Halo rematch

You stretch at the counter, T-shirt riding high, and shoot Alex a wicked grin.

“Halo tournament. Best of seven. Loser is free use for the rest of the day—whatever the winner wants, whenever.”

His eyes go dark. “You’re on.”

You settle on the couch, controllers ready, thighs already pressed together. The games start competitive, but it doesn’t stay that way for long.

Early rounds are a blur of wandering hands and deliberate distractions. You straddle his lap facing the TV, grinding slowly every time you line up a shot. When he tries to focus, you reach back and stroke his cock through his shorts until he’s throbbing and missing easy kills. One match you pull the boxers aside entirely, letting him feel how soaked you are while you snipe him across the map.

He fights dirty too—yanking your shirt off mid-game, pinching and rolling your nipples until you’re gasping and dropping the controller. Another round he slides two fingers inside you, curling slowly while he plays one-handed, forcing you to ride his hand just to stay in the fight.

You steal a couple of wins with sheer seduction—leaning down to take him in your mouth between spawns, or rubbing your bare chest against his arm until he can’t aim straight. He claws others back by pinning you against the couch, sucking marks into your neck and teasing your clit until your screen blurs.

It stays neck-and-neck the whole way, both of you sweating, half-naked, and breathing hard.

In the final match, you’re on your knees in front of him, ass in the air, trying every trick in the book—deep-throating him on respawn timers, whispering exactly what you want him to do to you if you win.

But he holds on, ice-calm despite the way you’re working him, and closes out the last few kills while you’re still trembling from his fingers.

He drops the controller, fists a hand in your hair, and pulls you up for a bruising kiss.

“Free use starts now, Jen.”

You’re already dripping at the promise in his voice.