I look at her for one long second.
Then I step back. Her pupils flare.
Possession surges, but so does the amusement. She’s playing my game, turning it back on me. Fine. Let her think she’s winning this round.
I peel my shirt off slow, watching her watch me. Muscles flex under her stare; I see the way her throat works, swallowing. Then my pants—belt unbuckled, zipper down, fabric shoved off my hips until I’m bare, hard, ready. Her gaze drops, lingers.
“You gonna keep staring,” I ask, voice rough, “or use it?”
She doesn’t answer with words.
Just hooks her fingers into the waistband of her panties and slides them down her legs—slow, deliberate, eyes locked on mine the whole time. Then she steps forward, plants a hand on my chest again, and shoves.
I let myself fall back onto the bed. The mattress dips under my weight. She climbs over me immediately, knees bracketing my hips, mouth parted, breath quick, still acting like this is about control and not the fact that she’s soaked and furious and wants something to break too.
Fuck.The sight of her like this—naked, defiant, positioning herself to take control, makes my blood pound. She reaches down, grips me hard, lines me up, and sinks down slow.
I groan, hands instinctively going to her hips. “That’s it,” I breathe. “Take it deep.”
She’s tight, hot, so fucking wet, and the second she bottoms out I nearly grab her and flip her onto her back just to remind us both who this body belongs to.
Instead I let her move.
For a second.
Her hips start rolling—slow, deliberate, each drag of her cunt over my cock edged with defiance. Her nails bite into my shoulders. Her face tightens. She’s feeling it. Fighting not to show how much.
I watch her grind down, greedy, chasing her own release like she’s trying to prove something.
“You’re grinding like you’ve been starved for my cock,” I rasp, voice low and mean. I thrust up once—hard, deep, knocking the air out of her. “Greedy little hole can’t get enough, can it?”
Her breath hitches, eyes flashing with that mix of fury and heat she can’t hide. She grinds harder in response, like she’s daring me to shut up. Nails rake down my chest. Her cunt clenches around me—tight, involuntary, proof she hates how much she loves it.
That’s my girl.
I grip her hips bruising. “Answer me.”
She leans forward, breath hot against my mouth. “You talk too much.”
Then she rocks again and I’m done being generous.
I thrust up again, hard enough to knock a sound out of her.
Her head jerks back.
Thereshe is.
I do it again. And again. Her hands slip on my shoulders. Her breath breaks. I feel her body start giving me what her mouth won’t—every tight clench, every hitch, every pulse of heat around me.
Mine.
I lock my hands on her hips and stop cold. Her eyes snap to mine, frustrated, furious.
“Keep going,” she demands, voice wrecked. She tries to roll her hips, chase the friction. I grip harder, lock her in place.
“No.”
The word hangs between us.
