Page 53

F resh paint and sawdust hung thick in the air. Oakley stood on the stepladder near the east wall, stretching toward the top corner with her brush heavy with pale green paint. Her shirt rode up as she reached, exposing skin above her jeans. When she caught me watching from where I worked on the shelving across the room, her free hand tugged the fabric down.

She glanced over her shoulder, paint brush dripping green. "Can you hand me the paint roller?" Her voice carried that breathless quality it got when I watched her work.

I set down the wood I'd been sanding, brushing sawdust from my palms as I straightened. My boots struck heavy against the concrete floor as I walked and paused behind her, letting my presence register before stepping closer. "Reach for it." Moving behind her, I positioned myself close enough that my chest nearly brushed her shoulder blades as she stayed perched on the second step.

She stretched her free hand toward where I held the roller just out of easy reach, forcing her to arch slightly. The paint roller passed between us, my fingers deliberately grazing hers as I transferred it. Her pulse jumped beneath my touch—a tiny flutter I felt through her wrist.

The bakery had transformed under our hands these past weeks. Copper fixtures caught the light, casting everything in amber. New countertops waited beneath protective plastic—marble I'd chosen specifically for its coolness. Perfect for pastry work. Perfect for other things.

She completed the final strokes of pale green, transforming the damaged wall. "Almost done with this wall." Her voice carried that bright anticipation that made something tighten in my chest. White flour handprints marked her jeans from her earlier baking. The industrial mixer still wore traces of vanilla batter on its paddle.

I'd handled the high sections myself—she stayed on lower ground where I could reach her if she fell.

Her hair escaped its tie, honey-colored strands framing flushed cheeks. She'd worked without stopping, alternating between painting and baking. Heavy lifting stayed mine. Always.

I stepped back as she climbed down the ladder, watching her feet find each rung carefully. Once on solid ground, she moved toward the corner where reclaimed wood waited to become shelving. I followed at a measured pace, trailing her by three steps, my gaze tracking her movement. Each piece I'd sanded smooth, every splinter removed. Nothing rough enough to catch her skin.

I pivoted and walked to the back counter where the final marble slab waited, my shoulders rolling as I lifted the heavy stone. Positioned myself directly in the narrow walkway between the prep area and storage room as I worked, blocking the passage with my frame.

She approached the walkway from the main floor, measuring cups in her hands, needing to reach the storage room behind me. "Excuse me." Her voice was smaller when she had to ask me to move.

I turned slightly, registering her approach. Shifted my position—barely. My shoulder remained angled toward the wall, leaving minimal space. Not enough for her to pass easily. Her breast pressed against my arm as she squeezed through the gap. I didn't move to accommodate her. She pulled away quickly once through, busying herself with organizing supplies on the metal shelving unit.

She arranged measuring tools with nervous precision, her back to me. "I've been thinking about the opening. Maybe a soft launch first—friends and family." The words rushed together, betraying her awareness of my proximity.

I abandoned the marble, setting it down with controlled force. Turned and moved to where she stood at the shelving unit, my steps measured and quiet. Approached from behind until she was trapped between my body and the metal frame I'd installed that morning. "Family." My breath stirred the hair at her nape. "The club."

She nodded, the shelving solid against her back, her hands stilling on the measuring cups.

I stepped back, giving her space to turn around. I returned to the counter, bending to pick up my drill. The bit slipped, diving deeper than intended. Something warm trickled from torn knuckles.

She hurried over, hands gentle as she wrapped a towel around mine. "You need to be more careful."

"It doesn't matter." My voice was flat, but I didn't pull away from her touch.

Her fingers shook as she secured the fabric. "It matters to me." She must have felt my stare—her face flushed deeper. "B-Be more careful."

I tested the bandage with my other hand, flexing my fingers. The towel held. She stepped back, satisfied with her work, then moved to clean up the scattered tools and put away the first aid supplies. I watched her organize everything with that same careful attention she gave to her baking.

A n hour later, I moved between the front display area and back prep station, installing cabinet hardware. My hands worked steadily, but my attention stayed fixed on her. She stood bent over the mixer in the far corner, twenty feet from where I worked, wrist flicking as she stirred something thick and golden. Her jeans clung to curves that made my hands flex involuntarily around the screwdriver. Flour dusted the back of her thigh like fingerprints waiting to be traced.

