You push open the heavy door to the back room of the club, pulse hammering, and he’s already there—tall, broad, eyes locked on you like he owns the place. “Lock it,” he growls, voice low and rough. You do, fingers shaking, and the second the bolt clicks he’s on you. Big hands grab your hips, spin you, shove you face-first against the wall. “Been watching that ass all night. Now it’s mine.”
He yanks your skirt up without asking, fingers hooking into your panties and ripping them down your thighs. Cool air hits your bare skin, then his palm lands hard on one cheek, the slap loud and sharp. You gasp. “Wet already,” he mutters, dragging two thick fingers through your folds. “Fucking dripping for it.” He pushes both inside you in one rough thrust, knuckles deep, and you moan, forehead pressed to the wall. He fucks you with his hand fast and dirty, thumb grinding your clit until your legs shake.
“Turn around.
On your knees.” You drop without thinking. His belt clinks, zipper rasps, and then his cock is right there—thick, heavy, flushed dark at the tip. “Open.” You do. He slides in deep, no teasing, until your nose brushes his abs and your throat works around him. He holds you there, hips rolling slow, letting you choke on it before pulling back and thrusting again. Spit runs down your chin. He fucks your mouth like he’s already inside your cunt, one hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your jaw.
“Enough.” He hauls you up, spins you again, bends you over the nearest table. Your cheek hits cool wood. He kicks your feet wider, lines up, and sinks into you in one long, brutal stroke. You cry out—full, stretched, perfect. He doesn’t wait. He pounds you, hips snapping, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing off the walls. One hand reaches under, finds your clit, rubs tight circles while he rails you. “Come on it,” he orders. “Now.”
Your orgasm hits like a punch—tight, pulsing, soaking his cock. He groans, fucks you through it, then pulls out and flips you onto your back on the table. Legs over his shoulders, he drives back in, deeper than before. The angle makes you see stars. He leans down, bites your neck, sucks hard enough to leave marks. “Again,” he snarls. “Give it to me again.”
You do, clenching around him, vision whiting out. He follows with a rough curse, burying himself to the hilt and pulsing hot and thick inside you. For a moment there’s only heavy breathing and the slick sound of him still rocking shallowly, pushing his come deeper.
He pulls out slow, watches it drip, then drags two fingers through the mess and pushes them back into your mouth. “Clean it.” You suck them clean while he watches, eyes dark. “Good girl.” He tucks himself away, helps you stand on shaky legs, smooths your skirt down like nothing happened. At the door he leans in, lips at your ear. “Same time tomorrow. Don’t be late.” Then he’s gone, leaving you wrecked, used, and already aching for more.
