**”First Time”**

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. At least, not *here*—not in our own kitchen, with dinner half-cooked on the stove and the scent of garlic still thick in the air. But the second she caught me staring, that slow, knowing smirk curving her lips, I knew the conversation we’d had last week wasn’t just drunken pillow talk anymore.

“Keep looking at me like that,” she murmured, fingers pausing where they’d been idly stirring the sauce, “and I’m gonna start thinking you want something.”

Her voice was low—that teasing, throaty tone she used when she knew exactly what she was doing. I stepped closer, the heat between us nothing compared to the fire burning in my gut. “Maybe I do.”

I saw her breath hitch when I crowded her against the counter, my hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks. Her thighs parted instinctively, that little subconscious invitation that always drove me wild. I dragged my fingers up her sides, slow, deliberate, watching the way her eyes darkened, the way her lips parted.

“You ever gonna tell me what you really want?” I murmured, thumb brushing the swell of her breast through the thin fabric of her shirt.

She exhaled sharply, biting her lip before tilting her head back just enough to meet my eyes. “You know what I want.”

Yeah. I did.

One hand tangled in her hair, tugging just enough to make her gasp. The other slid down, fingers slipping under the waistband of her leggings. She was already wet—so fucking wet—and the second I touched her clit, her hips jerked against my hand.

“Fuck,” she whimpered, nails digging into my arm.

I loved this part—the way her breath got ragged, the way her body melted under my touch, the way she couldn’t stop herself from rolling her hips against my fingers. But tonight wasn’t just about that.

I leaned in, my mouth brushing her ear. “You remember what you asked for?”

She swallowed hard, nodding, her pulse fluttering under my palm when I slid it up to her throat. Not pressing. Not yet. Just resting there, feeling the rapid beat of her heart.

“Tell me.”

“I—” Her voice cracked. “I want you to… to choke me.”

Fuck. Hearing her say it out loud sent a rush of heat straight to my cock. I tightened my grip slightly, just enough to feel the pressure, to watch her eyelids flutter, her lips part in a silent gasp.

“Like this?”

She nodded again, her hips grinding against my thigh now, desperate for friction. I slipped two fingers inside her pussy, curling them just right, and she moaned, back arching.

“Eyes on me,” I growled.

She obeyed instantly, her gaze locking onto mine, wide and dark with need. I loved that look—the way she totally surrendered to it, the way her body trembled under my control. My thumb circled her clit, slow and firm, while my grip on her throat tightened just a fraction more.

“Breathe,” I reminded her, watching the way her chest rose and fell, the way her cunt clenched around my fingers.

She was close. I could feel it—the way her muscles tensed, the way her moans turned breathy and broken. And then, just as she started to tip over the edge, I squeezed a little harder.

Her orgasm hit like a fucking storm. Her whole body tightened, her back arching off the counter as she cried out, her cunt pulsing around my fingers. I didn’t let go—not until she went limp against me, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

When I finally released her throat, she slumped forward, her forehead resting against my shoulder. “Holy shit,” she whispered, still shaking.

I kissed the top of her head, grinning. “Good?”

She laughed, breathless, before tilting her face up to mine. “Shut up and fuck me.”

Who was I to argue?