Mocks you

Garvin lets out a harsh laugh. "Ashley? You think you can go back to that after this?" He gestures vaguely at the bed, at the mess you both made, at your own disheveled state. "Go on. Let's see you try."

You manage to pull the tattered remains of the dress around yourself, the zipper long since broken. You look ridiculous, dishevelled, and thoroughly fucked. There's no hiding the bite marks on your neck or the way you're walking like you've been riding a horse for a week.

As you reach the door, Garvin's voice stops you. "Hey, slut."

You turn back. He's propped up on an elbow, that infuriatingly confident smirk still on his face. His magnificent, black cock lies soft against his thigh, but even like that, it's bigger and more imposing than your own pathetic little thing.

"You can go play house with your little girlfriend," he says, his tone casual but dripping with ownership. "But when I text you, you come running. You got that? That boycunt belongs to me now. I'm gonna want it again. Soon." His cock already pulsing with need.