Sensual Wickedness

No word wrecks me like Darlin’.

It isn’t just the sound of it—it’s the way Rhys says it. His voice, thick with Southern heat and bourbon-smooth drawl, curls around the syllables like a lover’s tongue. Makes my lips tingle. Makes my cunt clench. Makes me forget my own name.

“Darlin’,” he says again, low and husky, while his fingers bruise into my hips.

The world could burn and I wouldn’t notice. Not with the way he’s fucking me—deep, slow, relentless. His cock drags along every sensitive inch like he’s trying to carve his name into me from the inside out.

“Rhys,” I choke, but my voice breaks on a moan. His teeth scrape along the curve of my neck and I shiver, more whimper than woman now. “God, please—”

A growl rattles his chest. “You were takin’ me so good, Darlin’,” he growls, voice ragged. “Clenchin’ down like this cock’s been gone too long.”

I did. I do.

His voice is filthy, reverent. Every thrust knocks the air from my lungs, and every time he says that damn word, my body shatters a little more. He’s the only man who ever made it feel like a promise. A prayer. A possessive command.

I sob against the pillows, cumming again, everything blurring—sweat, slick, tears, his name punched out in gasps.

Rhys doesn’t stop. Just pulls me back against him, chest to spine, lips brushing my temple.

“That’s it. Let it all go, baby. I got you.”

And he does. He always does.

Even when I met him at the company merger—three years ago in a blazer and heels, shaking hands and pretending not to stare—I knew he’d be trouble. There should’ve been a warning label: CAUTION: WILL RUIN YOU WITH SWEET TALK AND STAMINA. But no. He just winked and called me Darlin’, and I’ve been spiraling since.

Now, I’m wrecked. Boneless. Twitching. And he’s still hard.

“You goin’ soft on me now?” he teases, mouth brushing my ear. “Tell me that pretty little pussy ain’t done beggin’.”

I nod.

But his hand slides between my thighs and cups me—wet, pulsing, so sensitive it’s almost unbearable. I gasp and buck against him, and he chuckles darkly.

“But this soaked cunt?” he says, dragging two fingers through me. “Still hungry. Just like you.”

He shifts me, bends me forward again, and the soaked sheets beneath my cheek make everything feel more raw, more real. My legs tremble as he nudges the head of his cock through my folds.

“I should eat you first,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “But I’m too far gone.”

He teases me with just the tip, dragging it through slick heat. I push back, needing more. Needing him.

His hand snakes beneath me and pinches my nipple hard enough to snap me to attention. “Shh, hush now,” he murmurs. “Let me do the thinkin’. You just lay there and take every goddamn second of it.”

I bite my lip to keep from crying out.

Then his mouth replaces his fingers, and I lose the last of my control. His tongue lashes against my cunt—cool, insistent, skilled. My hips buck. My legs shake. He licks me like a man starving, groaning against me as he buries his face between my thighs.

“Fuck,” I sob, clutching the bedding. His fingers find my clit, rub tight circles that make me scream.

I come so hard it blanks me out.

When I blink back to awareness, he’s above me again—his cock dragging through my folds, thick and hard, rubbing where I’m still trembling.

“Look at me, baby. Look me in the eye when I fuck what’s mine.”

I do. Barely.

His gaze locks with mine, all heat and hunger and home.

He thrusts in deep—one hard, beautiful stroke—and I swear I see stars. My body stretches to take him, walls fluttering in aftershock.

“Say it, Darlin’. Say you love the way I stretch you. The way I stay so fuckin’ deep.”

I shake my head, overwhelmed.

“Say it. Say this pussy’s mine. Say no one else fucks you like I do.”

I try, but the words won’t come. Not until he thrusts again, nudging my cervix and dragging a scream from my throat.

“Rhys,” I whimper.

“This sweet cunt was made for me,” he groans. “Like it’s been waitin’ on this cock your whole damn life.”

The bed rocks with us. My fingers curl in the sheets. I can’t stop shaking, can’t stop begging. He fucks me like he’s trying to break something loose—like he already has. My orgasm builds hard and fast, swelling in my core.

“Don’t stop—Rhys, I—”

I clamp down around him with a scream. He groans, low and guttural, and slams into me one last time. His cock jerks deep inside as he spills into me, hot and claiming.

The feel of it—his cum flooding me—sends me spiraling into a second climax.

We fall together. A sweaty, panting heap. His body half on top of mine. My thighs sticky. My skin trembling.

He presses a kiss to my cheek. Then my jaw. Then my temple.

“You save me every time,” he breathes. “Don’t even know it, do you? Lovin’ me like that.”

🖤 Did it wreck you too?

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