Keep her hot for yourself

A dull, milky Sunday light filtered through the slats of the blinds. As I blinked awake, the first thing I registered was the heavy, steady warmth at my side. Loona was still deep in sleep, her face half-buried in my pillow, an arm draped loosely across my chest.

Directly below, the cool alloy served as an immediate reminder of my reality. After hours of sleep, the stainless steel felt almost like an extension of my own skin; the silicone sat firm, its unyielding contour holding me in a constant, low-frequency state of arousal.

Out in the corridor, something clattered. Heavy, clumsy steps, followed by a strained groan.

Loona didn't stir, but her lashes fluttered faintly. She was awake, though she kept her eyes closed, pulling the duvet an inch higher over her bare shoulder.

Sliding out from beneath the sheets, I quietly pulled a pair of lounge pants over the cage and stepped barefoot onto the floorboards. I left the bedroom door pulled to, resting open by a bare crack.

Out in the hall stood Timo. He looked awful. His hair stuck out in disarray, dark hollows bruised the skin under his bloodshot eyes, and he was wearing the same crumpled hoodie from the night before. He was fumbling with his duffel bag.

"Morning, man," he rasped in a sandpaper voice, rubbing both palms hard over his face. "God… my skull is about to split. That damn tequila was a catastrophic miscalculation."

"Coffee?" I offered, keeping my voice low.

"Don't even mention it, couldn't keep a drop down," he said, waving a hand dismissively as he winced, hoisted the bag onto his shoulder, and tied his laces. Straightening up, he gave me a brief once-over, and across his lips flickered that familiar, cocky smirk that cut right through his hungover pallor. "She still out?"

I nodded. "Dead to the world."

"No surprise after last night," Timo muttered roughly, leaning in to bump a fist lazily against my upper arm. "Mate, trust me… that woman has the stamina of three people. Keep her happy, John. You don't come across that very often."

A sharp jolt twisted through my gut. The urge to laugh in his face, to tell him who was actually keeping whom and whose finish had coated my tongue just a few hours ago, hovered right at the tip of my tongue. But the conditioned discipline held firm. Pressing my lips together, I offered only a curt nod and stepped toward the front door.

"Got to run, train leaves in twenty minutes," Timo said, stepping out onto the cold stone landing and glancing back once. "Brilliant weekend, mate. Tell her I said cheers when she finally wakes up."

"Will do. Safe travels."

I drew the heavy door shut. The deadbolt engaged with a solid, double mechanical click.

The silence that swept through the flat in the aftermath was absolute. No foreign footsteps, no loud banter, no outside eyes I had to shield myself from. The fortress belonged to us again.

Letting out a long breath, I dropped my shoulders and walked slowly back down the corridor toward the bedroom.

Loona was no longer resting on the pillow. She was sitting upright against the headboard, the duvet folded back to her hips. Her white tank top lay discarded on the floor; she wore nothing, her bare chest rising and falling evenly in the warm morning light. Her mouth carried no sleepy smile—it was the clear, sovereign gaze of an owner who had reclaimed her territory entirely.

"Is he gone?" she asked quietly.

"He's gone."

She patted the mattress slowly with the flat of her palm, right between her parted, bare thighs.

"Trousers off, John," she directed softly, her tone brooking no hesitation. "Time to inspect how well you held up."

Hooking my thumbs into the waistband, I pushed the soft fabric down my legs. Every inch uncovered the cool, matte reality of the stainless steel. The cage sat heavy and locked against my skin, the silicone lining seated flush around the base. Without another word, I stepped up to the bed and sank to my knees, right where her hand had rested on the sheets.

Loona leaned forward. Her skin radiated a rich, familiar heat, her emerald eyes taking in the lock and the cylinder with clinical precision.

Her fingers slid cool across my groin. She didn't move in a hurry; every touch was deliberate, probing, entirely composed. She inspected the broad silicone ring around my scrotum, checking whether the skin had pinched or chafed, tracing her thumb over the miniature brass shackle of the padlock.

