He caught her mid-step, spinning her until her back slammed into the wall.
One hand closed around her throat,
his thumb pressing just enough to make her breath hitch,
while the other yanked her skirt up to her hips and shoved her panties aside.

Her gasp turned into a broken moan when his fingers found her already wet.
He didn’t waste time.
Two thrust inside, curling hard until her knees buckled.
He caught her with his body,
grinding the thick length of his cock against her until she whimpered for it.

He didn’t make her wait long.
One sharp pull of his zipper,
one rough fist around the base,
and then he was inside — deep, stretching her open in a single, brutal push.
She clawed at his shoulders, her nails biting skin,
her head knocking against the wall with every snap of his hips.

The sound was obscene —
slick, wet, skin slapping skin as he pounded into her.
Her thighs trembled around him,
his grip on her ass lifting her higher so he could drive in harder, deeper,
until her toes curled and her cries turned into desperate, breathless sobs of pleasure.

He bit her shoulder hard enough to bruise,
his growl vibrating through her chest:
“Take it. All of it.”
And she did — her body clamping around him as she shattered,
her release spilling hot down his length.

But he didn’t stop.
He chased his own high,
fucking her through the aftershocks until her muscles shook and her moans turned into incoherent pleas.
When he came, it was with a low, guttural groan,
burying himself to the hilt and spilling into her until she could feel it dripping out.

He stayed there for a beat,
holding her pinned to the wall with the weight of his body and the length still pulsing inside her.
Then he pulled back,
watching the mess they’d made slide down her thighs —
a mark she’d feel every time she moved,
long after he let her go.

Copyright © Wynter Rayne 2025. All Rights Reserved.