I felt her clamp down again and again like she didn’t know how to handle it.
And I didn’t stop.
Because I was addicted. Already.
And I hadn’t even fucking started.
Her body clamped around my fingers like a fucking vice—tight, wet, desperate.
I felt the second she broke.
Every muscle pulled taut. Her spine bowed off the bar like the ground itself wasn’t enough to hold her.
Then she shattered.
Hard.
A sharp gasp ripped from her throat—raw, unfiltered, real.
And I fucking drank it in.
Her body pulsed around me in waves, soaking my fingers, her breath coming in broken little whimpers like she didn’t know how to handle what I’d just done to her.
Good. I didn’t want her handling it. I wanted her ruined.
“Fuck…” I growled, eyes locked on her flushed face, her parted lips, the tremble still in her thighs.
She was wrecked. Wrecked by me.
I pulled my fingers from her slowly, deliberately, like I was taking a piece of her with me.
Watched her face like a hawk. Waiting for regret.
There was none.
Just that glazed-over look of shock and need.
She was still falling.
I stood, towering over her, letting the heat stay thick between us—letting her feel every inch of it.
Then I leaned down and kissed her—deep. Slow. Dirty.
Let her taste herself on my tongue like the truth it was.
You did this. With me. For me.
She jerked back, eyes wide and lips slick. “I… I can’t…”
I didn’t flinch.
I studied her like I was memorizing her soul—those stormy eyes of hers spinning with panic and want and something that looked a lot like surrender.
“Stay,” I said. Low. Final.
Her brows snapped together. She bristled. “I’m not a dog.”
I smirked, calm and dangerous. “No. But you’re a good girl.” The kind of girl who’d never been seen the way I saw her. “And I don’t touch unless you beg me to.”
