He spun me around, chest to the door, hands braced on either side of my head. I could feel his cock—already hard as rebar—against the small of my back, grinding slow and deliberate. His breath was hot against my ear; he bit the lobe hard enough to make me gasp, then licked over the sting.
I felt him fumbling at my waistband, then in one fluid motion he shoved my sweats down to my knees. My ass was bare, cold air prickling every square inch, and I had a second to be embarrassed before his hands were on me, kneading, squeezing, spreading me open like he was testing the ripeness of a fruit at the supermarket.
I squirmed, but not to get away. I wanted more contact, more of him, and I arched back into his grip like a cat in heat. He must’ve liked that, because he let out a low, animal sound and pressed his cock harder into the cleft of my ass.
“You ever been fucked like this?” he asked, and it wasn’t really a question. He lined up his cock and ground the head against my hole, slow and deliberate, not pushing in yet, just letting me feel the size of it.
I tried to look over my shoulder, but he shoved my face forward, cheek to the door. “No,” I gasped. “Not—fuck—not like this.”
“Good,” he said again.
He spit in his hand—loud, rude, primal—and slicked himself up before pushing the tip inside me. My breath caught, and the stretch was so intense I almost whined.
“You okay?” he said, and for all the roughness, there was a thread of care in his voice.
I nodded, desperate for more.
He pushed in, slow but relentless, one hand braced on the back of my neck, the other gripping my hip so hard I was sure I’d have bruises in the morning.
It hurt. It hurt in that way that’s half pain, half pure, electric sensation. My whole body was on fire; I could feel every ridge, every pulse of his cock as it split me open.
I pressed my forehead to the door and exhaled, trying to relax, but Knox didn’t give me the chance—he bottomed out, hips flush against my ass, and just held me there, letting my body adjust.
When the pain faded, it left a raw, molten hunger in its place. I wanted to move, to fuck back into him, but he held me still, controlling the rhythm, making me take it.
“Fuck,” I said, voice muffled against the wood. “You’re huge.”
Knox laughed, a single, sharp exhale. “You can take it,” he said, then started to move.
The first thrust was careful, more testing than fucking, but the second was harder, and the third drove me up onto my toes.
My cock bounced, slapping against the door, leaking, and with each movement I could feel his balls slap against mine, the wet, obscene sound of it echoing in the small room.
He fucked me like he meant it. Not some tender, romantic thing, but the kind of urgent, rough sex that left you changed, ruined, better than you were before.
His hands never stopped moving—sometimes gripping my hips, sometimes sliding up my spine, sometimes wrapping around my throat just enough to let me know who was in control.
“Mine,” he said, voice a growl. “You’re fucking mine.”
I moaned, unable to form words. My fingers clawed at the door, searching for leverage, anything to ground myself as he fucked me harder, deeper, each thrust knocking the wind out of my lungs in the best way.
He reached around, wrapped his big hand around my cock and stroked in time with his hips. The friction was almost too much, sensation ricocheting up my spine and into my skull until I thought I’d pass out.
I could feel the orgasm building, low and hot and inevitable. I tried to warn him, but all that came out was a strangled “Knox—”
He didn’t slow down. He slammed into me, over and over, until my legs started to shake and my vision blurred at the edges.
When I came, it was violent, full-body, every muscle tensing as I shot all over his hand and the door and myself. I nearly collapsed, but he held me up, fucking me through it, never letting go.
He was close, I could tell from the way his rhythm faltered, the grip on my neck tightening just a hair, his breathing going ragged.
With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and came, the heat of it flooding inside me, filling me up in every way. He grunted, forehead pressed to the back of my head, then went still.
For a minute, neither of us moved. The only sound was our breathing—loud, harsh, and perfectly in sync.
He pulled out, slow, and I whimpered at the loss. My legs gave out and I slid down the door, landing on the floor in a boneless heap.
Knox followed me down, wrapping his arms around my chest and hauling me into his lap. He was still hard, still half inside me, but now the touch was gentle, almost reverent.
