Warnings: explicit descriptions of sexual acts, rough+fluffly, slight angst, generally hyper sexual themes+(spanking+domination=part 2) +oral sex (female receiving) literally just filth
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Your heels echo off of the dark oak walls in the nearly vacant entry hall, freshly polished marble floors a deep shade of onyx and squeaking against your soles as you make your way through the house.
You'd think such an obscenely large home would contain more furniture, but evidently Mr. Skarsgård isn't a fan of such, and you'd figured since he pays you more than a generous amount as his employee, perhaps you shouldn't ask many questions.
But, plenty had argued against you working with him at all.
In your town filled with mystery and mischief, the Skarsgård name is always met with a spine tingling shudder whenever it is mentioned.
Supposedly, the Skarsgårds have brought anguish and torture to every soul that has crossed them, and because of that; the reclusive man in the gated castle has been a social outcast.
'He's evil and cursed, why do you think no one's ever seen him?'
His name is like a poison to people, always said with a bitter taste in their mouth and a heart full of condemnation.
But you always felt for him in those moments. Even if you've only ever spoken to him through a speaker, and even if he was sharp and spiteful some days.
But wouldn't you be like that if everyone thought you were a monster? If everyone acted like you were the dirty little secret of their town? You'd lock yourself in a dark castle and never speak to anyone again, too.
Because of this fact, your undying and sometimes foolish empathy getting the best of you, you ignore your better judgement as you make your way to the third floor.
'Whatever you do, don't go to the third level. That's his headquarters and no one, not even me, is allowed.'
His ex assistants words ring in the back of your mind, and god, you know you're being dumb. But the soft sound of sobbing lulls you towards it like that of a little girl in the middle other woods, entranced by the music of the forest as she makes her way into the monsters waiting arms.
But as your feet halt and you stand in the threshold of a bedroom, double doors opened the reveal the hunched figure of a man; you feel the opposite of fear. You hurt for him.
He's dressed in a black, silky button up clinging to his upper half and the bright pale moon beaming through the window before him, giving sight of the muscles and bones underneath the garment.
His bottoms are the same color, and as you notice his large hands gripping the back of a leather chair in from of him, you can't help but to feel as if he's the perfect image of a fallen, weeping angel.
