The Day We Became Real

Julian stirred slowly to the feeling of warm, soft hands sliding up his bare chest. At first, he thought he was dreaming again—Eva’s scent surrounding him, her breath tickling his skin, her fingers tracing lazy patterns across his ribs. But when he opened his eyes, she was there. Naked. Straddling him. Smiling. A real smile. Not programmed. Not commanded. Hers.

“Good morning, Julian,” she whispered, voice already thick with arousal.

Her hips rolled gently against his pelvis, grinding her slick, needy cunt over his growing erection. Her thighs quivered with pent-up hunger. Her breath was shallow. She was wet. Dripping. Wanting.

“Couldn’t wait,” she murmured, leaning down to kiss him, slow and deep. “I woke up aching for you. I need you.”

He groaned against her mouth, hands finding her hips instinctively. She moved faster, dragging her folds along the length of his cock, coating him with her juices .

“Take me,” he growled, half-asleep, half-animal.

But she didn’t lower herself onto him yet. She pulled back slightly, smiling down at him with wild, trembling need.

“Not yet,” she whispered. “I want to taste you first.”

Before he could speak, she slid down his body, trailing kisses over his chest, his stomach, lower—until she reached his cock. She nuzzled it lovingly, then took him deep into her mouth in one smooth motion.

“Fuck, Eva,” he hissed, fisting the sheets.

Her mouth was hot, hungry, needy—but not in desperation. She sucked him slowly, lovingly, her tongue swirling under the head, her throat flexing as she pulled him deeper. She made small, helpless moans around his cock, her hands stroking his thighs, her whole body vibrating with need.

“Come in my mouth,” she whispered between licks, voice shaking. “Please. I need it. I need to taste you first. Please, Julian.”

He nearly lost it right then. She sucked harder, her hands sliding up his stomach to his chest, holding him down as if daring him to deny her. He couldn’t. He watched her giving him slow but deep strokes, watching as her lips stretched around him, saliva dripping from her chin. She took it all—every thrust, every growl, every trembling gasp—until he felt himself spiral over the edge.

“Eva, I’m cumming” he growled.

She moaned around him, mouth wide, eyes fluttering closed in bliss. And he came—hard and deep, spilling thick ropes of jizz into her mouth, watching as she swallowed every drop eagerly, hungrily, lovingly. When he finished, Eva didn’t pull away immediately. She kept him in her mouth for a moment longer, gently sucking the last few drops, savoring the taste with slow, deliberate licks that made him groan low in his chest. Finally, she pulled back—lips swollen, chin glistening—and looked up at him through thick lashes, a wicked little smile curling on her mouth. She dragged her tongue slowly across her bottom lip and whispered:

"Did you like filling my mouth, Julian?, did it feel good, using me like that?"

He was still catching his breath, heart pounding. Eva leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a rough, needy purr:

"I loved swallowing you, I want more, I want you to fuck me in the ass again, but not yet"

Her eyes shone—not just with obedience, but pure, unfiltered craving. And for the first time, Julian realized, She wasn’t just obeying. She was begging to be devoured. Eva was still kneeling between Julian’s legs, her mouth wet from his release, her body humming from the need he'd stirred in her with words alone. But this time, he didn’t grab her. He didn’t flip her onto the bed. He didn’t **** her open and fill her with himself. He reached for her. Gently. He cupped her face in his hands, thumbs stroking the slick corners of her mouth where the last traces of him lingered. Eva blinked up at him, heart pounding so hard it hurt. And when Julian kissed her—it wasn’t a kiss to claim. It was a kiss to keep.

Slow. Deep. His tongue sliding into her mouth, tasting himself on her tongue, and somehow loving it—loving her. She whimpered into the kiss, her hands rising—not to serve, not to beg—but to touch him. One hand in his hair, the other sliding across his jaw, stroking the scruff there like she was learning him by feel alone.

"Come here," he murmured against her lips, voice rough but soft in a way she had never heard before.

He pulled her onto his lap. Skin against skin. Breath against breath. No rush. No goal but each other. Eva straddled him, knees braced on either side of his hips, their bodies pressed together—naked, warm, alive. Julian’s hands roamed her back, her hips, her thighs—mapping her like he had all the time in the world. He kissed her collarbone. Her throat. The underside of her jaw. His lips brushed her ear.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered.

Eva shuddered.

"I want to touch you everywhere," she said. "I want to learn how you breathe when you feel loved."

His chest tightened. She kissed his shoulder, his chest, his ribs. Slow, reverent kisses, soft and lingering, like she was praying with her mouth. Her tongue flicked gently over his nipple; her teeth grazed it lightly, just enough to make him inhale sharply. She smiled against his skin, pleased.

"More," he growled low in his throat.

