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“Mr. Rafayel? Who knows. He rarely ever says anything.”
Mr. Rafayel mutters soft whispers against your lips, pressing you into the bathroom counter of his art exhibit bathroom, moaning (definitely) louder than necessary. Your pants scrape the edge of the counter before you’re hoisting yourself up, a large hand coming to cup underneath the curve of your ass.
“Mr. Rafayel is the type who keeps to himself. He doesn't say anything to us.”
Mr. Rafayel’s hands run along the sides of your waist, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. His breath has you pulling at his white dress shirt, thighs resting at his sides.
“Mr. Rafayel just shows up and paints. He declines almost all interviews.”
Mr. Rafayel’s flushing a deep red, painting over his cheeks as you’re rolling your hips up into his abdomen. He grabs your wrists, holding them in his hands as he’s kissing down your neck, echoing unintelligible promises as he sucks the skin underneath his lips.
“Mr. Rafayel? He’s pretty mean. I don’t think he’s very much a Romeo.”
You’re pushing Mr. Rafayel away, panting as you looked up at him with hooded eyes. Your neck is adorned with his marks, and his hair displayed crazily.
Everyone would expect Mr. Rafayel to have been professional, and avoidant. That's how he has been with all these interviewers since the start of his career. Rather than going in the limelight, he'd send Thomas or full on decline any further notice for any questions. That's how he always will be: quiet, avoidant, a total asshole.
Your gaze glances down to his shirt, lipstick marks painting his very white dress shirt. Objectively speaking, were you expecting to be pulling your very attractive, and very successful with both the art industry and the ladies, boyfriend into his art museum’s bathroom and make out with him mid-ceremony? Absolutely not.
When you saw Rafayel proceeding to shake their perfectly long hands, neatly trimmed nails that don’t adorn callous from guns and wounds from wanderers. Rings on each finger except their ring finger, waiting for a man just like him to put one on them.
However, it is not your fault that being bad at your job (bodyguard) is one of the reasons that you’re in this predicament. Especially when your clientele is the man who eats you out every night. In his bed.
Insecurities and empty promises don’t leave your head even when you’re pulling Rafayel into the bathroom of the museum after he introduces his newest piece and cheers with auctioneers.
A large hand comes to cup your cheek, a chuckle as he has you leaning back into the mirror. “Look at you, princess,” Rafayel’s whispering into your ear, biting your earlobe when he leans down, hands tracing your waist.
Your hand comes up to his shirt, pulling him up to face you. Your face is flushed, just like his, almost matching the similar pink tone of his eyes.
To be completely honest, the make and shape of your boyfriend makes him utterly vulnerable to the attraction of women that you believe you can not compete with. Especially when those women are much richer and more successful than you could ever be. Not with your hunter’s paycheck along with Rafayel’s bodyguarding salary.
“Don’t say anything or I’ll kick you,” you threaten.
A wicked octave laugh has your legs throbbing and pussy clenching as he pulls you close to his body, moving you away from the mirror. His hips rest well into the slot between your legs, pressing his belt close to your thigh.
“Sweetie, you’re so adorable,” Rafayel cups your cheeks, lips darting out to lick his hips. His bulge rests at the crevice where your thigh meets your cunt, simply pushing you closer to him and causes you to gasp at the sudden warmth.
“R-Raf–”
Rafayel pulls his hips flush against yours once more, leaning down and dropping a kiss on your shoulder. His hand comes up to your chin, forcing you to face him as he trails his kisses up to your lips.
“I’m yours,” he whispers gently into your mouth, tongue swallowing your desperation. “Don’t forget that…”
As he pulls away, his thumb comes up, forcing its way between your teeth. “Look at me, princess,” he’s pressing his thumb onto the flat of your tongue. “Please.”
Your hands come up to his shirt, gripping the collar as you hesitantly make eye contact with him. Your cheeks flushed and all pretty, just for him. Like he wanted you to be. A meal prepped and plated just for him to devour.
“Are you jealous, my love?”
When the question comes, you could only look away. There’s nothing else for you to say. What are you supposed to do? Deny it? Make him know how insecure you are? Make him know that you hate the way that every other girl has just as much of a chance as you do?
