I did. His eyes were wild, jaw clenched, sweat beading on his forehead. Tattoos flexed with every thrust. The smell of sex—sweat, my arousal, his musk—hung heavy in the air. He leaned down and kissed me fiercely, biting my lower lip as his cock hammered into me.

I came again, screaming into his mouth, my pussy clamping down so hard he groaned. He didn’t stop. He fucked me through it, then flipped me again, this time bending me over the table. Dishes rattled as he took me from behind, one hand around my throat, squeezing just enough to make my head spin with pleasure.

“Gonna fill this pussy again,” he...