He gripped my jaw, thumb smearing spit across my cheek as he forced my gaze up to his.
“Up,” he growled.
I pushed to my feet—knees jelly, vision swimming. But he caught me immediately and bent me over a kitchen barstool. The vinyl was cool against my bare skin.
“Spread.” He nudged my legs apart with his knee, then pressed a hand between my shoulder blades, guiding me lower until blood rushed into my cheeks. Cold air licked the backs of my thighs. He slid his palm over my ass, stopping at the base of my spine, fingers splayed, gripping.
“Hands on the stool.”
I grabbed the wooden legs as he shifted my ankles wider.
The blunt head of his cock pressed against me, but he didn’t push in. Just stroked the sensitive flesh with slow, deliberate passes.
I twisted to look over my shoulder, needing his eyes, something to anchor me. “Aren’t you going to tie me up?”
His smile flashed in the dim light. “Like I told you our first night—if I do my job, I don’t need to.” He closed his hands on my hips and angled me toward him. “You’ll stay exactly where I put you.”
He pushed into me slowly, stretching me inch by stubborn inch until my breath caught and my body tightened around him. A low sound escaped me, lost somewhere between the cabinets and tile.
He slid his hand up my spine and closed in my hair, drawing my head back just enough to open my chest, to lock my body in place around the steady drive of him.
Then he moved—long, controlled strokes, each one deliberate, each withdrawal a promise of the next thrust.
I clung to the stool legs, arms rigid, legs trembling. He moved with the certainty of someone who knew exactly what he was taking—and what he was giving back.
His chest settled against my back. His mouth brushed my ear.
“You’re mine now, Alex.” The words were low. Territorial. Not loud—but absolute.
I broke.
Whatever restraint I’d been holding dissolved, my body yielding to him completely.
His rhythm surged, faster now, deeper, finding an angle that sent white light flickering at the edges of my vision. I could only hold on, every nerve tuned to the force of him. Every time I tightened around him, he groaned—low, strained, like control was slipping through his fingers.
“Fuck…you take me so well.” The words were rough. Frayed.
He moved his hands over my body, restless, as if needing contact everywhere at once. He released my hair just long enough to press his palm to the back of my neck, holding me there—steady, claimed.
“Always so greedy for me.”
His pace didn’t slow—but the control in it was starting to fracture.
“You love this. You love being mine.”
I did. I clenched around him, pulling him deeper.
His hand struck my ass, sharp and quick, and the sting folded into the heat already coiling.
“Good girl,” he breathed, voice unsteady. “So fucking perfect.”
Then he drove in hard and stayed there, buried deep.
“Volim te, mila.”
His breath hitched.
The words hit my chest like a shockwave, hot and sudden, radiating outward from the place where he held me open for him. I didn’t know what they meant. But the way he said them…