She finished stirring and walked toward the supply area, her movements unhurried. I straightened from my crouch beside the cabinets, setting down my tools. She reached for ingredients on the high shelf above the storage counter. Rising on her toes, stretching. The stepladder sat three feet away, but she tried to reach without it. The shelf wobbled under her grip.

I abandoned my tools in a single motion, pushing off from where I knelt. My boots hit the floor as I rose and crossed the room in five quick strides, closing the distance before she could fall. My hands found her waist before she could fall, steadying her from behind with firm pressure. She gasped, one palm flying forward to brace against the wall. Left a handprint in wet paint.

My grip stayed firm around her waist. "Careful."

Her body relaxed against mine, but she didn't pull away. "I-I'm fine." The words contradicted the way she leaned into my strength.

"You're shaking." My hands registered every tremor through her ribs.

"Because you're touching me!" The admission burst out of her, raw and honest.

My hands slid higher along her ribs, nearly grazing the undersides of her breasts. "Does it bother you when I touch you?" I pressed the question into the space between us, my breath warm against her neck.

The question hung between us. Her breath caught. Finally, barely audible, "N-No."

I lifted her in one motion, my hands sliding under her arms, fingers spreading across her ribs as I turned her to face me. Set her down so she stood between me and the wall. Paint smeared her cheek—pale green against flushed skin. I reached up with my right hand, my thumb trailing across her skin to wipe it away.

My palm erased the streak with deliberate slowness. Her eyes locked with mine. She reached up with her left hand, her fingertips tentative as they found my jaw where she'd left green paint. Her touch lingered. Time suspended.

Her breathing was rapid while mine remained steady.

My hand settled at the small of her back, fingers spreading wide as I applied gentle pressure, guiding her backward across the room with measured steps. She took small steps, walking backward, trusting me to lead. Until her lower back met the edge of the marble counter that ran along the entire back wall. The counter hit her at hip level, forcing her to brace her hands behind her on the cold surface.

I stepped closer, closing the remaining inches between us. My hands found her hips, lifting her slightly as I guided her to bend backward over the marble counter. My voice dropped lower as I leaned over her. "Stay like that." Her fingers splayed across the cold surface behind her for support. Sweat beaded her temple, trickling down her neck as she arched, hips pressing against the counter's edge.

I dragged my hand over the curve of her ass, fingers tightening as I squeezed. She lay exposed beneath my touch, skirt riding higher with each unsteady breath. The generous fullness of her body drew me more than any artificial perfection could. Where she saw flaws, I saw only what was meant to be worshipped.

Something coiled in my chest. I wanted more than her body. I wanted her fears, her secrets, the parts she showed no one.

The industrial mixer watched from its corner fifteen feet away. Emergency lights cast everything in amber. Chocolate chips scattered the floor between us from our earlier work—we'd been careful all day. Now I wanted to mark everything.

She turned her head, looking back at me over her shoulder through half-lidded eyes. Pupils wide, lips parted. Words stayed unspoken, but her body communicated clearly—the arch of her back over the counter, the shift of her weight against the marble edge.

My fingertips traced down her spine from neck to lower back, a slow exploration. Goosebumps followed my touch—tiny raised bumps flowering across her skin. Her inhale hitched, fingers curling against the marble behind her.

I leaned forward, bringing my mouth close to her ear. My breath warmed her skin as I spoke. "Stay. I want to enjoy you like this."

A quiet whimper vibrated through my fingertips at her waist. Her heartbeat quickened, visible in the delicate hollow of her throat.

I stepped back deliberately, then dropped to my knees behind her on the flour-dusted tile floor. The movement was controlled, purposeful. Sugar grains bit into my legs through my jeans. Baking utensils scattered around us—evidence of work that seemed like another lifetime. Powdered sugar outlined her feet in white against dark tile, her body still bent over the counter.

My hands slid down her thighs from where I knelt, tracing her calves before moving back up, pushing fabric higher. With each inch of exposed skin, my grip tightened. "All of you for me to ruin."

She knew she'd never see this counter without remembering me inside her.

My fingers hooked into her waistband, tugging fabric down with ritual slowness. Her panties joined jeans around her ankles, pooling on the floor. There she was—bare, slick, perfect.

Swollen and flushed. I traced her entrance with one finger from behind her, barely touching. She jerked, her body's honesty unmistakable. I spread her open with my thumbs, exposing her completely. My breath ghosted across her heat from my position on my knees, making her quiver.

