“Fuck,” he mutters against my jaw. “That’s it. You’re so wet I can feel your pulse around me.”
My fingers clutch at the sheets.
He doesn’t give me time to adjust. He pulls back slow—so slow it nearly kills me—then slams forward again, harder. The sound of it is obscene: wet, messy, unrelenting. He shifts his weight, grips the underside of my thigh, and starts to fuck me at a punishing rhythm, eyes locked to where we’re joined.
“Watch,” he says. “Watch how your body takes me.”
I try. I really do. But my eyes roll back halfway through the next thrust and I can’t hold on to anything but the sensation.
He pulls out suddenly and flips me with a sharp tug on my hips, pressing my face to the mattress as he yanks me to my knees. I barely register the change before he thrusts back in from behind, deeper this time, the angle brutal, perfect. I cry out again, muffled by the sheets, and he just grips my hips tighter.
His breath is ragged now, right at my ear. “You don’t get to come again yet.”
I shake my head even though I want to. I wanteverything.
One of his hands slides up my back and fists in my hair, pulling me upright until I’m arched against him, still impaled on him, still struggling to keep my body from shaking apart.
“You feel that?” he asks, voice low and sharp.
I nod, panting.
“That’s what obedience gets you. But if you want more—” He thrusts once, hard enough to knock the air from me. “You’ll have to earn it.”
Then he pulls out again, and before I can whimper at the loss, he shoves me forward and pushes my knees apart wider. He drops low behind me, his chest against my back, hand sliding between my thighs to stroke me once—firm, possessive, knowing.
I’m already shaking again.
He straightens up and enters me slowly this time, both hands gripping my hips, the stretch more intense at this angle.
He holds still once he’s seated deep, hips flush to mine.
“Say it,” he rasps. “Say who you belong to.”
“You,” I gasp. “Ethan—please?—”
But he doesn’t move yet.
He just stays there, inside me, stretched and trembling, breath hot on my skin, cock twitching as if he’s holding himself back by a thread.
And then, just when I think I might die from the stillness, he rolls his hips—once, slow and deep—and my vision shatters again.
He doesn’t pull out.
He stays buried in me as he rises to his feet, one hand locked around my waist, the other sliding under my thighs to lift melike I weigh nothing. My legs scramble to hook around him, but he doesn’t give me time to adjust. He walks us across the room with me still wrapped around his cock, every step grinding him deeper, harder, until I’m reaching behind me to clutch at his shoulders just to hold on.
He stops at the window.
Floor-to-ceiling glass. City lights stretching endless and bright. It’s past midnight and the whole damn skyline is watching.
He shifts his grip and lowers me—not onto the floor, not onto the bed, butagainstthe window. My palms slap the cold glass and my breath fogs the pane in front of me.
I barely catch it before he thrusts in again, hard enough to make me jolt forward with a cry.
“Keep your hands there,” he growls behind me, voice dark and raw. “Let them see how good you look like this.”
My chest presses to the glass. My cheek too. I nod, panting, and he fucks into me again.
Thwack.