"No redness, no chafing," she murmured, her voice low and pleased. "The silicone is sitting exactly where I aligned it."

Her grip tightened minutely as she lifted the cool tube to check the tissue underneath. The contact of her fingertips against the unyielding shell sent a burning shiver straight through my pelvis. My body tried to react, the tissue straining for room to expand, only to collide with the rigid boundary. The dull, trapped throb caught in my throat.

"Do you like this?" Loona whispered, a faint, almost tender smile touching her lips. She held my gaze dead-on, her hand resting firmly against the cage. "Knowing that Timo thought he took something from here… while your entire body, every single heartbeat, was locked away waiting for me?"

"Yes," I forced out hoarsely, unable to tear my eyes from her mouth. "Everything… belongs to you."

"That's right," she breathed.

She didn't withdraw her hand immediately, trailing her fingertips up my inner thigh to my lower abdomen. Reaching under her pillow, she produced the small brass key on its black ribbon. The metal caught the morning light with a muted glint.

My pulse skipped. Was she unlocking it now? Was she finally granting release?

Tracking the sudden tension in my features, Loona shook her head slowly, a warm, knowing light in her eyes.

"Not opening it just yet, John," she murmured, laying the key flat on her bare thigh before leaning in until her lips hovered millimeters from mine. "You're still far too wound up, far too greedy. But I'm not leaving you empty-handed after everything you endured for me."

Taking my hand, she drew me up onto the mattress and eased me flat onto my back. Then she swung a leg over, straddling my hips, resting her bare torso against my chest. Her fingers combed slowly through my hair as she tucked her face into the crook of my neck.

"No outside voices today, no foreign hands," she whispered against my ear, her skin warm and steadying. "Today you stay right here with me. Locked, safe, and close."

Her bare frame pressed like liquid heat against mine, her right leg hooked comfortably over my hip. With every minute shift, the soft skin of her inner thigh rubbed against the smooth curve of the cylinder. The silicone absorbed the impact, but the solid metal translated the friction directly into my groin.

Wrapping my arms around her back, I buried my hands in her loose hair, pulling her flush against me. The relief hit with such intensity my eyes stung. After the forced distance on the couch, the stale smell of beer, and Timo’s oblivious posturing, the rhythm of her bare chest against mine felt like landfall after a storm.

"Breathe out, John," she murmured against my collarbone, her lips brushing my pulse point with every syllable. "Let the tension go. He's gone. The door is locked."

"I… I can barely process that we're alone again," I said, my voice thick.

Loona let out a low chuckle that vibrated deep in her chest. Propping herself up on her forearms, her chest hovered inches above my face. Her gaze was pure shelter, warm and possessive, though in the emerald depths sat that familiar, calculating spark.

"Believe it," she whispered.

Her right hand drifted slowly down my chest to my stomach, her knuckles grazing lightly over the tense muscle until her palm came to rest flat over the cylinder. She didn't grip it tightly; instead, her index finger tapped twice against the brass shackle of the lock. The quiet metallic ping carried through the bedroom.

"Do you have any idea how transparent you look when you're trying to keep yourself in check?" she purred, tracing the rim of the silicone liner. "Playing the cool flatmate out there, but every time Nadja so much as brushed against your knee, the blood rushed straight to your head."

Heat flooded my cheeks. Beneath her casual touch, my body pushed instinctively against the confinement; the swelling searched for give, pressing hard into the steel without yielding a fraction of a millimeter.

"She… she was being very forward," I managed, breathing unevenly.

"Was she now?" Loona teased, tilting her head. Her fingers slid down to the base where the silicone wrapped my scrotum, applying a precise, subtle pressure that pulled a low groan from my throat. "Did you enjoy it, John? Having her look at you like that while I was being loud in the other room? Tell me."

"It was agonizing," I admitted hoarsely, meeting her eyes, my hands resting on her hips. "Because she's stunning… but I knew I was forbidden from touching her. Because every breath I take belongs to you. And I only want what you allow."

