There was no hesitation, no gentleness as I gripped her hip with one hand, my other hand wrapped around her throat, as I pushed into her from behind.
“Fuck, Lorenzo.” The sound she made was a broken, desperate moan that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her, and it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard.
“That’s right.” I thrust deep, burying myself inside her, feeling her walls clench around me, hot and tight and perfect. “Say my name. Let everyone out there hear who you belong to.”
She was so beautiful like this — her head back against my shoulder, eyes half-closed, her lips parted. I watched her in the mirror—the flush on her cheeks, the way her breasts heaved, the way her body moved with me, taking every inch of me. The sight of her, broken and wanting and mine, sent a jolt of pure possession through me.
“You think he could fuck you like this?” I drove into her harder, and she cried out, her nails scraping against the marble. “You think he could make you feel the way I do?”
“I don’t—ah—I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.” I tightened my grip on her throat, just enough to make her gasp, to feel her swallow against my palm. “Tell me you didn’t know. Tell me you didn’t come here wearing this dress, sitting in that booth, knowing I’d find you, knowing I’d come for you.”
She didn’t answer.
But I saw it in the mirror. The way her eyes fluttered closed. The way her lips curved into a secret, guilty smile.
The realization hit me like a wave. She’d done this on purpose. She’d wanted me to come. She’d wanted to be taken, to be claimed, to be reminded exactly who she belonged to. She wanted to feel owned because, for the first time in her life, someone wanted to own her.
She hated that she wanted it.
And I loved that she couldn’t stop.
My hand slid from her throat to her breast, cupping it through the fabric of her dress, squeezing until she gasped. Her whole body arched into my touch. I could feel her heart racing, feel the shivers running through her, feel the way her breath came in short, ragged bursts.
“You feel that?” I thrust deeper, slower, savoring every inch of her. “That’s me, inside you. Every time you walk, you’ll feel me. You’ll remember who you belong to.”
“Lorenzo, please?—”
“Please, what?”
“Please don’t—” she gasped as I seated myself deeper inside her. “Don’t stop. Fuck, don’t stop.”
I drove into her harder, faster, the sound of our bodies filling the small bathroom, the mirror fogging with our breath. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, and I covered her mouth with my hand, muffling her cries.
“Shh,” I whispered. “You don’t want everyone out there to hear what a dirty girl you are, do you? Coming to dinner with another man just so your husband would fuck you in the bathroom?”
She whimpered against my palm, her hips bucking back against me, taking me deeper. I watched in the mirror. Watched the way her eyes were half-closed, the way her mouth was open against my hand, the way she was completely, utterly lost in the sensation.
I leaned forward, pressing my chest against her back, my lips against her ear.
“You’re going to come for me,” I said. “Now. On my cock. And then I’m going to fill you up.”
She shook her head, a desperate denial, but her body was already tightening around me, her walls clenching, her breath coming in short gasps.
“But—”
“Come for me, wife.Now.”
With my command, she shattered.
I thrust twice more, buried deep, and came inside her with a guttural groan, my fingers digging into her hips, my body pressing against hers, claiming every inch of her as my own. I don’t let up. I keep fucking her through the orgasm, drawing it out, making her sob with overstimulation. Only when she’s boneless, whimpering, do I finally allow myself release.
Her scream muffled against her arm, her entire body convulsing around my cock. I watch her lose control—gasping and shuddering—and it’s breathtaking.
I pulled out slowly, watching as my cum dripped down her thigh, glistening in the harsh light. She stayed bent over the sink, her forehead pressed against the cool marble, her body trembling with aftershocks. Her dress was hiked up, her panties still pushed aside, her skin flushed and dewy.
I reached past her and grabbed a towel from the stack, wiping my hands clean before pressing it between her thighs.
