“Yes, sir! Always yours—” My voice cracks into a scream as he slams harder, faster, the glass rattling with every thrust.
And then—he breaks.
His release tears through him with a groan against my ear. Hot, violent, spilling deep inside me until I’m gasping, clinging tighter just to stay upright. His thrusts grind slower, deliberate, fucking me full until I can feel every drop leak down, until I know—without question—I’m owned.
“Good pup,” he rasps, chest pressed to my back, his weight crushing me deliciously against the window. “Taking it perfect. Taking all of me.”
My knees buckle for real this time, but his hand at my throat and hip holds me up, keeps me pinned to the glass while the city keeps burning outside.
I can’t breathe. I don’t want to. Not if it means losing this.
His chest crushes against my back, hand still braced at my throat, hips rolling slow—teasing—keeping me full, keeping me plugged with every grind. It’s torture, soft and steady, after everything he’s already wrung out of me.
“Sir…” My voice is shredded, small, barely more than a cracked whisper. I whimper again, clutching weakly at his arm. “Am I forgiven for my attitude, sir?”
He hums low against my ear, hips never stopping, thrusts shallow, deliberate, just enough to make me gasp each time.
“Mmm…” His scar drags along my skin as he smirks. “For now.”
A broken sound claws out of my throat, half relief, half desperate sob. I slump against him, my body boneless, my weight folding into his hold. He supports me without even trying—big hands steady, cock still deep, keeping me wrecked and open.
And his hips keep moving. Slow. Ruthless. Teasing.
I feel him start to shift—his cock dragging, pulling out slow—and panic spikes hot through my chest. Before I eventhink, my hand shoots back, clamps down on his hip, nails digging through his skin.
“Don’t,” I gasp, raw, desperate.
He stills instantly.
“Brat,” he growls against my ear, low and soft, dangerous.
But he doesn’t move again.
Doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t punish me. He just stays—buried deep, heavy and hot, keeping me split wide open against the window while my whole body trembles.
One of his hands drags up my side, slow, steady, until it finds the ice pack I’ve been clutching against my ribs. No longer ice—just water now, dripping down my stomach. My fingers are numb from holding it, knuckles white.
He takes it from me without a word. Tosses it into the sink, the clatter echoing through the quiet kitchen.
But he never moves an inch from the glass.
His chest stays pressed to my back, his cock still inside me, steady, unyielding. His lips lower, brushing my shoulder.
And then he kisses me there.
Just once. Soft.
The sound I make is wrecked, broken, nothing like a chirp. My whole body collapsing into his arms.
I’m still full of him. Still marked by him. And now—kissed by him.
It destroys me more than any punishment ever could.
A week.
That’s how long I’ve kept him.
One night wasn’t enough. Neither was two. I didn’t let him crawl back to his little rookie shoebox. He’s been in my bed every night since, tangled in my sheets, sprawled against my chest like he’s always belonged there.
