**Claiming What’s Mine**

You’d been teasing me all night—tight black dress, sky-high heels, that smirk that told me you knew exactly what you were doing. Every time you leaned over, letting your tits press against the table, my cock twitched under my jeans. But then you’d laugh, slow and wicked, like this was all some game. And it was. Just not the one I thought I was playing.

“You’ve been a bad boy, haven’t you?” you murmured, swirling your wine glass before taking a sip. You left a red smudge on the rim—lipstick, bold as the look in your eyes.

I swallowed hard. “What? No, I—”

You cut me off with a sharp click of your tongue. “Don’t lie to me. Ignoring my texts yesterday? Pretending you were too busy to come over?” You stood, heels clicking against the hardwood as you circled me. My pulse spiked when your fingers traced my shoulders, nails digging in just enough to sting. “Time to pay up.”

Before I could protest, you grabbed my wrist and yanked me to my feet. Your strength always surprised me—petite but fucking unstoppable when you wanted something. You dragged me to the bedroom, pushed me down on the bed, and before I could even think, your palm cracked against my ass.

“Fuck!” I yelped, the sharp burn lighting up my skin.

“Pants off. Now,” you ordered, already unzipping your dress. I scrambled to obey, kicking my jeans down, my cock already half-hard just from the way you were looking at me—like I was yours to wreck.

You stepped out of your dress, leaving you in nothing but black lace panties and those sinful heels. My mouth went dry. You smirked, strolling to the dresser and pulling out the strap-on, that thick, veiny cock swaying as you fastened it around your hips. My stomach flipped, heat pooling low in my gut.

“You like that?” you taunted, stroking the silicone length. “This is what you get for acting like you don’t need me.”

You grabbed the lube from the nightstand, slicking up the fake cock with slow, deliberate strokes. The sound was filthy. So was the way your eyes darkened when you saw me bite my lip.

“Turn over,” you commanded, grabbing my hips and flipping me onto my stomach. I gasped as you dragged me to the edge of the bed, my ass in the air, completely exposed.

Another sharp smack landed on my right cheek. “Count.”

“One,” I choked out.

Smack. “Two.”

By five, my skin was burning, my cock throbbing between my thighs. You ran your fingers over the hot, tingling flesh, humming like you were admiring your work. Then I felt the cold drizzle of lube between my cheeks, your fingers circling my hole.

“So tight,” you murmured, pressing one fingertip inside. I gasped, clenching around you. “Relax, baby. I’m just getting started.”

You worked me open slow and torturous, fingers scissoring, curling just right until I was panting, hips rocking back against your hand.

“Please,” I groaned.

“Please what?” You pulled your fingers out, leaving me empty and desperate.

“Fuck me,” I begged. “Please, just—”

You didn’t make me finish. The blunt head of the strap-on pressed against me, and then you pushed in, one smooth thrust that stole my breath. I groaned, my fingers twisting in the sheets as you bottomed out, your hips flush against my ass.

“That’s it,” you purred, rolling your hips, making me feel every inch. “Take it. You know you love this.”

I did. The stretch, the way you controlled every thrust, the way your nails dug into my hips as you fucked me harder. Every snap of your pelvis sent shocks of pleasure up my spine.

“Who owns you?” you demanded, slamming into me.

“You,” I gasped. “Fuck, you do—”

You leaned over, your tits pressing against my back, your breath hot in my ear. “Damn right.”

Your hand snaked around, gripping my cock, stroking me in time with your thrusts. It was too much—the ache, the slick slide of your fingers, the way you moaned against my neck like you were the one getting fucked.

“Come for me,” you ordered.

I shattered. My orgasm ripped through me, my cock pulsing in your hand as you kept fucking me through it, milking every last drop until I was twitching and oversensitive. Only then did you slow, pulling out with a filthy wet sound.

You turned me onto my back, smirking down at me while you tugged off the strap-on. Then you climbed over me, your wet pussy grinding against my spent cock.

“My turn,” you whispered, sinking down onto me with a moan.

And fuck, I was already hard again.