4. Ana
ANA
His hands grip my waist like he’s staking something.
They’re big and warm, rough from use, and they settle me in place without needing force.
I press into him and feel it all at once—his chest hard against mine, his belt buckle digging into my hip, the hum of control under everything else.
He holds still like a man who’s waited too long, and I kiss him deeper just to watch him crack.
His mouth parts and I take it, tongue pushing in, soft at first, then hungry. He meets it, then devours it, and I feel my knees give just enough to make me reach for his shoulders. He catches me before I fall. He always did.
I moan when his hand slides down, grips my ass through the coat, then hauls me flush against the line of him, thick and hard where I need him most. My thighs clench.
I can feel how badly he wants me, and it twists something fierce and sweet through my gut.
I want it messy. I want it bare. I want all the years we didn’t touch to bleed out through this.
I pull back only long enough to shove the coat off my arms. He catches it before it hits the floor and tosses it aside, then backs me toward the kitchen counter like he’s already mapped out how he wants this to go.
I let him, until the edge hits the backs of my thighs, and then I yank at his shirt.
It’s still tucked in, still too neat, and I want it undone.
“Off,” I tell him. My voice is raw, already breathless.
He unbuttons slow like he’s daring me to lose control first, but I’m not waiting. I slide my hand down the front of his pants and palm him through the fabric. He hisses, short and rough, and grabs my wrist. His grip tightens.
“Don’t start something you’re not ready to finish,” he says.
“I started this the second I kissed you,” I say, and squeeze him harder.
He growls deep in his throat and kisses me again, rougher now, teeth clashing against mine before his mouth drags along my jaw and down my neck.
He finds the spot under my ear that always made my pulse jump and bites just enough to mark it.
My head tips back, body arching into his.
His hand slides between my legs, cups me through the thin fabric, and presses in hard.
“You’re soaked,” he says. He’s not asking. His fingers rub me slow, then faster, dragging heat and wetness up until I whimper into his mouth.
“I’ve wanted you like this since the chapel,” I say.
He pulls back enough to look at me. “That wasn’t the time.”
“No. But this is.” I grip his hand and shove it under my waistband. No pretense. I’m bare underneath, and his fingers slide straight in.
The groan he lets out is pure filth.
He pumps two fingers in deep, then curls them just right.
I gasp, the sound caught between surprise and relief.
My knees shake. He does it again, his thumb circling the spot that makes my legs quake.
My hips grind against his palm as the pressure builds too fast, too hard, and I grab his arm for balance.
“I’m going to come,” I whisper.
“Good. Let them hear you.”
He fucks me with his fingers harder, thumb stroking tight and fast, and when I come, it slams through me in waves. My body locks and shakes, my mouth falling open around his name.
He doesn’t stop. He lowers to his knees.
I grab the counter behind me to stay upright as he yanks my pants down to my knees and lifts one leg over his shoulder.
His tongue replaces his fingers. The first swipe is slow and dirty, then he locks his mouth on me and licks like he means to keep me here all night.
I cry out, loud and broken. His hands hold me in place, firm and bruising, and he works me with a hunger that has nothing to do with patience.
“Dominik,” I pant. “You’re—fuck—”
He groans against me and doubles down. I come again, harder this time, thighs clenching around his head. I can’t breathe through it. I press my fist to my mouth to keep from screaming as the pleasure tears through me, bright and brutal. He only stops when I push at his shoulders with shaking hands.
“Enough,” I say, my voice hoarse.
He stands, mouth slick, eyes wild.
“Your turn,” I say, reaching for his belt.
I want him in my mouth, thick and hot, with his hand in my hair and his breath catching in my ear. I want to drag every last ounce of control out of him and taste what he’s been holding back for years. I drop to my knees without hesitation.
The kitchen tile bites into my skin, but I don’t care.
He’s standing over me, chest rising, lips parted, belt already in my hands.
I tug it open, then pop the button on his pants and pull the zipper down slow.
His cock strains against the fabric, thick and fully hard, and the second I free him, it springs out heavy and flushed.
He’s perfect. Long and wide, with a dark head already wet at the tip. I wrap my hand around the base and stroke him once, slow and tight, watching his jaw tense. He exhales through his nose. His fingers curl into fists at his sides like he’s forcing himself not to take control.
I want him to lose it.
