• summary: On a road trip to Hawaii with friends, you’re forced to share a seat with your childhood rival, Chris Sturniolo. Hours of tension, teasing, and grinding on his lap finally break him—and it all explodes into a heated argument back at the Airbnb. But when the shouting turns into an angry love confession, hate gives way to something far more dangerous… and irresistible.
chapter eight : Lifted, Pinned, Ridden
He didn’t give you a second to breathe.
You were still gasping, skin flushed, lips throbbing from how hard he’d been kissing you when suddenly—
He gripped the underside of your thighs.
And with a grunt, Chris lifted you clean off the ground like you weighed nothing, your back hitting the wall again with a breathless thud.
You cried out, your hands flying to his shoulders for balance, but he was already moving—pressing his body flush to yours, lips dragging down your throat, biting at the curve of your neck, holding you up like you were his.
Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively.
His hands slid under your ass, gripping the softest part of you, holding you there, grinding you down against his hips. The pressure between your legs made you moan—loud and unfiltered—and Chris groaned into your skin like it drove him insane.
He didn’t even kiss you this time—he devoured you.
His lips slammed against yours again, tongue instantly sliding deep into your mouth, tasting you, owning you, controlling the kiss with filthy, relentless dominance. He kissed like he needed it to breathe. Like he was starving and you were the only thing that would feed him.
You couldn’t help it—you whimpered into him again.
Chris moaned hard, rolling his hips up into you as he pinned you harder against the wall, grinding between your legs so deep you gasped against his lips. “God, baby—fuck—your whimpers are killing me.”
His hands shifted again, one sliding up your back, the other fisting your hair to hold your face in place as he deepened the kiss—tongue, tongue, tongue—hot and deep and dominant, licking into your mouth like he owned it.
Then—he pulled back. Just barely. His eyes were wrecked, lips swollen and wet, his breathing ragged as he stared down at you like you were a dream and a curse all at once.
“You wanna tease me?” he rasped, voice low and wrecked. “You wanna grind on me like you did in the car?”
“I’ll give you something to grind on, sweetheart.”
He turned with you still clinging to him and walked to the bed.
The movement was fast, effortless—his arms tight around you, his grip secure, your legs locked around his waist as he walked both of you across the room like he was drunk on the taste of you.
On the edge of the mattress, legs spread wide, you straddling his lap.
You blinked down at him, breathless.
He stared up at you, jaw clenched, cheeks flushed, hands settling firmly on your hips.
A wicked smirk curled his lips.
“Move your hips on me, love.”
A pause. His voice dropped lower, filthier.
“Just like you were in the car.”
Slow. Deliberate. Pressing your center against the hard bulge in his grey sweats.
His head dropped back. A deep, broken groan ripped out of his chest.
You dragged your hips along him in one long, grinding rock that made your eyes flutter and your breath stutter and your whole body melt.
Chris’s grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin like he was holding back from flipping you onto the bed and going feral.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he groaned, voice rough and breathless. “I swear to god, you’re gonna fucking kill me.”
And then—his mouth was back on yours.
Hard. Deep. Wet. Tongue. Tongue. Tongue.
He kissed you like he was starving, like this was his last breath and your mouth was the only air he wanted. His hands slid up your spine, pulling you in tighter, your chests pressed together, hips locked, mouths moving in messy, filthy harmony.
You couldn’t stop moaning.
Every roll of your hips made your head spin, your body clench, your lips break from his to gasp his name. “Chris—Chris—Chris.”
He licked into your mouth between kisses. “Keep saying it, baby.”
Then he dragged his lips down your jaw again, to your neck, sucking harshly right at the base.
“Mine,” he growled against your skin. “Say you’re mine.”
Your hips moved on instinct now—slow, deep circles against his lap, dragging your denim shorts across the aching bulge straining his grey sweats. You were soaked through. Your thighs trembled. Your stomach clenched with every motion.
Chris hovered above you—hands pinning yours to the sheets, his arms caging you in, his eyes glued to your face.
Watching what he was doing to you.
Your eyes fluttered closed as you rolled your hips again, dragging your body up and down against him, grinding your core into his like you were chasing something neither of you dared name.
Chris groaned—loud, wrecked, breathless.
“Fuck—“ he choked, voice raw. “That’s it. Keep going. Just like that.”
His forehead dropped to yours.
He kissed you again—hard. His tongue shoved between your lips, desperate, breath hot against your face. The kiss was messy—open, wet, teeth pulling lips, tongues sliding, spit stringing between you when he pulled back just long enough to whisper:
“You taste so fucking good.”
You were grinding without even realizing it—hips circling in filthy rhythm, friction burning between your thighs. The front of his sweats was soaked with your arousal now, and when his hips rolled up to meet yours—
And then—he let go of your wrists.
Only to grab your waist. Hard.
“Take this off,” he growled, tugging at the hem of your crop top. His voice was wrecked. “I want your skin on mine.”
