I didn't just want her—I needed to own her, to sear myself into every inch of her until she forgot her own name, until the only thing she knew was the way I filled her, stretched her, ruined her.
My hands gripped her hips like a warning, fingers bruising into her softness as I lined myself up. There was no teasing, no buildup—just the raw, animalistic need to take.
I slammed home in one brutal thrust, burying every inch to the hilt, her walls fluttering and clenching around me like they were trying to drag me deeper, to swallow me whole.
She screamed—my name, a prayer, a curse—her nails raking down my back, drawing blood, marking me as hers just as surely as I was marking her. Her legs locked behind me, heels digging into my ass, urging me on, demanding more.
