Layers of rich velvet and restrictive ribbon tangled up tightly under her ribs, exposing absolutely everything beneath. The sheer, frilly white stockings still clung to her soft thighs—until his rough fingers dug in.
He looked down at her exposed state, his eyes dark and hungry.
Then—he ripped.
The delicate stocking split with a sharp, harsh sound, tearing straight through the intricate lace at her upper thigh. Fine threads snapped violently under his brutal grip, curling against her soft skin as he unceremoniously peeled the ruined fabric away, revealing her bare, vulnerable thigh beneath—pale, beautifully flushed, and faintly trembling.
"You’re completely insane—" she snapped, her small fists pounding furiously against his shoulder.
He effortlessly grabbed her other flailing wrist and slamd it down against the mattress above her head.
"I’m perfectly focused," he growled, the vibration settling deep in her belly. "You’re the one busy pretending."
Her bare legs kicked out—but not wide enough to escape him. He abandoned her thigh and grabbed her firmly by the hips instead, dragging her lower half forcefully down against his hard stomach. Her pale thighs were spread wide across his torso now, the thin, damp fabric of her white panties pressed intimately against the rigid line of his abs.
Her entire lower body was completely exposed—frad perfectly between his massive hands, lifted up, trapped, and utterly pinned.
The thin white panties had shifted sideways during her frantic struggle. A pale, perfect triangle of skin peeked out at the edge where the fabric had slipped—smooth, impossibly taut, and deeply vulnerable.
Cruxius deliberately dragged two rough fingers along the very edge of the cloth.
Then—he hooked them inside the seam.
And pulled hard.
The thin satin stretched, creased, then slid aside with a sharp, reluctant snap across her sensitive skin until her vulva was laid entirely bare, completely visible under the morning light.
There was no dripping wetness yet. No eager welco.
Just soft, beautifully flushed pink lips—clenched shut, tense, and faintly quivering. The delicate, inner folds were pressed tightly together, the outer edges smooth and slightly darker in hue. The deepest inner seam was clearly visible where her body had tensed instinctively against the sudden, humiliating exposure.
Right above her slit, a fine, neat tuft of pink pubic hair curled slightly, the exact sa pastel tone as the hair on her head—light, incredibly soft, and barely hiding a damn thing.
The pretty pink hair frad her femininity perfectly without actually shielding it—the striking contrast between the unnatural color and her bare vulnerability was intimate, beautiful, and deeply human.
His long fingers hovered just a milliter above her slit.
Not touching her.
Just watching her breathe.
She shook violently with pure fury.
"You sick fuck—get off of !" she yelled, her chest heaving frantically beneath the twisted, restrictive top of her dress.
But Cruxius only stared, srized by the sight.
He slowly reached down and used both of his thick thumbs to gently, deliberately press her soft folds apart—not forceful, but agonizingly thodical.
Her tight slit stretched slightly under the pressure, the sensitive pink flesh revealed between the parted lips, visibly tense and fighting him.
The contrast was stark and beautiful—no pooling wetness, just stubborn resistance. Her tight clit twitched erratically beneath its protective hood, drawn back but still hiding, while the rest of her delicate anatomy pulsed faintly under his intense, burning gaze.
"You might just be the only woman in the world to have pink hair framing such incredibly tight flesh... flesh that didn’t instantly get wet just from looking at ."
Cruxius didn’t blink. He didn’t move an inch.
He just kept her pinned open exactly like that—his large thumbs spreading her delicate folds wide apart, slow and steady, as if he had all the ti in the world. As if she wasn’t even fighting him anymore.
Her hips kept twitching sporadically, desperately trying to pull away, but there was absolutely nowhere for her to go. Not with her pale thighs securely hooked over his broad shoulders, and certainly not with him wedged deep between her legs, acting like he owned the very space between her bones.
She was completely stuck.
Bent backward over the ssy bed like a discarded ragdoll, her lower half hoisted into the air, her spine arched sharply, her pale skin deeply flushed with that ugly, helpless, shaful red. She wasn’t just exposed. She was being offered up—and she absolutely hated that her body looked so perfect in this position.
"Even though right now this pretty little mouth is tightly sealed against ," Cruxius murmured, his dark voice thick, dripping with heavy heat, "I know damn well you rember exactly how I opened you up before. You can still feel inside you, can’t you?"
She flinched violently—not from his crude words, but from his breath. His damn mouth was right there, hovering inches away. His hot breath rolled directly over her bare, sensitive slit, not physically touching her, but so incredibly close that her delicate lips twitched involuntarily just from the localized pressure.
She clamped her teeth together until her jaw ached.
"Stop staring at it," she hissed venomously, her breath catching hard in her throat. "Please, stop."
He smiled.
Not with his mouth—with his voice. That slow, dangerous curl of sothing incredibly smug and infinitely dark.
"I’m not just staring," he corrected, dipping his face even lower. "I’m committing every inch of it to mory."
Then he kissed her.
Not where she expected him to. Not directly on the clit. Not even exactly in the center.
He started at the very outer edge. The crease of the outer fold. Just a soft, lingering kiss, his warm lips pressed firmly against the sensitive skin exactly where her upper thigh t her heat. Then another kiss, slightly higher up, resting near the top of her soft pink mound.
Then lower, slowly dragging his warm, damp mouth across every single bit of her she desperately wished she could hide. Slow. Deeply purposeful. Not ravenously hungry. Not yet. Just... intimately learning her.
Her pale thighs tensed like bowstrings. She absolutely hated how fast her traitorous body was beginning to betray her mind.
"You fucking pig," she snapped, her voice thin, reedy, and shaking.
Cruxius didn’t even pretend to care about the insult. He let out a low breath, the raspy sound brushing right against her slit like a second, ghosting mouth.
"Whatever. Call a pig," he muttered dismissively against her skin. "You’ll be sounding exactly like one in a minute."
And then he shifted his weight.
He slid his thick arms right under her thighs, forcefully pulling her even higher up his chest. Her soft ass lifted completely clean off the mattress. Her body was folded entirely open like so sort of lewd, beautiful sculpture designed only for his viewing pleasure. Her spine arched further, her flat stomach pulled tight, her breath stuttering out in short, furious, helpless gasps.
She knew exactly what he was looking at now.
He was looking there.
And sure enough—
"Even your pretty little asshole is twitching for ," he noted softly, his tone observational and cruel. "You’re so much more honest down here than you ever are up there."
Her whole body gave a massive, violent jolt.
"Don’t—!" she spat, her golden eyes flying wide with genuine horror.
But he was already moving in.
His face dipped punishingly low.
And he spit directly onto her.
Just a thick, heavy drop of his saliva trickled slowly down onto her tight, pink rosebud, the small ring of muscle clenched completely shut in terror, as if he were thodically preparing it to be breached.
"Ugh, you disgust—!"
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