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“Please what, Peachy?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement. He slides one long finger through my wet folds, coating it in my juices before pressing it against my tight entrance. He doesn’t push inside, just holds it there, a tantalizing promise. “Tell me what you want, Quinn. I love hearing you say it.”

“I want you to fuck me,” I sob, the words tearing out of me. “I want your cock inside me. Right here. Right now.”

He chuckles, a dark, satisfied sound. “Good girl.”

Then I feel it. The heavy weight of his condom-sheathed cock resting against my ass. It’s thick and hard, the smooth rubber a shock against my skin.

He slides it between my cheeks, using my wetness to lubricate the way, the tip bumping against my sensitive opening with every pass. It makes me want to scream.

My bare ass and pussy are completely open to him. I’m bared like I’ve never been before.

How right that this man is getting all my firsts.

“Such a perfect little ass,” he grunts.

He kicks my feet wider apart with his own, forcing me into a more vulnerable stance.

I’m bent over, my hands braced on the shelf, my ass presented to him like an offering.

I feel the blunt head of his cock nudge against my dripping entrance.

He doesn’t enter me right away. He just rubs it up and down, coating himself in my slickness, teasing my swollen clit with every pass. My whole body is trembling, a live wire of desperate need.

“I think,” he says, as if contemplating, “you’re wet enough for me. What do you think, Peachy?”

“Yes,” I agree embarrassingly fast. “Oh, yes, I am.”

“Are you sure?” he muses.

Goddamn this man.

“Wyatt, please,” I beg, my voice hoarse. “I can’t… I need…”

And that’s when he enters me from behind.

I feel him deep inside me—I don’t know if I’ve ever taken him so deep.

The sudden, full sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pressure that has my vision going white for a second. He gives me time to adjust, leaning over me lovingly and whispering in my ear, “Okay, princess, are you ready for me?”

“Yes. I’m so ready.”

“Let’s do this then, shall we?”

He pulls out almost all the way, then slams back in, setting a hard, punishing rhythm.

The metal shelving unit rattles with every thrust, the tools and supplies on the shelves clattering together—a frantic, percussive beat to match our fucking. His hips slap against my ass, the sound loud and obscene.

He’s not gentle, and I don’t want him to be. This is fucking, not lovemaking, but I feel loved like I never have before nonetheless.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunts, his grip on my hips tightening. “So fucking wet for me. This pussy was made for my cock.”

He reaches around with one hand, his fingers finding my clit again. He rubs it in tight, fast circles, the direct stimulation a stark contrast to the deep, pounding rhythm of his cock.

The dual sensations are too much. My orgasm builds fast, a tight coil in my stomach threatening to snap.

“I’m almost there,” I gasp, pushing back to meet his thrusts. “Almost, Wyatt.”

In response, his movements become more erratic, more forceful.