“Made for you,” I pant, nearly crying from how good it feels.
He fucks me harder.
“Say it again.”
“Made for you, Ethan—please—please?—”
His hand leaves my hair and clamps around my throat, not tight, just enough to anchor, to claim. His thrusts grow ragged, but he doesn’t let go of control. Not yet.
I’m gasping, choking on every thrust, and my thighs are trembling so badly I don’t know how I’m still standing.
“You’re not coming,” he snarls in my ear. “Not until I say so.”
And I nod. Because Ineedto obey. Ineedto earn it. Even if I’m falling apart.
“You’re mine,” he growls. “And when I let you come, you’re going to scream it.”
I nod again.
Then he bends me just slightly, his hand spreading over my lower back, and pounds into me with a force that makes the glass rattle. My moan breaks open, desperate and raw, but I still don’t come.
“You’re mine,” he growls again, and this time there’s a tremor in it.
A warning.
His hand slips from my throat, slides down the front of my body, and presses between my thighs again, fingers slick with everything he’s already pulled from me. He doesn’t tease now. Doesn’t draw it out. Just circles exactly where I need it, firm and focused, every movement in sync with his cock driving into me from behind.
My hips jerk. My knees buckle.
And I feel him bend lower, his chest flush to my back as he says it in my ear, rough and final.
“Come for me. Now.”
It detonates inside me.
Every muscle tightens at once, every sound I’ve been holding in tears loose from my throat. My hands slap harder against the glass, my forehead pressed to the window as I scream through it. My body clenches around him like it never wants to let go.
He doesn’t stop.
Doesn’t slow.
He fucks me right through the high, dragging it out until I’m gasping, twitching, too sensitive to bear it but unable to pull away. His fingers stay exactly where they are, working me in sync with every thrust, keeping me spiraling.
“Fuck, look at you,” he growls, voice unhinged now, control slipping. “That’s it. Milk my cock, baby. That’s what I want.”
I whimper something broken, and hegroansbehind me—long, low, guttural.
Then he slams into me one final time. I feel the heat of it hit as his hips jerk, cock pulsing deep inside me. His hands are locked on my waist now, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks, and his breath stutters out of him in shattered bursts.
He’s still inside when he leans forward and presses his mouth to the back of my neck, breathing hard against sweat-damp skin.
“Fuck,” he mutters, lips dragging along the curve of my shoulder. “You feel unreal. So fucking tight. So good.”
I can’t speak. I’m still spread open against the glass, thighs shaking, breath coming in short, shallow gasps. My dress isbunched at my hips, my legs covered in the evidence of everything he just did to me.
He doesn’t pull out yet.
He stays there for another long beat, hands smoothing over my waist, like he’s memorizing the shape of me. His thumbs stroke over my skin, slow and steady, tracing the curve of my hips like he’s not ready to be done.
