~MOUSE~
Her gaze was ensnared on her Colonel.
Blonde tousled hair, dark blue eyes, and an intensity that left an indelible mark on her.
His strong hand had wrapped around her jaw in a bruising hold, tilting her head up to meet his storming sea-coloured eyes.
With her back hitting the wall, her body suspended off the ground, legs wrapped around his hips, Ophelia felt a mixture of pleasure and pain.
König's rage burned in his eyes, a storm of emotions that both terrified and thrilled her.
"Don't ever call anyone else Sir," he seethed, the words laced with anger and possessiveness.
In the heat of the moment, Ophelia's pleasure had overridden any recognition of the pure fury in his words.
"I have to, he's my superior-" she attempted to reason, her words cut off by his hand tightening around her cheekbones.
The lines between pleasure and pain blurred, leaving Ophelia grappling with the conflicting emotions that fuelled her desires and haunted her nightmares.
He'd wrapped his hand into her hair, gripping the strands with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.
With a forceful yank, her head collided with the wall.
Oddly, the impact didn't bring physical pain, his hand strategically placed between her skull and the concrete.
In the dimly lit room, his stormy blue eyes bore into hers with a ferocity that matched the fury coursing through his veins.
"Ophelia," he warned, each syllable dripping with anger.
Her words had ignited a blaze within him, a possessive fire that burned with a desire to claim her.
He wanted her.
Her submission, her attention, her devotion and the fact that she had called another man by the name reserved only for him fuelled his rage.
She found herself locked in a gaze with him.
His anger was a tangible force, and yet, beneath the fury, there was a yearning, a desire for exclusivity.
He wanted her to be his, and his alone.
Ophelia grappled with the foreign sensation.
Being wanted, being needed so desperately.
As the firstborn daughter she had grown accustomed to being the assertive one, the one who took what she wanted.
In her world, if she desired something, she had to be the one to seize it.
There was no expectation of being sought after or needed.
The societal perceptions of her assertiveness had often been met with judgment, and labels like rude, whore, or obnoxious.
He changed it all.
He needed her in her entirety.
It was a revelation that left her both vulnerable and empowered.
He needed something from her and she didn't understand.
As he glared down at her, Ophelia felt a mix of fear and arousal, her breath catching in her throat.
The echo of his warning lingered in the air.
"Noël—" her soft words began, but were abruptly cut off by his hand tightening its grip on her hair.
A surge of pain shot through her, bringing tears to her eyes, yet paradoxically, it also rippled with an undercurrent of pleasure that sent a wave of wetness rolling down her thigh.
"You don't get to call me that right now, Kleine Maus," he whispered into her ear, his voice low and dark.
The words were a warning, a declaration of authority that sent a shiver down her spine.
He wasn't Noël, and she wasn't Ophelia.
He was a King, and she was a Mouse that dangled from his hand.
The dim light cast shadows across his sharp features, emphasizing the intensity of his gaze as he held her captive in the palm of his hand.
He pushed his body into hers, the hard-muscled contours of his chest pressing her against the unforgiving wall.
"You're mine. Or have you already forgotten?" he whispered angrily, his stormy blue eyes boring into hers with a possessiveness that left no room for doubt.
The weight of his accented words, coupled with the unyielding pressure of his body, made her feel small and vulnerable.
He wasn't merely rough.
There was an edge to him, a rawness that suggested a desire to dominate in a way she hadn't experienced before.
Ophelia let her eyes turn gentle as she gazed up at him.
She saw his eyes soften as they looked at each other.
He may have been her superior in every way, but she had him as much as he had her.
With one look she could make him falter.
She could sense a struggle within him, a battle between possessiveness and restraint.
He had never crossed the line to hurt her, but there was a hint of something more primal, a hunger that threatened to tip the delicate balance they had carefully navigated.
He wanted to hurt her.
In depraved and disgusting ways that made her scream with pain and pleasure.
"I'm sorry, Sir," she whispered, her voice carrying a mix of contrition and submission.
Her apology seemed to ripple through him, and she watched as a primal satisfaction coursed over his anger.
"Braves Mädchen," he whispered with a groan in her ear, his hands pulling her closer.
The transition from anger to arousal was palpable as he pressed them together, his eyes gently closing in satisfaction.
