My cheek hit the pillow, the cotton cool against my flushed skin, and I felt the weight of him settle behind me. His hand found the back of my neck—not rough, but firm, pressing me down into the mattress like he was claiming territory.

"Not yet," he said, the words a low growl against my ear.

I felt him at my entrance, the blunt head of his cock teasing, and I pushed back against him, desperate for contact. He held me still with that hand on my neck, and I whimpered into the sheets.

He slid in slow—so goddamn slow—and the angle was different, deeper, the head of his cock pressing against a spot that made my toes curl against the mattress. I gasped, my fingers fisting the sheets as he filled me inch by inch.

When he was fully seated, he paused. I could feel him pulsing inside me, could feel the weight of him pressed against my ass, and I was trembling, already so close from the way he'd worked me before.

"You feel that?" he asked, his voice rough. "How deep I am?"

I nodded, my face buried in the pillow, and he pulled out almost all the way before slamming back in. The sound was wet and obscene, and I cried out, muffled by the sheets.

He set a punishing pace, his hips slamming into mine, his fingers gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. The hand on my neck pressed me down, keeping me in place, and I was lost—nothing but the feel of him driving into me, the slap of skin, the wet sound of his cock sliding through my slickness.

"That's it," he grunted. "Take it."

I buried my face in the sheets, my moans muffled, the pressure building low in my belly like a coil winding tighter and tighter. He hit that spot with every thrust, and I felt myself clenching around him, my body betraying how close I was.

He felt it. I knew he felt it, the way my pussy gripped him, and he slowed—just enough to make me whimper, to make me push back against him in protest.

"Please," I gasped, the word muffled. "Brian, please."

He withdrew almost all the way, and I cried out at the loss, my hips chasing his. Then he slammed back in, harder than before, and I saw stars.

"You want to come?" he asked, his voice ragged. "Then come. Let me feel it."

I was already there, teetering on the edge, and his words pushed me over. I came with a broken cry, my body convulsing around him, my vagina clenching in waves that made him groan above me.

He didn't stop. He kept driving into me through my orgasm, his fingers digging into my hips as he chased his own release, and I was oversensitive, trembling, whimpering with every thrust.

"Fuck," he growled, and I felt him swell inside me, felt the heat of his cum as he emptied into me, his hips stuttering as he rode out his own climax.

He collapsed onto my back, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his breath hot against my ear. I could feel him still inside me, softening, and I was boneless, spent, my body humming with aftershocks.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. The city lights burned beyond the window, casting their glow across the bed, and I could hear his heart pounding against my back.

Then he pulled out, slow, and I felt the loss like a physical ache. He rolled me onto my side, his arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me against his chest.

"Not done with you yet," he murmured against my hair, and I felt his cock stir against my thigh, already hardening again.

I turned my head, catching his mouth with mine, tasting myself on his lips. "Good," I whispered. "I'm not done with you either."

His laugh was low and rough, and I felt his hand slide down my belly, between my legs, where I was still slick with both of us. "Good girl," he said, and I shivered at the words, knowing the night was far from over.

I lay there, my body still humming from his release, when he pressed a kiss to my shoulder and eased off the bed. The mattress sighed, the cool air rushing in where his warmth had been, and I watched him pad naked across the room, that contractor's build of his catching the city's glow.

"Don't move," he said, and I heard the minibar click open.

But I was already rolling off the bed, my legs unsteady beneath me as I followed the sound. The kitchenette counter was small, barely a strip of marble between the sink and the coffee maker, and I found him there with two little bottles of whiskey in his hand.

He turned, and the look on his face when he saw me—naked, still slick with him, standing in the low light—made him set the bottles down slow. Made his throat work.

"I said don't move."

"I don't take orders."

The lie was soft on my lips, and he knew it. I saw it in the way his eyes went dark, the way his cock twitched against his thigh—still half-hard, catching the light. I stepped closer, and he didn't stop me, just watched with that quiet intensity as I sank to my knees on the cold tile.

His breath caught. "Tara—"

I wrapped my hand around him, and he was already thickening, already responding to the sight of me there on the floor looking up at him. I leaned in and took him into my mouth, and the sound he made was rough, almost pained, his fingers finding my hair.

"Fuck," he breathed, his hips twitching forward.

I worked him slow at first, teasing, my tongue tracing the length of him, tasting the salt of our sex still clinging to his skin. He was getting hard in my mouth, filling me, and I took him deeper, my hand gripping what I couldn't fit, my other hand finding his thigh.

He groaned, his head falling back, his grip tightening in my curls. "That's it. Fuck, just like that."

I pulled off just long enough to say, "You said I don't take orders," and then I swallowed him again, taking him all the way until my nose brushed his belly, and he shuddered above me.

He was fully hard now, straining against my tongue, and I could feel the power shift between us—the way he was trying to hold back, to let me lead, and the way his hips were betraying him with small, needy thrusts. I pulled off, my hand stroking him, wet and slow.

"I want to ride you," I said, and his eyes went dark.

"Yeah?"

I stood, and I could see the whiskey forgotten on the counter, the city lights burning behind him. I pushed him back, and he went willingly, sinking down onto the cold tile floor, his back against the cabinet, his legs stretched out in front of him.

I straddled him, my knees on either side of his hips, and I reached down to guide him to my entrance. I was still so slick, so ready, and I sank down onto him with a slow, shuddering breath, feeling him stretch me, fill me, until I was seated fully in his lap.

"Goddamn," he breathed, his hands gently rubbing my nipples.

I started to move, slow and deliberate, rolling my hips in a way that made his eyes roll back. I set the pace. I controlled the angle. And I watched his face the whole time, watched the way his jaw went slack, the way his hands gripped me like he was trying to hold on.

"You like this?" I asked, my voice low. "Me taking what I want?"

He nodded, his throat working. "Yeah. Fuck, yeah."

I rode him harder, my thighs burning, my hands braced on his chest. I could feel every inch of him inside me, could feel the way he throbbed when I clenched around him, and I was building again, faster this time, the coil winding tight in my belly.

"Look at me," I commanded, and his eyes snapped open, meeting mine. "I want you to watch."

I drove down onto him, grinding, and I felt myself tip over the edge with a cry, my body convulsing around him. He came with me, his hands digging into my hips, his own groan swallowed by the sound of my pleasure, and I rode him through it, taking everything he gave me until we were both trembling, spent, tangled on the kitchen floor.