You didn’t think—you just lifted your arms.
Your crop top peeled off in one swift motion, and Chris froze.
His eyes dropped to your chest, his mouth parting, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. You were still wearing a thin, lacy bra, and his hands slid up—fingertips dragging lightly over your ribs, your sides, until they cradled the curve of your waist.
“Fuck,” he whispered, almost reverently. “You’re so perfect.”
And then his lips were on your collarbone again.
He kissed his way across your chest—slow, open-mouthed kisses, dragging tongue, teeth, heat. He sucked a mark right under your bra strap and groaned into your skin like your body was the only thing he ever wanted to taste.
His hand slipped behind you. He undid the clasp in one swift motion.
His mouth was on you in seconds—hot kisses down your sternum, then lower, his tongue circling your nipple, his groan deep and filthy as he sucked, teeth grazing, hands still gripping your waist like if he let go, you’d disappear.
Your fingers tangled in his hair.
You moaned—loud, unfiltered.
He pushed your shorts down.
You gasped—but lifted your hips. You wanted this. You needed it.
The denim dragged down your thighs, exposing your thin underwear—soaked, clinging to your heat—and Chris hissed when he saw it.
You were. Embarrassingly.
He pressed his hand over your core—palming you through the fabric, slow, gentle pressure that made your hips buck into his touch.
His fingers rubbed slow circles over the wet fabric, his voice filthy against your throat.
“You really want me to beg?” he growled. “Because I will, baby. I’ll get on my knees for you. I’ll do whatever the fuck you want.”
Your hips moved again—grinding into his palm, your thighs shaking, your voice breaking on his name.
“Please, Chris—” you gasped.
And he smirked against your jaw.
Part VII: His Hands Slide Lower
Chest heaving beneath that black compression shirt, forehead sweaty, hair clinging to his temples—but his eyes?
You were still in his lap, straddling him. Grinding slowly. Filthily. Each rock of your hips sent shivers up your spine, the thick bulge beneath you pressing perfectly against your soaked heat.
And Chris? He was falling apart under you.
His hands were gripping your waist—tight—thumbs dragging over the curve of your hips. He leaned forward, mouth brushing your throat, lips parted.
From the base of your neck up to your jaw.
And he moaned against your skin.
“Fuck,” he breathed, tongue dragging across your collarbone now. “You taste like heaven. You feel like sin.”
Your nails raked down his arms. You couldn’t stop. Every kiss, every grind, every breath was unraveling you.
He kissed you again—hard.
His tongue pushed into your mouth, messy and greedy, curling around yours. Wet, open-mouthed kissing. Loud and filthy. Like you were starved for each other. Like you needed this to live.
You whimpered into his mouth when he rolled his hips up against you.
And that sound—that sound—
He pulled back, just slightly, resting his forehead against yours.
His hands dragged up your sides—slow, possessive.
“Take these off,” he rasped, nodding at your underwear.
He didn’t wait for an answer.
Rough. Confident. Dominant.
He gripped the sides of your panties, lifted your hips just slightly, and dragged them down your thighs.
You were bare in his lap.
Then—his fingers returned.
Slid between your thighs.
You were throbbing. Aching. So wet, it was obscene. You whimpered—needing him to move, needing anything.
“I want to watch your face when I touch you.”
His fingers moved—slow, deep strokes through your folds. He circled your clit once, twice—you gasped—and his lips were back on yours instantly, swallowing every sound.
You moaned into his mouth.
Your hips started rocking again—instinctively chasing his hand, grinding against his palm.
And then—he slid a finger in.
“Fuck, baby,” he rasped. “So tight—so warm—god—”
He kissed you again. Tongue deep. His finger curling inside you. His other hand sliding up your back, pulling you tighter to him.
You were a mess—moaning into his mouth, hips grinding harder, faster, riding his hand like it was the only thing keeping you alive.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispered. “I could do this all night. Watch you fall apart on me. Feel you squeeze around my fingers. Taste those pretty little noises you make—”
Another finger slipped in.
He scissored them gently, curling into that spot inside you that made your vision go white.
Your moans were helpless now.
You could barely kiss him back.
His voice was pure filth.
“Come for me, Y/N. I want to feel you lose it.”
Part VIII: The First Time He Sees You Break
His fingers were still inside you—deep, curling, relentless—his palm grinding against your clit in slow, devastating circles.
And Chris was watching you like he was obsessed.
Your face—your mouth open, your breath catching, your thighs trembling around his hips—it was wrecking him. His eyes traced every twitch of your lips, every roll of your hips, every single whimper that spilled out of your throat.
“You gonna come for me, baby?” he asked, voice low, dark, fucked-out.
“On my fingers? On my lap?”
You tried to answer—but all that came out was a broken gasp.
His mouth found your jaw again, teeth grazing your skin, and then he kissed your neck—open, wet, slow. He licked up the column of your throat, whispering filth between kisses.
