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The windows in Sylus’s penthouse at the base of Onychinus stretched from floor to ceiling, framing the city in glass and shadow. From here, N109 zone looked like a circuit board lit up under a microscope—alive, electric, humming with life far below, too far away to touch but close enough to watch. You stood there quietly, your fingers splayed against the cold pane, shoulders rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. The reflection in front of you was soft and doubled, city lights flickering behind the mirrored ghost of your own body.
The room behind you was quiet, but the silence wasn’t empty. You could feel it wrap around you like a tide just starting to pull in. It wasn’t loneliness in this case, no, it was anticipation.
You didn’t need to hear his footsteps to know he was there. The leader of Onychinus never made a sound unless he wanted to. Still, you felt the shift in pressure, the subtle change in temperature, the quiet pull of gravity that came with him when he finally entered. You didn’t turn around, you didn’t have to, really.
He approached slowly, never one to rush a moment when it could be drawn out, stretched to its limit. The soft fabric of his sleeves brushed the side of your arm when he stopped just behind you. For a few seconds, he didn’t touch you at all. You were aware of every inch of space he wasn’t filling. Then his arms came around your waist, settling low, forearms heavy and grounding, like he was setting a perimeter and claiming it.
His chin hovered just above your shoulder. Together, you stared out at the city that was destroyed and rebuilt to the point it looked unrecognizable, especially if you compared it to the past and post the wanderer tragedy.
The stillness wasn’t awkward at all, instead, your breaths synced up the longer you stood together. And maybe that’s why there was something sacred about that kind of quiet, the kind you only got when someone knew how to hold it without breaking it.
You caught his reflection in the glass, took in the way the shape of him framed you from behind, broad shoulders encasing your smaller frame, his jaw angled toward your neck like he’d already decided you belonged in his embrace. And maybe it was the weight of his arms holding you in place, or the heat of his hard chest pressed flush to your back, but something about the way he looked in that moment made your stomach clench.
His hands looked so good wrapped around you, they were strong, deliberate. Like he wasn’t holding you to keep you steady, but to feel every shift you made. You watched the way his long fingers curled slightly over your lush hips in the reflection, and the image alone sent a flicker of heat down your spine. It wasn’t fair, how easily your body reacted to him, it never had been, really.
Your breath hitched just once, almost imperceptible, but it was enough to make you press your thighs together for a second. Not because you meant to, it was just because his presence had that effect. Because seeing him like that behind you—controlling the space around your body without even moving—fuck… it did something to you.
Maybe that’s why your body had other ideas.
You shifted slightly, just enough to let your weight fall back into him. The small of your back brushed his expensive leather belt, and you caught the sharp inhale he tried to bury in your hair. You waited, just for a moment, and then rolled your hips back again, this time slow and purposeful, a quiet little provocation, if anything.
You felt the breath he exhaled against the side of your neck, hot and heavy now, like he was already fighting to keep it steady.
You pressed your ass into him more deliberately this time, feeling the hard line of his bulge through the fabric, just enough to make your own breath stutter. So you kept pushing and rolled your hips again, a little slower this time, a little bolder, and you felt his hands tighten at your waist.
He still hadn’t said a word.
But his grip changed; it became firm and expectant. His thumbs dug into the soft curve of your hips, holding you there, steadying you as if he didn’t trust himself to let go.
“I leave the room for five minutes to take a phone call,” he muttered, voice finally breaking the tension as it landed hot against your skin, “and you’re already trying to provoke me? You want me to bend you over, is that what this is?”
You smirked, just slightly, just enough to be caught in the reflection and irritate him a little.
“I’m just appreciating the view,” you said, your voice casual, though the way your body arched and pressed back into him again told a different story entirely. You moved slower this time, with more control, grinding just enough to test his patience. A low sound escaped him—not a groan, not quite—but something rough that caught at the back of his throat before vanishing.
“Little brat. Who taught you how to act like this, kitten, mhm?”
“Call it an exceptional character trait.” A murmur left your lips as your palms stayed where they were, pressed flat against the window, cold against your skin. Your spine curved just enough to be deliberate, your legs steady but angled to draw him closer, make him feel every part of you you were offering without a word.
He let out a deep laugh, shaking his head before letting one of his large hands slide up your side, tracing the shape of your waist like he was reacquainting himself with the geography. The other anchored at your hip, fingers firm, like he was bracing for impact.
“You knew exactly what bending over in those pants would do to me,” he said, voice softer now, but no less dangerous. There was a warning in it, but not the kind you were meant to heed. The kind that said he’d already made up his mind.
Your forehead dropped to the glass, breath fogging it in a slow, spreading bloom. Still, you didn’t move away. You let him stand there, pressed against your back, hard and seething with restraint.
His fingers flexed again at your waist, and he let his voice drop even lower. “Stay like that,” he murmured, voice dragging along your skin like velvet dipped in fire. “I’m not finished looking.”
His hand drifted higher then, gliding over the dip of your waist, along your ribs, before he found the first button of your shirt and slowly undid it. One by one, he opened them with quiet intent until the fabric parted just enough for him to slip his hand inside. The contrast of cool fingertips against the heat of your skin made you shiver. When his palm cupped your breast through the thin fabric of your bra, your breath caught against the window.
