He tries to

James groaned like I'd punched him, surging forward until his hips met the backs of my thighs—except they didn't. He stopped abruptly halfway, his grip spasming on my waist. "Christ," he gritted out, forehead dropping between my shoulder blades. His entire body shook with restraint. "So fucking tight."

The burn was exquisite—not pain but possession, his girth stretching me in ways teenage boyfriends never had. The window's reflection showed his jaw clenched tight enough to fracture, veins standing out along his forearms as he gripped me. "Please… Move," I breathed, rolling my hips experimentally. The drag of him inside me tore a gasp from both of us.

James exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers digging bruises into my hips. "Not yet." His voice was wrecked, barely recognizable. His thumb found my clit again, rubbing punishing circles that contradicted his stillness. "Feel how you grip me? Like you're afraid I'll disappear." The observation hit too close—I whimpered, my inner muscles fluttering around him involuntarily.

His breath hitched. "There it is," he murmured, dragging his lips up my neck. He didn't thrust—just rocked infinitesimally, letting me feel every ridge and vein as his tip brushed that spot inside that made my vision blur. "All those clever little games..." His teeth grazed my earlobe. "And here you are, shaking apart on my cock before I've even fucked you properly, before yoi even have half my cock inside you."

The humiliation burned hotter than the stretch. My thighs trembled, sweat beading along my spine where his chest pressed flush against me. He was right—I could feel the slickness dripping down my thighs, the way my body clung to him like I was starving for it. The reflection in the window was obscene: my lips swollen from biting them, his knuckles white where they gripped my hips, the glistening stretch of him barely seated inside me.

James exhaled raggedly, his thumb still working my clit in slow, maddening circles. "Say it again," he demanded, his voice dark with something beyond lust—something that sounded like vengeance. His hips rolled fractionally, just enough to make me whimper. "Tell me what you want."

My fingers scrabbled against the polished desk, nails leaving faint crescents in the wood. "I want—" The words dissolved into a gasp as he withdrew almost completely, leaving only the swollen head inside me. The sudden emptiness was worse than the stretch. "I want you to fuck me properly," I choked out, my hips canting back desperately.