"Already soaked." My voice was rough with satisfaction. "Your cunt is dripping for me."

Taking off my mask, I pressed my mouth against her pussy, my tongue flattening against her clit before drawing slow circles. She gasped, hips jerking as vibrations rolled through her sensitive flesh. I took my time, tasting every inch of her, savoring the way she trembled under my attention.

Her breathing grew ragged as I continued my worship, alternating between gentle licks and firmer pressure. My tongue traced lazy patterns along her folds before returning to circle her clit with maddening slowness. Her thighs quaked where I gripped them, muscles jumping with each deliberate stroke of my tongue. I could feel her body responding, opening for me, stance widening instinctively.

"Please—" The word fell from her lips like a prayer, breathless and desperate.

I traced her entrance with one finger, barely penetrating before withdrawing, making her whimper with need. Her hips chased my touch, seeking more contact. When I finally slid two fingers deep inside her tight cunt, her inner walls clenched around me greedily. She gasped, legs spreading wider as I began a slow rhythm, curling upward to find that perfect spot while my tongue continued its relentless worship of her clit.

Her body jolted when I found it, back arching sharply over the counter. The dual sensation of my fingers stroking inside her while my mouth worked her clit had her gasping incoherently. I added a third finger, stretching her carefully, feeling her adjust to accommodate me. Fresh wetness coated my palm as her body welcomed the intrusion.

I sealed my lips around her swollen clit, sucking gently while my fingers maintained their rhythm. The combination had her thighs trembling violently on either side of my head. Her breathing became shallow pants, each exhale a soft moan as I worked her closer to the edge.

My free hand gripped her hip, steadying her as she began to shake. I could feel her tightening around my fingers, her body preparing for release. My tongue flicked rapidly against her clit while my fingers curled deeper, pressing that spot that made her see stars.

Her arousal dripped steadily onto the floor as I worked her with my fingers and tongue. My free hand gripped her thigh, holding her steady as she began to shake. Her spine curved beautifully, head falling back as pleasure built inside her.

I sealed my lips around her swollen clit, sucking gently while my fingers maintained their rhythm. Her breathing hitched, body tensing as she approached the edge. I could feel her tightening around my fingers, inner walls fluttering.

"Tell me," I murmured against her heated flesh, the vibration making her shudder. "Say who you belong to."

I increased the pressure of my tongue, fingers curling deeper, finding that spot that made her see stars. Her body arched violently, a broken cry tearing from her throat as her orgasm crashed through her.

"V!" Her voice shattered as she came hard on my fingers and tongue, her body convulsing with pleasure.

For one moment, she stopped thinking. Her jaw slackened, breath stalling. Before I could react, she straightened from her bent position over the counter, turning to face me where I knelt behind her. Her hands found my shoulders as I remained on my knees, and she pushed with surprising force. The unexpected shove sent me rocking backward, my balance shifting until I sat heavily on the flour-dusted floor, back meeting the lower cabinets with a solid thud.

She stepped forward, moving with newfound confidence, then lowered herself to straddle my lap in a decisive movement. Her knees settled on either side of my hips as she positioned herself over me. I let my hands fall to my sides, palms flat against the floor. Her gaze burned with newfound dominance as she looked down at me.

Her voice steadier than it had been all night. "My turn." Her hand wrapped around my throat—not choking but asserting control, thumb pressing lightly against my pulse.

The unexpected reversal hit like lightning. Her sudden assertiveness sent heat through me, my cock straining against rough denim.

Her eyes flashed with dangerous spark—powerful and intoxicating. For one heartbeat, I was curious what she'd do with me helpless beneath her on the floor. Her thighs flexed as she positioned herself over me, still bare from moments before.

Her face transformed with newfound power. She believed she'd finally found a way to make me feel controlled. She shifted her weight on my lap, pressing down, the heat of her pussy making contact through my jeans.

"Look at my little wife. Taking what she wants from me."

The words made her pupils dilate further, a tremor running through her despite her control.

For one moment, I allowed this illusion. The restraint itself was different power. Her confidence surged as she moved with new authority—a challenge that fascinated me. This commanding side was as captivating as her submission.

