Lee Felix

You always underestimated him.

Not on purpose. But he was so sweet – all freckles and deep giggles, puppy cuddles and soft hands. Always asking if you were warm enough, hydrated enough, happy enough. He kissed your forehead more than your lips.

Until you pushed.

Teased him with those skirts. Whispered filth in his ear during dinners with the boys. Brushed your hand over his thigh during movie nights and acted like nothing happened.

You didn’t realize you were lighting a fuse.

Until it finally blew.

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He doesn't say a word when he grabs your throat and pushes you down into the mattress.

Your wrists are pinned above your head, knees bent, your body flushed and vibrating from the toy he's had buzzing between your legs for god knows how long.

You're shaking — sweat-slick, overstimulated, clit swollen and sore from orgasm after orgasm that he let you have… but never let you finish properly. Not until he said.

“You think I’m soft, don’t you?” Felix growls above you, voice low and unrecognizable —a far cry from the sweet boy who brought you coffee this morning.

“You think just ‘cause I kiss your forehead I won’t fuck you stupid?”

You try to answer — but his fingers tighten around your throat and your body stutters.

“No talking,” he spits. “Not unless I ask. You had your chance.”

You’re panting now, eyes wild, hips twitching from the constant buzz of the vibrator strapped against your clit. It's been too long. Your legs are sore. Your thighs soaked. You’re so fucking close again you could scream.

“You thought it was cute? Teasing me all week? Walking around with your plug in and pretending you weren’t dying to be wrecked?”

You cry out again — not from pain, not from fear, but from the raw, pinned-animal desperation clawing up your spine.

“Do you feel how full you are?” he hisses, leaning close. “That plug keeping you stretched? That vibe punishing your little clit? That’s your fault. This is what you asked for.”

He slaps your inner thigh — hard — and your body jolts.

“You look so good like this. Helpless. Open.”

Then he does it.

He releases your throat just long enough to grab your jaw with one hand and yanks the plug out with the other, your slick coating it completely. You gasp — loud — but before you can speak he slides inside you, bare, thick, deep.

You both moan like something broke open.

“Tight. Fuck, you’re so fucking tight — baby, you were made for this,” he growls, hips already slamming into you with rhythm and rage.

Your eyes roll back.

His hand returns to your throat, tighter this time, not cutting your air — just holding you still, owning your breath.

“One more,” he whispers. “You’re gonna come one more time and then I’m filling you up.”