Ride him until he breaks

Maeva shifted slowly, luxuriously, trailing slick arousal down his torso as she slid backward. His skin twitched beneath her, shivering with need. Her hand drifted along his ribs, nails tracing cruel, teasing patterns down to where he throbbed—fully, helplessly hard.

She settled atop his hips with a deliberate, predatory grace, straddling him just above the point of contact. Her heat hovered a breath above his cock, and he bucked reflexively, seeking her. Denied.

She smiled.

“Do you feel that?” she whispered, circling her hips just enough to let the head of him kiss her entrance, soaking in her wetness. “That’s what it feels like… to almost be inside me.”

A strangled noise escaped him—equal parts desperation and reverence.

Maeva leaned down, her breasts brushing against his chest, and placed a single kiss at the corner of his mouth, tasting herself still lingering on his lips. Then she rose—slow, commanding—and sank down onto him in one, smooth, devastating motion.

His cry was muffled by her mouth, which caught his gasp in a deep, possessive kiss.

He was thick and hard, the stretch exquisite, the fullness making her moan into his throat. Her hands braced against his shoulders, back arched as she began to ride him—slow at first, dragging him through every agonizing inch. His hips strained against the restraints, trying to thrust, trying to match her rhythm, but she set the pace. She always would.

“You don’t get to fuck me,” she hissed, voice low and dangerous, “I fuck you.”

And gods, she did.

Maeva moved like a **** of nature—hips grinding, rolling, bouncing in tight, punishing circles that made them both shudder. His body writhed beneath her, **** for more friction, more speed, but she kept control with an iron will. Her walls clenched around him with every stroke, milking him, wringing every ounce of restraint from his soul.

He was unraveling.

The cords strained as he pulled, groaning, panting, begging through gasped words and incoherent pleas.

“Please—please, Princess—I can’t—gods, I need to—”

“No,” she breathed, riding harder now, her pace brutal and beautiful. “You’ll hold it. You’ll take everything I give you.”

The sound of their bodies colliding—wet, furious, obscene—echoed in the room like a rhythm made to break men.

She leaned forward, biting his lower lip, her voice a growl against his skin. “You're nothing but my toy now, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he choked, eyes wide, glassy with pleasure. “Yes—please—use me—”

And she did.

Maeva rode him like she was casting a spell, grinding her clit against his pelvis as she chased her own second climax. Her hands slid up her own body, cupping her breasts, fingers pinching her nipples as she cried out—loud, unrestrained, her body clenching again and again around him until he was a breath away from losing control.

She sat up tall, glorious in the throes of pleasure, and with one final thrust down, she commanded:

“Now. Cum for me.”

He shattered.

His scream was guttural, primal, head thrown back as he came hard—long, convulsing beneath her, every muscle straining against the enchanted cords. She felt the pulsing heat fill her, thick and endless, and she milked every drop with her still-rhythmic rolls, riding him through the orgasm until he whimpered beneath her.

Spent. Shaking. Owned.

Maeva leaned forward, licking sweat from his neck.

“That,” she purred, “was a proper rescue.”