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Her eyes widen as I hold her still, the base of her skull cupped in my palm, guiding—not gently—her mouth where I want it.

"Relax your throat," I murmur, voice low, controlled.

I pull her in slow at first, letting her adjust to the depth. Her fingers curl against my thighs. Her brows pinch as I slide further in.

She gags, eyes watering. And I don't fucking stop. This isn't cruelty—it's a reminder. Her throat, her obedience, her whole goddamn body. Mine.

She adjusts, barely. Swallows. I feel it ripple around me, and it only spurs me on.

"That's it," I encourage, my voice rougher now. "Take me deeper. Show me how sorry you are for thinking you had a choice."

I start moving. Not violently. Not gently. Rhythmic. Unforgiving. My hips shift forward, each thrust guided by the handful of hair clenched in my grip. Her lips stretch wide. Her throat tightens. Her spit coats the base of my cock as she chokes on every inch I give her.

And, fuck. She feels so fucking good I could live the rest of my days with her mouth on my cock.

She moans around me—soft at first, almost accidental. But it's there. Low and needy and completely fucking involuntary.

Her thighs shift where she kneels, her hands flexing against my legs like she needs more, like she's aching from the inside out.

"You look so good like this," I murmur, not stopping. "Down where you belong. Choking on what you tried to control."

Her breath hitches. I thrust deeper.

"Don't blink. I want you to see exactly what you gave up the second you opened your mouth and thought you had a say."

She gags again—sharp, wet, messy. I groan, the sound low in my chest, heavy with satisfaction. Her lips stretch wider, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, not from pain but from the sheer intensity of being used this way.

"I could keep you like this," I growl, my cock buried deep in her mouth. "On your knees, drooling, gagging, ruined. Just a warm, wet hole waiting to be used—whenever I fucking want."

I lean in, voice a breath against her ear. "You'd love that, wouldn't you? Being nothing but my pretty little fucktoy."

She takes it. All of it. Barely holding herself upright, hands scrambling for something to hold onto, some kind of anchor.

But I'm her anchor, and the sooner she realizes, the better.

"Next time you think about arguing with me," I say, not slowing my pace. "Remember this moment. Remember what happens when you forget."

I slow only when the pleasure coils tight—deep, low, unstoppable. When I know I'm right there, teeth gritted, every muscle locked. When I know she's taken enough of me to feel it long after I'm gone.

Then I bury myself deeper, one last thrust against the back of her throat, and I come. Hard. Long. Brutal. My release hits her in waves, and she takes it like she was made for it. No flinching. No pulling away. Just soft, open obedience as I empty every last drop into her mouth.

The taste of me will linger for hours—I make sure of it.

When I finally pull out, her lips are slick, her chin wet, her chest rising fast. I reach down and wipe her mouth with my thumb, slow and deliberate. She doesn't flinch. Doesn't move. Just stares up at me like she wants more.

And I want to give it to her. Again. Rougher. Deeper. Worse.

Because there's no going back from this. She's tasted me now.

And I'm not done feeding her.

I lean in, thumb still pressed to her lips. "Don't mistake silence for mercy. You opened your mouth, and I reminded you what it's for."

"Is that all I am to you?" she asks, voice raw from use. "Just a body to control?"

I cup her face. The desire that had shown in her eyes moments ago has faded completely. Replaced with the fight I enjoy seeing so much. "No, Luna. You're more than that. You're mine to ruin. Mine to rebuild. Mine to shape into exactly what I need."

Her eyes flare with something—not just defiance now, but understanding. The beginning of acceptance, perhaps.