“Fuckin’ love feeling you like this.”
Your hips were bucking now—completely out of control. Riding his hand, grinding into his lap, chasing the sharp heat coiling tighter and tighter in your gut.
“You’re clenching so tight—fuck—you’re gonna make me come just watching you.”
And then he kissed you again—tongue shoving deep, teeth dragging across your lower lip—and his fingers stroked you just right—
Your body locked up, a scream catching in your throat, your hips jerking forward as the orgasm tore through you like lightning.
Chris groaned into your mouth, holding you through it.
“Fuck, that’s it—fuck—look at you—so pretty when you break—”
Your head dropped to his shoulder, whimpering, gasping, shaking.
And still—he didn’t stop.
His fingers slowed, stroking you through the aftershocks. His palm rubbed gentle circles on your clit. His lips kissed the shell of your ear, whispering,
“That’s it, baby. That’s my girl.”
You clung to him, body limp, legs still trembling.
Wrapped you in his arms like you were fragile. Like something he’d do anything to protect.
And then—he pulled his fingers out.
He brought his fingers to his mouth—
“Fuck,” he muttered. “You taste so good. Sweet as fuck. I knew you would.”
Your body jolted at his words. You tried to sit up, but your legs were too weak.
He smirked, pulling you close again, kissing your shoulder.
“Told you I’d make you break.”
“Didn’t think it’d be this easy though, love.”
You looked at him, still breathless. Still dazed. Still straddling his lap, your body flushed and wrecked.
Still hard. Still pulsing beneath you. Still watching you like he was going to devour you again.
Part IX: You Return the Favor
You were still straddling him, trembling from the aftershocks, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.
Chris watched you like he was watching a miracle. His jaw was slack. His chest was heaving. His hands? Still splayed across your hips like he couldn’t let go.
Still rock-hard under you.
And the second you shifted—slowly grinding your hips over his lap again—he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.
His voice cracked. Like he was begging. Like if you moved just once more, he’d come undone right there.
Which, of course, made you smile.
“Don’t what?” you asked, leaning in, brushing your lips over his throat. “This?”
You rocked your hips again.
Harder this time. And he whined.
His hands gripped your waist, desperate, trying to control the motion—but you slapped his chest gently.
“You don’t get to be in charge anymore, Sturniolo.”
He groaned—deep and low, his head falling back, neck exposed, jaw tight.
You leaned in and licked a slow line up his throat.
Then sucked just below his jaw.
You felt it vibrate through your chest.
Felt his cock twitch underneath you.
“You wanna taste?” you whispered against his skin. “Then you’re gonna watch me take my time with you.”
So you pulled away, slowly. Smiling.
Then—pushed him back onto the bed.
He landed with a soft grunt, arms flung out, eyes wide, hair messy.
You climbed off his lap, kneeling beside him now. Your hands slid up his thighs, teasing, slow. His grey sweats were strained, tight, tented so high you could see the outline of everything.
And that was your favorite look on him.
Your fingers curled around the waistband.
“These,” you murmured, tugging gently, “are coming off.”
Chris Sturniolo whimpered.
You pulled them down—slowly—watching every twitch of his muscles, every breath that caught in his throat.
Big. Thick. Veins tracing up the shaft. Hard and flushed and leaking.
Then looked him right in the eyes.
“You’re even prettier here.”
And his whole body jerked.
Your hands splayed on his hips, holding him down, tongue teasing the head again. He groaned—threw his head back, muscles flexing under you.
You took him in just slightly—lips wrapped around the head—then pulled off with a pop.
“Look at you,” you whispered. “Already falling apart. And I’ve barely touched you.”
He was breathing like he’d run miles. His hands fisted the sheets.
“Y/N,” he groaned, “you’re killing me.”
Chris was laid out beneath you—sweaty, flushed, panting like he was seconds from falling apart.
His black compression shirt clung to every muscle on his chest, slightly bunched where you’d grabbed at it earlier, riding up just enough to reveal the sharp grooves of his stomach. His hair was messy, pushed off his forehead, cheeks pink, lips parted—
Blown wide. Black with lust. Locked on you.
You were kneeling over him, completely bare now, flushed and dripping, chest still rising and falling with shaky breaths.
You dragged your nails down his abs slowly, watching the way his whole body shivered at your touch.
“You gonna be good for me now?” you asked, tilting your head.
Chris’s hands twitched beside him, like he wanted to grab you so bad it hurt.
“You’re the one who started grinding on my lap like a fucking tease—”
You shut him up by grabbing the base of his cock, making his whole body seize up.
“That was a preview,” you whispered, voice dark and slow. “This is the main event.”
You raised your hips—hovering right above him.
And when you lowered down?
The stretch was slow, hot, deep—your walls clenching around him inch by inch. He was thick. Bigger than you’d even realized. And it felt like you were made for this.
