“You ready for this?”
I nod.
He doesn’t move.
“Use your words, baby. I want to hear it.”
“Yes,” I gasp.
He thrusts in one brutal, perfect stroke that forces the air from my lungs.
I scream.
The stretch, the fullness—it’s too much and not enough all at once.
“Goddamn,” he growls. “Tight little hole taking every fuckinginch.”
He holds still, breathing hard.
“Okay?” he asks, voice strained. Barely controlled.
“More than okay,” I whisper. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
“Not a chance in hell,” he growls.
He starts to move.
Not fast—not yet.
Each thrust is measured, claiming. Deep enough to bruise. Slow enough to torment.
His hands grip my hips, controlling every angle. His mouth drags down my jaw, biting my shoulder.
“Fucking made for me,” he pants. “You feel that? That’s me splitting you open. Filling every goddamn inch.”
I whimper, my nails digging into his back.
“You love this,” he growls. “Being fucked the way you need.”
“Yes,” I sob, already trembling. “Yes—Cooper, please?—”
“That’s it,” he rasps, speeding up now. “Beg for it. Beg for your fucking release.”
“Please,” I moan. “Please—I need to come?—”
“You don’t need anything unless I say so.”
He grabs my wrists, pins them above my head.
“You come when I let you. Not before.”
His other hand slips between us, thumb circling my clit in perfect, torturous rhythm.
“You’ll take what I give,” he growls. “Every thrust. Every command. Every filthy fucking word.”
My body is a live wire—every nerve lit, strung so tight I’m seconds from detonation.
“I want to watch you fall apart,” he whispers, mouth at my ear. “I want to fuck you so hard you can’t remember your own goddamn name.”
