She hesitates, straddling me in reverse. Looks back over her shoulder, hair curtaining one eye.
"I've never done this."
"I know." My hands settle on her hips—thumbs pressing into the soft hollows above her pelvis. "That's the point. Lower yourself. Slow."
She does. Inch by inch. From this angle I can see everything—the elegant taper of her waist, the curve of her spine flexing as she adjusts, the way her body opens to take me in.
She sinks down fully and the sound she makes—strangled, surprised,wrecked—resonates in my chest.
"This is—you feel different like this—"
"How does it feel?"
"Big. Full. Like—" She shifts experimentally. "—everywhere."
My hands slide up her sides. Back down. Settling at her hips with possessive weight. "Start moving. Find whatworks."
She does. Tentative at first—rocking slowly, testing the angle. Then faster as she discovers the rhythm, her confidence building with each roll of her hips. Her ass bouncing on me with each movement.
I'm mesmerized. I've never watched her from this angle. Never seen the way her back muscles ripple when she moves. Never had this view of exactly how her body takes mine.
My hand comes down on her ass. No warning. The smack echoes in the quiet room.
She gasps—sharp, surprised—and clenches around me hard enough to make me groan.
"You liked that."
She's breathing hard. "I—yes."
"Say it."
"I liked it." Her voice is thin. Wanting.
"Want more?"
"Yes—please—"
I spank her again. Harder. Watch the skin bloom from pale to pink under my palm. Feel her grip me tighter with every connection—a feedback loop of sensation that's making it increasingly difficult to think.
"Ride me harder."
She does. Bouncing faster. Chasing the heat.
Smack.
She moans again, head falling back. The line of her throat catches the light and I want to bite it. Want to mark every part of her.
"That's it. Take what you need."
Smack.The decisive one. Hard enough that I'll see my handprint on her tomorrow. Hard enough that when she sits on the plane—
"Tomorrow you're going to feel this," I tell her. "Every time you shift, you're going to remember me."
"Yes—" She's riding frantically now. Getting desperate. Her body coiling tight—I can feel it, the way her rhythm stutters, the way she's tightening around me in pulses.
She leans back, braces her palms on my thighs. Her nails dig in—sharp crescents biting into muscle—and drag down.
I groan. The sting is perfect. Necessary.