Her hands moved to my belt with newfound boldness, fingers working the leather through the buckle with deliberate slowness. The metal clinked as she freed it, her eyes never leaving mine. She popped the button of my jeans, the sound sharp in the quiet bakery, then slowly dragged the zipper down, the rasp of metal teeth parting echoing between us.

Her palms pressed flat against my hips as she worked the denim down, fingers hooking into the waistband to pull the fabric away. When she freed my cock, hard and straining, her breath caught. She wrapped her fingers around my length, grip firm and confident, stroking upward with deliberate pressure.

"Look at you," she murmured, thumb brushing over the sensitive head, spreading the bead of moisture there. "So hard for me."

She leaned down, chestnut hair falling around her face like a curtain, and took me into her mouth with deliberate slowness. Her tongue swirled around the head of my cock, tasting, exploring, before she took me deeper. The warm wetness of her mouth enveloped me as she worked with increasing confidence.

Her lips stretched around my girth, cheeks hollowing as she sucked. One hand gripped my base while the other splayed across my hip for leverage. I watched her through half-lidded eyes, mesmerized by this transformation. Her mouth moved with purpose, tongue dancing along my shaft as she found a rhythm that had my hands fisting against the floor.

She experimented with pressure and pace, drawing back to focus on the sensitive head before taking me deep again. Her tongue traced patterns along my length, learning what made my breathing change. The sight of her like this—confident, demanding—sent heat racing through me.

"Fuck," I growled as she hollowed her cheeks, creating suction that had my hips jerking involuntarily. She smiled around my cock, pleased with the reaction she'd drawn from me.

She pulled back just enough to speak, her breath against my skin. "I want to taste you." The words were spoken against my length before she took me deep again, working me with renewed intensity.

Her movements became more urgent, more desperate, as if she couldn't get enough. The wet sounds filled the bakery, mixing with my ragged breathing and her soft moans of satisfaction. She was getting lost in it, in the power she held over me in this moment.

She pulled back with a wet sound, lips glistening, a string of saliva connecting her mouth to my cock. Her eyes met mine with newfound boldness as she licked her lips. "All that power, and you're still beneath me." The words came out breathless, drunk on temporary control.

Enough. My hands shot up from the floor, grabbing her hips with sudden force. Rolled sideways, using momentum and my superior strength to flip her over. The movement was swift, controlled. She landed on her back with enough force to knock breath from her lungs. Now she lay beneath me while I positioned myself above her on my hands and knees, caging her in. Flour exploded around us in white clouds. Her pupils dilated, drowning out color. Marks bloomed where my fingers dug into her hips—five-point stars marking her as mine.

She whimpered as my hand found her throat, pulse racing against my palm. I leaned down, my mask brushing her cheek as I spoke. "Look at me when you come. I want to see your eyes when you break for me."

Her words fell apart in broken inhale. "Please?—"

Her voice splintered, dissolving into strangled moans as my fingers moved between her legs from my position above her, finding her swollen clit and circling mercilessly. My mouth sealed over hers completely, my tongue invading the way my cock would soon invade her cunt.

This innocent space—flour-dusted and vanilla-sweet—would forever carry my mark, corrupted by desire. Every pastry would taste like submission, every crumb a reminder of how thoroughly she belonged to me.

I shifted my grip to her hips, my fingers digging in as I maneuvered her. Flipped her onto her stomach on the floor with controlled force. She landed on her hands and knees, instinctively raising her ass as her back curved. Her palms pressed flat against the tile, supporting her weight. My hand connected with her flesh, the crack echoing off walls like a gunshot. A startled cry tore from her lips, body jerking forward.

My handprint bloomed across her skin—exactly as intended.

I traced the mark's edge with my fingertip, pressing lightly. "You respond to intensity. You always open up when I put my hands on you." Watching goosebumps rise. She clenched around nothing, muscles fluttering visibly.

She moaned, body pushing back toward me where I knelt behind her, begging without words. Wetness trickled down her thighs, catching light.

I brought my hand down again, the motion deliberate and controlled. Lighter this time, watching her ass bounce. Another strike, harder, watching her flesh ripple, the sound echoing through the empty space. "Perfect like this, Oakley. Mine, wet and wanting me."

Her voice broke, desperate. "V—" Her hips rocked back, seeking more.

I leaned down, bending over her prone form to kiss the sensitive skin where my hand had been. "I couldn't stop if I wanted to. You're everything."