When you don’t say anything, Rafayel could easily tell the answer that he needed. Without another word, Rafayel’s pulling you into a kiss, nipping at your bottom lip and drags a whine out of you that has him fighting the urge of taking you then and there. He could break you, fuck so deep into you that you could forget about every woman and man that stood outside of the bathroom door.
A small voice comes out of your throat as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling at his hair to encourage him to keep going, to not stop. Your fingers wind and weave through purple strands, finally resting at the nape of his neck that urges the artist to bite down on your bottom lip.
“N-ng– Rafayel–” you’re moaning into his mouth, pulling back to stare at the wide eyes of your boyfriend.
Rafayel pants, purple eyes dancing over your features, from your flushed cheeks to your lips to your nose then back to your lips.
“ Fuck …I love you so much.”
Rafayel’s pulling you back into a kiss, hands going down to your pants as he’s proceeding to grind his hips into you. “Let– fuck– let me make you feel good, please–”
The man’s practically begging you, wanting you to make him feel like the only girl in the world.
“Please, please, you don’t need to do anything. Let me show you how much I fucking love you,” he’s whispering against your lips, cheeks a fueled red that could make roses feel ashamed of their dull colour.
Nodding, you push him away gently. You lift your hips up slightly so he could pull your briefs down along with your panties, slipping them to the tile floor.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous, princess,” he mutters, kneeling on the ground to level his tongue with your cunt. Your thighs rest on his shoulders, causing you to lean back and rest your head against the mirror.
Rafayel digs his fingers into your thighs, nuzzling his nose into the skin. Then he’s leaning into the crevice where your thigh meets your cunt, soiled and wet just for him.
“Rafayel–” you mutter, moving your hand to his hair, trying to push his face further into your cunt. “Y-your clothes. They’re gonna get dirty…”
“Shh, baby. Just focus on me. Nothing else,” he mutters before he’s leaning in. He bullies your legs apart, biting back a moan when he sees how your cunt clenches at his breath.
A simple make out session and you’re soaking wet for him.
“I’ll treat you good, love,” he whispers, leaning in as he presses a gentle peck to your folds. “I’ll make sure that you remember that I’m only yours. No one else could have me on my knees like you do.”
Trance-like, he whispers a prayer as his lust takes over, eyes flicking over up to you when a smug smile paints his lips. Then your throbbing pussy meets his face, flattening his tongue over your red, swollen folds.
To say that you needed his mouth on you was an understatement; rather drastically wanting him to make you forget about all the problems in the world. He’s usually good at that. His specialty, you could say.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he mutters, drunk off your pussy and mind hazy with essence. “Got a goddess all splayed out and good for me,” he traces your calves, up and down ‘till he’s digging crescent moons into your thighs.
“Sculpted to every perfection. Displayed like a pristine piece of work. You know I love to admire my art,” he moans against your thigh, dipping back in to tease his tongue between your cunt.
“My beautiful piece of art. My love, all mine and I’m yours,” he holds your hips firmly in place as he unhurriedly laps his saliva over your throbbing pussy.
A sinful tongue comes to give you an ounce of friction, begging, wanting. Slick marking its place on his chin and nose, the heat of your sex returns when he dives back into your pussy, dipping his tongue in and out of your cunt.
“A-ah– Raf,” you’re moaning, throwing your head back. You grip onto his hair, attempting to grind your hips against his ruthless tongue. He sets a rough pace, causing you to curl your toes and grip onto the counter for a needing support.
Rafayel’s loud. Very, very, very different to the interviews and conferences, and meetings he does. Eyes boring into yours when he’s licking all over your sobbing cunt. He echoes out pleads and moans for more of you, you, and only you. Praising your tight pussy and how you make him feel so good despite you not giving him anything but your time of day. You’re seeing stars; he makes out with your pussy, legs closing around his head that has him moaning and rutting his hips upwards for friction despite having sat on his knees.
Your core tightens, causing you to tug on his hair slightly out of warning.
“F-fuck, I’m cumming–” you’re whimpering, dropping your head out of ache. He moans around your cunt, tongue still lapping and dipping out of your pussy without fault.
