The kitchen was quiet except for the low hum of the fridge.
You walked in behind me—no warning, no sound—just your warmth pressing into my back.
I felt your breath at my neck before you even touched me.
“Don’t move,” you whispered.
Your hand slid around my waist, fingers spreading over my stomach, pulling me back against you. I could feel how hard you already were. You didn’t hide it. You pushed into me like you wanted me to feel every part of you.
Your other hand rested on the counter beside mine, trapping me in place.
I wasn’t going anywhere.
“You like teasing me?” you asked, lips brushing the shell of my ear.
I nodded, breath catching.
“Good,” you said. “Because now it’s my turn.”
Your fingers trailed down my hip, slow and controlling, like you wanted me to squirm. And I did—my thighs pressed together, my breath shaking.
You chuckled softly.
“Look at you… already desperate.”
You pushed my legs apart with your knee. Nothing rough—just firm. Possessive.
Your hand slipped between my thighs, and your fingertips traced a line over the thin fabric. I gasped. You didn’t even push—just stroked me lightly, knowing exactly what that would do.
“So wet already?”
You sounded proud.
Hungry.
You tugged my panties aside and slid one finger over me, slow and deep.
I gripped the counter so hard my nails ached.
Then your voice—low, filthy:
“Bend over.”
The command hit me like a shiver.
I bent.
You didn’t wait.
Your fingers entered me from behind, two of them, steady and curling upward.
“Oh fuck…”
I couldn’t hold still.
You held my hip with your other hand, keeping me exactly where you wanted me, pushing deeper, harder, your breath getting heavier.
Then you pulled out and teased me with the head of your cock, just nudging, making me whine for it.
“Ask,” you whispered.
I breathed out, trembling.
“Please… fuck me.”
That was all you needed.
You pushed in, slow at first—just enough to feel me tighten around you—then deeper, filling me until I moaned into the counter. Your grip tightened at my waist as you started thrusting, steady and heavy, making the dishes shake.
“Take it,” you growled.
And I did.
Every inch.
Every thrust.
My legs were shaking.
My voice was broken.
But you didn’t stop—not until my orgasm hit so hard I couldn’t breathe, my body clenching around you while you held me through it, whispering how good I felt, how good I made you, how you weren’t done yet.
You stayed pressed against my back…
breathing hard…
holding me there like you owned the moment.
And then you whispered:
“Next time… the counter’s not going to survive.”