My fingers sank deep into her pussy once more from behind, thrusting rhythmically as my tongue found her clit, moving with measured intensity. Her body arched like a bow, pushing back to take me deeper.

She trembled around my head, slick running down her legs, catching light as she rocked into my mouth. Two fingers sank deeper, curving upward, pressing against that spot that made her hips jerk violently. Her back arched further, pushing her ass higher.

Her sensitive clit pulsed beneath my fingertips as I pressed firmly. A slow, unhurried lick circled those fingers, my tongue tasting her sweetness, dragging in tight circles.

A strangled moan tore from her throat, thighs clenching as her hips bucked helplessly onto my tongue and fingers. She clawed at the tile, spine twisting, toes curling like she could fight it off.

I pressed my mouth harder against her pussy, speaking directly into her heated wetness. "That's it. Give it to me." My words vibrated against her trembling flesh. "Let me hear you fall apart." My teeth scraped lightly against her inner thigh as her legs quaked.

"You were made for this. Made for me." I punctuated each word with deeper pressure from my fingers. "Say it."

My lips vibrated against her shaking thigh as another broken plea fell. I sank my fingers deeper, curling them precisely.

"Say who you belong to." The command was muffled against her wet heat.

Another lick—longer, rougher—dragged upward, flicking sharply against her hypersensitive clit. Her body arched violently, pussy clenching around my fingers as her second orgasm tore through her, leaving her sobbing with pleasure.

"Then don't leave," she whispered afterward, the confession bleeding out with her aftershocks.

"No one else gets to know what you feel like from the inside. I'll preserve your shape in memory forever."

I moved up alongside her prone form, my body covering hers as I pressed into every soft curve. Coarse denim scraped against her delicate thighs, leaving faint marks. My chest brushed her back, heart maintaining a steady rhythm despite her ragged breathing.

Her spine curved beneath me, each ridge a prayer beneath my hand. I lowered my head, lips grazing the delicate line of her neck. Tasting salt and warmth. Her pulse raced beneath my lips when teeth scraped lightly over sensitive skin.

My hand slid up to cup her chin, fingers tightening as my thumb pressed into the soft underside of her jaw. Forced her head to tilt up from the floor. Those wide, glassy eyes—half-lidded and heavy with satisfaction—met mine in the reflective surface of a metal mixing bowl that had fallen to the counter above us.

She whimpered softly, the sound vibrating through my fingertips at her waist. Her hips rolled back instinctively, grinding against the hardness pressing into her thigh. Her slick arousal left shining trails along my skin.

I reached across the floor to where my bat leaned against the wall within arm's reach, fingers wrapping around familiar wood. Lifted it with practiced ease. The wood felt smooth and heavy in my grip. Her eyes widened when she realized what I was planning, but instead of fear, I saw curiosity flickering there.

"You've been so good today. Working hard, creating something beautiful." I paused, watching her eyelashes flutter. "And good girls get rewards."

A shiver ran down her spine as I traced smooth wood along her inner thigh. She made a small sound—caught between whimper and moan—her body reacting instinctively. The bat dragged higher, ghosting along the crease where thigh met hip.

Her breath caught as her hips tilted toward the bat, silently begging. I tapped it gently against her pussy, watching her eyes darken. She gasped, body already responding to the promise of what was coming.

"Tell me you want this," I commanded, holding the bat just out of reach.

"I—" She swallowed hard, cheeks flushing. "Yes. Please."

I guided the smooth, rounded end to her entrance, watching her face as I pressed forward slowly. Her body resisted briefly before accepting the intrusion, stretching to accommodate the unforgiving hardness. Her pussy stretched slowly around the bat, every inch pushing her limits—skin pulling taut, muscles trembling, breath caught like it might snap.

Her spine arched off the floor, muscles rippling. The polished wood slid between her wet folds, meeting heated flesh. Her body tensed, then yielded, accepting inch by careful inch. The stretch forced a guttural sound from her throat—pleasure and pressure merging into something primal. The bat sliding inside her made a slick, low sound I'd never forget—like the room itself was bearing witness.

"Take it," I breathed against her ear, mask brushing her skin. I guided her hips up higher from the floor, changing the angle as she accepted the bat deeper. "Let me watch you open for me."

The bat pressed against her most sensitive spots, and her hips bucked wildly off the floor. Her spine twisted as overwhelming sensation coursed through her. A cry tore from her throat as her body fought between escape and surrender, grinding against the unyielding wood. Her breath hitched into a whimper, then a moan—long, ragged, the kind that bruised the quiet.

