Yes

Dan pulled her by her hair and urged her upwards—his grip was rough, commanding. Bailey gasped as he dragged her up. His voice was commanding in her ear. "You want me to fuck you again, slut?"

Bailey bit her lip, nodding eagerly. Her pussy was still slick with his cum. She wanted him again—wanted to orgasm again.

Dan didn't wait—he shoved her hard onto Jess's bed, the springs protesting beneath them. Before Bailey could catch her breath, his weight pinned her down, wrists pressed into the mattress above her head. His knees **** her thighs apart, spreading her wide. No teasing this time—just the wet slide of his cock driving into her in one relentless thrust. Bailey gasped, her back arching off the bed as he filled her completely.

Words dissolved into choked syllables—her mouth opening, lips trembling. She tried to speak, tried to tell him to fuck her harder, but all that escaped was a stuttering moan when his cock thrust into her again.

Dan didn't need her words.

Her body spoke louder—the arch of her back, the clench of her thighs around his hips, the way her pussy felt around his cock. He knew. He felt it. And fuck if that didn't make him harder, thrusting into her that had the bedframe hitting against the wall in a rhythm Jess would instantly know that sound if she were home.

Bailey's breath came in ragged bursts—each thrust forcing another gasp from her lips. She'd never been fucked like this before—never been wanted like this. Dan's hands weren't gentle; they pinned her wrists to the mattress, his grip tight enough to bruise. Possessive. Claiming. He drove his cock deeper, hitting her cervix and that made her vision blur.

Her thoughts dissolved—no more Marc, no more Jess, no more pretending. Just the way Dan's sweat dripped onto her breasts, his cum still inside her as he fucked her bareback. A moan from her mouth—half-pain, half-pleasure—her back arching off the bed.

"You—" Bailey gasped, nails raking down his shoulders drawing blood, "—can use me again. Whenever." The words tumbled out unfiltered. A confession. An offering.

Dan's thrusts stuttered—his rhythm breaking—because fuck, she meant it. His grip tightened on her wrists, pinning her harder as his hips snapped forward, driving his cock into her with renewed urgency. The bedframe slammed against the wall, the headboard cracking the drywall. Neither cared.

Bailey's breath hitched—her body tensed—then suddenly, violently, her orgasm ripped through her. Unlike Marc's apologetic three-pump finish, Dan didn't stop fucking her through it. He kept going, relentless, the pressure of his cock inside her triggering another wave before the first had even faded.

Dan knew he wasn't going to cum again—not so soon—but that didn't matter. His fingertips dug into her hips, angling her just right, the swollen head of his cock dragging against her swollen walls with every thrust. Bailey's moans dissolved into choked whimpers, her thighs trembling where they gripped his waist. He watched her face twist—mouth open, eyes unfocused—as another orgasm crashed over her.

"Look at you," he murmured, voice rough with approval. Bailey's fingers twisted in the sheets, as he fucked her through it—slow, deep strokes that had her gasping his name. Dan smirked, leaning down to bite her earlobe. "Still hungry, slut?"

Bailey blinked up at him, dazed. Who in the fuck was this? Dan—quiet, apologetic Dan, who mumbled "sorry" when he bumped into furniture—was grinning down at her like he'd just won the lottery. His hands slid under her thighs, lifting her hips higher, driving deeper. The possessive way his fingers dug into her skin—this wasn't the same man who flinched when Jess raised her voice.

"You're different," Bailey gasped, her thighs trembling as another orgasm built low in her soul. Dan's cock twitched inside her—fully hard again, enough to make her whimper. "Fuck—since when do you—"

Dan's hand clamped over her mouth, his hips snapping forward in a brutal rhythm. The slap of skin echoed off Jess's bedroom walls, the scent of sex thick in the air. "Shut up," he growled, then placed his hand on her throat fingers squeezing it, just enough.

Bailey's eyes widened— not in fear, but in exhilaration. Her pulse hammered against his fingertips, her pussy tightened around his cock in response. Fuck. She liked it.

Dan's grip loosened enough for her to gasp—but before she could catch her breath, his thrusts turned punishing again. His cock twitched inside her, slamming ruthlessly against her cervix, deep enough to make her vision blur at the edges.

Bailey's fingers clawed at the sheets—her voice gone, limbs locked—as the orgasm detonated through her like a grenade. She couldn't scream, couldn't move—just arched rigidly beneath him, her body seizing in silent, breathless agony. Every muscle clenched—her pussy spasming around him—the pleasure burned so sharp it bordered on pain.

Dan didn't stop. His hips pistoned forward, relentless, his cock dragging against her convulsing walls. Bailey's vision whited out—her mouth open in a silent cry—before she finally collapsed boneless onto the mattress, sweat-slick skin sticking to Jess's sheets.

Dan leaned down, breath hot against her ear. "My perfect little whore," he murmured—words rough, unfamiliar.

Bailey froze. Marc had called her baby, sweetheart, once even princess in a drunken stupor—but never that. Never something so filthy.

Yet now—her toes curled, her pussy still filled with Dan’s still-hard cock. She should’ve been offended. Should’ve slapped him, should’ve hissed some feminist retort about respect. Instead, warmth bloomed in her, spreading through her limbs like fire. That’s what this was—hot, dizzying pride.

Dan withdrew his still-hard cock glistening with her arousal—his breath ragged, his fingers pressing into her hips. Her thighs trembled, slick with sweat and cum—his, hers, she wasn’t sure anymore. The air between them smelled like sex and something else.

Dan rolled off her—the mattress groaned—and padded naked to the kitchen. His bare feet left damp prints on the hardwood floor. Bailey watched him go—his back flexing, his ass tensing—the way he moved now, unselfconscious, unapologetic. Not the same man who used to apologize for existing.

The fridge door swung open—light spilling across his thighs, his softening cock. He grabbed two bottles of water, twisting the caps off with a flick of his wrist. When he turned, Bailey was already sitting up, her legs folded beneath her like a satisfied cat. Her gaze dropped pointedly to his cock—still thick, semi erect—and she smirked.

"Bringing me water after you fucked me like that?" She stretched, arching her back—her nipples pebbled in the AC-chilled air. "Classy."

Dan snorted, tossing her the bottle without thought. "Hydrate," he muttered, like he wasn’t standing there naked, cock still wet with her arousal, looking like he could fuck her into next week.

Bailey caught the bottle midair, arching a brow as she took a slow sip, her throat working. Dan watched—couldn’t help it—the way her lips wrapped around the bottle.

He took a seat beside her, and gulped down half his water in one go. The silence stretched—but it wasn’t awkward. It was charged, simmering. Like the pause before round three.