💜 Marinette Dupain‑Cheng 💜 Miraculous💜 230+ Images in Download-Link

I told myself I’d just play one more round.

The glow of my monitors lit up the room in soft blues and purples, controller vibrating in my hands as the headset hummed in my ears. I was winning. Focused. In the zone.

Or at least… I was.

Until I felt him behind me.

His hands slid up my thighs, slow and firm, fingers brushing the edge of my shorts — the kind I only wear when I’m home alone. Tight. Barely there. Easy to slide off.

"You're playing again?" he murmured into my ear, his voice cutting through the sound of the game. "Even though you know what I want?"

I shivered.

“I can multitask,” I whispered, pressing the mic mute button without missing a beat.

I kept playing, pretending to stay focused, but my breath hitched when his hands moved higher, pushing my legs apart as I sat in my gaming chair. My controller slipped slightly in my grip. He knew exactly what he was doing — teasing me, testing me.

And I was already melting.

His hand slid between my legs, fingers brushing over the heat beneath my shorts. I gasped, pressing my thighs together, my hips twitching forward without meaning to. The match was still going — teammates talking, gunfire in my ears — but I barely heard any of it now.

He pulled my shorts down, exposing me to the cold air and his warm hands.

I let him.

My legs parted wider, controller still clutched in my hands as he slipped inside me from behind — slow, deep, thick. My headset nearly fell off with the sudden arch of my back.

I moaned loud — forgetting the mic was only muted, not unplugged.

I dropped the controller.

It hit the floor with a soft thud.
So did any hope of finishing the game.

Now I was gripping the edge of my desk, monitors flickering in front of me, my mouth open as he moved inside me — rougher now, filling me, stretching me, making me whimper between headset cords and key clicks.

My hips rocked back into him. I didn’t care if the team heard. Didn’t care if the match crashed and burned. The only thing that mattered was the sound of skin, the sweat on my neck, the way his fingers tangled in my headset strap to pull me back just how I liked.

"You lose?" he growled, thrusting deeper.

I nodded, gasping.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because now you’re mine.”

And he took me — against the chair, against the desk, bent over with my headset still half-on, controller blinking red and forgotten. I came hard, legs trembling, thighs slick, moaning his name like I was the only player left in the world.

Game over?
Hardly.

Round two was just beginning.

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