"Your cunt knows who it belongs to," I murmured, rotating the bat slowly inside her, watching her face contort with pleasure. "Just like every wall in this place."

Her muscles seized, thighs locking rigid. She forgot how to breathe, chest frozen mid-inhale. Her spine twisted against the floor as she clawed at the tile, toes curling. The wood stretched her pussy open, forcing her body to accommodate its unforgiving hardness.

"It's too much—" she gasped, words fractured as I rotated the bat inside her cunt. Her hips bucked involuntarily, her hand flying to press against her lower abdomen where she could feel the pressure.

I pressed a territorial kiss to her throat through my mask, taking in her rapid pulse. My hand slid around her hip, gripping tight, holding her still as I twisted and rocked the bat. Her body writhed beneath me on the floor, caught between escape and pushing back for more.

"You're doing well." My voice was low against her neck. "Taking everything I give you."

Her only answer was a desperate sob of pleasure, hips grinding helplessly against the floor. Her back arched sharply as I pushed the bat deeper, filling her inch by measured inch.

I tightened my grip on the bat, knuckles whitening as I rotated smooth wood inside her cunt. Her eyes, unfocused and vacant, communicated surrender. Her ass pushed up higher off the floor, thighs spreading wider as her body adjusted.

Her legs locked, heels scraping against tile as pleasure overwhelmed her. Her eyes widened, pupils expanding with shock and sensation.

The bat twisted deeper, and her words spilled out broken between gasps. "It scares me—" Her voice cracked as I rotated the wood inside her cunt. "—how much I need you." The confession hit different than her moans—raw honesty torn from her throat. Her eyes went wide, shocked at what she'd revealed.

I leaned down, my breath hot against her ear through the mask. "Good." The word vibrated against her skin as I pushed the bat deeper. "You should be."

She would never leave me. The certainty drove the bat deeper, twisting it inside her cunt. She shuddered, body convulsing around unyielding wood, whispering words like secret confession: "Then don't leave."

My hand adjusted its grip on her hip, making her shiver. Her hips jerked in an uneven rhythm against the bat, following each twist of my wrist, moans growing more desperate. Her breathing came in shallow bursts, chest heaving.

"Look how completely you surrender." I twisted the bat again, watching her face contort. "You'll stand behind this counter tomorrow pretending nothing happened—while you still feel me inside."

She shuddered violently, hands grasping uselessly at the floor, moans dissolving into soft, pleading sobs of pleasure. With calculated movements, I withdrew the bat again, trailing it down to tease along her inner thigh.

Her legs locked, tension rippling through muscle. The tendons in her neck stood out beneath skin as she threw her head back against the floor. A cascade of hair spilled around her head, ends dampened with sweat. Her cry filled the bakery as another orgasm overwhelmed her. Her legs gave a sharp shake, slick heat trailing down her inner thigh.

Her pussy quivered as I withdrew the bat's tip. Her entrance pulsed around nothing, stretched and glistening, still holding the shape I'd made of her. I spread her cunt open with my fingers, taking in the sight of her surrender—a vision that seared itself permanently into my memory.

I raised the bat, my tongue dragging across the grain, slow. "Can't waste a drop." I didn't stop until the taste was gone. Until she was under my tongue where she belonged.

Her hands faltered, nails biting into the tile like she needed it to stay upright, strength lost to aftershocks.

She started to collapse forward, legs giving out, and I caught her before she hit the flour-dusted tiles. My grip wasn't gentle. It was final. I pulled her up against my chest where I knelt and whispered against her hair,"You think we're done? I'm not done with you yet."

One-handed, I efficiently opened my jeans, the rasp of denim and metallic click of my belt buckle echoing in the silent bakery. My hard cock pressed against the slick heat of her pussy as I positioned her over my lap where I sat back against the lower cabinets.

I paused, hovering at the edge of taking her. The anticipation built between us, each second heightening eventual satisfaction. Her lungs hitched like she forgot how to use them, small whimpers escaping as she tried to press back against me.

"Say it like it's the only thing keeping you alive." My voice was rough against her ear.