She tried not to move her hips against his as she felt his hardness press closer to where she needed it.
The words she uttered had a profound effect, igniting a desire within him that quickly eclipsed his earlier anger.
His closed eyes snapped open, revealing a shade of blue so dark it felt as if she were drowning beneath a wild wave.
The intensity of his gaze was like a predatory command, something Ophelia couldn't ignore.
He wasn't Noël.
He was König.
He was a force of nature, a beast cloaked in human skin, and Ophelia could feel the weight of that presence in the air, suffocating her.
As she met his gaze, she saw a transformation.
No longer the man she knew, his eyes sharpened into predatory slits, pupils dilating with primal ferocity.
The atmosphere around him became charged with an unspoken threat, an invisible aura that declared him not just a man, but something more.
"Kneel," he said softly, his breath hitting her ear like a seductive whisper.
The calloused fingers in her hair now gently wound down, caressing her throat with a possessiveness that sent a shiver down her spine.
The command hung in the air, laden with an unspoken expectation.
Her knees buckled, caught in the internal struggle between the desire to submit to his every whim and the unfamiliar vulnerability that threatened to overwhelm her.
No one had ever made her feel vulnerable before.
He was making her vulnerable, and she found herself teetering on the edge of uncharted territory.
Sensing her hesitation, a dark laugh escaped from his chest, the fingers at her jugular gently pressing down.
The pressure served as a subtle reminder of his dominance, coaxing her to surrender.
"Kneel for me, Ophelia," he whispered softly, his words carrying a magnetic allure that beckoned her to comply.
Their eyes locked, a dance of brown and blue, mirroring the ebb and flow of waves crashing into the shore.
As her eyes traced over his features, she took in the details that made him uniquely him.
Short tousled hair, scars etched into his face, and the weariness in his eyes.
With a gradual surrender, Ophelia lowered herself to her knees, her gaze unwavering, locked onto his.
She trusted him.
His eyes, a blaze of intensity, ignited with fire as he watched her willingly submit to him.
Though he was tall when she stood, from her kneeling position, he appeared as an imposing mountain.
His large hand reached out, gently cupping the side of her face.
The rough texture of his calloused fingers brushed against her skin, the pad of his thumb tracing over her bottom lip and gently tugging it down.
His crooked smile widened, a mixture of satisfaction and possessiveness evident in his gaze as he looked down at her.
"Good girl," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that resonated through the charged air.
The words fell like sparks on dry tinder, instantly igniting a fire of desire within Ophelia.
The warmth started from the pit of her stomach, spreading like a fever throughout her body.
She felt her arousal spill out of her and coat her thighs and the floor in response.
It was a heady mixture of validation and arousal, a response to the primal satisfaction in his voice and the intensity of his gaze.
Her chest heaved with each breath.
Ophelia burned at the praise, her every nerve alive with the intoxicating combination of his dominance and the acknowledgment of her obedience.
His thumb continued its slow exploration of her lips, sinking between them and gently touching her tongue.
The sensation sent a shiver down her spine.
His thumb continued its sensual exploration, rubbing over her lips with a deliberate slowness.
His eyes, flaring with need, held a hunger that mirrored her own.
He shifted forward, coming to stand in front of her face.
Gently with one hand, he slid his pants over his hips.
Ophelia felt her core start to throb as his thick, hard cock slid out of his pants.
He was so aroused his cock pressed against the muscles in his abdomen.
Standing straight up, veins throbbing and pronounced.
Ophelia felt her own arousal soak down her thighs at the sight of his need for her.
Her hands moved instinctively, reaching out to touch him, to offer him the connection he seemed to crave.
The hand on her jaw tightened roughly, a forceful reminder of the boundaries in their intricate dance.
Ophelia halted, her hands falling limply to her sides as she surrendered to his unspoken command.
He glared at her, his gaze piercing, and tilted his head to the side in silent reproach.
"No, Maus," he said softly, the tenderness in his voice contrasting with the firmness of his grip.
With a demand softened by the gentle cadence of his voice, he held out one of his hands toward her.
His long, scarred fingers were extended expectantly, a silent invitation for her compliance.
"Wrists," he demanded softly, the word carrying a weight that resonated through the charged atmosphere.
Ophelia hesitated for a moment before slowly extending her wrists towards him.
