My hips slam against the window with the force of it.
Thwack.
Again. Harder.
My body jerks with every movement. The glass is cool against my skin but I’m on fire everywhere else, flushed, wrecked, dripping.
“You hear that?” he murmurs against my neck, tongue dragging slow up the curve of it. “That’s your cunt bouncing off the window. Loud enough to echo.”
I whimper, nails scraping down the pane, too wrecked to care about anything but the next thrust.
“You lookobscenelike this. Dress pushed up. Legs spread. Tits smashed against the fucking glass. Just a hole for me to fill.”
Another thrust. Another smack of hips to skin, hard and relentless.
“You wanted this,” he breathes. “Wanted to be used. Owned. Youwaitedfor it.”
“Yes,” I gasp. “Yes—please?—”
He slides his hand down my side, fingers dragging possessively over my hip, then between my legs. He doesn’t stop moving while he touches me there—just adds to it, his thrusts slow and deep now, fingers stroking in tandem with every grind of his cock.
I nearly collapse.
“Stay up,” he snaps. “Don’t you dare drop those hands.”
I obey, shaking, mouth open against the glass, and hegroansbehind me like I’ve given him something vital.
“Good girl.”
The praise cuts deeper than the thrusts. My body pulses around him, and he feels it—laughs low and dirty in my ear.
“You like that? Of course you do. So needy. So desperate for approval you’ll melt the second I call you good.”
Thwack.
Thwack.
I’m nothing but nerve endings now. I can hear how soaked I am every time he drives in. It’s slick, loud, raw. His cock slams into me again, again, again, and I’m grinding back into every thrust without even meaning to.
“You’re going to make a mess on my window,” he says. “That’s how wet you are.”
I sob out a noise that might be agreement.
“Don’t come,” he says, and Iwhine, because I’m right there.
“Not yet,” he adds, voice like sin. “You haven’t earned it.”
His hand fists in my hair and yanks me back against him, my spine curving as he fucks me harder, deeper, the sounds louder, wetter, filthier. My breasts bounce against the glass with every thrust, nipples dragging over the cold surface, and he watches it all in the reflection—his expression dark and wild and starving.
“You see yourself?” he growls. “See what you fucking do to me?”
I nod, but I can’t breathe. Can’t speak.
“You’re perfect like this,” he says. “Every inch of you. These hips—fuck—they were made to take me.”
Thwack.
“Say it.”