She surprised me by reaching between us with trembling hands, her fingers wrapping around my cock with unexpected boldness. The remnants of powdered sugar on her palm created a silken friction. I watched as she took this small moment of power, her eyes showing satisfaction at having drawn a reaction. Her fingers stroked upward, deliberately slow, grip tightening as she reached the sensitive head.

Before taking her, I bent over her shaking form, inhaling her scent deeply. Not just her skin, but her sweat, her fear, her arousal—all evidence of how completely she belonged to me.

If I ever lost that scent—I'd lose myself with it.

I lifted her hips and thrust into her cunt, her inner walls gripping my cock like a vise. Her head dropped forward, hair sticking to sweat-slicked skin. Muscles rippled beneath her skin with each impact, her body surrendering to the brutal pace. She scraped helplessly at the floor with her fingertips, fighting to stay upright as I took every inch. My cock dragged along her soaked heat, each thrust met with velvet resistance, her cunt clinging like it knew I wouldn't stop until I broke her open.

She cried out sharply, the sound bouncing off the bakery walls and returning to us. "Louder," I commanded, my voice rough with satisfaction. I thrust deeper, deliberately angling to draw another cry from her lips. "I want to hear exactly what my cock does to you." I punctuated each word with sharp thrusts, burying my cock completely inside her cunt. "Don't you dare hold back those sounds. They belong to me."

Her nails dug desperately into the floor, leaving faint marks. Her body arched back against mine, spine bowing, pressing her ass more firmly against my hips, taking me deeper. The position allowed me to sink further into her, reaching places that drew strangled sounds from her throat.

The word emerged with perfect control. "Yes." My teeth scraped along the delicate skin of her shoulder, leaving light marks that appeared on contact before fading. The salt of her skin was on my tongue. I began to move, hips pushing forward with measured intensity, each thrust driving me deeper. The sound of skin against skin filled the space, punctuated by her breathless moans.

The wet warmth of her pussy enveloped my cock as I thrust deeper. Her cunt gripped around me, pulling me in with each push. The scent of desire mingled with sugar and sweat, creating a heady combination that filled my senses. I reached around her body, fingers finding her clit, circling it in time with the thrusts of my cock into her tight cunt.

I brought my hand down sharply against her ass again, her cries blending with the rhythm of my hips. My cock throbbed inside her wet heat.

Her voice splintered around the confession. "Oh God?—"

I leaned down, teeth finding the juncture between her neck and shoulder. I bit down, firmly enough to leave a perfect crescent of teeth marks that would darken into a bruise within hours. Her pulse thudded beneath my lips, racing beneath the thin barrier of skin. I increased the pace of my thrusts, each one driving deeper than the last, forcing her body forward with the force of my movements. The slap of wet skin filled the bakery, obscene and raw, echoing off copper and marble like applause.

"Come for me now." I felt her starting to tighten around my cock, the first tremors of her climax approaching. I rubbed her clit faster, pressing harder as I drove deeper inside her. My other hand held her throat, not cutting off air but making her feel my control. Her back arched further, taking me deeper with each thrust. "Show me who you belong to."

She locked up beneath me, clenching like she'd break. Her body yielded completely to my control. Her back bowed, head falling back onto my shoulder, throat exposed and vulnerable in my grip. Release ripped through her, her body shuddering against mine, wet heat gripping me as she surrendered completely.

Her inner walls clamped down, ripping my orgasm from me. Her body milked every drop, pulling me deeper with each pulse. Heat rushed through me as I emptied inside her, marking her from within in the most primal way possible.

I pulled back slightly, looking down at the evidence of our joining. My cum leaked out of her like proof—warm, sticky, mine. I traced the sticky trails with my fingertips, feeling her shiver beneath my touch. The mixture dripped from between her legs onto the floor—proof of what we'd done in this place that should have been innocent.

"No one else gets to know what you feel like from the inside. I'll preserve your shape in memory forever."

I would need to give her more than this. A promise. A future that matched the dreams I saw in her eyes whenever she looked at these unfinished walls.

I'd burn this world before losing you.

It wasn't hurt. I'd never felt hurt.

But as I watched her silhouette against the streetlight hours later, something twisted through my chest, coiling tight around something vital. A whisper of possibility I'd never considered:

I could lose her.

I'd felt knives penetrate muscle, bullets tear through tissue, bones snap beneath force—and never once understood what it meant to hurt.

But watching her walk away under that single yellow light, I finally knew:

She was the only thing that could break me.