With a growl, he bent me over the bench, one palm splayed flat at the small of my back, holding me in place.
A zip. A rustle. Foil tearing. In the mirror, I caught the quick slide of his hand as he rolled the condom on—then his cock, thick and furious. He crowded in behind me, a fist at my hip, the other braced on the nape of my neck, holding me bowed and open.
My heart thundered, blood hot and wild.
“Eyes open.”
The command was a slap of ice on raw skin.
Luka coiled his fist in my hair until my neck arched and I found our doubled image in the mirror.
“Watch,” he murmured against my ear. “Watch while I claim what’s mine.”
Then he drove into me.
I screamed. The sound cartwheeled off the walls. The pressure turned to pain, a stretch so deep I thought I might split in half.
But I wanted more.
He fucked me like I was a fix and he was mainlining. There was nothing careful in the way he moved—only urgency, the hard, relentless rhythm of someone who needed to feel me there, to keep me there.
Our reflections crashed together in the glass—my lips parted, my body pressed forward with every thrust, his mask close behind me, his jaw tight, his control gone rough at the edges.
Our eyes met.
“You’re mine,” he growled, each syllable rough and thick.
“Yours,” I gasped, my breath fogging the mirror.
He snapped into a harder cadence. My legs trembled and threatened to give, but Luka kept me braced, palm firm at the base of my spine.
“Say it again,” he said between thrusts. “Say who you belong to.”
“You.” My voice broke on the syllable. “I belong to you.”
Luka gripped my hair tighter, pulling me upright, his chest pressed to my back, still buried deep inside me. Pain shot through my scalp and blazed straight to my core, pain and pleasure blurring into the same bright line.
Behind us, I heard movement—a shuffling, a hush. In the mirror, shapes gathered—one figure, then another. Masked faces, watching as Luka held me, used me, claimed me in the dim light.
He saw them too. His eyes flicked to the glass, caught the crowd, and a brutal smile split his face.
He slowed, teasing the head of his cock just inside me, grinding cruel circles so that my hips chased him.
Then he pulled out.
The sudden emptiness left me swaying, thighs weak, breath breaking. I started to fold, but Luka caught my waist and spun me to face him.
He hooked my thigh at the knee, hiking my leg up onto the padded bench so I was wide open, fully exposed.
“Usually I don’t mind an audience,” he said, voice so low it vibrated through my ribs. “But tonight…” He reached back, grabbed a fistful of curtain, and yanked it shut with a snap. The velvet swallowed the light, leaving just the two of us, bodies and mirror and sweat-fogged glass. “Tonight, you’re all mine.”
He shoved back inside me, one hand clamped high on my thigh, the other anchoring my hip. The force knocked my spine into the mirror, icy glass against my shoulders, as my heel slid on the slick vinyl of the bench.
“God, look at you,” he rasped against my ear, thrusting in short, brutal strokes. “Look at this greedy little cunt taking every inch.” Another hard drive stole the air from my lungs. “You need it, don’t you?”
I couldn’t answer.
He didn’t let up. Not for a second.