Page 46 of Felix

Emil is looking up at me in utter rapture, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t break his gaze. Can’t figure out why this man has me in his clutches. He has since the moment I first saw him spread out on his bed, glasses crooked and dick in hand.

I want him. I want him, and I’m having a hard time remembering why I can’t just have him.

Emil lets go of my hips as I step back, and my skirt falls haphazardly over my cock. I force myself to turn toward the tablet as I sink down to the bed, hoping I didn’t mess up the shot when I stood up in the first place. I don’t worry about it right now. I slow my breaths and focus on work.

“You get two choices,” I tell the viewers, aiming a smirk their way. “One way or another, I’m fucking Fe. Hands and knees? Or on his back?”

Comments pour in, and there’s no way I can do an actual count, but I skim them nonetheless, not sure which option I want them to pick. Part of me is desperate to see Emil’s eyes. The other… The other part of me knows that’s dangerous.

I idly take stock of one of the cameramen moving around me and the boom operator nearby, but it’s amazing how easy it is to block it all out. I wonder, for Emil, if it’s something he’s always aware of. If it skims along his skin like electricity.

Decision made with the help of our viewers, I turn back to Emil, who’s still kneeling, his cock out, lips puffy and red.

“Have you ever been fucked by a man in a skirt, Fe?”

His eyes never leave mine. “Ask me again in five minutes.”

I bark out a laugh. This. This is why I can’t resist the man before me. He makes me feel light. He makes me happy.

“Hands and knees, Fe,” I say hoarsely. “I’m gonna fuck you like I own you. You’re going to take it and plead for more. And they’re going to watch every single second.”

Emil’s eyes shutter, and he blows out a breath before snapping into action. As I grab a condom, he shucks off his clothes. Once nude, he flips onto his hands and knees and presents his ass. His forearms meet the bed, and he drops his cheek to the sheets, back arching. He looks like a man ready to be taken. Ready to be owned.

I try to tell myself this is just sex—just playing, just our job—but the fiery heat flowing through my veins doesn’t let me believe it. Not fully. I wasn’t supposed to develop feelings. I didn’t want to want more.

But I do. And I don’t know what to do with that.

Emil barely flinches when I bring lubed fingers to his ass. He leans into it, muscles relaxed, his entire body languid. My finger slips in with ease.

“More,” Emil says instantly.

A smile pulls at my lips. “What did I tell you? Begging already.”

I slip in two.

“Be confident…later,” he huffs out. “Once your cock…is in me…making good on your promise.”

I twist my fingers, and Emil curses. “You don’t think I can make you feel just as good like this?” I goad, adding a third digit.

“You said…you’d own me,” he replies, hips rolling back against my fingers as I fuck him looser. “So give me your goddamn cock, Vixen. Pin me to this fucking bed, and own me already.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

I breathe a silent apology to my skirt as I get up on my knees behind Emil, knowing the fabric will need a damn good cleaning after this. I press the tip of my cock to Emil’s asshole, hand holding tight to his hip.

“Come on,” he urges, his glasses askew as he looks back at me, his cheek rosy bright. “Come on,” he says again, softer but no less vehemently.

“Whatever you want, Fe.”

Emil’s breath whooshes out of him as I ram forward. His body accommodates me, making way, muscles throttling my cock as I sink balls-deep. I shift, grinding more than fucking, and Emil mewls, his fingers flexing against the sheets.

“Better, Fe? Is this what you wanted? You wanted to be filled and fucked and owned for all to see?”

His answer is a garbled moan. I keep grinding, waiting for some of that resistance to give way. I know Emil has expert control over his body, but I still don’t want to hurt him. Couldn’t bear it. I glance over my shoulder as I take stock of everything around us. The crew is silent as they work, and no cues are being given, so I stroke over Emil’s ass cheek as I read the live chat.

“Gorgeous, isn’t he?” I ask the viewers. My skirt is rucked up, still falling over my own ass but not obscuring Emil’s. I pull out just a little and then push back in, letting them see my cock sinking slowly into Emil’s body. “He feels perfect. Perfect, Fe.”

“You’d feel better if you moved,” he answers, the cheeky fuck.

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