The smile on her lips softened, turning unguarded. The mockery stripped away, replaced by raw, unvarnished affection. Keeping her hand anchored over the lock—not to enforce pain, but as an undeniable mark of ownership—she lowered her head and pressed her mouth to mine.

The kiss was slow, deep, and unhurried. She tasted of sleep, mint, and the shared understanding that had bound us together over the past days.

When she broke the kiss, she rested her forehead against my chest, right above my pounding heart, drawing the duvet up over the two of us.

"Good boy, John," she whispered softly, her breath warm against my skin. "Right where you belong. Locked away for me… and nowhere else."

The afternoon drifted by in warm, sluggish silence.

The apartment sat bathed in late-September gold. We had barely left the bed—only slipping out briefly to bring fresh coffee and sliced fruit from the kitchen. I remained bare, the matte casing on open display, while Loona had thrown on one of my oversized grey T-shirts. It reached midway down her thighs, the clean lines of her legs showing with every step.

I was propped up against the pillows, legs stretched out. The metal felt like a second skin now; the silicone prevented any biting, though the dull weight served as a constant reminder of my confinement with every breath. Loona lay draped across my lap, lazily turning the pages of an architectural journal, her free hand drifting intermittently across my thigh, her knuckles brushing teasingly against the tip of the cylinder.

Suddenly, her phone vibrated on the bedside table. Two sharp pulses against the timber.

She didn't jump. Finishing the line she was reading, she tucked a stray lock behind her ear and reached out an arm. She swiped the screen, scanned the notification—and her expression shifted on the spot.

The lazy, sleepy curve of her mouth sharpened into an amused, predatory glint. Her brows lifted, a low, smoky laugh escaping her throat.

"Well, look at that," she murmured, keeping her eyes fixed on the glass.

"What is it?" I asked, my stomach tightening with sudden curiosity.

Instead of answering, she shifted onto her knees, crawled across the sheets toward me, and straddled my thighs. She turned the screen, holding it directly in front of my face.

It was an incoming chat from Nadja.

Above the message sat a photo: Nadja, fresh out of the shower, wrapped in a plush white robe slung loose off one shoulder, her damp hair bundled into a towel turban. She was looking into the camera with an insolent, sleepy smirk.

Beneath it ran the text:

*"Hey babe, thanks for the wild night! Timo was utterly wrecked, but tell me honestly… what's the deal with your stepbrother? He was shockingly aloof on the couch yesterday, even though I did my absolute best to draw him out ;) Is he always that shy, or does he just need a direct invitation? Feel him out subtly and see if he's free for coffee with me this week… just the two of us. xx"*

Blood rushed straight to my temples. My throat constricted, heart thudding heavy and hard against my ribs. Coffee. Just the two of us. Nadja, deliberately trying to get under my skin, mistaking my forced paralysis for bashfulness—entirely oblivious to the brass padlock resting beneath my waistband, its key sitting on the nightstand inches from my thigh.

Under the weight of the suggestion, the trapped flesh surged hard against the casing, desperate for space, instantly arrested by the rigid walls and firm silicone. A ragged gasp broke from my lips.

Loona took in my reaction with unfiltered delight. She tilted her head, the phone held loosely in one hand, while her other hand reached down to close firmly around the cylinder.

She didn't squeeze hard, but the authority in the gesture was total.

"Well, well," she purred, her voice silky and dangerous. Her nails scraped lightly along the cold steel. "She took the bait, John. She thinks you're just a sweet, timid boy who needs a little thawing out."

"I… I don't even know what to say," I managed, my fingers knotting into the sheet.

Loona leaned in until her breath brushed my lips, her emerald eyes glittering with reckless mischief.

"You don't have to say anything," she whispered, tapping the corner of the phone gently against my cheek before letting her fingers toy with the lock. "The far more interesting question is: what do I tell her? Do I tell her you'd love nothing more than to meet her for coffee… under very specific terms that I dictate beforehand?"