The First Real Night

She hadn't even stepped fully through the door before his hands were on her waist.

Not rushing. Not rough. Just there. Anchoring. Possessive. Like he needed to feel that she was finally real, finally his to touch, to guide, to undo.

"I told you," he murmured, leaning in to kiss the corner of her mouth not quite giving her everything yet "I'm not gentle. Not in the ways you're used to. But I am careful."

Her breath hitched. She believed him. She wanted that from him.

"Shoes off. Come inside."

She obeyed. Her fingers shook a little as she peeled off her coat, her boots. Nerves. Excitement. Weeks of messaging, voice notes, heat and build-up humming under her skin. But now they were here. In person. Alone.

And he was bigger than she remembered broad, warm, commanding. He didn't just look at her. He saw her.

"Stand in front of me," he said from the couch, legs spread, one arm draped casually over the backrest. Like a king, and she was a subject who'd come to kneel.

She moved into position, and he studied her slowly, deliberately. Letting the silence stretch. Letting her squirm in it.

"Take your clothes off."

Just that. No "please." No ceremony. His voice was low and smooth, but it brooked no argument.

She hesitated just a second too long, and he tilted his head.

"You like pretending you need to be told twice, don't you?"

She swallowed. "Yes, Sir."

He smiled like she'd just fed him something sweet.

"Then I'll make you ask me for every single thing I give you tonight."

She stripped for him top first, then jeans, slowly, nervously. Standing there in her bra and panties, already wet. Already aching. Already submitting with her whole body.

"Bra off."

She unclasped it, let it fall, her nipples hardening under his gaze.

"Turn around. Let me see all of you."

She obeyed, facing the wall, baring herself completely.

"Now come here. Kneel."

She did right between his legs. He cupped her jaw, thumb stroking her cheek, but there was nothing soft in his eyes.

"You look up at me like you've already decided you belong here."

"I have," she said, breathless.

He hummed. "Then let's make it official."

His fingers threaded into her hair not yanking, but holding. Guiding. He leaned down, kissed her finally. Hard. Demanding. His mouth took what it wanted, tongue coaxing hers open, hand tightening in her curls.

She moaned, and he pulled back, lips brushing hers.

"Did I say you could make noise?"

"No, Sir."

"That's what I thought."

He rose and pulled her to her feet, pressing her against the wall with one arm braced beside her head. His other hand skimmed down her body, testing every reaction the way she gasped when he gripped her throat, how she arched into him when his fingers slid between her thighs.

"Soaked," he growled. "All this for me?"

"Yes, Sir..."

His fingers pushed past the fabric, stroked her slit slowly, teasing.

"You're going to remember this every time you sit down tomorrow. Every time you cross your legs. You're going to ache for me."

Then his mouth was on her neck, biting, kissing, one hand holding both wrists above her head, the other between her legs. She was writhing, trying not to make noise. He was everywhere, taking over her senses, owning every inch of her.

"Bed. Now."

She ran.

He followed.

Bent her over the mattress without a word. Yanked her panties down and off. Spanked her once. Not cruel. But enough to sting. Enough to make her gasp.

"You'll count for me."

"Yes, Sir."

"One," she gasped as his palm met her ass again.

"Two..."

He kept going, until her skin was hot and her voice shaky. Then his fingers were between her thighs again soothing, rubbing.

"You love being used, don't you?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You want me to ruin you."

"Please..."

He chuckled darkly. "Oh, baby. I haven't even started."

When he finally slid inside her slow, deep, claiming she cried out into the mattress, and he pressed a hand over her mouth.

"That's right. Take me. Let me feel that little cunt stretch for me. That's mine now."

Each thrust was precise. Intentional. His hands gripped her hips, pulled her back into him as he pounded harder. He whispered filth into her ear how good she was, how wet, how tight, how perfectly his.

When she begged to come, he grabbed her throat and whispered, "Not yet."

She sobbed.

But when he finally said, "Now," she shattered under him, clenching, trembling, crying out as her body gave in completely.

He held her through it. Rocked her gently even as he chased his own release with a groan and a growl that made her knees weak.

And after he gathered her up in his arms, kissed the top of her head, and whispered, "You did so good for me."

She melted. Not just because her body was wrung out and satisfied, but because he saw her. He used her but only in the way she wanted to be used. Revered her even while calling her his dirty little fucktoy.

And when she fell asleep on his chest later, she felt safer than she had in years.