Losing control constantly

Ben took a slow, deliberate sip of his beer, his dark eyes narrowing as he watched Tom comfortably wrap his arm around Emma. The sight of his roommate playing the affectionate boyfriend made his jaw clench. He needed Tom out of that seat, and he wasn't about to ask politely.

He set his glass down with a heavy thud and leaned forward. "Hey, Tom," Ben grunted, gesturing vaguely toward the speakers with his chin. "That music is fucking gash. Since you know the barmaid, go ask her to change it. Tell her to put on something, not anymore bloody new crap."

Tom chuckled, completely oblivious. He kissed the top of Emma's head and slid out of the booth. "Sure thing, man. I'll be right back. Chloe is just serving now."

The second Tom turned his back and navigated through the crowded pub, Ben moved. He didn't hesitate. He slid out of his original spot and immediately dropped into the warm, empty seat right next to Emma, pressing his heavy, denim-clad thigh firmly against hers.

Emma stiffened, her breath catching in her throat as his familiar scent enveloped her. Before she could even process his movement, Ben leaned in close. His rough stubble scraped against her jawline, and his lips brushed the shell of her ear.

"You're mine for the rest of the evening," he whispered, his voice a dark, vibrating purr that sent a violent shiver straight down her spine. "Every time he looks away, I'm going to remind you who you really belong to."

As he pulled back slightly, his left hand came around her waist and settled heavily on the small of her back. It wasn't a sexual touch, but the sheer, territorial weight of his large, calloused palm pressing firmly against her lower spine made her hyper-aware of his presence. The heat of his hand seeped through the thin fabric of her top, anchoring her to him. His thumb rested just at the dip of her waist, it made her heart hammer against her ribs. She was trapped, her body still humming and aching from the intense orgasm he’d given her under the table earlier, and now his heavy hand was controlling her all over again.

A few minutes later, Tom returned, weaving through the tables. "They're gonna turn it down in a sec," he said cheerfully. He stopped in his tracks, blinking in confusion as he looked at the booth. "Uh? That's my seat."

Ben didn't even flinch. He kept his left hand resting firmly on the small of Emma's back, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. He looked up at Tom with a mask of casual annoyance.

"Yeah, sorry man," Ben lied smoothly, shifting his weight and groaning slightly for effect. "My lower back is absolutely killing me today. I need to sit on this side so I can lean against the wall and support my spine. Don't be a dick, just sit across from us. There's plenty of room."

Tom frowned slightly, his polite nature overriding any suspicion. "Oh, shit, my bad. I didn't know your back was acting up. Yeah, no problem." He slid into the booth directly across from them. Emma met his eye and smiled, what else could she do right now.

"Thanks," Ben muttered, picking up his beer with his right hand.

As Tom started talking about the music, Ben responded, talking like friends would but all the while staking a claim upon her. His left hand remained planted on the small of her back, his thumb occasionally pressing a fraction of an inch deeper into her skin. It was a subtle, non-lewd gesture, but to Emma, it felt like a physical tether. She sat perfectly still, her breath shallow, acutely aware of the heavy, possessive weight of his hand and the dark, triumphant smirk playing on his lips. She was his for right now, and there was absolutely nothing Tom or she could do about it.