Chris was a wreck. His hands fisted the sheets on either side of him, neck straining, mouth dropped open in a silent groan. His thighs trembled beneath you.
You sunk all the way down.
Sat flush against his hips.
And his eyes rolled back in his head.
“Oh my God,” he choked out.
“You feel like a fucking dream.”
You leaned forward, hands braced on his chest.
His hips jerked up instinctively—but you slapped his stomach gently, keeping control.
“No,” you breathed. “Let me.”
He nodded—desperate, submissive.
You rolled your hips again, and his head dropped back into the pillows. A strangled, guttural moan left his throat.
You could feel how deep he was.
Every ridge. Every pulse.
And you weren’t giving him a second of relief.
“This what you wanted in the car?” you taunted. “When you were whimpering under me?”
“You’re evil,” he rasped. “You’re fucking evil—”
He licked his lips. Voice shaking.
The sounds—god—the sounds.
Skin slapping. Breaths panting. Your moans mixing with his growls. The obscene wet noises of you moving on him like you were meant to stay there forever.
His hands finally lifted—grabbing your hips—digging in hard.
“You ride me so good,” he groaned. “So fucking perfect. I could come like this—fuck—I might—”
Teeth dragging across his bottom lip.
You whispered against his mouth—
“Don’t you dare come yet.”
“Then stop moving like that.”
And ground down again, slow and filthy.
Chris’s body is pressed against mine like a fire that can’t be extinguished. Every movement feels like an electric shock, and I can’t get enough. His lips are still on mine, harder now, deeper, and I’m completely lost in him. My hands are gripping his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin, pulling him closer as if I’m afraid he’ll disappear.
His hips move against me with a slow, deliberate grind, and I can feel every inch of him. The heat between us is unbearable. I’m breathless, my chest rising and falling as I try to catch my breath, but he makes it impossible. His hand slides down my back, pulling me even tighter against him, his fingers pressing into the curve of my waist. I feel my legs give way, my knees weak, but he’s holding me steady, his grip tightening as he pushes into me.
His lips leave mine, trailing down my neck with a hungry growl. His teeth graze my skin, sending waves of heat through my body. I arch into him, every inch of my body craving more. He murmurs something low against my neck, his breath hot and ragged. “You’re fucking perfect,” he growls, his lips returning to mine with a new urgency, his tongue sweeping into my mouth in a forceful kiss.
My head is spinning, my body shaking with need. Every second that passes, I’m more lost in him. I can’t focus, can’t think. His lips are everywhere—my neck, my collarbone, down to my chest. His hand moves lower again, dangerously close to where I want him most, but he doesn’t go far enough. The teasing, the constant build-up, it’s maddening.
“You taste so fucking good,” he mutters against my skin, his voice thick with desire. I can barely process the words, my body trembling under his touch. I want more. I need more.
I try to push him closer, but he’s always one step ahead. He grinds against me again, harder this time, and I gasp, unable to control the moan that escapes my lips. The sound of my desire seems to push him further, his lips returning to mine in a fiery kiss, his tongue diving deeper, more frantic now. My hands move down to grip his shirt, desperate to pull him closer, to feel more of him against me.
His hips roll against mine again, a slow, calculated grind that drives me wild. I feel the hard evidence of his desire pressed against me, and it only makes the ache inside me more unbearable. My legs are weak, shaking as he holds me tighter, one hand pinning me against the wall while the other slides down, gripping my thigh. He lifts me again, his lips never leaving mine, his body taking control, guiding mine to where it needs to go.
“Say it,” he breathes, pulling back just enough to look me in the eyes. His voice is dark, low, and filled with dominance. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me.”
I can’t hold back anymore. I need him. My words come out in a desperate whisper, “I want you. Please.”
Chris’s lips crash into mine again, and everything becomes a blur. His hands are everywhere, his mouth demanding, taking, not giving me a single second to breathe. I’m lost in him, in the heat, the need, the way he makes me feel like I’m the only thing that matters in this moment.
Chris’s dominance fills the space between us like a heavy, unspoken promise. His hands slide down my sides, pressing me harder against the wall, his body surrounding me, making it impossible to move, to breathe without him. Every inch of his touch is calculated, and every time I try to pull him closer, he just pulls away slightly, letting the tension build.
His lips find my ear again, hot breath cascading over my skin, sending goosebumps across my body. “You want me to make you beg for it?” he asks, voice husky, dripping with dominance.
I can barely hold myself together. My legs feel like jelly, weak under the weight of his control. My body screams for more, and yet, I know he’s in charge here. His words linger in the air, a challenge. A dare.
“Please,” I whisper, unable to stop myself. The word slips out, desperate. I need him so badly, I can’t think straight. But I know he’s not done with me yet.
He pulls back, his eyes flicking over me, dark with a hunger that matches my own. “Begging already?” he murmurs with a smirk. “That’s cute. But I don’t give in that easily.”
