Dispute

My Story Time:

The second he slammed me against that wall, I knew all that arguing was cap. The real shit was about to go down. His eyes were dark, intense AF, and he growled, "You think you run this, Tray?" My heart was beating out my chest, but I wasn't finna back down. I looked him dead in the eye and hissed, "I run you, Z. You know it." That broke him. His mouth crashed onto mine, all teeth and tongue, no sweet shit. He yanked my shorts down, his fingers digging into my hips, and I was already so wet for him, it was low-key embarrassing. I could feel his dick, hard as hell against my stomach through his jeans. He spun me around, pressed my face into the peeling paint, and whispered, "You talk all that shit, but this pussy's always mine." And OMG, bestie, he wasn't lying. He slid into me from behind, no warning, filling me up in one rough stroke. I gasped, my nails scraping the wall. Every thrust was angry and possessive, and I was high-key obsessed. I was moaning his name, throwing my ass back on him, matching his energy. "Fuck, Zayden, right there," I begged, and he slapped my ass, hard, making me yelp. It was toxic, it was raw, and when we both came, shaking and sweating against that wall, it was everything. No cap, that man owns me. Period.