My heart pounds so loudly I can barely hear the rest of the world. And then I ask the question I can’t keep inside. “Did you watch us?”
His gaze sharpens.
“When we were together… fucking,” I clarify. “Did you play it back?”
He doesn’t blink or hesitate. “I’ve watched us fuck many times.”
The words should shame me. They don’t. Instead, my pussy clenches tight, aching. The heat pulses between my legs, stronger now, hotter.
“I want to see us. Show me.”
Bastien’s mouth curves slowly. He moves to the monitors as if he already knows where the files live. No fumbling. No second-guessing. He clicks through folders with precise, fluid efficiency, opening one labeled only with a date I remember all too well.
The night everything changed.
The screen flickers, and there we are.
The footage is dark—grainy with low light—but everything is visible. Every angle. Every detail.
Me—kneeling on my bed, blindfolded, ass high in the air. Vulnerable. Offered to him like a gift he already owns.
He’s behind me, knees spread wide for leverage, one hand on the base of my spine keeping me arched. The other slides between my legs—fingers parting me with reverent precision before he presses his thumb inside my asshole.
I watch myself shudder. Watch my mouth fall open in a gasp no one hears. My hips rock back, chasing the pressure, the fullness, the claiming. Bastien curls his finger inside me on the screen, and I moan, recalling the way it felt.
I wanted more, another finger, but I was too afraid to ask for it.
My thighs tremble just seeing it.
He knew what I needed before I did. Knew how to open me slowly—patiently—so when he finally fucked me, I’d already be shaking. And when he broke me, I’d beg for it.
I watch myself reach for him. Watch his hand slide between my legs. I remember every breath and every promise he kept with his mouth and his hands and his cock.
That night was chaos and clarity, danger and surrender. I’d wanted him so badly. Hated myself for it. Lied to myself about how far I’d go. But the moment he touched me, it was over.
I remember how scared I was. Not of him, but of myself. Of what it meant to want something so raw, so wrong, so fucking right.
The fear didn’t ruin it. It heightened it. Even now, I ache seeing us. My pussy throbs as I see him sink into me, claiming what was always his.
Bastien steps up behind me, and his arms snake around my waist. His chest presses flush against my back, his chin lowering until his mouth hovers by my ear.
“Do you remember how wet you were? How tight?”
His hips grind forward. Hard. Thick. Unapologetic. The bulge of his cock pushes against the curve of my ass, and I go still. Not out of fear, but because my body remembers.
Every angle. Every thrust. Every command.
On the screen, he drives into me from behind. On instinct, I arch, matching the image, the memory, the pressure now building behind me.
He bites my shoulder, not too hard. A warning, a promise, and I whimper. Because I’m not watching anymore. I’m reliving it.
And then I say it, the thing that changes everything. “I want you to show me.”
He pulls back, studying me, a wolf deciding whether to feast or wait.
“Show you what?”
“What it looks like when you finally start acting like you own me.”
