I grip the base, drag the pierced head along her slit—slow, teasing the first barbell against her clit. She hisses, hips jerking.
“Still smirking?” I murmur, voice gravel.
She bites her lip. “Waiting for you to deliver.”
I push in. The first rung catching at her entrance. Her breath hitches.
Then the second. She clenches instinctively around the metal and I nearly black out.
“Blyad,” I bite out, forearms braced on either side of her head, every muscle locked. “Don’t. Fucking. Move.”
She freezes for half a second. Then deliberately clenches again, slow and mean.
I shudder hard. “Beda…I swear to God, if you keep doing that.”
She laughs, breathless. “What, you came already?”
“No.” I drag in air. “But if you keep milking me like a greedy little brat, I will.”
“Careful Maksim, I might think you like me.”
My eyes snap open. “You think this is funny?”
“A little.”
I slam home in one brutal thrust; all the way, every piercing dragging inside her, stretching her open. Her back bows off the leather, legssnapping around my waist, nails raking down my back hard enough to leave marks.
“You’re not laughing now,” I snarl.
She moans—deep, broken, then bites her lip and forces out, “Still… smirking though.”
I wrap my hand around her throat, pinning her gaze to mine. “You are fucking menace, Beda.”
I move. Slow at first, on purpose. Pulling out almost all the way so she feels every single barbell catch and drag on the way back in. Her walls flutter around each one. Her thighs tremble.
Fuck, she’s an experience.
“Harder,” she demands, voice hoarse.
I grin against her ear. “You’re gonna regret saying that.”
I hook her knees over my elbows, folding her open, and fuck her into the cushions—deep, punishing, the leather creaking under us with every snap of my hips. Skin slapping. Wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. Her moans turn sharp, needy. Those breathy fucking sounds.
“This pussy’s mine now.” I bite her shoulder, hard enough to mark. “You hear me?”
She gasps and wraps her arms around my neck, nails raking through my hair, digging into my scalp.
She whispers hot against my mouth, “Short king’s got a throne now, huh?”
I choke on a laugh despite myself. “You’re fucking impossible.”
“You like it.”
I drive harder. Deeper. “I do.”
Our foreheads press together; sweat-slick, breaths mingling. That’s when it hits.
Not the clench. Not the moans. Not my cock buried so deep I feel her heartbeat around me.