He’s desperate.
Air isn’t a necessity when he’s locked in between your legs, drowning in your pretty little pussy. Smothered and locked when he’s having a taste of his favourite essence.
You only cry out his name, your slick gushing around his tongue and mouth, painting them like a newly discovered lip gloss. His tongue dances at the circle of your clit, only causing him to suck harder and harder, relishing in how your juices paint his face.
Squirming, you force him away, pulling his face away from your cunt when you’re practically quivering at the overstimulation.
Rafayel’s almost moaning out of delight, eyes rolled back and hazed over from ecstasy. His tongue laps at his lips, hands still planted on your soft, soft thighs.
“So good,” he babbles, tremors of your overstimulation still pulsing through your core and muscles.
It’s almost agonizing how fucking good he is with his mouth. “Could cum just from licking your pussy, y’know that, angel?” he laughs, almost drunk from your taste. His aching tip pulses against his zipper, practically begging to paint his pants with his cum.
You’re biting your lips, watching him look so fucking good just by kneeling in front of you. He has never looked more ravenous than he has, right now with your glistening cunt just displayed all open and prepped for his cock.
His purple eyes meet your gaze, fluids flooding his tongue and overwhelmingly causing him to roll his eyes. “Please, princess. Let me cum from your pussy, won’t fuck you ‘till we get home. Wanna ravish you in private. Where it’s just us in our private little fairytale.”
Rafayel was definitely not ready to let you go just yet. Not until he’s had his fill. And you know what they all say. The way to a man’s heart is through a decent meal.
Squirming, you’re pulling him back to your sensitive pussy. He’s moaning in delight, your essence bathing his tongue in desperation. Despite the whispering voices outside the bathroom door that were definitely because of your cries, Rafayel felt at peace, taking his final breath and prayer between the folds of your pussy against his lips.
“S-so pretty, tastes so good–” he’s babbling, moaning as you’re forcing his tongue further against your tight cunt.
His tongue flicks against your clit, licking stripes up and down the folds. Your weeping entrance pulses around his tongue, causing you to throw your head back and gasp out whines and whimpers of his name, like a prayer, a calling.
Then you’re tensing.
“ Yes, yes, yes, I’m gonna cum–” you’re moaning, twitching and tightening your grasp over his purple locks.
Then your essence is flooding onto his tongue once again. Groaning, you feel Rafayel tense. When you fall back into reality, you’re lifting yourself up to fully face him. Rafayel’s pulling away from you glistening pussy, a string of drool from his lips and your clit are connected. He rests his cheek against your thigh, panting softly, lapping his tongue over his lips. His chin and face are covered in your juices.
When guiding your eyes downwards, you stare down at his pants. There’s a slight damp spot in front of his zipper. Knowingly, you snicker slightly, moving to grab his chin and direct his eyes towards you.
He’s laughing slightly, giggling drunkenly. “So sweet ,” he’s panting out, hand coming back to your thigh and giving it a slight squeeze.
When he begins to lean in again, you’re quick to grab his hair and pull him away.
“Nuh uh, I’m too sensitive…” you shake your head, seeing how he needily reached out for you. Your legs are still twitching sensitive, still resting over his shoulders.
“C’mon baby. Everyone is waiting outside, but they’re not important. Especially when I have you here, right where I need to be. In between your legs,” he whines, nuzzling his cheek into the side of your leg.
“Rafayel, you’re supposed to be working. I’m supposed to be working,” you flick his nose.
Biting your lip, you remember the women that are potentially sitting outside. Though now, they definitely could’ve heard how much your pussy had the Mr. Rafayel throbbing and begging for more, so much so that he came untouched in his pants.
Struggling to stand, you pull your legs off his shoulders and stand, shuffling your pants on. Then you’re tugging off Rafayel’s cardigan and tie it around his hips. “I don’t want anyone seeing what you did because of me,” you mutter.
Rafayel’s snickering then he leans down, kissing your cheek. “I’m all yours, sweetheart.”
Laughing, you gently punch his shoulder.
“Whatever you say, Romeo.”