, shifting forward, wrapping both arms underneath her hips. His forearms pressed into her belly, his body folding over hers, bringing their centers tight together. She felt the full heat of him against her ass and back, his sweat-slicked chest against her spine.

His arms hugged her close, anchoring her trembling form against his as his rhythm changed, stuttering now, each thrust sharp and deep and desperate.

His breath was hot and ragged against her neck, teeth grazing the damp skin there as he groaned into her.

Every sound he made was fire.

Deep, raw, animalistic sounds that pushed her further into the haze, made her dizzy with the heat of it. She could feel his abs flexing against her lower back, the roll of his hips, the way his cock pulsed inside her as he chased his own orgasm, buried so deep that the air felt sucked out of her lungs.

His hips ground against hers, harder now, more erratic. She could feel him losing control, every part of him straining, and still, she clenched around him, her body instinctively wanting to draw out every last drop.

And when he came-
She felt it.

The throb. The hot pulse. The spill of thick heat again inside her, flooding her already messy, twitching cunt.

His groan was a growl this time, his mouth pressed against the curve of her neck as he spilled into her, one arm tightening across her stomach, holding her in place as his cock twitched again and again inside her still-clenching walls.

She whimpered for him, soft and hoarse and broken. Her body limp now, totally given over.

And Zayne stayed there, fully sheathed, breathing hard against her ear, body pressed against hers.

The stillness that followed was thick with heat and breath and sweat.

Zayne's weight lingered over her for another long moment, his length still resting deep inside, twitching faintly with aftershocks.

His arms stayed snug beneath her hips, torso flush against her back, his nose buried briefly in the damp curve of her neck as he caught his breath.

She was limp, her body trembling with afterglow and exhaustion, her mind still suspended in that warm, numb haze. The feeling of his release seeping out slowly between her thighs barely even registered, just another sensation to drown in.

Then, with a final exhale, Zayne slowly pulled out of her.

She whimpered at the emptiness again, even now, her walls fluttering weakly at the loss, already missing the heat and pressure that had been the only thing tethering her to this plane of existence.

“Up,” Zayne said simply, voice calm again, devoid of the earlier mocking tilt, but still commanding.

She tried. Really, she did. Her arms pushed uselessly against the bed, but the second she shifted her weight to her legs, they gave out underneath her. 

She stumbled forward, legs folding beneath her, and collapsed onto the floor like she’d forgotten how to walk, like a newborn deer dropped too soon into the world.

Zayne stood before her, shirt open at the front, pants hanging open around his hips, his cock now fully soft, slick with their combined mess, resting against his thigh.

He looked down at her, flushed, dazed, wrecked.

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“Clean me.”

She blinked slowly, head tipping up to look at him through her lashes. The request, no, the command, sparked something low in her belly, even through the fog.

She crawled toward him on shaky limbs, arms barely supporting her, thighs trembling with every inch forward.

Zayne’s hand came to rest on the back of her head, threading through her damp hair as she reached him. His fingers were warm and firm, cradling her skull as she opened her mouth and leaned in.

Her lips pressed against the soft skin of his cock, still sticky, still warm. The taste that met her tongue was salty and heady, sharp with the lingering burn of his release and her own slick still clinging to him.

She moaned softly, savoring it, drunk on more than just the alcohol now.

But she was clumsy. Uncoordinated.

Her tongue slipped at odd angles, movements sloppy and slow. She mouthed at him with devotion, but her body just wouldn’t follow through, she kept missing her target, her jaw trembling, her lips open too wide or not wide enough.

His fingers tightened in her hair, directing her mouth gently, but firmly, tilting her head, adjusting the angle, rocking his hips just enough to slide against her tongue as she sloppily licked and sucked.

He watched her for a long moment, lips parted slightly, breathing shallow.

“That’s it,” he murmured eventually, voice lower now. “Good girl. Even like this.. you’re perfect.”

When he finally pulled away, his cock slick and clean, her lips swollen and glistening, he gave her hair one last stroke, gentle now. Tender.

“All done,” he said softly. “You did so well for me, love.”

The change in his tone hit her harder than anything else had. The warmth. The way the mockery was gone, replaced with something real. Something steady.

She blinked up at him, swaying slightly where she knelt, and Zayne moved immediately, catching her with both arms, lifting her up with practiced ease.

“Hey,” he said gently, one hand bracing her lower back, the other holding her under her thighs. “Don’t pass out on me just yet.”

He shifted her against his chest, lifting her body in a subtle showcase of his strength, her legs hanging loosely over one of his arms, her head flopping forward against his collarbone.

Everything was spinning. Still warm. Still numb.

“You’re okay,” he murmured near her temple, already slipping back into boyfriend mode, calm, clinical, but never cold. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”