His hands slide to my hips, gripping me hard, as he lifts me again, pinning me to the wall even more forcefully. His lips crash against mine, hard and demanding, his tongue sweeping into my mouth in a deep, possessive kiss. I try to kiss him back, to match his intensity, but he controls it—taking, not giving, as he grinds against me in a slow, torturous rhythm.
“Tell me how much you want me,” Chris breathes between kisses, his lips trailing down to my neck again, nipping at the soft skin, making me gasp. His teeth graze my skin, leaving marks that only belong to him. “Tell me how much you need this.”
My body betrays me, trembling against his. I don’t even have the strength to fight anymore. I can only nod, my words lost in the haze of desire that clouds my mind. “I need you,” I finally manage, my voice shaking with desperation. “Please, Chris, I need you.”
His lips curve into a dark, satisfied grin, and he presses harder against me, his body moving with a slow, relentless force. He doesn’t need to speak—his body says it all. He owns me. And I’m more than willing to let him.
His grip doesn’t loosen for a second. Chris holds me pinned against the wall, completely caged in by his body—his hands firm on my hips, his chest pressing into mine, every inch of him radiating dominance and heat. The air between us is heavy, charged like a live wire, and it feels like the only sound in the world is the frantic rhythm of my breath.
“You feel that?” he whispers, his lips ghosting over my jaw, his voice like rough velvet. “That’s what you do to me.”
He grinds into me again—slow, deep, dragging out the motion like he’s savoring every second. My back arches off the wall instinctively, a soft whimper slipping out of me, unfiltered and desperate. He eats the sound up like he’s starving for it.
“God,” he growls, “you sound so good when you’re like this. When you’re needy. When you’re mine.”
He kisses me again—hard. There’s nothing sweet about it now. It’s filthy, full of tongue and tension and teeth. He pushes his tongue into my mouth, claiming it like he owns it. The kiss is messy, noisy, and I can’t keep up. His hand slides up my spine, threading into my hair and tugging just hard enough to make me gasp into his mouth.
“You taste so fucking good,” he breathes against my lips, his words hot and sinful. “I could stay right here—teasing you—forever.”
My head spins. I can’t think. All I feel is his voice in my ear, his body grinding into mine, the overwhelming dominance in every breath he takes.
“Can’t even stand up, can you?” Chris taunts, lips brushing my ear as he tilts his hips in another devastating roll against mine. “Your legs are shaking. You’re trembling for me.”
I let out a quiet moan, my body collapsing just slightly under the pressure of his hold. He catches me instantly, one hand gripping the back of my thigh and hiking my leg around his waist, securing me against him like he’s never letting me go. His strength, the control he holds in just the way he touches me—it makes everything inside me burn.
“I’ve got you,” he says lowly, dominant and gentle all at once. “You don’t have to do a damn thing. Just feel me.”
He presses his forehead to mine for a beat, letting the moment hang thick between us—then bites down on my lower lip, dragging a soft cry out of me.
“I’m going to ruin you for anyone else,” he murmurs, cocky and breathless, eyes locked on mine. “No one else will ever touch you like this. No one else will ever know how to pull those sounds out of you.”
He grinds again, harder this time, and I nearly cry out, the friction shooting straight through me. My arms wrap around his neck tighter, holding on like I might fall apart if I let go. I whimper again, and he smirks like he’s won a game he designed just for us.
“You like it when I talk to you like that?” he asks, dark and velvety. “You like when I tell you you’re mine?”
I can only nod, breathless, dazed, and aching.
“Good,” he says. “Because I’m not finished.”
Chris doesn’t ease up—not even for a second. His lips crash into mine again, messier this time, like he can’t get enough of me. His tongue pushes past my lips, claiming my mouth with such intensity that I forget how to breathe. I melt into him, whimpering into the kiss, my hands fisting into his shirt, clinging to him like he’s the only thing holding me up.
He groans low in his throat, deep and rough, like the sound is being torn from him. “You drive me insane,” he growls against my lips, biting my bottom one before tugging it between his teeth. “You’ve got no idea what you do to me.”
His hand slides lower, gripping the underside of my thigh tighter, pushing me up the wall as he grinds into me again—slow, devastating, controlled. I feel every part of him, hard and unrelenting. His body moves with purpose, like he’s savoring how wrecked he’s making me.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, brushing his nose along my cheek. “Can’t even speak, huh?” He kisses just below my ear, biting softly, making me moan. “You’re so needy. So desperate. So fucking good for me.”
I whimper again, my voice breaking into a moan as my head tilts back against the wall. My entire body trembles, overwhelmed and desperate. I feel like I’m on fire—like his touch has burned through every rational thought I’ve ever had.
He trails kisses down my neck, open-mouthed and wet, licking and sucking at my skin like he’s starving. “Every little sound you make?” he growls, licking slowly over a spot he just marked. “Mine. Every moan. Every breath. Every part of you belongs to me.”