The vulnerability of the gesture was palpable, a silent acknowledgment of the trust she placed in him.
A small, almost imperceptible smile played on his lips as he observed her.
Gently but with a firm resolve, he wrapped his hand around both of her wrists.
The warmth of his scarred skin against hers sent a shiver down her spine, and an involuntary moan escaped her lips.
With a subtle yet purposeful movement, he guided her hands upward, her knees still grounded on the floor.
He pulled her hands above her head, placing them against the cool concrete wall.
She sat up straighter, her hands pressed into the wall by his.
"You have no idea how badly I fucking want you," his confession cut through the charged atmosphere like a knife.
His words hung in the air, a declaration that blurred the lines between dominance and vulnerability.
Ophelia's breath caught in her throat, the gravity of his words sending a thrill through her.
His free hand traced over her chin, the touch both gentle and possessive.
His fingers slipped between her lips, letting his thumb hang between her teeth.
"Do you want me?" he asked gently, his tone belying the intensity of his gaze.
As he pinched her lip between his fingers, her body jolted upward in response, her core tightening and soaking with need.
The tap of his fingers against her cheek served as a subtle reminder of the power dynamics at play.
"I asked you a question, Sergeant," he ground out, his words carrying a hint of impatience.
The conflicting sensations—the pleasure, the restraint, the subtle pain—made it feel like too much, a storm of emotions brewing within her.
As the intensity of the moment heightened, Ophelia became acutely aware of every sensation, each one magnified to an overwhelming degree.
She could hear him—his movements, his breathing, the rhythmic thud of his heart.
The sounds filled the room, creating a symphony that resonated through her very core.
Tactile sensations overwhelmed her.
His hand still lingered between her parted lips, the texture of his skin both familiar and tantalizing.
She could taste him, the saltiness of sweat on his skin mingling with the lingering essence of honey and sandalwood.
All she felt was him.
His touch, his weight against her, the restraint of his hands.
It was a maddening concoction of pleasure and restraint, driving her to the brink of ecstasy and insanity.
"Yes," she whispered softly, her voice a delicate murmur that hung in the air.
He cocked his head to the side, studying her face with an intensity that bordered on scrutiny.
"I need more than that, Schatz," he said darkly, and a spark of frustration simmered within her.
He was toying with her, pushing the boundaries of desire and restraint.
"Yes!" she yelled angrily, the outburst echoing in the otherwise silent room around them.
The pent-up frustration and desire bubbled to the surface, her voice carrying a mix of defiance and need.
"I fucking want you," she whispered the last part, her eyes rising to meet his.
A slow, satisfied smile crept across his face as her words hung in the air.
His eyes, once probing and intense, softened with a mixture of pleasure and triumph.
There was a predatory glint in his eyes.
One she had only ever seen on the field.
He moved closer, the gentle tap of his fingers against her lips prompting a soft, rhythmic sound.
"Offen," he said softly as he tapped her chin.
He often spoke his native tongue, a language she didn't fully understand.
He had admitted he wasn't very good at English, yet, in moments of stress, ease, or adrenaline, he reverted back to what he knew.
A small, knowing smile crossed his lips as he observed her puzzled expression.
With a deliberate movement, he slid his thumb over her bottom lip, the touch both gentle and firm.
His thumb hooked beneath her lip and pulled down, coaxing her mouth open.
"halte es offen," he told her gently as the hand on her jaw wound around the back of her head and dug deep into her hair.
He moved so close to her she could no longer see his face.
But she knew he could see her.
She could feel the burn of his gaze as he moved closer.
The hand around her wrists tightened.
Her gaze traced the contours of his scarred abdomen, a landscape corded with well-defined muscles.
The little white and pink scars looked back at her as he pulled her close.
Some scars were faint, barely noticeable, while others stood out more prominently.
Amidst the scars, a hardly visible gold trail of hair ran down his stomach, a striking contrast against the rugged terrain of his abdomen.
The hand in her hair gripped the short curly strands, wrapping them around his fingers.
Gently he guided her head forward, his hold on her spoke of dominance, but his touch was gentle.
Her eyes widened in panic as he pulled her lips to the underside of his hard cock.
Her lips touched soft skin and she heard him sigh loudly in pleasure.
He was almost as big as her head.