He took his time, fingers brushing over the curve, thumb circling lazily over the stiffening peak. The sensation was maddening, it was like pleasure building in waves too slow to satisfy, but too strong to ignore entirely. Your nipples were already aching, straining beneath the expensive lace he gifted you a few months ago. He pinched one lightly, then soothed it with a soft rub, and you let out a shaky breath that fogged the window even more.
“O-opting for teasing?” You managed, your soft gaze turning sharper in the glass as it met his carmine eyes.
His mouth found your neck at that, lips warm and deliberate as he kissed just below your ear. “You can’t take me with no prep.” He rasped as if it was a matter of fact, words woven into your skin as his kisses turned open-mouthed now. He slowly dragged his teeth over the sensitive skin before sucking gently at the spot that always made your knees buckle. Your thighs clenched instinctively, and you pushed back into him harder, grinding slow and steady against the thick heat of his cock beneath his slacks. “So be a good girl and stay put while I do some work.”
You moaned at that, feeling the slick between your thighs already as you tried to grind harder into him, just to be met with a push of his hips back as he kept you pressed into the glass.
“Fuck,” he breathed, voice frayed. “You feel that? Look how desperate you are already, sweetie.”
You couldn’t even pretend otherwise. The ache between your legs was pulsing, the annoying slickness beginning to dampen your panties with every drag of your hips. You wanted more, needed more, but he didn’t let you pick up the pace more than you already had. His hand left your chest to grip your throat gently, thumb resting at the base, keeping you steady against the window as he rutted into you from behind, dry but unmistakably filthy.
The friction made you dizzy. There was something humiliatingly good about feeling him grind against you with his clothes still on, your shirt half open, your breath leaving smudges on the glass. His cock strained against the fabric, hot and heavy and perfectly aligned, dragging between your cheeks with each slow thrust.
Then he did something that made your stomach flip. One hand slid down between your thighs, and he cupped your mound over the fabric of your pants without warning. You whimpered—sharp, helpless—hips jerking against his hand as the sound of it echoed in the quiet like a confession.
“Yeah,” he said roughly, palm pressing up against you, “that’s what I thought.”
Your thighs trembled slightly, just from that, just from the way his fingers curved inward like he already knew how to pull you apart without even trying. “Please,” you whispered, not even sure what you were begging for, to be honest, you just knew that you needed it. You needed him.
“Say it again.” His damp breath ghosted your temple, voice low and intimate in the way only the leader of Onychinus could manage—cruel without ever sounding unkind. “Beg properly this time.”
You clenched your jaw, teeth sinking into your bottom lip for a second before you exhaled through your nose. “You’re really going to make me say it, huh?”
“I’m listening.”
You huffed, hips twitching against the growing pressure of his hand still teasing you over your pants. “Fine,” you muttered, and even then, your voice wavered. “I want your fingers. I want to feel them inside me. I want you to stop acting like you’re not dying to touch me properly. Please, Sylus.”
He made a pleased sound in the back of his throat, and you rolled your eyes even as your thighs squeezed together. “There. Happy now, you smug bastard?”
He laughed softly. “Almost. But I think I like you like this. All squirmy, all talk until I’ve got you gasping.”
But the silver-haired man was indeed pleased, as he finally, finally, allowed his hands to move to the front of your pants. He undid the button, slow and methodical, then dragged the golden zipper down until it hissed.
Then he slid them down, inch by inch, past the curve of your ass, stopping around your thighs. The vulnerability of it made you shiver, made you even wetter, and fuck, he seemed to notice that too.
His hand returned between your legs, this time sliding beneath the waistband of your panties and slipping down through the wet heat until his fingers found your clit in record time. You choked on a gasp as he started rubbing slow circles, gentle at first, but insistent. Sylus was always measured and precise, nothing less than that.
“Already so wet,” he murmured against your neck, his lips brushing the flushed skin as he kissed there again, and again. “God, I can feel how badly you want it.” He bit down a moan of his own, his voice roughened by pure arousal he felt for you, two fingers now pushing inside of you as you arched and whimpered at the feeling.
His free hand moved to his belt now, fingers fumbling with the buckle as he continued to work you open with the other, unhurried and smooth. You could hear the metal clink, feel his hips still grinding against your bare ass, the fabric of his slacks catching on your skin with every slow press.
His fingers curled inside you with maddening precision, dragging against that soft, sensitive spot deep within until your moans turned into little gasps. Each thrust of his fingers came with the deliberate press of his palm over your clit, coaxing you into a rhythm you couldn’t break from. When your legs started to shake, he eased up, pulling his fingers out slowly. You whined at the loss, hips twitching toward his hand.
“Be still,” he murmured. “I want to see you.”
Then he brought that same hand down to your ass, gripping one cheek firmly, massaging it for a second before he spread you open with both hands. You heard the sound he made, like he couldn’t help it, a hiss of pure want, thick and reverent all in his throat.
“Fucking beautiful,” he muttered.