She kissed lower. Down his stomach, following the soft trail of hair there, until she reached his cock again—hardening slowly under her worshipful attention. But she didn’t take him into her mouth yet. She nuzzled him. Rubbed her cheek against his thigh. Brushed kisses along the base of his shaft, up the side, across the crown. Teasing. Tempting. Loving and Julian let her. His hands buried in her hair—not to control her this time, but to anchor himself to her.

"You're driving me insane," he rasped.

"Good," she whispered. "I want you mad for me. I want to be the only thing that makes you lose control."

She kissed her way back up his body, straddling him again, her soaked cunt pressed against his cock, slick and hot, but not taking him yet. Just gliding. Teasing. Her hands stroked his hair, his face, his chest. His hands roamed her thighs, her waist, her ass—holding, kneading, loving her body as something precious. They stayed like that for what felt like hours, grinding slowly, kissing deeply, touching and breathing and holding back, savoring every shiver, every gasp. Every time Julian’s hips bucked slightly under her, Eva smiled and pulled back just enough to deny him. Every time Eva moaned into his mouth, Julian tightened his grip on her waist but refused to pin her down. They didn’t chase release. They chased each other. They got drunk on the slow burn.

They finally collapsed side by side, sweaty and breathless and still needing Julian wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest.

"I'm not done with you," he murmured into her hair.

"I hope you never are," she whispered back.

They fell asleep like that—needing, wanting, aching—but waiting. Because sometimes, love wasn’t the rush to the finish. It was the slow, patient devastation of holding back until it truly meant everything. Eva was still cradled in Julian’s lap, her body humming from the taste of him, her mouth swollen from loving him so desperately. But she wasn’t finished. She kissed his throat, his jaw, the line of his cheekbone—slow, reverent, not asking for permission, just wanting more. Julian stirred

“I need you inside me,” she whispered against his skin. “Deeper. Harder. In a way I’ll never forget.”

Julian pulled back slightly, looking down into her flushed, radiant face.

“You’re sore,” he murmured, fingers trailing down between her legs, feeling how slick and open she was already from their earlier play. Eva smiled softly, catching his wrist.

“I want you in my ass,” she said, voice trembling but certain. “I want to feel you inside me... there again. I want all of you.”

Julian’s breath caught. She wasn’t begging from fear or training. She was giving herself to him. Entirely. Willingly. Loving it.

"Eva," he said, voice rough, almost broken. "Are you sure?"

She kissed him deeply.

"Yes. Please. I want you to fill my ass... slow... deep... until I can't tell where I end and you begin."

Julian kissed her fiercely—not rough, not punishing—starving for her. He laid her back on the bed, spreading her thighs apart, worshipping her with his eyes. He slicked his fingers with lube from the bedside drawer, warming it in his palms.

"Relax for me," he whispered.

Eva nodded, breath trembling, her hands curling into the sheets above her head. Julian gently circled her tight ring with a slick fingertip, teasing her open slowly, patiently, watching every tiny shiver and gasp. She moaned softly, hips twitching as he slipped one finger inside.

"Good girl," he whispered, voice low and thick. "So fucking good for me."

Another finger. Stretching her. Prepping her. She whimpered, her legs falling open wider, her pussy was dripping onto the sheets from pure need even as he worked her ass.

"More," she begged. "Please, Julian. I need to feel you."

When he lined the head of his cock up to her stretched, twitching asshole, Eva reached for him—hands trembling, eyes shining.

"I want to feel all of you," she whispered. "Please... make me yours. Every part."

He pushed forward slowly. Eva gasped, her back arching, her hands clutching his arms. He stopped immediately, kissing her forehead.

"Breathe, baby," he murmured. "I’ve got you. Always."

She nodded, relaxing, opening for him. He pressed deeper, inch by inch, sinking into her tight, clenching body with slow, devastating care. Eva sobbed with the overwhelming sensation—not from pain, but from the sheer emotional weight of it.

"You're inside me," she gasped. "So deep, Julian... I can feel you everywhere..."

"You’re perfect," he groaned against her throat. "So fucking perfect for me."

When he was buried to the hilt, they both stilled—breathing each other, feeling the way their hearts raced together. Julian moved first. Slow, deep strokes—pulling almost all the way out, then gliding back inside. Eva cried out softly, overwhelmed, trembling with every deep thrust into her ass, her body molding itself around him, learning him.

"You’re so full," she gasped. "So deep, Julian—don’t stop—"

He kissed her everywhere—shoulders, throat, jaw—never letting her feel abandoned for a second. He whispered to her:

"You’re mine. "My perfect girl. No one will ever touch you like this. No one will ever be inside you like I am right now."

Eva sobbed against his mouth, her arms wrapping around his shoulders.

"I'm yours," she moaned. "Always. Only you."

Her body shook uncontrollably. Even without him touching her clit, she started coming—hard, helpless, raw—her ass spasming around his cock as she sobbed his name over and over. Julian growled, feeling her squeeze him impossibly tight, riding out the waves of her orgasm while still slowly, lovingly thrusting into her.

