,,Simon Riley.

Lately, Simon felt curious every time you applied mascara. He'd noticed that you unconsciously opened your mouth while doing so, and he was always there, taking your chin and reminding you to close it. You just smiled with amusement every time he did.

The days passed and, every time you put on makeup again, he seemed to find some amusement in watching how, unconsciously, you repeated that gesture.

Until one night, as he came out of the bathroom with his body still damp and only a towel wrapped around his waist, you asked him in a playful tone: Love, help me put on my mascara.

Simon raised an eyebrow, but didn't hesitate to approach. He stood in front of you and, patiently, took the tube of mascara in one hand while holding your chin steady with the other. The first swipe over your lashes was precise. And then, as always, your mouth fell open.

His grip on your chin tightened at the sight of you like this. "You always do it..." he murmured hoarsely. "You can't help it, can you?"

You blinked, confused at first, until without warning he dropped the towel. His closeness enveloped you completely; you felt it brush against your cheek. "We have to keep that little mouth shut somehow," he whispered, letting his fingers slowly trace your lower lip, making you open it.

He took your chin again, guiding you firmly. Simon let out a satisfied growl as he slowly entered your mouth. Your eyes began to water slightly, both from the mascara and the intensity of the moment. "Your face is turning into a mess right now..."

He took your face in both hands, maintaining his hold on you, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror, to see how your mouth was occupied, how your lipstick slipped out of place and the mascara ran down your cheeks, leaving a chaotic trail of desire.