With one hand, he moved your panties to the side, dragging the damp fabric aside with two fingers, exposing the glisten of your arousal. You felt the air hit your bare skin and shivered, but it was nothing compared to what came next.
You heard his belt unbuckle, then the slow sound of his zipper lowering. A moment later, the heavy drag of his cock against your ass had your breath catching again. He stroked himself once, then twice—slow, long motions that you could feel even though you couldn’t see.
“You want to know what you do to me?” he muttered, ruby eyes sharp as you caught his reflection in the glass, his voice rough with restraint.
And then he pressed in closer, the blunt head of his cock nudging against your folds, dragging up and down your slit, catching at your entrance but not yet pushing in as you gasped, fingers curling against the smooth glass.
He was hot, heavy, and thick, and fuck, definetly more than your body could easily take without prep, and he knew it. The weight of him, the way he teased your entrance without committing, made your eyes flutter shut, long lashes casting a shadow on your pink cheekbones.
“You feel that?” he asked again, rubbing himself between your folds, letting the slickness coat his cock. “You’re the one who begged for this.”
“I meant every damn word,” you breathed, voice shaky, mouth parted against the cool windowpane. “So stop teasing and fuck me already.”
He chuckled low and dark, and in the next breath, he did just that.
With one slow, unforgiving push, Sylus sank into you. The stretch made your mouth fall open, your legs trembling under the weight of it. He was thick—impossibly so—and you felt every inch of him as he filled you from behind, steady and unrelenting. Your pussy clenched around him without warning, the pleasure immediate and sharp.
“Shit,” you hissed, forehead pressed hard against the glass. “You’re so deep—”
He gripped your hips tighter, skin meeting skin as he bottomed out, the head of his cock nudging that sweet, overwhelming spot that had you twitching already. “You wanted it deep, didn’t you?” he muttered, breath hot. “Bent over like this, on display. You like that everyone down there has no idea how full you are right now?”
You moaned shamelessly, nodding, unable to answer with words for a moment. The glass in front of you fogged with each gasp, each cry, your own reflection ruined and glistening in the city light.
“Talk to me,” he said, voice gritted as he pulled back and slammed into you again, harder this time. “Come on, say it, kitten.”
You could barely speak, but you choked something out between moans. “It’s so fucking good. You feel…fuck, Sylus—perfect..”
“Yeah?” he rasped, thrusts now steady, bruising. “You gonna come already? That needy for it?”
Your hands slipped slightly on the glass, body rocking forward with every snap of his hips. He fucked you like he had a point to prove, like every thrust was meant to be remembered. Your eyes rolled back as the coil inside you started to tighten fast.
“I’m gonna—” you whimpered, thighs quivering. “Don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop, please…”
His hand slid between your legs again, fingers finding your clit as he pounded into you from behind, and that was all it took. Your orgasm hit you like a blackout. You came hard, clenching around him, gasping as the heat rushed through you, legs trembling under the force of it.
“Fuck,” he growled, eyes locked on the way you creamed around his cock. “That’s it, good girl, that’s what I wanted to see.”
He didn’t stop, however; instead, his pace turned feral, thrusts punishing as he pushed you hard into the glass. Your palms slipped slightly from the fogged surface, your cheek now pressed flat against the cold window as the whole city flickered behind your blurred reflection. Each snap of his hips sent sharp ripples through your body—your ass jiggling, thighs quaking, the sound of skin slapping echoing through the penthouse like music.
“Take it,” he hissed into your ear, voice wrecked. “Let them all look up and see nothing. You’re mine right now. No one else gets to know how good you sound when you come all over my cock.”
“Sylus—” you whimpered, dizzy from overstimulation, your knees barely holding up.
He slid a hand up to your jaw, turning your head just enough to press his mouth to yours. The kiss was all teeth and tongue, open and filthy, a clash of breath and heat as he slammed into you one last time with everything he had.
He came with a guttural groan into your mouth, cock twitching deep inside you as he spilled. Hot ropes of cum coated your walls, thick and endless, leaking out around him almost instantly from how hard you'd clenched. You moaned into the kiss as you felt it, the sheer weight of it flooding you until it dripped down your thighs.
He stayed there a moment longer, breath ragged against your lips, arms still braced around you like he hadn’t quite processed letting go yet. His cock pulsed inside you once more before he finally started to soften, the stretch easing as he let his forehead rest against the side of your temple.
“Well,” you managed eventually, voice wrecked, “you could’ve at least warned me you were gonna short-circuit my brain.”
He chuckled, low and unhurried, hand skimming lazily over your hip. “You said fuck me like you mean it. I’m a man of my word.”
“Yeah, well, my legs forgot how to exist.” You shifted slightly, wincing when he slid out of you, the mess between your thighs now a slow, hot trickle down to your knees. “I hope you’re proud.”
“I am,” he said simply, and you could feel the smirk in his voice without even looking. “And if it’s any consolation, I don’t think I’ll be able to walk straight either.”
You turned your head just enough to glance at him through your ruined reflection in the window. “Don’t get cocky, bossman.”
His hand smoothed over your ass in one last affectionate pass, fingertips dragging along the waistband of your panties he never bothered to remove. “Bit late for that, kitten.”