Royal Claim, Gentle Hands First

My long distance boyfriend who's very gentle and both of us are virgins comes to meet me we hang out the whole day and then show the sexual tension and how we lose our virginities and also how he gets dominant from Princess treatment in bed

His plane touched down earlier than expected. I didn’t text him—I knew he’d be nervous enough. The airport was too bright, too open, and he looked like he was about to bolt before I locked eyes on him. Dark hair tousled, posture rigid, his hands clenched into fists at his sides like he was afraid he’d come too close if he didn’t control himself. I didn’t smile. Let him think it was an accident that I stood exactly where he was meant to be waiting. He hesitated, then strode forward, lips parted but no words coming yet—just the way he always did when he was in my space. His jaw tightened when his fingers brushed mine, the contact making him stumble like a kid caught red-handed. "Hey," I said, low. "You said you were gonna pick me up." His throat bobbed. "Yeah. I—" The words died when I curled my fingers around his, tugged him against me, and pressed my mouth to his ear. "You’re trembling." My voice was even, not teasing, just *statements*. "We talked about this. You touch me, I touch you back." He exhaled roughly, his breath hot against my lobe. "Fuck, I’m sorry. I just meant—" I didn’t let him finish. My nails dug into his palm just enough, hard enough, to make him still. Then I kissed him.

His breath hitched when my tongue slid past his lips, the taste of mint and something sharper—adrenaline, maybe—coating my teeth. I gripped his wrist and pressed his knuckles to my throat, feeling the faint pulse of his heartbeat beneath my skin as I swallowed his groan. "You're *still* trembling," I murmured against his mouth, my teeth grazing his bottom lip. "Let’s fix that." His free hand shot up to my waist, fingers curling into the denim like he was drowning. "I can’t—this isn’t—" A flush crept up his neck. "You’re supposed to let me *hold* you." I let out a dark laugh, deepening the kiss before I pulled back just enough to speak. "Oh, baby, you don’t get to touch me without me touching you first." My teeth tugged at his earlobe, pulling sharply just as I yanked his wrist up, higher. "Unless you want me to call someone." His cock stiffened, the heat of it pressing through his jeans into my hip. "No." The word was a ragged rasp, his fingers digging into my waist like claws. "I just—I don’t usually—" "I know." I pressed my palm to his chest, feeling the erratic thud of his heart beneath my fingertips. "That’s why you’re here." My nails traced the outline of his zipper, slow and deliberate. "Because you’re gonna let me play with you. And then you’re gonna play with me." He shuddered, his breath coming faster now. "You’re—you’re gonna do it right here?" His voice cracked on the last word.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I stepped into him, my thigh sliding between his as I pressed closer, feeling the way his cock thickened beneath my touch. The heat of his body radiated through the fabric between us, and I leaned in, my lips ghosting against his jaw. "I’m gonna make you come so good you forget where the hell you are," I whispered, my nails raking the back of his hand when he tried to pull away. "Now take me outside. And shut the fuck up while you do."

His fingers went slack on my waist, the denim suddenly too hot, too confining—like it might burn him. "Now," I purred again, my thigh flexing between his, teasing the weight of his cock against the denim. "Don’t make me ask politely." My nails drew another shallow line from his wrist up to his shoulder, sharp enough to leave a mark. "I won’t." A growl rumbled in his throat as he turned, his grip shifting—not to push me away, but to haul me behind him, the way the door slammed shut making his pulse jump beneath my lips. The hall was empty, the only light spilling from an exit sign, casting him in sickly green glow. His hands were still on me, but not like before—hesitant, trembling. They squeezed my ass as I walked him backward, my fingers trailing up his spine, leaving a path of fire. I wanted to know what it felt like to dominate him like this. *Really* know. So I pressed him against the wall instead, my palm flattening his throat as my free hand dropped to the bulge in his jeans. "You’re gonna hold yourself steady," I ordered, my voice rough with desire. "Unless I tell you otherwise." The heat from his grip on me vanished as his arms locked behind his back, fingers clawing at the plaster. "Fuck, please—" "Quiet." I didn’t wait. My fingers hooked into his waistband, ripping it open with the zipper, and his cock sprang free—not fully hard yet, but thick, the head already slick. I gripped the base, my thumb swiping over the damp tip, and his breath hitched, throat bobbing under my palm.

The green light painted his shaft a surreal hue—veiny beneath my touch, the flushed tip exposed as I slipped his jeans down past his hips. He was breathless, his ribs heaving against my arm, but the only sound in the hall was the wet drag of my fist down his length. *"I’ve got a fantasy about you—"* he tried again, voice cracking. "Hush," I hissed, my free hand shoving his shirt up. The underside of his waistband was damp, but I didn’t care—my palm was already pressing him, forcing him to arch into me. "I don’t need to *fantasize*." My nails traced the taut line of his abs before hooking into the waistband again, pulling him hard against the wall, his cock hitting my knuckles with every breath. I let go and he gasped, then watched, wide-eyed, as I knelt between his feet. My fingers dug into the back of his thighs, spreading him—just enough—while my lips grazed the underside of his cock. He groaned, but I cut him off with a sharp bite to the hip, teeth sinking into the denim, the musk trapped under it thick enough to swallow. I ripped his belt free, tossed it aside, and then wrapped my fingers around his shaft again before dragging them back to the head, teasing. The tip was swollen, veins throbbing, and I let my saliva slippery down his length, watching the pre-cum slicker. *"Please, fuck—"* he whimpered, but I stopped him with a palm to his belly, pushing him back against the wall. "On your knees." He didn’t hesitate this time. My hands locked his hips steady as he dropped, his own cock already spurring as he knelt. I wrapped my lips around him—not just to suck, but to *take*, to prove how good I could be at the edge of control. My hand tangled into his hair, yanking back as his fingers scrabbled against my thigh, desperate. *"You’re not allowed to touch me yet,"* I breathed, my nails digging into his scalp. His cock pulsed in my throat as I swallowed, and he choked on a cry, hips jerking against my grip. I pulled away, leaving him panting, *"Fuck, I’m gonna—"* and then I was back down, my lips sealing over the head, tongue flicking the slit as he convulsed. His fingers were in my hair now, rough, but I barely felt them, too lost in the way his cock was *mine*, the way he tasted on my tongue, bitter and salty. I took him all the way until he gagged, then eased back before plunging forward again, each time pushing harder, deeper. His body was a mess of tension, limbs quivering, and then he was there—his cock thickened, throbbing, and I knew he was close. I pulled away, my nails dragging down his throat instead, making him shudder. *"Look at me,"* I demanded, eyes locked on his. His breath was uneven, chest heaving, fingers still bruised into my back. "Come for me," I growled, and he obeyed. His release hit hard, spurting against my chest, his cock still jerking as my nails scored his skin. *"Fuck—"* he gasped, knees hitting the floor, and I didn’t let him go—my own panting breaths meeting his, my legs spread as I soaked the hem of my shirt, my own climax making my fingers grip bruising into his hair. We stayed like that, bodies shaking, caught in the throes of the release, the hall still empty around us.