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He leans down, growls against my neck.

“I’m not even close to done with you.”

Then he pulls out, slow and careful, and I feel his penis slip free of my vagina, the wet, sticky trail of our release dripping down my inner thighs. I’m still panting, body limp across the desk, every nerve ending fried.

But before I can even think about standing, his arms wrap around me.

I let out a surprised noise as he lifts me—his arms sliding under my thighs. His chest is heaving, skin slick with sweat, but his grip never falters.

“You think I’m done?” he rasps, voice ragged in my ear.

I barely shake my head before he’s striding across the room, carrying me like a man possessed. I cling to his shoulders, breasts pressed against his damp chest, legs still trembling from the orgasm that ripped me apart. He lowers me onto the couch, setting me down with a careful roughness that makes my stomach flip.

The second my back hits the cushions, he spreads my legs wide—palming the insides of my thighs to open me, to see me. His cum is still leaking from my swollen vagina, mixing with my own slick. I should feel exposed, filthy—but under his gaze, I feel worshipped.

“You’re a fucking vision,” he growls, eyes dark, fixed between my legs. “My cum dripping out of this pussy, and you still want more, don’t you?”

My breath hitches. I nod.

He grips the base of his shaft, already hard again, veins thick beneath the flushed skin. He strokes it once, the tip glistening, and lowers himself over me.

“I’m not stopping until I’ve given you everything. Until this sweet cunt is wrecked.”

He lines himself up, the blunt head of his penis pressing against the raw, tender entrance of my vagina. I suck in a breath as he pushes inside—slow, firm, relentless. The stretch is sharper now, my vaginal walls swollen and oversensitive, but still aching for him.

We both gasp as he sinks in deep again.

“You drive me insane,” he breathes, his voice unsteady, mouth dragging along my throat.

He hooks one of my legs around his waist and starts to move—each thrust deeper than the last, grinding into my pelvic floor with brutal precision. The angle hits something devastating inside me, and my whole body trembles. My clitoris throbs, overstimulated, begging for more and twitching beneath the friction.

The couch shifts beneath us with every movement, creaking under the weight and rhythm of his thrusts. The back of it digs into my shoulder blades, but I don’t care. His cock fills me so completely, I swear I can feel him in my stomach.

He kisses along my chest and neck, tongue dragging over my skin until he reaches the space behind my ear. The sound of his breath—hot and ragged—mixes with the slick noise of his penis sliding in and out of my vagina, wet and raw.

He reaches up, grabs a fistful of my hair, and tugs—enough to make me whimper. My head tips back, baring my throat.

His mouth finds my ear. He nips the lobe, then whispers, voice thick and frayed, “You like that.”

I moan—loud, helpless, trembling.

“I can feel it,” he says, each word a growl against my skin. Then, lower, coaxing, like he needs to hear it:

“Tell me how much you want me.”

My heart thunders.

“I… I want you,” I whisper.

And just as the words leave my mouth, he slams into me—deep and brutal. My voice cuts off in a gasp, my walls clutching at him.

“Say it again,” he urges, softer but more commanding. “Don’t stop.”

His hand stays tight in my hair. I try again, barely able to think, every word trembling from my lips as he drives into me, his penis dragging across every sensitive ridge inside my vaginal walls.

“I want you… so much…”

He groans, grinding his hips, mouth dragging along the curve of my neck.