“Lay back,” he orders.
I do just that, my back hitting the cool surface, with my dress bunched around my waist, and my breath coming in shallow pants.
Ryan steps between my legs, his hands running up my thighs, as he spreads me wider, as he takes in the sight of me laid out for him. “Fucking perfect,” he murmurs, almost to himself.
Then he’s undoing his jeans, shoving them down, freeing his cock, thick and flushed, leaking at the tip. The sight of him—so hard, so ready—makes my stomach tighten, heat coiling low in my belly. I bite my lip, my hips lifting slightly.
Ryan groans. “Look at you. You’re fucking dripping.” He fists himself, stroking once, twice, aligning himself.
He pushes inside me slowly, making me feel every thick, pulsing inch of him. I cry out, legs wrapping around his waist.
Ryan curses, his hands gripping my waist so tight I’ll have bruises tomorrow. “Fuck, you’re tight. I love sinking into you, feeling you take me inside your body, having you clenched around me.” He pulls back, almost all the way, before slamming back in, making me moan so loud it echoes through the studio.
He thrusts into me deep, slow at first, dragging it out, making me feel every inch, every thrust. His hands roam, squeezing my breasts through my dress, his thumbs circling my nipples, making me whimper. His lips find my throat, my collarbone, kissing, biting, marking.
“You like this, baby?” he grunts, his pace picking up, hips snapping into mine, making the table creak beneath us. “Like me fucking you here, where you work, where you make your pottery pieces?” His hand slides between us, his fingers finding my clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts. “Gonna think about this every time you sit at that wheel, aren’t you? Gonna remember how I stretched you open, how I made you come all over me?”
I’m gone—completely undone, my body burning, shaking, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter. “Yes,” I gasp, nails dragging down his back, my hips lifting to meet every thrust. “Ryan, I?—”
He groans, his thrusts growing erratic, harder, deeper. “That’s it. Say my name when you come.”
I whimper, my thighs tightening around him, my body arching as he drives deeper, hits the spot that makes me see white. He groans, gripping my chin, tilting my face up so I have to meet his eyes, have to see the hunger there, the possession burning through him.
“You’re mine,” he breathes, his forehead pressing against mine, his pace slow but brutal, every thrust sinking deep, stealing my breath. “I’myour boyfriend. No one else gets to have you like this. No one else gets to see you like this—spread out, messy, dripping, fucking begging for me.”
My cry is swallowed by his mouth as he kisses me, his hips rolling into mine, making sure I know who’s inside me.
His voice is ragged, his breath hot against my ear as he thrusts deeper, harder. “You’re mine,” he rasps. “Myfucking girl.”
His words send a wave of heat crashing through me, make my walls clench tight around him. Ryan groans, his body shuddering against mine.
“Say it,” he demands, his breath ragged across my face, his hand finding my clit, rubbing in slow, devastating circles. “Tell me who you belong to.”
I’m breaking apart, pleasure tightening in my core. I can’t fight it, don’t want to.
“You,” I gasp, my back arching off the worktable. “Yours, Ryan—fuck, I’m yours.”
His fingers press harder against my clit, his cock hitting the perfect spot, and then I’m shattering—my body tightening, my vision going white as pleasure crashes over me, my cries breaking into gasps. Ryan follows, burying himself deep, his body tensing, a low, wrecked moan spilling from his lips as he pulses inside me, filling me with his cum.
“Damn right you are,” he groans, kissing me, swallowing my cries as we both shatter together.
The world goes quiet. Just the sound of our breathing, and the faint hum of the wheel still spinning behind us.
My head drops back, landing on the worktable with a thud, my heart still racing out of my chest.
Neither of us moves right away, but then Ryan shifts, his hands slipping beneath my thighs. I barely have time to react before he’s tugging me down the length of the worktable and lifting me into his arms.
I gasp, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. “Ryan?—”
He kisses me before I can finish. Slow this time.
His fingers find my hair, brushing it back gently. His eyes lock on mine—still dark, still burning, but softer now.
“You,” he murmurs, voice low and warm, “are going to kill me.”
I smile, still breathless, still clinging to him. “You’ll survive.”
He chuckles, presses one last kiss to my lips, then lets his forehead rest against mine.
