CHAPTER 150: TABLE (R-18)

My cock was buried deep inside her, the head of my cock pressing hard against her slick pussy, tight end—her pussy walls clenching around me like they were made to fit me perfectly. Her head fell back, exposing the delicate curve of her throat, and a sound tore out of her—raw, unfiltered, a moan that rattled through her whole body like a storm breaking loose.

"Jesus... you feel—Peter, you feel so..."

She couldn’t finish—words lost to the tidal wave of sensation crashing through her. I held her close, feeling every tremble and shiver that ran from her core to the tips of her fingers, knowing I was the only one who could make her feel this way.

I stole the rest of her words with my mouth, pressing my lips to hers as I began to move—slow, powerful thrusts that pushed deep enough to make her body shudder beneath me. Her walls clenched tight, struggling to adjust to the full thickness of me, but I held steady, driving in with a steady, devastating rhythm.

Every inch of me that had slid inside her, filling her out before I was even over, stretching her in a way that left no doubt I was hers—marked her in a way she wouldn’t forget. I wanted her to remember this.

To carry the feeling of me buried deep inside her long after we were apart.

The table groaned beneath us, the sound raw and real with every push and pull. Her legs locked tight around me, heels digging into my back like anchors—like she was saying don’t you dare leave.

And I wasn’t going anywhere.

Not until she knew, deep in her bones, that she was mine.

With each deliberate thrust, I sank in slow and steady—feeling the slick, hot wetness of her wrapping around me like a second skin, clinging to every ridge and vein. The heat and slickness made me slick too, coating my cock in her need, making every movement glide smoother but never losing the sharp edge of pressure.

Her breath hitched, sharp and ragged, as my hips drove deep—then pulled back just enough to let her catch a trembling gasp before pushing in again, deep and unyielding.

Her nails raked into my back, leaving marks that burned like promises. Her body clenched tight around me, spasming with every stroke like she was trying to hold onto the moment forever—both overwhelmed and desperate for more.

"Look at me," I whispered low, my lips brushing hers between thrusts.

She did.

Eyes wide, trembling, and completely surrendered, wide, dark, totally glazed over with lust.

"I want you to remember this," I said, voice low but steady, hips still grinding slow in her tight pussy. "Every damn time you walk into this room. Every time you sit at this table, I want you to feel me—right there, inside you."

She moaned—loud and desperate—her whole body trembling like she was about to break apart and somehow hold herself together all at once.

"I’m already yours," she gasped, breath shaky.

I kissed her again, this time slow and sweet—one hand cupping her cheek, the other pulling her closer, keeping her right where I wanted her.

"I know," I whispered against her lips. "And I’m never giving you back."

She was still panting beneath me, flushed and wrecked, skin slick with sweat, lips swollen from my kisses, every muscle trembling. And yet—her eyes? Still hungry. Still begging for more.

I leaned in, brushing her hair back from her face, kissing her temple, then her cheek, then the edge of her jaw.

"You’re not done," I murmured. "I can feel it."

Her nod was slow, eyes glazed but wild with want.

"I don’t want to be."

I didn’t need her to say more. That was enough.

I slid my hands under her thighs again, feeling the smooth warmth of her skin through the thin fabric. Without hesitation, I lifted her straight off the table like she weighed nothing, spinning her slowly so her breath hitched in surprise. She grabbed onto my arms, fingers tightening like she needed the grip—and I didn’t let go.

Guiding her down, I set her on her knees this time—solid, deliberate.

"On all fours," I said, my voice low, calm, but sharp as a blade. Controlled, commanding.

She didn’t hesitate. She shifted instantly, her chest pressing against the cool surface of the table, knees spread wide enough to give me full access. Her dress was already bunched up around her waist, the silky fabric folding and slipping with her movements.

Her ass was a perfect curve, round and firm, the way it lifted and tensed beneath my gaze making my blood race faster. The skin was smooth and flushed, a soft glow that begged to be touched and claimed.

The crease between her cheeks deepened as she shifted, and there—barely visible but impossibly tempting—was the delicate outline of her asshole, flushed pink and tight. It was raw, exposed, and utterly hers—a secret part of her that only I was allowed to see.

The way her muscles flexed as she breathed, tiny tremors running through that spot, sent a clear message: she was as vulnerable as she was ready.

I stood behind her, my hands tracing down the curve of her spine, slow and warm—like I was memorizing every dip and swell of her body, a masterpiece made just for me.

"You look so fucking perfect like this," I muttered, voice low and rough.

She turned her head slightly, cheek pressed to the cold surface, eyes locking onto mine over her shoulder.

"Then take me," she breathed.

I growled—a deep, guttural sound that wasn’t just need but ownership—as I slid my hand down her back, past the curve of her waist, and over her ass. My grip was firm, possessive, pulling her closer, making her feel every inch of me before I moved.

Slow.

I pressed the head of my cock against her dripping wet entrance, feeling her pussy tremble and pulse at the contact. Her walls tightened instinctively, then began to open—warm, slick, and hungry—welcoming me in inch by agonizing inch.

The stretch was delicious, like she was molding herself perfectly around me, every inch coaxed inside with deliberate care.

Even her asshole reacted—just a flicker of tightening, a brief flutter beneath my touch, subtle but enough to make my breath hitch. It was raw, vulnerable, and so damn real.

She moaned, breath caught sharp in her throat, like I’d knocked the air clean out of her lungs.

And then I set the pace.

Not fast.

Deep.

Each stroke was measured, hard enough to make the table creak beneath us, precise enough to drive her crazy.

Her hands clenched the edges like she was barely holding on, her body a trembling mix of resistance and surrender.

"God—Peter—" Her voice was raw, ragged, like she was trying to hold on but losing the fight. "You feel even deeper like this..."

I leaned over her, chest pressing warm and heavy against her back, lips ghosting over her ear.

"That’s because I am."

My hand slid up her body, slow and deliberate, curling around her throat—not choking, just owning her. Letting her feel how much control I had, how safe she was wrapped in it, how much of her I owned right now.

She pushed back into me, desperate, matching every stroke with urgency, her body moving in sync with mine. I gave her everything—deeper, harder—but never losing control, never rushing the moment.

"Say it," I whispered, breath hot and rough in her ear. "Who do you belong to?"