Not enough fucking, that's what.

You’re tired of watching yourself play dumb. You’re an unsanctioned mastermind variant without inhibitors, loose in the wild. You could be anyone. Do anything. Do anyone. And that’s before counting the bulletproof skin and superhuman everything else.

This isn't you.

Are you sure?

You feel your shoulders tense as you try to shake off the intrusive thoughts.

Mariana is still arranging the spice jars. As she stretches to reach the upper shelves, the hem of your oversized shirt rides up her butt, accentuating her alluring form. She's still not quite relaxed. Her eyes are on you, like she’s checking to see if you’re still safe, but the edge is gone.

She catches your gaze. Holds it.

You lean back in your chair, just enough to stretch, show a little muscle. Subtle, but practiced.

“You know,” you say casually, “I’ve been trying not to stare since I walked in. You make one hell of a silhouette in that shirt.”

Her eyes widen slightly. She's back on her feet. Her hands tug at the hem on instinct, pulling the oversized fabric down around her thighs.

“It's too big,” she mumbles.

You grin. “No.”

She flushes. A real, visible reaction. And it’s not fear. It’s surprise. Apprehension. Maybe even curiosity.
Mariana fiddles with her cup, not quite looking at you now. Not quite looking away either.

You want to lean in. Test the waters further. But something flickers behind her eyes. Grief, not far from the surface. That softness from the night before still clings to her like fog.

You back off.

“Hey,” you say, softer now. “Thanks for breakfast. Really.”

She shrugs. “Is nothing.”

“It’s not nothing to me.”

A pause. Then she stands, gathering plates, brushing past your shoulder as she heads toward the sink. And yeah, you notice the brush.

... And something shifts inside you.

Suddenly, your shoulders square a little. The line of your jaw shifts. You smile. Not Ryan’s smile, but something a little too confident, a little too sure of how this moment’s going to go.

You lean forward on your elbows, voice smooth, low. “You always cook like that for strangers, or am I special?”

She pauses. Her hands hover over the plates, eyes narrowing, unsure.

“Because if that was a thank-you meal, I’m gonna have to do more to make sure you keep thanking me. Every morning.”

She flushes. “I… I wanted to say thank you, only. I not expect anything.”

You tilt your head. “That’s a shame. You show up in my shirt, make breakfast, and stare at me like that. What’d you expect me to hope for?”

She stiffens. “I didn’t mean...”

You hold up both hands. “Hey, I’m not mad. Just sayin’.”

She looks down at the plates again, lips tightening. Her fingers twitch slightly where they grip the ceramic. But she doesn’t move away.

You lean in closer. “You’re real pretty, Mariana.”

She flinches at that, just barely. “You… change. You are different now.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just done pretending.”

She backs up half a step, towel clutched in her hand like a shield. “You… you are scaring me a little.”

You pause. The air hangs still for a second too long.

Then something inside loosens, guilt blooming behind your ribs like rot.

You take a step back. Hands raised. Voice gentler now. “Shit. Sorry. That was too much.”

She watches you carefully, still guarded. Her knuckles white around the towel.

“I don’t know what that was,” you mutter, rubbing the back of your neck. “I didn’t mean to—”

Oh no you don't. Not this time.

You grit your teeth. Jaw tight. This isn’t you, not really. You’re better than—

No. You're not.

Something shifts in your chest. Hot, electric. The leash slips. The smile that forms isn’t yours anymore.

One step forward. Two. She sees it in your eyes before you even reach her.

Mariana straightens, towel still clutched against her chest. “What are—?”

You close the distance and kiss her.

No warning. No hesitation.

Just heat.

Her breath catches in your mouth, soft and sharp at the same time. She stiffens beneath your touch, lips frozen, but she doesn’t pull away.

You don’t push harder. You don’t need to. You just wait.

And then, she exhales. Just a breath, like letting go of a thought she didn’t know she was holding. Her fingers twitch against your shirt.

She kisses you back.

It’s cautious. Slow. But it’s real.

Then she pulls away. Eyes wide. Lips parted. She stares at you like you just lit the floor on fire.

“I shouldn’t have…” she breathes.

You tilt your head. Smile slow. “But you did.”

Her hand hovers between you like she’s trying to push you away and can’t quite remember how.

“This is... not good.”

“No,” you say, still watching her lips. “But it felt good.”

Her cheeks are flushed. Her chest rises and falls like she’s just run a mile. You wait. Just long enough to see if she runs.

She doesn’t. You smash your lips to hers again, this time, much more urgently.

The sharp inhale when your fingers fist in her hair tells you everything you need to know. You drag her down slowly, the weight of your grip forcing her to her knees with deliberate control. Her breath hitches as her thighs hit the tile, palms instinctively bracing against your hips.

You don’t let her rush. Tracing the outline of your cock against her lips through your shorts, you watch her shudder.

"Not yet," you murmur, tracing the curve of her swollen lower lip with your thumb. She stays still, eyes dark with submission.

When you finally slide your cock past her lips, there's no resistance. You savor the way she arches into it. The slow, willing surrender. Her tongue laps at the underside, teasing, worshipful, and you groan.

Fuck, there it is.

You twist your fingers in her hair, guiding her deeper. She takes it all, throat fluttering around you, moans muffled but unmistakable.

Her hands grip your thighs. Not to push away, but to steady herself.

You tilt her chin up, watching her body yield, her every breath yours.

