When I’m fully seated inside her, I pause. Let her adjust. Let us both feel this—the absolute claim of it, the finality.
“Still hate me?” I ask, voice strained.
Her hands are clutching my shoulders, holding me close rather than pushing away.
I pull back and thrust forward, not gentle but not brutal. Finding a rhythm that makes her gasp, that has her hips tilting to take me deeper despite herself.
“Good.” I grip her thigh, hitch her leg higher around my waist, changing the angle so I’m hitting that spot inside her with every stroke. “Hate me while I make you come on my cock.”
“God!” Her head falls back, throat exposed, completely vulnerable.
I lean down and bite the exposed skin, marking her, while my hips maintain that steady, relentless rhythm. She’s so wet I can hear it, the obscene sound of my cock sliding in and out of her adding to the symphony of gasps and moans filling my office.
“Feel that?” I growl against her throat. “Feel how perfectly you take me? Like your body was made for this.”
“Shut up!” The words have no heat, just desperate need.
“Make me.” I thrust harder, deeper, feeling her walls flutter around me. “Come on, Elena. Show me how much you hate me.”
Her orgasm hits without warning, her whole body going rigid before convulsing around me. The pulsing of her cunt drags me over the edge with her. I bury myself as deep as I can go and come hard, filling her, marking her from the inside out.
For several seconds we just stay like that—her trembling and gasping, me buried inside her, both of us breathing like we’ve run miles.
Reality crashes back in slowly.
Elena’s hands are still clutching my shoulders, but her grip has loosened. Her eyes are glazed, unfocused, like she’s not entirely sure what just happened.
I should say something. Should acknowledge what we’ve just done, what it means.
Instead, I pull out slowly, watching her flinch at the loss. My cum is already leaking out of her, obscene and possessive and undeniable proof of what just occurred.[10]
She makes a small sound, reaches down instinctively like she’s going to… what? Clean herself? I catch her wrist.
“Leave it.” My voice is rougher than intended. “I want you to feel it. Want you to lie in our bed knowing what we just did.”
Horror and arousal war across her face. “That’s—”
“Honest.” I release her wrist, step back, already tucking myself away and refastening my pants. “No more pretending this is just obligation or legal contract. We both wanted that.”
Tears gather in her eyes. Not from pain—from the truth of it. From having to acknowledge what she can’t deny.
“That was my first time,” she murmurs, and it’s so quiet I nearly miss it.
I grin. Can’t help myself. “Oh, so I’m your first?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You’ll never want anyone but me, now.”
“Asshole,” she whispers, but doesn’t turn away.
“I know.” I kiss her once, brief and possessive. “Now go to bed. We’ll deal with this in the morning.”
I turn and walk out before she can respond. Before I do something stupid like apologize or explain or try to make this gentler than it was.
The door closes behind me with a soft click.
I stand in the hallway, trying to get my breathing under control, my hands still shaking slightly from the intensity of it.