Her panic clawed at her, telling her to run.
But she couldn't.
She didn't want to.
They had done this before, but this was different.
His skin tasted sweet and rich as he dragged her by her hair.
Forcing her lips over the underside of him, pulling her body up as he guided her to the top of his cock.
His tip brushed her top lip, the taste of sweet and salty precum dancing over her tongue as he held her there.
His hands tightened around her wrist in a bruising hold, pushing her arms into the concrete wall.
"You still want me, Meine Liebe?" he asked much rougher than he had asked her before.
She didn't know what his words meant.
But she knew he was asking her if she would still have him if he wasn't Noël Waismann.
If she would have him as König.
As brutal, rough and quick-tempered as he was merciless.
Ophelia didn't have words to use, to tell him how she felt.
Instead, she ran her tongue over his tip, letting his precum coat her mouth as she wrapped her lips softly around the top of him.
His hand tightened in her hair, a desperate grip that stung her scalp and ripped pleasure through her.
"Heilige Scheiße, du bist großartig," he groaned as his hand wound deeper into her hair.
The hand wrapped around her wrists tightened to the point she felt her fingertips tingle.
She ran her tongue over his slit and kissed him gently.
She heard his sharp intake of breath, his gasp for air at the small touch.
"fick mich mit deinem hübschen kleinen mund," He moaned as he pulled her mouth further over him.
His tip hit the back of her throat hard and she felt herself gag, tears pricking her eyes.
He groaned at the tightening of her mouth, pushing further in.
She frowned at his words, she didn't understand.
He grunted in pure frustration at the barrier between them his hands sending stinging pain through her.
Ophelia closed her eyes and leaned forward, pushing him down her throat, her tongue shooting out and stroking every part of skin she could.
A sound of pleasure ripped from his chest as he slammed her further back against the cold wall.
Ophelia grit her eyes at the pain reverberating through her body.
She bobbed her head, letting him shove as far down her throat as he could go.
Her tongue rubbed over his slit, letting the taste of him coat her mouth.
"Du bist so schön," he moaned as he gripped her hair tight and started to thrust.
Ophelia's fingers snapped around the hand that held her, panicked sounds leaving her as her air was cut off and she couldn't swallow.
Her fingernails dug into his skin as her vision clouded over with tears.
The hot tears rolled over her cheeks as he pressed into her throat.
All she felt was panic and fear, an overwhelming tide that threatened to drown her as tears rolled down her cheeks.
The taste of him coating her mouth as he moved in her throat.
A single word shattered the oppressive silence and pulled her back from the edge.
"Ophelia," he said it so softly as if invoking a sacred enchantment, a prayer whispered in desperation to the vast expanse of the sky.
"Scheiße, Ophelia,"
The repetition of her name, like a rhythmic drumbeat, cut through the turmoil, creating a lifeline that connected her to the chaos.
With each utterance, he wove a delicate tapestry of understanding that transcended the limitations of language.
Her name, spoken with such tenderness, became a beacon of reassurance, a whispered promise.
Before she could settle into a comfortable rhythm he pulled out of her throat roughly.
Se drew in ragged breaths tears running down her face.
She closed her eyes and hung her head, letting him hold her up by her arms.
Her body shook as tears rolled down her cheeks.
Saliva dripped from her lips as she tried to calm her pulse.
His left hand stayed wrapped around her wrists, his right disappearing from her skin.
She heard a wet sound above her and felt him moving.
His hand snapped around her jaw again and lifted her face up.
When she was looking up, he gently let go.
"Open, Ophelia," he spoke so softly, so calmly and full of demand that her eyes had no option but to snap open.
Her gaze came face to face with his strong scarred hand as it rubbed over himself.
Running his hard cock between his hand as he stared down at her.
Her eyes snapped up to his in shock.
His ocean-blue eyes bore down on her filled with so many emotions.
The main ones she could see were satisfaction and possession.
He had her, and he intended to keep her.
~~~~~~~~~~
TRANSLATIONS
German
Offen- Open
"halte es offen," - keep it open
"Heilige Scheiße, du bist großartig,"- Holy shit, you're amazing
"fick mich mit deinem hübschen kleinen mund,"- fuck me with your pretty little mouth
"Du bist so schön,"- You are so Beautiful