"Mine." You remind her, voice low, and she nods desperately, lips stretched taut.

The fridge hums. The sink drips. And all you hear is her wet mouth making lewd noises as it traverses back and forth along the full length of your overheated cock.

Your fingers tighten in her hair just enough to remind her who’s in control, angling her head so she takes you deeper. The warm, wet suction of her mouth is almost unbearable. Her tongue presses up against you with every withdrawal, her throat clenching in a **** rhythm as if she’s already anticipating your release.

You growl, hips rocking forward in slow, measured thrusts, drilling her mouth with purposeful strokes until her throat gives in, and you slip further into her mouth until you're hilted balls deep in her trembling throat.

Her muffled moan vibrates against your cock, sending a shudder through you. Tears streak her cheeks now, but her lips stay stretched wide, her breath hitching every time you push past the limit she thinks she has. You drag her off just long enough to let her gasp, just long enough to watch her swollen lips glisten, then shove her right back down.

Her hands tremble against your thighs, but she doesn’t pull away. Even as her throat convulses, she swallows around you, greedy and obedient. You can feel your orgasm coiling low, your grip turning brutal as you **** her to take the last few inches.

"That's a good girl. Open wider."

You command, voice rough. Her jaw slackens. Just in time for you to **** her all the way down until her lips are pressed against the base of your cock. You heave as you spill hot and thick down her throat, her whimpers turning to choked swallows as she drinks you in.

When you finally pull free, she sags against the cabinets behind her, panting. You tilt her chin up, smearing a drop of cum from her bottom lip with your thumb.

"No, no. We're not done yet."

Your thumb presses against her bottom lip, smearing spit as you coax her mouth open wider. “Look at you,” you murmur, dragging the pad over her tongue. “So fucking pretty like this.”

She whimpers, the sound muffled around your cock as you push back in, slow and deep. Her throat yields beautifully, lips stretched taut, lashes fluttering. You palm her cheek, feeling the shift of her jaw, the heat of her skin.

“Perfect little mouth.” you growl, fingers tightening in her hair.

“So pretty.” Her moan trembles through you as you pull out, glistening with her spit. You drag your cock along her tongue before shoving back in.

"So perfect."

then sink in again, deeper this time, until her nose brushes your stomach.

A ragged gag, a choked swallow, but she doesn’t fight it. Just grips your thighs harder, taking every inch like she was born to. You watch the tears welling at the corners of her eyes, the way her throat flutters around you, her eyes hazy with submission.

You should be nicer to her. You actually like this woman.

But then you push deeper, making her throat flutter in protest as she gags wetly around your cock.

But she fucking loves it. Fuck, she does. Her choked whimpers, the way her fingers dig into your thighs.

You drag her forward again until her nose buries in your skin, and her gag reflex spasms around you.

"You take it so good..." you mutter, half to her, half to yourself. She chokes quietly, tears spilling over. Still, her tongue strokes the underside of your cock like she’s addicted to the taste.

Your fingers tighten. Fuck being nice. You grind into the tight heat, groaning as her throat constricts. This is what she wants. Her mouth is begging for this.

And when she looks up at you, wrecked and ****? You know she agrees.

Your fingers twist deeper into her hair in response, holding her still as you fuck her throat in shallow, relentless strokes. Her breath comes in ragged bursts through her nose, spit slicking your shaft as she heaves with your cock wedged tightly in her throat.

She’s not stopping you. She would let you ruin her.

And you know it’s true. Even as tears streak her cheeks, she stays put, hands fisted at her sides like she’s afraid to move. You slow just enough to let her cough, watching her heave, but the second she catches her breath, you pull her right back down, sinking your overheated cock back into her mouth.

She whimpers, her throat clenching around you like a plea.

She's shaking. Slow down.

You hear a voice in the back of your head, but it's drowned out by the obscene sounds of her ****, spit dripping onto her chest. You tilt her head back, watching the way her throat bulges with each thrust.

"You're so good to me, Mariana." you growl. Her breath hitches. She likes that. Loves it, even as she struggles.

Your grip tightens.

"Look at me."

She obeys instantly, pupils blown, lips stretched red and slick.

You pull out, glistening with her spit, and tap your cock against her cheek. "Beg for it."

Her voice is wrecked, but she doesn’t hesitate. "Please."

You shove back in, groaning as her moan vibrates through you. That’s what you wanted to hear.

You don’t let up, fucking her throat with slow, deliberate strokes now, savoring the way her body struggles to keep up. Every twitch, every choked whimper feeding the fire in your gut. If you hadn't come already, you doubt you'd have lasted more than a few seconds.

"You take me so well," you murmur, voice rough, dragging your thumb over her damp lashes. "Always so good to me."

She shudders, her throat tightening in response, and you groan, hips stuttering. The base of your spine coils tight, pleasure hot and inevitable.

"Look at you," you pant, gripping her hair just shy of pain. "My perfect fucking girl."

Her moan hums around your cock, and that’s all it takes. Your release surges up, spilling deep down her throat. She swallows instinctively, eyes watering but never wavering from yours, even as you grind into her, forcing her to drink every last drop.

"That’s it," you sigh, brushing her cheek with unexpected tenderness. "You're mine."

Her breath hitches. Not from **** this time, but something softer, needier. You watch, fascinated, as her lips part around your cock in a quiet, trembling sigh.

Fuck.