Chris pulls back for a second—just enough to look me in the eyes. His chest heaves, his lips red and swollen from kissing, his pupils blown wide. “Say it,” he commands, low and serious, voice edged with heat. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I breathe without hesitation, voice cracking with need.
He smirks, and it’s dark. Dangerous. “That’s my girl.”
He slams his hips into mine again—shamelessly, fiercely—and my back arches off the wall. The friction is unbearable. Perfect. I cry out softly, my lips parting with another shaky moan, and Chris watches me like I’m the most addicting thing he’s ever seen.
“You feel that?” he whispers, grinding again, rolling his hips in the slowest, dirtiest way. “That’s what I do to you. That’s what you do to me.”
His lips find mine again, and he kisses me so hard I lose all sense of time. He owns every inch of me—every sound, every movement, every thought—and he knows it.
“Don’t forget this,” he murmurs against my lips, voice dropping even lower, hotter, rougher. “Don’t forget how I make you feel. Because I’m not done with you yet.”
Chris doesn’t ease off—if anything, he grows rougher, more demanding. His grip on my thigh tightens as he pins me higher against the wall, forcing my body to mold against his completely. I gasp, a sharp, breathy moan escaping me when his hips slam into mine again, deliberate and unrelenting.
“I want to ruin you,” he growls into my ear, voice jagged with heat. “I want you so wrecked, you forget how anyone else ever touched you.”
His mouth returns to my neck, and this time he’s ruthless. He licks, bites, sucks—claiming me in messy, hot marks that’ll stay for days. His hand grips my jaw, forcing my face back to him, eyes burning into mine.
“You like it when I’m like this, huh?” he snarls softly, lips brushing mine, his tone cocky and wicked. “You like when I get rough with you—when I take what’s mine.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. His mouth crashes into mine again, and this time, there’s nothing gentle. His tongue forces into my mouth, deep, messy, overwhelming. He kisses like he owns me, like he’s trying to make sure I can never breathe without remembering the taste of him.
I can’t keep up. I can’t think. All I can do is let him kiss me like that—let him grind into me over and over until I’m crying out against his lips, my voice trembling with every breath.
He pulls away just enough to smirk at how wrecked I look, panting, eyes glassy. “There you are,” he murmurs, thumb brushing along my lower lip. “All soft. All mine. You look so fucking good like this.”
Then his hand drops to the back of my neck, gripping tight, and he yanks me into another filthy, possessive kiss. His hips roll harder against mine, and the friction sends shockwaves through me. My fingers curl into his shoulders, nails dragging down his back as I moan against his tongue.
“You feel how hard I am for you?” he growls into my mouth. “This is what you do to me. Every time you look at me, every time you talk back, every time you pretend you don’t want me—this is what you make me.”
His lips trail down my throat again, teeth grazing the bruised skin, and he doesn’t stop until I’m practically writhing in his arms. I whimper his name, broken and breathless, and that’s when he growls again, voice cracking with heat.
“Say it again,” he demands. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I gasp. “I’m yours, Chris—please.”
He growls—low, feral—and kisses me again so deep, so rough, I feel like I’m being devoured.
Before I can catch my breath, Chris spins me around with force, his grip unrelenting as he presses my front against the wall. My palms slap the surface, heart pounding like a war drum in my chest. He steps up behind me, his body crowding mine, his chest against my back, hips already pushing forward into me—firm, slow, claiming.
“You feel that?” he rasps against my ear, his voice hot and feral. “That’s mine. All of it. Every inch of you.”
I gasp, my eyes fluttering shut as his hand runs up the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, tugging just enough to make me whimper. He tilts my head back so his mouth can reach the curve of my throat, and then he sinks his teeth in—sharp, hot, possessive.
“Arch your back,” he growls, one hand gripping my hip, dragging me back against him. “Let me see you.”
My body obeys before my mind can catch up—spine curving, heat flooding through me as he drags his hand down my side, rough and unrelenting. I can feel him smirk against my neck, breath hot on my skin.
“That’s it,” he whispers darkly, grinding into me from behind with slow, punishing pressure. “You don’t even have to think—just listen. Just feel me.”
He presses me harder against the wall, his palm flattening between my shoulder blades. I can barely breathe, crushed between the heat of him and the cold surface in front of me. His other hand slides over my hip again, fingers digging in like he’s branding me there.
“You make the prettiest sounds when you’re desperate,” Chris murmurs, teeth brushing the shell of my ear. “And you’re so desperate for me right now, aren’t you? So needy.”
A broken sound escapes my lips—half whimper, half moan—and he groans, loving it.
“Fuck, I could listen to you fall apart all night.”
He grinds into me again, rougher this time, making me gasp. Every motion is measured, like he’s savoring my helplessness, the way my body trembles under his. His lips trail along my shoulder now, biting, sucking, marking as he goes.
“I don’t care who hears,” he growls. “Let them. Let them know who’s making you feel like this. Let them hear what I do to you.”