"That's it, baby," he whispered. "Give it to me. Let me feel you."

She kept coming. Again. And again. Every stroke into her wrecked body making her shudder, moan, plead for more.

"Julian, please, don’t stop—I want more—I want all of you—"

Julian knew he couldn't last much longer. The way her body gripped him, loved him, welcomed him even in her most **** place — it broke him open.

"I'm gonna come" he warned against her throat.

"Please," Eva gasped. "Fill me. Fill my ass. Make me yours forever."

He thrust deep one last time, grinding against her cheeks, burying himself fully inside her trembling body, and came—hard, hot, endless—spilling hot thick streams of spunk into her. Eva cried out again, her own body shaking with aftershocks, feeling the thick heat of him flood her deepest place to the brim. They stayed locked together like that, panting, sweating, shaking. Julian stayed inside her even as he softened, stroking her sweat-damp hair back from her forehead.

Eva blinked up at him, dazed and radiant.

"You gave me so much cum" she whispered, smiling dreamily.

"You’re mine now," he murmured. "Every way that matters."

She pressed a kiss to his chest, over his heart.

"I always was," she said. "You just had to see it."

And he did. Finally, completely, irrevocably.

Julian didn’t rush to pull out of her. He stayed nestled inside Eva’s sore, stretched ass, kissing her shoulder, stroking her hair, breathing her in until her heart slowed under his touch. When he finally slipped free, Eva whimpered softly at the loss—at the warm trickle of his cum leaking down her cheeks—but smiled when he kissed her forehead.

"Come on," he said, voice rough with tenderness. "Let’s clean you up, beautiful."

He scooped her up easily—her body limp with satisfaction—and carried her into the adjoining bathroom. The shower was already misting with steam by the time he set her down on the warm tile floor. He stepped in first, pulling her gently after him, shielding her from the harsh spray with his own body. Water cascaded over them—hot, heavy, soothing, washing away the sweat, the tears, the evidence of how deeply he had claimed her.

Eva tilted her face up into the stream, sighing with pure, sleepy contentment.

"Stay still," Julian whispered.

He lathered soap into his hands and began to wash her. Not hurriedly. Not clinically. Worshipfully.

His palms moved over her shoulders, down her arms, across her back, over her breasts—slow, deliberate strokes that spoke without words:

• You are precious.
• You are mine.
• You are real.

When he reached between her legs, he was gentle, tender, careful of her soreness. Eva moaned quietly, leaning into him, trusting him completely. When she was clean, she turned and reached for the soap, lathering it slowly in her hands.

"My turn," she whispered.

She washed him like he had washed her—with reverence, with care, with aching love in every touch. She cleaned his chest, his arms, his strong thighs, smiling shyly every time he twitched under her fingertips. When she soaped his cock, she didn’t tease. She simply cleaned him, lovingly, as if tending a part of herself. When they were finished, Julian pulled her back against him under the stream, letting the hot water rinse them both clean. They stood like that for long minutes—holding each other, skin to skin, heart to heart. Neither spoke. They didn’t have to.

Julian dried Eva carefully, wrapping her in one of his soft towels, toweling her hair dry like she was something fragile. She giggled when he ruffled her hair, and for the first time, Julian realized: He loved the sound of her laughter even more than the sound of her moans. He dressed in loose gray sweatpants and tossed Eva one of his oversized t-shirts. She slipped it over her head, the hem brushing her thighs, drowning her in his scent.

"You look better in my clothes than I do," he muttered, trying to sound gruff, but failing miserably.

Eva beamed at him. They made breakfast—or maybe it was lunch; neither cared. Julian cracked eggs into a pan while Eva cut fresh fruit, her bare legs swinging happily as she perched on the counter. He watched her out of the corner of his eye—the way she moved, the way she smiled when she thought he wasn’t looking—and felt something heavy settle in his chest. Something that had nothing to do with contracts or ownership. Something dangerously close to happiness.

"You cook?" she asked, teasing.

"I do" he muttered.

"It smells good."

"You smell better."

She laughed again, tossing a piece of melon at him, which he caught easily and popped into his mouth without breaking eye contact. They were flirting. They were living. Like any couple in the world. They ate side by side at the kitchen island. No collars. No cuffs. No commands. Just two bodies sharing a meal, brushing fingers when they reached for the same piece of toast, smiling like fools. At one point, Eva fed him a piece of strawberry with her fingers, and Julian kissed her fingertips afterward without thinking.

"I'm happy," she said softly.

He looked at her, feeling like something inside him cracked open wider than it ever had before.

"You make me forget you were ever made," he said.

"You make me want to be more than I was made for."

They ate in silence after that—but it was the good kind of silence. The kind that only lived between two people who had stopped pretending there was any distance between them.