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“Let them fucking watch.”

I pull back and slam into her.

She screams. Her whole body jolts into the glass, her tits flattening on it, and I pull back and do it again. And again. I fuck her hard and deep and fucking brutal, my hand on her throat, my other arm locked around her soft belly holding her up. Her ass is clapping against my hips. Every slam, I watch it ripple. Her heels are sliding all over the floor. Her braids are whipping and catching on my buttons. I can hear how wet she is over the bass, filthy, sloppy slaps every time I drive into her. I can smell her. Sweet and musky and sex and that coconut shit she puts in her hair.

“Sasha… Oh my God… Sasha…”

“That boy,” I growl in her ear. “He touched your thighs.”

“I… I didn’t…”

“These thighs.” I grab one. Squeeze it so hard she’ll have my prints on it tomorrow on top of yesterday’s. “Mine.”

I pound her harder. She sobs.

“This ass.” I smack it. Hard. It jiggles against my hips and she clenches on me so tight my knees almost go. “Mine. This pussy.” I reach around and find her clit and rub it hard, and her knees buckle. “Mine. Every fucking inch of you is mine, and I’ll break every hand in this city that touches it.”

“Fuck you…”

“I’m busy fucking you.”

Her pussy flutters around me. She’s close. She’s getting tighter and tighter, squeezing me like a fist, and she’s still cussing me out. Still calling me a psycho. Still telling me she hates me. And her pussy’s gripping my cock like it’s begging me to stay.

She comes in the middle of telling me she hates me.

Screaming. Her whole body seizes against the glass. Her pussy clamps down on me in long, hard pulses, milking me, and her hands slide down the window. Her legs go. I hold her up by her throat and her belly and keep fucking her right through it, harder, while she shakes and sobs and comes and comes and comes.

Below us, half the club’s staring up at this window.

I shove in to the root and it rips out of me. My whole body locks up. My thighs shake. My balls pull so tight it’s almost pain, and then I’m emptying into her, pulse after pulse, so hard I have to brace my hand on the glass over her head. I hold her pinned with my hips while I pump into her, everything I’ve got, as deep as it’ll go. I grind into her so every drop stays exactly where I put it. Her pussy keeps twitching around me, squeezing out every last bit. I stay there till I’m done. Then I stay longer.

She’s limp against the window. Gasping. Her cheek’s smashed to the glass, and there’s a smear of her lip gloss on it.

I put my mouth to her ear.

“Next time you run,” I tell her, “I’m putting a baby in you before I bring you home.”

She shivers all the way down to her heels.

* * *

I put my jacket on her. It hangs past her knees. I button it to her throat so nobody gets one more fucking inch of her, take her hand, and walk her out.

Down the stairs. Through the club. The music’s still going, but nobody’s dancing anymore. Every head turns as we pass. Good. Look at her. Look at her walking out of here holding my hand with my cum running down her legs. Remember her face. Remember mine.

Ray’s frozen behind the bar. Enzo’s at the bottom of the stairs with his arms crossed.

“Don Dario’s gonna hear about this, Maksimov.”

“Send me the bill.”

Dylan’s walking slow. Real slow, on shaking legs. Holding my jacket closed with one hand, her face blank, her eyes straight ahead. But she’s got my hand in her other one, and she’s holding on tight.

The athlete’s gone. There’s a smear on the dance floor where he was.

Tasha’s waiting by the door with her phone in one hand and her pink drink in the other. She looks at Dylan. Then at me. Then back at Dylan.

“Girl,” she says.