My knees weaken under me, my breath hitched and ragged as he holds me up, completely and utterly under his control.
“Say it,” he demands again, voice dark and low. “Say you belong to me.”
“I’m yours,” I breathe, wrecked, shaking. “I’m yours, Chris.”
His hand slides back into my hair, tugging harder, tilting my head so he can kiss me from behind—deep, filthy, possessive. I melt into it, into him, and I know without a doubt…
Chris keeps me pinned, his hand tight in my hair, his chest rising and falling against my back like he’s barely holding himself together. Every slow grind of his hips is more intense than the last—rough, relentless, his breath hot and ragged against the side of my neck.
“You feel that?” he growls, voice cracking with the restraint he’s barely clinging to. “You feel how close I am?”
I nod, unable to speak, the tension coiling in my core so tight it feels like I might shatter. My body trembles in his grip, legs weak, moans falling from my lips in broken gasps.
He pulls my head back harder, forcing me to arch deeper into him. “Look at you,” he breathes. “Falling apart just from me grinding into you. Fuck, you’re perfect.”
His hand slides down, gripping my waist like he’s anchoring himself—and then he slams his hips forward, rough and unfiltered, and I let out a desperate, high-pitched moan. My knees nearly give out, but he catches me, holding me up with nothing but his strength and his need.
“You’re mine,” he says again, but this time it’s a growl, a promise, a possession. “Mine to hold, mine to touch, mine to ruin.”
He thrusts again—slow, hard, dragging the motion out—and I gasp, the friction so overwhelming I cry out his name. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. All I feel is him. Everywhere.
My whole body shakes, the pressure building with nowhere left to go. And then—
“Let go,” he whispers, voice tight with dominance and heat, lips brushing my ear. “Come on, baby. Fall apart for me.”
Everything crashes. I cry out, my whole body convulsing with it, pleasure snapping through me like lightning. My hands claw at the wall, lips parted, whimpering his name again and again like it’s the only word I know.
Chris groans—deep, wrecked, primal—his grip tightening on me as he grinds one last time, hard, like he’s chasing his own release. His forehead drops to the back of my neck, his breath shaky and hot against my skin as we both ride the high together—overwhelmed, unfiltered, and utterly consumed by the moment.
He doesn’t move for a long second. Just holds me there, pressed against the wall, arms around me like he never wants to let go.
“Holy shit,” he mutters, lips ghosting along my shoulder. “You ruin me.”
And in that messy, breathless stillness—wrapped in him, wrecked and raw—nothing else exists.
Chris doesn’t let go right away. His arms are still wrapped around me tightly from behind, our bodies pressed together as we both breathe hard, tangled in the silence.
But slowly—so slowly—he eases his grip. One hand glides softly over my waist, his other releasing the gentle tug in my hair, fingertips brushing down the back of my neck like he’s trying to soothe every place he touched too hard. His lips press against my shoulder, a soft, trembling kiss—so different from the ones before.
He stays still for a long moment, then whispers, “Hey… baby?” His voice is low now, soft and careful, a complete contrast to how rough he was minutes ago.
I hum in response, still breathless, still trembling a little in his hold.
Chris slides one arm around my front, pulling me gently back against his chest, like he needs me close to calm down too. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, his voice warm and close. “I didn’t hurt you, right?”
I shake my head, letting out a small laugh through my unsteady breathing. “No. Not at all.”
He kisses the back of my shoulder again, slower this time. “Are you okay, baby? Really okay?”
“I promise,” I whisper, turning my head just enough to catch his eyes over my shoulder. His brows are furrowed slightly, his eyes searching mine like he’s reading every tiny signal I might be sending.
“I wasn’t too rough?” he asks, voice more tender now. “Tell me if I was. I need to know.”
“You weren’t,” I say softly, smiling now, dazed and floaty but grounded in the warmth of him. “You were perfect.”
Chris exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing all at once. “God… I just—I get carried away sometimes. You make me feel so much.”
He turns me gently to face him, his hands cradling my cheeks, brushing my hair back, tilting my face so he can really look at me. “You’re okay?” he asks again, just to be sure. “You’re not sore? You can breathe?”
I nod, leaning into his hands. “I’m okay.”
Chris presses his forehead to mine, closing his eyes. His thumbs brush my skin so softly now, and he’s so close I can feel every breath he takes.
“I need you to know something,” he murmurs. “I might act all tough. I might tease and push and want to wreck you like that—but I love you more than anything. I’d never, ever want to hurt you.”
I blink, heart swelling as I reach up to hold his wrists gently. “I know,” I whisper. “I know, Chris. You make me feel safe.”
His eyes flick up to mine, and he gives a tiny, crooked smile, relief flooding his face. “Good. ’Cause all I wanna do now is hold you for a while.”
And he does—lifting me gently, carrying me like I’m made of glass, and setting us down somewhere soft. He pulls me into his lap, arms around my waist, holding me against his chest like he can’t bear to be apart from me for even a second.