I lean forward and lick the head, circling it, tasting the salt of him. His thighs flex. I do it again, slower, then drag my tongue down the underside of his cock, licking the thick vein all the way to the base.
“Fuck,” he growls, voice tight.
I smile, filthy and smug, and take the head into my mouth, wrapping my lips around it and sucking deep.
His groan rips out of him. I bob once, slow, then again deeper.
He grips the edge of the counter to steady himself.
I can hear the strain in his breath, feel the tension in his legs as I take more of him in.
I use one hand to stroke what I can’t reach, twisting my wrist at the top just enough to make him grunt. My other hand slips down between my thighs. I’m still dripping from the way he touched me, and the slide of my fingers is instant and obscene.
His eyes drop and lock there.
“You’re playing with yourself while you suck my cock,” he says, like he can’t fucking believe it.
I moan around him and do it harder.
He hisses and fists his hand in my hair. “Ana.”
I pull off for a second, spit-slick and breathless. “What?”
He looks wrecked. “You’re going to make me come.”
“Good.” I take him in again.
I suck harder, messier, spit trailing down my chin. He fucks into my mouth now, shallow thrusts that get rougher each time. I gag once and hold still, eyes watering, tongue pressed against the underside of his cock as he groans above me.
His hand fists tighter in my hair.
“Open wider,” he growls. “Take all of it.”
I do.
I let him push deeper, throat relaxing around him until he bottoms out. His hips jerk and he holds me there, just for a second, buried in my mouth while my throat contracts around him. A muffled sound breaks from me, and he lurches forward like he’s never felt anything hit that hard.
He pulls back and I suck him hard all the way out, licking the tip before I take him again.
It’s relentless now. Wet, filthy, constant.
He curses with every breath. His thighs shake.
I stroke the base while I suck, faster now, twisting with each motion.
I can feel his cock throbbing in my mouth. His hand tightens. His hips stutter.
“Fuck, Ana,” he growls. “I’m gonna—”
He tries to pull out. I don’t let him.
I grab his ass with both hands and keep him where I want him, lips sealed tight, cheeks hollowed as I suck him through it. He swears again, hoarse, and then he comes hard, spilling deep in my throat.
I take all of it, swallowing fast.
He groans so loud it echoes off the walls. His legs nearly give. I don’t stop until he’s completely spent. When I finally pull back, he’s panting, chest heaving, sweat beading at his temples.
I lick him clean, slow and obscene.
He stares down at me, stunned, wrecked, reverent.
I stand slowly. My knees are raw, my mouth swollen, my thighs still wet. He watches every inch of me like he’s trying to remember how to breathe. I don’t look away.
“Still think I wasn’t ready to finish what I started?” I whisper.
He grabs me and kisses me so hard, I lose track of where I am. My back hits the fridge. His cock is still out, softening against my thigh, but his hands are already sliding up under my blouse again.
“I didn’t think I would be.”
He grins, wicked and breathless. “Then I hope you don’t mind losing count.”
He says it like a warning, but I don’t back off.
He’s still inside my head, still thick on my tongue, still tasting like everything I never let myself want.
His cock is softening against my thigh, but barely.
I can already feel him thickening again, heat rising under my palm as I reach for him, stroke him slowly, then squeeze harder.
“You’re already hard,” I murmur.
His mouth curves, lips brushing mine. “You look surprised.”
“I’m not.” I roll my hips forward, grinding against the ridge of him. “I’m impressed.”
He groans, grabs my ass with both hands, and lifts me straight onto the table, knocking aside an empty glass with the edge of my thigh.
I’m still in my blouse, pants shoved down around my knees, and my thighs are slick from what he did to me.
He steps between them and runs his knuckles down the inside of one leg, spreading me wider.
“I haven’t even started with you,” he says.
He bends, kisses my throat, sucks a mark onto my collarbone that’ll stay. I gasp and claw at his belt, tug it open again. His pants drop around his hips. He’s fully hard now, flushed and ready, and when he jerks once in his hand, I feel my whole body tighten in response.
When he steps in close, I reach for him without thinking. He grabs my wrists and pins them to the table on either side of me, then thrusts into me in one slow, brutal stroke.
The stretch is too much and just enough.
I cry out, arching up as he sinks deeper, hips tight against mine, cock buried to the hilt. His eyes lock on mine, dark and blinking, and he holds perfectly still, watching me take it.
“You feel that?” he breathes.
