80s Band Imagines

💜Steven #16 -*Mr. Possessive

The guys had been relentless at dinner, laughter echoing off the walls of the restaurant.

"Not once, man. Weeks on tour and not a single sound from her? You're slipping."

"Not a peep," another chimed in, smirking at June.

"She even real, or are you just making her up?"

Steven had laughed along, but June saw it in his jaw — the twitch of irritation, the way his hand tightened on his drink. He brushed them off, but the edge in his eyes didn't fade the whole walk back to the hotel.

The second their door closed, the mask cracked. The keycard hit the dresser with a sharp slap, and Steven turned on her, pinning her to the wall before she could take a step. His eyes burned, jaw tight.

"You hear them?" His voice was low, ragged with something between anger and hunger. "Joking about you like that?"

"You know why I don't let them hear you," he said, pushing her back against the wall. His body caged hers in, the tension rolling off him. "They don't get to know what you sound like when I've got you."

June's breath caught. His body pressed into hers, heat rolling off him. "They were teasing—"

"No." His hand flattened against the wall beside her head. His mouth hovered close enough that she could taste his breath. "They don't get to hear you. Not once. Not ever. That's mine.You understand me? Every sound you make — mine."

Her breath hitched, caught somewhere between fear and want. His kiss was rough, claiming — teeth catching her lip, tongue pushing past her defenses until she melted against him. She moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed it greedily. He broke away with a smirk.

"That's the sound," he muttered darkly. "The one they'll never get."

Her clothes were gone in messy, impatient tugs, Steven stripping her bare like he couldn't stand any barrier between them. He pushed her down onto the bed, climbing over her, his weight holding her in place.

"They really think I can't make you loud?" he muttered, almost to himself, as he pushed her gently down onto the mattress. "Guess I'll just have to remind you—and them—exactly how wrong they are."

June's breath caught, half amused, half aroused, as he tugged her shorts down and spread her thighs with single-minded determination. The mattress dipped under his weight as he settled between her legs, looking up at her once with a crooked smirk.

"You're not covering your mouth tonight," he warned softly, before lowering his head.

The first stroke of his tongue pulled a sharp gasp out of her, and his smirk deepened against her skin. He latched on with a purpose, the kind of focus that left no room for her to think, only to feel. His mouth was everywhere—slow, dragging licks, sharp flicks, sucking until she was squirming against the sheets.

Her fingers clawed into the blankets, knuckles white, but the sounds pouring out of her betrayed her. Little gasps, broken moans, the kind of noises she usually tried to swallow back.

"Steven—" she whimpered, trying to shift away, overwhelmed.

He pulled back just enough to look up at her, his lips slick and his grin wolfish. "That's it. Don't you dare hold back on me, June. I want them to know exactly what I'm doing to you."

Before she could answer, he dragged her hips closer, burying himself back between her thighs with rougher insistence. His tongue worked mercilessly, dipping lower, slower, until he slid past the place she expected—his mouth pressing against her tighter, forbidden hole.