His hand strokes my back slowly, and he murmurs into my hair, “You taste like heaven. You sound like my favorite song. I swear, you’re everything.”
I curl into him tighter, lips brushing his collarbone.
And in that quiet afterglow—where there’s no heat left, just warmth—he holds me like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever touched.
Chris doesn’t let go right away. His arms are still wrapped around me from behind, our bodies tangled and breathless in the dim, quiet room. I feel the way his chest rises and falls against my back, his heartbeat still racing, matching mine.
But slowly—so slowly—he eases his grip, his hand brushing from my waist to my hair, smoothing it gently down my spine. He presses a kiss to the back of my shoulder, not rushed or hungry now, but soft. Careful. Full of something deeper.
“Hey… baby,” he whispers into my neck, his voice low and ragged. “You okay?”
I hum, still floating, still catching my breath. “Yeah.”
His arms tighten just a little, like he needs that last reassurance. Then, softer still: “I didn’t hurt you, right?”
“No,” I whisper, turning my head just enough for our eyes to meet. “Not at all.”
Chris looks at me for a second—really looks. His brows slightly drawn, his expression unreadably tender. “Wasn’t too rough?”
I shake my head again, smiling now, my fingers brushing along the side of his face. “You were perfect.”
Relief floods his face, and he leans in to kiss me again—this time to my temple, then my cheek, then right between my brows. “Okay. Okay… I just— You mean too much to me. I get so caught up in you, and I never wanna push too far.”
He slowly lowers me onto the bed, pulling a soft blanket over my body, his hands lingering at my sides. “Stay right here,” he says gently. “I’ll be back in a second. Just relax for me.”
I nod, the afterglow warming my whole body as I sink into the mattress. A minute later, I hear the bathroom sink running. When Chris returns, he’s holding a warm cloth. He kneels beside me like I’m made of glass, his hand brushing my thigh before he begins to gently clean me up.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs.
“It’s not. It’s perfect.”
He’s slow and deliberate with every pass of the cloth—wiping away what’s left of the moment with a reverence that makes my throat tighten. When he finishes, he leans in to kiss my knee, then rises to meet my eyes.
“Let’s get you in the shower,” he says softly, his voice warm and comforting. “Hot water, soft soap, and my arms around you. That sound good?”
Chris scoops me up again, lifting me like it’s the easiest thing in the world. The bathroom is already full of mist, soft and golden from the dimmed lights. The world narrows to the sound of running water and the steady beat of his heart under my ear.
He steps into the shower with me still in his arms. The heat hits us instantly—steam curling around our bodies, water sliding down our skin. I sigh into his shoulder, my legs tightening slightly around his waist.
“There we go,” he whispers. “Nice and warm.”
He slowly lowers me onto my feet, but keeps me pressed against him, his chest to my back. His arms wrap around me again, holding me still beneath the stream. I close my eyes and rest my head against him, the feeling of his hands on my waist and the hot water washing over us making me feel weightless.
Chris leans down, kissing the back of my neck. “Still okay?” he murmurs.
He reaches for the soap and lathers it in his hands, then glides them across my shoulders, down my arms, along my sides in slow, circular motions. The bubbles slide over my skin, warm and slick, while his fingers follow every line of my body—never rushed, never greedy now. Just loving.
“You’re glowing,” he murmurs into my skin. “You’re so damn beautiful, baby.”
He shifts me gently, letting the water rinse the suds from my back while he kisses the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. “Let me take care of all of you.”
Then he turns me around, his hands guiding me to face him. His eyes search mine, checking for even a flicker of discomfort.
“Still feel good?” he asks softly.
I nod, barely able to speak with the way his tenderness is making my heart ache.
He kisses me slowly—deep and sweet—and when he pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine. “You’re not sore anywhere? No aches?”
“No. Just… floaty. Safe.”
“Good,” he whispers. “So good.”
Chris lifts my hands and washes them too, gentle and patient, like even my fingertips deserve to be treated with care. He kneels in front of me, suds trailing down my legs as he massages my calves, his eyes flicking up now and then to make sure I’m okay.
Then he rises again and pulls me into his arms, skin to skin, my body pressed into his. He holds me so tight I can feel his heartbeat, his breath warm against my damp hair.
“I’ve never felt like this before,” he whispers. “Like I just want to wrap you in my arms and never let go.”
My arms tighten around his waist, cheek resting against his chest. He strokes my hair under the water, tucking strands behind my ear.
“You still feel okay?” he asks, softer this time.
I nod. “I feel… like I could fall asleep right here.”
Chris smiles, pressing a kiss to my temple. “You’re safe, baby. You can rest now. I’ve got you.”
And so we stand there—held in the warmth of the water, hearts slow and steady, wrapped in nothing but skin, steam, and love.
lmk if i should make more parts 💕💕