“Yes,” I gasp. “God, yes.”
He pulls back and drives into me harder, the sound of it obscene and wet and everything I want.
The table shifts under us. My arms tremble from how tight he’s holding them.
He fucks me like he’s laying a claim, like he’s done waiting, like he’s got years to make up for and he’s going to do it without apology.
He leans forward, one arm still trapping both wrists, and licks the sweat from the side of my neck.
“You’re still wearing too much,” he says.
He lets go of my arms just long enough to yank my blouse up and over my head, tossing it somewhere behind him before grabbing both breasts and sucking one deep into his mouth. I moan and wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper, grinding up into every punishing thrust.
He fucks me harder, each movement more punishing than the last, and when his hand drops to rub me, fingers slick and fast, I know I’m going to come again.
“I’m close,” I whisper. “Don’t stop.”
“I couldn’t even if I tried,” he growls.
His thumb circles hard, hips slamming into me, and I break all at once. The orgasm hits with a crack, my whole body locking down on his cock, shaking under him as he drives into me through it. I cry out, too loud, too raw, and he covers my mouth with his just to muffle the sound.
He doesn’t stop.
He lifts me, still inside me, and sets me down on my feet before I can breathe.
My legs buckle and he catches me, spins me around, and bends me over the table.
I brace both hands against the wood as he thrusts back into me from behind, deeper this time, harder, cock grinding into places that make me scream again.
His hand snakes around my throat, not tight, just enough to hold me still.
“You gonna give me another one?” he asks.
I shake my head, barely coherent. “I can’t.”
“You will.”
He slams into me, over and over, hand on my clit again, faster now, meaner.
The table groans. My skin stings where his hips smack my ass.
I’m past words. I sob out his name. The pressure builds hard and fast and explodes without warning.
I come again, violently, legs shaking, stomach clenching, stars burning behind my eyes.
He grunts, biting the back of my shoulder as I fall apart. He slows only slightly, like he’s holding the line with both hands.
I collapse onto the table, soaked and shaking, my chest dragging against the wood as I gasp for breath. My arms won’t hold me up anymore, and my thighs feel wrecked, open and aching, but he doesn’t stop.
He’s still inside me, still thick and rock-hard, still holding my hips tight in both hands. I feel him draw back, just a little, then slam back in so deep, I choke on the sound that rips from my throat.
“Dominik—”
He doesn’t answer. His grip shifts, one hand sliding up my back to tangle in my hair.
He yanks my head back as he fucks me, hard and fast, hips crashing into me in a brutal rhythm that makes the table knock into the wall again and again.
My knees buckle, and he pulls me up by the hair until my spine arches and my throat’s exposed.
“Stay open for me,” he growls in my ear.
“I can’t,” I gasp.
“You fucking will.”
He thrusts in again, deeper than before, and I cry out, raw and half-broken. The edge of the table digs into my hips, but I don’t care because he’s using my body like it’s his to take, and I’ve never wanted anything more.
The slap of our skin is loud and wet. Heat clings to the walls, sweat everywhere. His cock drags against every nerve inside me, and when he grinds forward, I feel him throb. He’s close. His breath turns ragged, chest pressed to my back, every muscle locked tight as he chases that finish.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he growls, voice shredded. “So fucking tight. I should’ve had this years ago.”
“Then come,” I whisper. “Come inside me.”
He growls like an animal and slams in one last time, burying himself deep. His hips lock. His body jerks.
Then he comes.
I feel it—his cock pulsing hard inside me, his grip turning bruising on my hips, his chest vibrating with the groan he tries to swallow but can’t.
He doesn’t pull out. Not right away.
He stays there, bent over me, his breath hot against my back, cock still twitching deep inside, hands sliding up my sides in something almost tender. I can feel his sweat drip onto my skin.
Neither of us speaks.
Not until he finally exhales and murmurs, rough against my neck, “Now you’re done.”
I laugh, broken and breathless. “You’re fucking insane.”
“You’re still standing,” he says. “Barely.”
He pulls out slowly. I hiss at the stretch and stumble forward against the table. His hands catch me again, steady, unshaking. I feel ruined. I feel claimed.
I feel like I’ll crawl back to this exact moment in my head every time I ever need to remember what it means to be wrecked on purpose.
Dominik drags me up into his arms, naked and boneless, and carries me like I weigh nothing. “If this is all we have, Ana, I need more.”